Some of the classical commentaries on the sura Yusuf tell us that one day the Prophet Muhammad was reciting Qurʾanic verses for his companions. Bored and weary, they said, “‘O Prophet of Allah! What if you told us a story, what if God Almighty would send a sura that did not contain commandments and prohibitions, and that sura would be a story that soothed our hearts?' God, Mighty and Exalted, said, ‘I will narrate to you the best story.’”

The tribe was the main solidarity group in Transjordan on the eve of the establishment of the modern state in 1921. As in many tribal societies in the Middle East, the creation of the state system in the aftermath of World War I brought about dramatic changes in the lives of tribespeople, and nomads in particular. The emergence of colonial governments with centralizing ambitions; the creation of international borders; rapid economic changes; and the spread of national ideologies were among the factors that threatened the survival of old tribal order and indeed put enormous pressures on tribespeople everywhere. Nevertheless, in the case of Transjordan, twenty-five years after the process of state-formation and modernization had been launched, tribal identities had not disappeared. Rather, tribes remained important social and cultural categories, having adapted to new realities and transformed in the face of them. Moreover, in the course of this process, the tribal population of Transjordan became the backbone of the Hashemite regime and among the most enthusiastic supporters of the kingdom. Even today, tribal identities, though significantly modified since the days of the Mandate, continue to play a major role in Jordanian politics. Scholars of modern Jordan have acknowledged the special relations between the tribes and the Hashemite monarchy. They have also emphasized the centrality of tribes and tribal political culture in contemporary Jordan. The historical roots of these phenomena, however, deserve further exploration.

The social and cultural composition of Turkey's provincial society is still poorly understood, not only in the West, but in Turkey itself. Because of this situation, contemporary accounts of Turkish society have a tendency to underestimate the variety of provincial life and to discount the importance of this variety for the nation as a whole. Some events in recent decades, it is true, have certainly eroded the diversity of provincial society. The population exchanges after World War I virtually removed the entire Christian population from Asia Minor. As well, the development of a national polity and the accompanying acceleration of westernization established a new national culture and society which has affected even the most remote areas of the country. Despite this trend toward a greater uniformity, local traditions and local loyalties still retain a vitality that is seldom fully appreciated.

On the night of May 26, 1762, several residents of the Syrian city of Aleppo entered a house in their neighborhood uninvited. The owners were not in, but several unveiled women sitting in male company were there to greet them. If the scene proved less compromising than the intruders expected, it did confirm their suspicion that the house was a meeting place for illicit relations. The following day they turned in the owners, a man and his mother, to the court and secured the qadi's consent to have them expelled from the neighborhood.

An account already exists between us and the Arab world: the account of the compensation that accrues to the Arabs who left the territory of Israel and abandoned their property … The act that has now been perpetrated by the Kingdom of Iraq … forces us to link the two accounts … We will take into account the value of the Jewish property that has been frozen in Iraq when calculating the compensation that we have undertaken to pay the Arabs who abandoned property in Israel.

Since the 1970s, the Salafi movement in Jordan has grown substantially. Today, Salafis are ubiquitous in every major city in the kingdom, and Salafi bookshops, lessons, and activities are common. The purpose of the movement is to institute religious behavior and practices that capture the purity of Islam, as understood by the salaf (early Companions of the Prophet). Salafis believe that because the salaf learned about Islam directly from the Prophet or those who knew him, they commanded a pure understanding of the religion. All decisions in life must therefore be based upon evidence from the Qur⊃an and sunna, as recorded in authentic sayings (had―iths) by the salaf. In instances where particular actions or behaviors were not sanctioned by the original sources of Islam, they are rejected as “not Muslim.” Those who strictly adhere to this religious understanding are considered Salafis.1

The Sudanese Mahdī has been pictured as a villain, as a hero, as a reactionary, as an anti-imperialist revolutionary, and in many other ways. The romance and excitement of the nineteenth-century Mahdiyya has inspired novels and movies, while the many faceted reality of the movement has caught the attention of a wide range of scholars in search of case studies of specific phenomena. In recent years the Mahdī has been used as an example of a ‘charismatic’ leader,1 the founder of a religionpolitical party in the ‘third world,’2 the leader of a millenarian revolt,3 an African rebel against alien rule,4 and a Semitic messiah in an African context. Many of these analyses are the constructive products of the changing situation in the world of contemporary historical studies. Each tends to reflect a broader analytical concern aroused by modern developments.

The existing literature on the denial of the Armenian Genocide of 1915 tends to concentrate on either the Turkish state's political practices or civil society's increasing openness to alternative readings of the event. I argue that both approaches reduce denialism to the political practices and defense mechanisms of Turkey by prioritizing the state as the sole agent of genocide denial. Although the state is indeed a dominant actor of denialism, to juxtapose state and society is to overlook the power that rests in the discourse itself and its pervasiveness across different—at times even competing—social and political settings.

