Had I been wearing my kippah, I would have never made it back from Birmingham

According to Khan, that particular ban was not enough. The Israeli team itself should not have been allowed to come either. Israel needed to be "punished", he said.

Over the next few hours, protesters began to descend on Trinity Road from all angles. 

A gang of hooded youths were standing against a fence, eyeing up the line of police which had formed along the length of the stadium. Just the other side of the stadium wall were the Maccabi players, who had arrived in an unmarked coach earlier that day.

I spoke to one of them. "F**k Israel," he said... F**k every Jew on site... I think [the players] should get f***ed too... We have been waiting for years for an Israeli to come into the country and today is our day to tell them how we feel about them."

I asked the gang member what he would do if one of the pro-Israel fans turned up. "They know not to come down here and make face," he said menacingly.

Our photographer had joined me inside the huddle and began taking snaps of our conversation. 

One of the gang members dropped a Palestinian flag and ordered the photographer to pick it up. The photographer said: "No." One then handed me a miniature Palestinian flag and said: "Take this." I took it and decided it was time to leave.

As we turned our backs to them, the photographer opened up his rucksack and signalled that I could put the flag inside. I was grateful. If I was to open up my satchel to put it inside, I would be worried my kippah could have fallen out and I would be caught.

My grandparents took their mezuzahs down so the Nazis would not spot them and, here I was, terrified of being identified.

Had I been wearing my kippah, I'd have never made it back from Birmingham.

By 6pm the protest was in full swing. From the grass verge, where about 1,000 people were standing in a space the size of a tennis court, chants of "Allahu Akhbar" "death, death to the IDF" and "Game over Israel" rang out like a thudding drum. I wondered if the Maccabi players could hear. "They're inside... They're inside... They're inside," voices kept saying.

I decided it was time to walk to Witton Road on the North side of the stadium to see if any pro-Israeli counter protesters had tuned up. They had.

I ran into our photographer taking snaps through the bars of a caged area the size of a basketball court.

I joined him and as I looked though the bars, I started to recognise people - friends... Jews.

This was the pro-Israel side, and they had been herded like cattle into a cage, apparently to keep them safe from the hoards outside.

I told officers I was a reporter, and they let me in. Many spoke to me about why they had been caged and how they wanted to go to the other side of the stadium to protest, to face the mob.

I said: "I'm not so sure you do."

The cage was virtually sealed from the outside by an almost-unbroken line of police and all of a sudden, I felt trapped.

The, member of the Gaza mob came to the bars and shouted: "Baby killers! Baby killers!"

Another yelled: "You genocide supporters!"

And another came to the fence and mocked the pro-Israelis inside.

"Why are you behind bars?" she asked. "What did you do?"

Each and every pro-Palestinian who made it through police lines and came to the pro-Israeli side had a disturbing smugness on their faces, as if they were free - the very thing they have always called for - and the pro-Israel side was trapped.

I was glad to make it to Birmingham New Street Station in one piece. I caught the train with a minute to go and slumped down on a seat. I felt safe.