I checked out the website two Sydney nurses used to spray hate. Here’s what I discovered

While sitting in their scrubs last Monday morning, two Sydney nurses clicked open the live video chat platform Chatruletka, matched at random with Israeli influencer Max Veifer, then allegedly began spewing antisemitic hate.

I spent an hour on the app and while I wasn’t the recipient of an abhorrent spray, I did see several unsolicited genitalia, received three marriage proposals, and had some delightful conversations with people worlds apart.

Amber Schultz on Chatruletka.

Live video chat platforms peaked in popularity in the 2010s, with Chat Roulette paving the way for perverts and teenagers to connect at random, and disconnect instantly.

On Chatruletka, users can match with people from a specific country or with anyone globally. There are 48 countries to select from. Palestine isn’t one of them.

Chatruletka advertises it connects over 200,000 users daily and encourages flirting and dating, though I only matched with men. There’s no age verification or real-time moderating either. While users are supposed to be 18+ and no hate or nudity is allowed, the app relies on users to screenshot and report abuse.

I logged on at 7.30pm, which is morning for most of Europe, Africa and the Middle East, and selected “Israel” as the country selection.

Nurses Ahmad Rashad Nadir and Sarah Abu Lebdeh with Israeli social media personality Max Veifer.Credit: @maxveifer on Instagram.

My first match was a 22-year-old computer science student. He immediately asked me if I hate Israel, before quickly launching into an explanation as to how others do.

My second Israeli match was a man drinking coffee near the sea. He was travelling the country on foot, walking up the coast with a backpack and tent. We avoided politics and instead talked about the ocean.

I removed the country filter and matched with two Afghan men, who said they fought alongside Australians against the Taliban and became jobless following the regime change. It’s the most sane and engaging conversation of the evening.

There was a 19-year-old Kenyan raising money to help fund his computer and science bachelor’s degree; a clinical researcher in Washington who asked me, “hypothetically,” what it would take for me to bear his children; and a trio of New Zealanders who call me a MILF.

It’s a rude reminder that I was a teenager with far too much spare time the last time I was on one of these apps, screeching in delight or horror at whatever my friends and I stumbled across.

I remember perhaps even more genitalia back then, but also finding an incredibly talented musician who serenaded matches, and magicians who pulled handkerchiefs from their noses. People have gone viral for theatrical performances or spontaneous geopolitical conversations.

It was a bizarre decision for Bankstown-Lidcombe Hospital nurses Ahmad Rashad Nadir and Sarah Abu Lebdeh to allegedly threaten Israelis via the app, especially in uniform.

Face-to-face video chat is far from anonymous. In a one-to-one setting, it also makes for a very inefficient form of cyberbullying.

The pair have been suspended from work, had their nurse registration revoked, and may face criminal charges.

Perhaps, they should have stuck to spontaneous marriage proposals.