This article examines the impact of the Ottoman Empire's battle against legal imperialism on the status of Central Asians in its domains, specifically after the promulgation of a nationality law in 1869 that classified them as foreigners. It traces how the threat of Muslim colonial subjects attaining European consular protections led to the emergence of a “Central Asian protection question”: whether Afghans, Bukharans, and Chinese Muslims had legitimate claims to European legal nationality and, by extension, capitulatory privileges. Through a number of case studies, the article shows how the Ottoman Foreign Ministry fused international legal norms and pan-Islamic claims to arrive at the position that Central Asians from informally colonized lands were not “real” subjects of European empires, and that they were under the exclusive protection of the caliphate. This strategy, I argue, undermined the creation of an Ottoman citizenship boundary and opened up a complex field of inter- and intraimperial contestation about who was a foreigner. In contrast to positive associations with legal pluralism in this period, Central Asian migrants and pilgrims who were protected by the caliph but not recognized as Ottomans or European subjects found that they could not benefit from practices such as forum shopping and affiliation switching. And while the notion of foreignness remained subject to multiple and conflicting interpretations across the empire, I argue that nationality as a legal category was incontrovertibly becoming a defining feature of these foreign Muslims' rights and status in the sultan's domains.

For years, religious violence and terrorism in Middle Eastern countries such as Egypt have splashed across the headlines and surged across the screen, announcing yet another round of senseless death and destruction. While Arabists and Islamicists attempt to pick their way carefully through the ideological and intellectual minefields to make sense of what is happening, the wider public generally disregards their insights and instead sticks to what it knows best: deeply ingrained prejudices and biases. Egyptian, Arab, Muslim—all are painted in a very unfavorable light. Even in Egypt, many bystanders show the same sorry prejudices. In the end, people simply blame the brutality on inexplicable backward religious ideas and then move on.

Periods of cultural florescence seem to coincide with times of political decline far too regularly in the history of medieval Iran and Central Asia for the link between them to be merely incidental. One of the most outstanding examples is the period of the rule of the Turko-Mongol Timurid dynasty in the 9th/15th century, which has been dubbed a “Timurid renaissance” by Western scholars. Another is the period of the political domination of the Buyid dynasty of Dailamite origin in the 4th–5th/10th–11th centuries, which Adam Mez popularized as the “renaissance of Islam.” Still another is the period of the Muzaffarid, Jalayirid, Sarbadarid, and Kartid kingdoms which arose in the 8th/14th century after the fall of the Mongol Ilkhanid empire. Although the appropriateness of the term “renaissance” as applied to the Timurid case in particular has raised reservations among scholars, it does underscore the point that his period was characterized by an extraordinary surge of activity in all areas of cultural and intellectual endeavor, something already noted by its contemporaries.

In this article, I argue that shifting development discourses have shaped the meaning and function of vakıfs (religious endowments) in Turkey since the establishment of the republic in 1923. I identify three periods defined by their distinctive development discourse, and show how each of these discourses made vakıfs into both an object and a site of development. In the etatist discourse of the 1930s, vakıfs were articulated as national treasures tasked with financing state-led economic development. With the shift to a mixed economy discourse in the 1960s, vakıfs were reconfigured as private philanthropic foundations expected to create a skilled labor force. The neoliberal development discourse of the 1980s transformed vakıfs into welfare organizations focused on poverty. This article shows that in all three of these periods, the relationship between state, Islam, economy, and society was articulated, legitimized, and consolidated with reference to a seemingly stagnant but in fact malleable institution inherited from the Ottoman Empire—the vakıf. I refer to this process as the “local production of development,” a conceptualization emphasizing how global discourses of development are formed and transformed at the local level.

The Palestine Group was a loosely connected collection of young anti-Shah activists some of whom were arrested and tried publically in 1970 for the crime of acting against the Pahlavi monarchy and Iran's national security. Their plight became global, receiving support from anticolonial figures such as Jean-Paul Sartre. But while they played an important role in inspiring the revolutionary generation, in the historiography of the 1979 revolution and that of the global south, their story has been mostly forgotten. This article argues for remembering the Palestine Group by focusing on two facets of their prerevolutionary activism: the importance of a connection to the anti-imperial/colonial struggles that spread from “Asia to Africa”; and the centrality of maḥfilī politics (friendship circles) in addition to tashkīlātī (organizational) politics, which the historiography has traditionally emphasized. It demonstrates that as resistance shifted from maḥfil to tashkīlāt, it also shifted from a global struggle where Iran was one node out of many, to a nationalized struggle.

