It is a strange interaction that occurs between Muslim and Copt in the passage above, which was written in the 11th century and set in the 10th century. What might be proven by such a debate over a dog's religion? What is more, why record such an incident in a church-sanctioned history? Because the dog cannot speak, there must be another way to know whether it is Christian or Muslim (for those are the only two possibilities in the story). In the end it is through the dog's ritual practice—drinking wine or eating meat or not drinking wine or not eating meat—rather than through the dog's outward proclamation of religious affiliation that the Copt and the Muslim come to an agreement about what distinguishes one from the other. Ritual practice, action such as abstinence from meat or alcohol that demonstrates adherence to particular religious ideas, distinguishes Copt from Muslim even in the absence of a shared spoken language to communicate that difference. Copts and Muslims in Egypt, the story teaches, are different, and they may be distinguished even by something as minor as their food and drink.

This paper examines the relatively neglected rural history of Syria. It concentrates on the Hauran, a dry-farming region of hills and plains south of the Damascene oasis between the northern Jordan's tributaries and the eastern desert. Although the Hauran is today no longer a region of primary economic importance to Syria as it once was, it is of historical interest because it was the very first of greater Syria's outlying rural zones to be integrated into the developing modern Middle Eastern economy.

The Hauran is, moreover, of comparative interest because it held a position in Syria's political economy then which bears many resemblances to the positions held by younger hinterland regions now. The parallels between the situation of the Hauran then and the Syrian north and northeast now, for example, are indeed many.

This article explores the role of the ʿulamaʾ in shaping the use of mechanical timepieces in Cairo in the 18th and 19th centuries. Ottoman interest in new technologies in this period is often understood in relation to the emergence of modernization projects and new scientifically trained actors, with a corresponding decline in the status of the ʿulamaʾ. However, the vogue of mechanical timepieces in Cairo allowed ʿulamaʾ trained in the very old tradition of mīqāt (astronomical timekeeping) to make their knowledge speak in new ways to new audiences. Based on several manuals and tables that such scholars wrote “on the position of the watch hand,” this article shows how ʿulamaʾ not only facilitated distinctively Ottoman timekeeping conventions, but also furthered an understanding of watches as instruments of precision. The article builds on a growing literature on Ottoman temporality, while expanding our historical view of ʿulamaʾ and their authority, of the material culture of Cairo, and of science and technology in an Islamic context.

The last few decades have seen a rise in the number of studies on Christian missions. These studies are located within a wide range of fields and are written from different perspectives. They tend to abide by national boundaries and to focus on mission organizations and missionaries, not least because of the availability of source material in Western languages. Recent historiography on Christian missions to the Middle East, however, has seen a profound change in approach, methodology, and sources. We can locate three main shifts: a national to a transnational approach, a reevaluation of local agency, and a new emphasis on unintended consequences.

This article examines the rise and fall of the Malhamé family at the court of Abdülhamit II. The point of departure is the flight and arrest of six Malhamé brothers and the accompanying outbursts of popular anger at them during the Young Turk Revolution of 1908. The analysis locates the historical conditions that made the Malhamé phenomenon possible in the interstices between Levantine society, late Ottoman bureaucracy, and European diplomacy and capitalist expansion. In order to bring into conversation the hitherto unconnected literatures on the Levant and the Ottoman state, the Malhamé story is framed in the analytical concept of transimperialism. This concept shares affinities with wider transnational studies. But it is also grounded in the specific political, economic, and social processes of the Levant—both within the Ottoman Empire and among it and its British, French, German, and Italian imperial rivals at the height of the “Eastern Question.”

In August 1915, in the midst of World War I, a young Muslim resident of Jerusalem wrote the following in his diary:

First-time European and American visitors to the United Arab Emirates, where I live, are often surprised by the prevalence of heritage villages, festivals, and sports in hypermodern Abu Dhabi and Dubai. “Heritage” in the Arab Gulf, as elsewhere in the Middle East, is a central and growing industry, attracting the attention of scholars as well as investors and tourists. At the same time, much of the region's—and the world's—invaluable cultural heritage has been and continues to be obliterated by insurgents and governments alike. Spectacular assaults on historical sites, cultural institutions, and symbols of cultural-religious diversity in Afghanistan, Egypt, Iraq, Libya, Mali, Saudi Arabia, Tunisia, and Yemen demonstrate that the “new wars” of the 21st century are being fought on the terrain of cultural heritage as much as they are over other precious resources. And yet, the interconnections between this heritage construction and destruction remain underexplored. In much of the scholarship produced in the burgeoning field of critical heritage studies, the duplexity of these processes is ignored. Instead, most edited volumes and “global” analyses of the field look to the Middle East and other Muslim-majority nations only in so far as they present case studies of heritage destruction—the bombing of the Bamyan Buddhas in Afghanistan and the looting of the National Museum of Iraq being iconic examples.

