The genocide in Gaza has profoundly shaped how many of us see the world. For some, it’s triggered a crisis of faith in liberal democracies and deep despair. For others, it’s sparked spiritual renewal, a firmer embrace of Islam, and pride in being visibly Muslim. Amid this, Palestinians and their supporters have faced dehumanisation and vilification, with Islamophobic hate crimes surging globally – all while the powerful continue to endorse genocide as self-defence.

Inspiration from the Palestinians’ resilience and faith has been taken by Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Gazans’ proclamations of ‘hasbi Allah wa ni’mal wakeel’ (God is sufficient for me) when faced with the lifeless bodies of their families following Israeli airstrikes have strengthened Muslims, both in their Islamic faith, and their defiance of imperial forces aiding and abetting the genocide, embodied in the sentiment ‘we’re not saving Palestine, Palestine is saving us.’

Moreover, in the last 19 months, we’ve seen countless examples of people researching Islam, as well as converting. The most visible online figure was Megan Rice, a TikTok content creator, who began her journey when she made a video expressing her awe at Palestinians’ resilience. When commenters explained that this resilience comes from faith and the Qur’an, she and others on TikTok shared their journey while they explored the faith for the first time, in October 2023 and expressed how they felt that they were ‘deprogramming’ themselves from a lifetime of Western anti-Islam propaganda. Similarly, following the 9/11 attacks, a reported 8,000 American women converted to Islam, despite the raging propaganda that presented Islam as antithetical to Western democracy.

In response to rising Islamophobia, protest repression, and the renewed securitisation of Muslims, many Muslim women have begun wearing the hijab. This mirrors trends seen after 9/11 and 7/7. 

In 2004, Hoda Badr found that the decision to observe hijab by American Muslim women in Houston, Texas, was affected by media portrayals of Muslims after 9/11, who chose to wear it to present a positive image of Muslims in the US. In the UK, Shaista Gohir noted the uptick in Muslim women wearing the headscarf following 9/11 and the 7/7 London bombings. She asserted that ‘this phenomenon is not surprising because when any population feels threatened, it reacts by defending its culture or faith, becoming more attached to it.’

I spoke to four Muslim women who took up the hijab after the genocide began, reclaiming and reconnecting with their faith and identity in a world increasingly hostile to both.

Taking the Leap

For Rubab, the decision felt like divine intervention, as well as the effect of one of the many harrowing videos that made their way across her screen. 

“It was in the last few days of 2023. It felt sudden, but I believe it was Allah ﷻ’s qadr. I had made du’a during Ramadan that year, asking Allah to make me a hijabi within five years—He willed it to happen in five months.

At work, we suddenly had an influx of hijabis. At university, I made hijabi friends for the first time. Slowly, I became the only one in my circles not wearing it. I think Allah was preparing me, gently planting the idea. I kept putting it off—‘maybe next year’, ‘in six months’ — until October 7th happened.

A few months later, I came across a video of Palestinian women being pulled from rubble, plastic bags over their heads, trying to cover their hair even in that horror. That moment unnerved me. I’ve found that with certain things in my life, whenever I’m trying to move in a certain direction, Allah will put a video on my ‘for you’ page on TikTok that will shake me to my core, whether it’s something like this or an Islamic reminder. My mum has worn a hijab for years, but most of my family isn’t very practising when it comes to it.

That video made me realise that the hijab is that deep. We dismiss it as a piece of cloth, or say the reasons don’t resonate, but Allah tells us clearly: hijab identifies us as believing women.

Since wearing it, I’ve felt a difference –  more respect, more clarity in my identity. Seeing Palestinian men rush to cover the women they were pulling out from under the rubble, I realised: it’s not just hair. That level of protection and gheerah (protective jealousy) shifted my entire perspective on hijab.”

Maha’s decision to begin practising hijab felt like it was a long-time coming, but was propelled forward by her strengthening commitment to faith as a result of the genocide. 

“My reason for wearing hijab is just because of the stage I was at in my life. I’d been thinking about it for a long time, knowing I was getting married soon and starting a PhD, it felt like it was the right time. Though I wouldn’t say that my decision to wear it was directly a result of witnessing this genocide, events in Palestine and Lebanon, where some of my family is from, were all conducive to strengthening my connection to Allah, and consequently accelerated my decision to practice hijab.”

Like the others, Faima had also been pondering making the jump for a while, and her interrogation of how her own shortcomings could be impacting Palestinians led her to finally put it on. 