The causes for the mahdi's revolt in Sudan have been fully studied by modern historians and point to economic, social, religious, and administrative short-comings of the sixty-year Turco-Egyptian domination there. As for the timing, one must look attwo factors that together had a decisive influence. First, Egypt's financial difficulties subjected it to increasing European control and, consequently, to the deposition of the Khedive Ismaʿcil in June 1879 and the appointment to the throne of his son Tawfiq, a puppet of the great European powers, thus damaging the prestige of Muhammad ʿAli's dynasty. Further, Cairo was preoccupied throughout 1880–82 by a confrontation between the government and the nationalist movement of the native Egyptian officers in the army, led by Ahmad ʿUrabi, resulting among other things in the lack of a clear policy as regards Sudan. Second, there was the resignation in January 1880 of Colonel Charles Gordon, the governor-general of Sudan, who enjoyed wide political and economic autonomy, and the appointment of Muhammad Raʿuf Pasha, who was subordinated directly to the government in Cairo, as his successor in Khartoum. While Gordon, who had an energetic, enterprising, and authoritative personality, left Sudan in the midst of reforms in almost all fields, Muhammad Raʾuf Pasha had a different nature altogether. He was a mild and gentle ruler whose authority was narrowed by Cairo, where the political state of affairs was turning into chaos.

Foreign currency transactions have come under stringent controls in postrevolutionary Iran. This is a relapse into the prevailing conditions in the years preceding 1974, before the increase in oil revenues eliminated the foreign currency gap. Initially, the Islamic Republic of Iran (IRI) imposed exchange controls to stop the postrevolutionary capital flight. Soon, however, exchange controls became an integral policy instrument of the government for rationing the existing supply of foreign currency in the face of a widening foreign exchange gap.

The Islamic fundamentalist doctrine on riba states that the rate of interest is zero, a doctrine based upon the Quranic injunctions against it. The word ‘riba’ means ‘increase’ as interpreted by Imam Razi, which corresponds to the word ‘interest’ as defined by Webster's New World Dictionary. In both cases the increase refers to the amount beyond what is owed. Thus, the strictest interpretation that can be given to the word riba is that it means interest—an amount, or rate, due above the principal of a loan. The word riba, however, is commonly translated as usury which is defined by Webster's Dictionary as “an excessive or unlawfully high rate or amount of interest.” Thus, the fundamental aspect of the controversy about the doctrine of interest in Islam is whether the rate of interest is zero, in which case riba is interpreted to mean interest per se, or whether a positive rate of interest is permissible, in which case nba is interpreted to mean usury.

This article explores the “fundamentalist dilemma,” or how fundamentalist movements participate in secular political systems, especially when they gain prominent political positions that allow them to impose their extreme ideology on the entire society. After analyzing prevailing responses to this dilemma, ranging from political integration to aggressive takeover, the article turns to the case of Israeli Haredim. It explores three models of political integration through which Haredim have applied religious practices in the public sphere: protest, consolidation, and takeover. The study's main finding is that, opposite to a commonly accepted assumption that fundamentalists’ integration into secular politics causes them to moderate, the more political power that fundamentalists accrue the stronger is their tendency to promote their religious agenda. Yet the Israeli Haredi case also reveals the limitations of this tendency: fundamentalists often restrain their expansionist instinct when having to take nonfundamentalist reactions into consideration.

Know from where you come and where you are going. (Akavya Ben-Mahalalel, Avot, 3)

It has been argued that the difference between liberal democracies and theocratic, communist, or fascist states is not that liberal states promote different ideals of the good, but that they promote none. Whereas illiberal states regard it as a primary function of the state to prescribe the moral character of society, liberal states shun such attempts and allow freedom to citizens to develop their own conceptions. Liberals hold that governments cannot use as their justification for any action the fact that one person's plan of life is more or less worthy than that of another. Since many people believe in more than one objective “correct” set of values, every person should enjoy the freedom to arrive at her own conception of the good. By “conception of the good” is meant a more or less determinate scheme of ends that the doer aspires to carry out for their own sake as well as of attachments to other individuals and loyalties to various groups and associations. It involves a mixture of moral, philosophical, ideological, and religious notions, together with personal values that contain some picture of a worthy life.

Although the Western model of education has spread worldwide, traditional Islamic education continues to have a strong influence in Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. This article seeks to determine the reason it remains such a vital part of village life in the commune of Bounaamane, located in Morocco's southern Souss valley. Why do so many children attend Qurʾanic schools, even though modern education is available? Because standard sociological methodologies, with their surveys and statistical analyses, were not viable in this social and cultural setting, I approached the problem by using ethnographic and case-study methods. I will first present an overview of traditional Qurʾanic education and then try to explain the low-enrollment rates in modern schools and the relative popularity of traditional Qurʿanic ones in terms of economic factors and culture. We can better understand the continuity of traditional Islamic education if we see it as being closely bound to the popular understanding of Islam. In this respect, the most important elements are the role of the Qurʾanic teacher in the community and the discipline and punishment involved in the course of Qurʾanic training that socialize children into the accepted Islamic code of conduct.