In 1975, the world-famous novelist Yaşar Kemal (1923–2015) undertook a series of journalistic interviews with street children in Istanbul. The series, entitled “Children Are Human” (Çocuklar İnsandır), reflects the author's rebellious attitude as well as the revolutionary spirit of hope in the 1970s in Turkey. Kemal's ethnographic fieldwork with street children criticized the demotion of children to a less-than-human status when present among adults. He approached children's rights from a human rights angle, stressing the humanity of children and that children's rights are human rights. The methodological contribution of this research to the history of children and youth is its engagement with ethnography as historical source. His research provided children the opportunity to express their political subjectivities and their understanding of the major political questions of the time, specifically those of social justice, (in)equality, poverty, and ethnic violence encountered in their everyday interactions with politics in the country. Yaşar Kemal's fieldwork notes and transcribed interviews also bring to light immense injustices within an intersectional framework of age, class, ethnicity, and gender. The author emphasizes that children's political agency and their political protest is deeply rooted in their subordination and misery, but also in their dreams and hopes. Situating Yaşar Kemal's “Children Are Human” in the context of the 1970s in Turkey, I hope to contribute to childhood studies with regard to the political agency of children as well as to the history of public intellectuals and newspapers in Turkey and to progressive representations of urban marginalization.

Few Western students of the Arab world are as well known as the 19th-century British scholar Edward William Lane (1801–76). During his long career, Lane produced a number of highly influential works: An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians (1836), a translation of The Thousand and One Nights (1839–41), Selections from the Ḳur-án (1843), and the Arabic–English Lexicon (1863–93). The Arabic–English Lexicon remains a pre-eminent work of its kind, and Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians is still a basic text for both Arab and Western students. Through his published work, Lane contributed substantially to the prevailing Western picture of the Arab world.

The recent crisis in Turkey has been described primarily as a political crisis caused by an unworkable political system under attack from organized terrorism from both the right and the left. While this may be valid as an immediate cause, there are some structural and ideological contradictions in the Turkish economic system which must also be highlighted. These contradictions have evolved gradually over the last half century in the course of Turkey's efforts to achieve industrial and economic growth. They have been exacerbated in particular by a process of lopsided industrialization after 1960 which, as in most other developing countries, has resulted in increased poverty and unemployment while achieving overall growth rates of 6 percent or better.

An increased awareness of the activities of Orientalists has occurred in recent years due to the publication of Edward Said's Orientalism. However, as most students and scholars who study the East know, Said's work is only one of the more recent discussions of this subject. Others who have critiqued Orientalists and Orientalism include A. L. Tibawi and Abdallah Laroui, and, at an earlier time, Jamāl al-Dīn “al-Afghānī” and Muḥammad Abduh. Western Orientalists have even been engaged in evaluating the work of other Orientalists, and even critiquing the critics; for example, J.-J. Waardenburg, D. P. Little, and the participants in the recent Giorgio Levi Della Vida Biennal Conference.

The Arab region is generally thought of as wealthy, being the recipient of a large income from oil. In reality, oil wealth is confined to a small minority of states and peoples; most of the region's population are poor.

This paper discusses the employment pattern and future problems of the six poorest countries of the Arab region: Syria, Jordan, Sudan, South Yemen (Peoples' Democratic Republic of Yemen), Egypt, and North Yemen (Yemen Arab Republic).

Professional attorneyship emerged in the Ottoman Empire in tandem with the consolidation of the Nizamiye (“regular”) court system during the late 19th century. This article analyzes the emergence of an Ottoman legal profession, emphasizing two developments. First, the Nizamiye courts advanced a formalist legal culture, exhibited, inter alia, by the expansion of legal procedure. Whereas the pre-19th century court of law was highly accessible to lay litigants, the proceduralization of court proceedings in the 19th century limited the legibility of the judicial experience to legal experts, rendering legal counseling almost indispensible in civil and criminal litigation. Second, the reformers made efforts to render state-granted legal license a sign of professional competence, presenting a formal distinction between the old “agents” (vekils), who lacked formal legal training, and the professional “trial attorneys” (dava vekils). In practice, however, lawyers of both categories had to adapt to the Nizamiye formalist culture.

Revolutions are by nature unpredictable and unsettling. That the wave of revolutions in North Africa and the Arab Middle East began so unexpectedly and spread with such speed, leading to the fall of the governments of Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya, has added to the concern regarding the “new order” that is to come after the initial euphoria. From the outset, the fear has been that these revolutions will follow the same trajectory as Iran did in 1979—in other words, that they will marginalize those who launched the revolutions and provide the grounds for the rise to power of the most savvy, purposeful, and best organized of the opposition groups, namely, the Islamists. Yet when one considers the recent uprisings in the Arab world through the prism of Iran's experiences in 1979, the parallels are not so evident. Mindful of the variations and distinctions between each of the revolutions in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya, it would appear that in broad terms, and beyond superficial similarities, there is little in common between the events of Iran in 1979 and what has happened in the past year in the Arab world.