“I’d been thinking about wearing hijab for a year now, and I put it on about two months ago. I think I was led to the decision because of the power of istighfar (seeking refuge in Allah), which I try to do daily, alhamdulillah. At a khutbah last year, the Imam asked us to think about what sins we’re committing that are causing the tragedy and suffering of our brothers and sisters around the world, in Palestine, for example.

The Prophet ﷺ said the Ummah is like one body; when one part suffers, the whole body feels it. So yes, as Muslims we all feel the suffering of our beloved Palestinian brothers and sisters, but have we considered if our own commitment to sinning has disintegrated the ummah, whether our sins, or the absence of practising something obligatory, have worsened the situation? So I do the daily istighfar to seek forgiveness from Allah for my actions, for my sins that hurt the believers. And He loves the sinner who repents, and He has blessed me with gu1idance.”

Following the same trend, Ascia Sahar, an Afghan-Palestinian American content creator, had been praying that she’d be able to make the change for a while, and started trying to ease herself in. 

“I started a hijab series [on Instagram] because on Fridays I would go to Jumu’a and wear the hijab, so I took my audience along with me on that experience. I enrolled into the Jannah Institute’s Year of Knowledge course, which covers everything a woman should know and learn about Islam, so that we can be informed and raise the next generation with a deep understanding of our faith and how to practice it. I started it in September, and then October 7th happened. I was in the fifth week of classes when my heart just knew that it was time for me to properly wear the hijab. There was no more questioning it or praying on it. I just knew I was going to do it. I started wearing it privately, not on social media, I just wanted to do it for myself and for Allah’s sake.”

Being Inspired by the Palestinians’ Commitment to Their Faith

The combination of being engrossed in Islamic study, as well as the images coming out of Gaza, ultimately drove Ascia to her decision. 

“At that same time, the impact of October 7th on me was that the illusions of the dunya (worldly life), everything started to crumble right in front of me. Whatever seemed to be powerful, the life that we’d become accustomed to, all started crumbling, and the truth of what Allah has shared with us in the Qur’an started making more sense.

Witnessing women in Gaza coming out from underneath the rubble with their prayer scarves on, or bleeding from their heads and still doing their best to keep their headscarves on – that deep level of obedience, commitment, and striving to make sure that they’re still representing their deen even when they come out from the rubble was deeply inspirational. SubhanAllah, may we all reach that level of taqwa (God consciousness). I’m doing the bare minimum right now, but that was definitely the push I needed at that moment.”

Rubab calls October 7th a turning point, for Muslims and non Muslims alike. 

“Conversions soared, people learned about Palestine for the first time — it shook the Muslim ummah to its core.

For me, it was the realisation: I am part of these people. I share their faith. Watching them, legs torn off, bodies covered in dust, still looking for scraps to cover their hair — and meanwhile I was telling myself hijab wasn’t “that deep.” Having that epiphany is when I decided to wear hijab, because how can I say I’m Muslim and then not want to visibly represent the faith?

I’d been praying consistently for a few months, growing closer to Allah, and asked myself: what hill are you willing to die on? Palestinians had clarity — to their last breath, they chose their deen.

It gave me a reality check: Is my life really about vanity and looking cute? I realised hijab isn’t just about men looking — it’s about that inner desire to be looked at. I had to ask myself: What am I willing to give up for Allah? I realised I couldn’t keep putting my faith second. At that point, hijab was the sacrifice I needed to make.”

Faima’s approach to life, her faith and hijab also shifted as a result of the genocide.  

“What we’ve seen since October 7th reminded me to see Allah in everything, and have taqwa by fulfilling the obligations He’s placed on me, one of which is practising hijab. I know that I’ll be buried in a covering, and I don’t want that to be the first time I‘m covered. Seeing the God-consciousness of Palestinians pushed me to remember Allah in my own everyday life. I think Palestine should serve as a daily reminder to all Muslims about the conviction of faith and whether we believe in Allah and His Message in the same way. Gazans will pray between rubble, reel off verses of the Quran and be steadfast in the remembrance of ‘Hasbuna-Allah wa ni’mal wakeel’ – Allah is sufficient for us and the best disposer of affairs. This is the level of iman we should aspire to, and I’m inspired by it. May Allah give us firm conviction, ameen.”

In the same vein, Maha shares that witnessing both the Palestinians’ unwavering faith and the horrors that they have been and continue to experience shifted her mindset entirely, both in her taqwa (consciousness of Allah) and her perspective on her own life events.

“Gaza taught me to remember Allah in every situation. Even when Palestinians lost their children and families to Israeli airstrikes, in the most gruesome ways, we still saw them say alhamdulillah. Seeing the praise of Allah, no matter what, impacted my religious journey deeply. It showed me the importance of trusting His plan even when we don’t have the hikmah (wisdom) to understand it.

It made me more God-fearing, God-conscious, and more aware of Allah in the small, beautiful moments — the sky, a plant, a quiet night without the sound of drones. These are privileges we often take for granted.

For me, the impact of Gaza isn’t just about being inspired by the Palestinians’ strength and faith –  it was a realisation that worldly things don’t matter as much. Not just in big decisions, but in everyday moments: when something small goes wrong, or when certain foods aren’t in stock, I remind myself of my privilege compared to what Palestinians are facing. These small shifts strengthened my deen. Any hardship I face, I think to myself, I need to praise God for my blessings, because relatively, in the wider context of things happening in the world, this issue or inconvenience is inconsequential.

It also made me think more about family and our duties to others and God. You don’t know when your last prayer will be, your last interaction with God or with the people you love, your last act of good. The past year and a half showed me that everything is so transitory and how trivial many of our worries are.”

Islamophobia: Deterrent or Driver?

For Faima, it was neither.

“I don’t think it factored in at all. I also don’t want to attribute anything good as a result of it, and it didn’t make me second-guess my decision at all; it didn’t even cross my mind.”

As observed by Gohir, following 9/11, the increasing hostility towards Muslims since October 7th led Maha to become more attached to her faith. 

“Ironically, Islamophobia didn’t deter me from wearing the hijab — it strengthened me. It made me feel that people who hate Islam have no real understanding, and if they truly knew, they would believe. The genocide made me more open about my faith, more proud and public in my Muslim identity. In a time when hostility towards Muslims is growing, it felt important to stand firmer. Even in the Prophet ﷺ’s time, believers faced much worse persecution. Remembering that keeps everything in perspective — what we face now is hard, but it’s nothing compared to what others have endured for their faith.”

Rubab shares a similar sentiment. When she felt that her empathy for Palestine was met with animus, she doubled down. 

“Immediately after October 7th, something shifted. I started wearing a keffiyeh out, and for the first time, I felt real hatred — glares, disgust — in central London. Until then, I was just seen as “brown.” Now, I was recognisably Muslim. Ironically, it made me lean in more.

I thought: if you’re going to hate me for wearing a keffiyeh, wait until you know I share their faith too. A part of me wore hijab out of spite — to make it completely unambiguous that I am Muslim, and that I stand with the people fighting for their right to exist while holding firmly to the rope to the rope of Allah. 

The threat of Islamophobic attacks was scary, though I have to admit. The first week I put my hijab on, a white man outside of a pub tried to spit on me while I was on my way to an Islamic lecture for the first time. Last summer, during the race riots, shops in my neighbourhood were vandalised, and machete attacks happened nearby. It was terrifying. At this point, I was very much practising hijab, and I stayed home for a couple of weeks because I didn’t want to be a walking target. Alhamdullilah, though, I’m in my second year of wearing hijab, and Allah has gotten me through it relatively unscathed.”

Growing up in America, Islamophobia has always been a part of Ascia’s life. While it didn’t factor into her decision to start wearing hijab, it does factor into her wider decisions around her family’s safety. 

“I was in high school when 9/11 happened. In 10th grade, I witnessed islamophobia on the rise, and understood that we couldn’t fully be as Muslim as we’d want to be in public. Once I got married, I had to do a lot of cultural unlearning, and my husband and I decided that the number one thing we would do is raise unapologetically Muslim children, be unapologetically Muslim ourselves, and build a strong identity within our children. Alhamdulillah, the area we live in is very diverse, so Islamophobia didn’t really need to factor into my decision to wear the hijab because I’ve always been around it. If someone is Islamophobic, they’ll also be racist, not wearing a hijab wouldn’t make me less of a target of their hate.” 

Undoubtedly, the horrors we’ve witnessed in Gaza and Palestine as a whole, as well as in other regions – Sudan, Congo, Myanmar, and now Kashmir – have caused a paradigm shift in many people’s worldview. The ongoing genocide has felt like a ‘mask off’ moment for liberal democracies, and their flimsy commitment to values of human rights, justice and the right to self-determination is now unambiguously buried six feet under. The overwhelming feeling is that when faced with deep depravity, and when the world turns against us, threatens us, and surrounds us with darkness, solace can always be found by turning back to Allah and the light of the Qur’an.