The foundation of Abu ʿAbd Allah's movement was that which God Almighty had ordained concerning the victory of His friends' cause, the strengthening of His True Religion and the exaltation of His Word. Abu ʿAbd Allah al-Shiʿi was an Ismaʿili dāʿĪ and the architect of the Fatimid revolution in North Africa. Mobilizing support among the Kutama Berbers, he was able ultimately to overthrow the Aghlabid house and proclaim ʿAbd Allah as the Mahdi and first Fatimid imam in 909.1 Our primary source for Abu ʿAbd Allah's career is al-Qadi al-Nuʿman's Kitāb iftitāḥ al-daʿwa, completed in 957.2 As the official account of the Fatimid rise to power, it is an excellent source for understanding the ideology and propagands of the North African phase of the Fatimid daʿwa. Although the Iftitāḥ is not devoted explicitly to religious/theological questions in the manner of al-Qudi al-Nuʿ man's other writings, an attempt to establish the historical validity of the Fatimid claim to the imamate is implicit throughout the work.The Iftitah is a text of religious significance precisely because it is a historical account of God's action through His human agents to restore the original Islamic community of the Prophet and a righteous political order governed according to God's will, a theme not uncommon in medieval Islam and one to which we shall return later in our discussion. The Iftitah is thus a superb document for ascertaining the Fatimids' perceptions of themselves and how they wanted to appear to a literate audience. Marius Canard, Farhat Dachraoui, and Tilman Nagel have discussed these subjects thoroughly in several works dealing with the Fatimids' North African propaganda.3 My intent here is not to discuss the specific vocabulary of Abu cAbd Allah's daFwa anew, but rather the environment which Abu cAbd Allah proclaimed his "summons to the truth," an environment which enabled him, both by accident and by design, to pattern his career after that of the Prophet.

Throughout the nineteenth century, the cities on the southern and eastern shores of the Mediterranean, Tunis, Alexandria, Beirut, Smyrna, and Istanbul among them, experienced an influx of foreign communities which, combined with an increase in the indigenous populations and new urban policies on the part of certain rulers, tended to disrupt customary patterns of urban relationships. Although the scholarship of recent years has provided a new awareness of the network of interrelationships which held together the segments of medieval Islamic urban society, studies on the nineteenth-century changes in those relationships as represented by the policies of Muhammad ῾Alī, Aḥmad Bey, and the Ottoman Tanzimat reformers, have tended to focus more on aspects of state and government than on cities as such. Yet cities, especially capital cities, reflect most intensely periods of social and institutional transition.

The 19 August 1953 toppling of Muhammad Musaddiq's government in Iran was an important historical event from various perspectives, many of which are being discussed by Middle East observers to this date. First, it was the first covert post-World War II operation by the U.S. government, in cooperation with Britain, to topple the constitutional government of a sovereign nation. Operation AJAX, as the coup d'état came to be called by the CIA, was implemented at the height of the Cold War, and as such was accompanied by many familiar justifications. The most important of these were the improbability of any resolution to the oil-nationalization crisis between Iran and Britain as long as Musaddiq remained in power and the communist threat posed by the Tudeh Party of Iran and its Soviet sponsor.1 The long-term consequence of this intervention can partially explain the 1979 revolution in Iran and the ongoing crisis in Iran–U.S. relations.

In this paper we focus on the Republican Mosque in Derinkuyu, Turkey, a Greek Orthodox church built in 1859 and transformed into a mosque in 1949 that still exhibits many obviously Christian structural features not found in most such converted churches. We utilize the concept of religioscape, defined as the distribution in spaces through time of the physical manifestations of specific religious traditions and of the populations that build them, to analyze the historical transformations of the building, and show that this incongruity marks a specific stage in the long-term competitive sharing of space by the two religiously defined communities concerned. This shared but contested space is larger than that of the building or even the town of Derinkuyu. We argue that syncretism without sharing correlates with a lack of need to show dominance symbolically, since the community that had lost the sacred building had been displaced as a group, and was no longer present to be impressed or intimidated.

While I was working on my Ph.D. thesis on Ikhwan in the Sudan,1 a Sudanese colleague of mine working in a related area used to joke that we have all become “Orientalists.” There was a certain sense of irony—and truth—in this “accusation.” Our endeavor was either the negation and supersession of Orientalism, or its final triumph. For here we are, fiery Islamic militants, squatting meekly and dutifully at the feet of our Orientalist sheikhs, hoping to drink at their hands the cup of knowledge on which we had simultaneously turned our backs. Is this conceding defeat or starting an invasion?

New evidence, culled from the Nablus advisory council (majlis al-shūrā) records and based on an actual Ottoman population count taken in December 1849, indicates that the city's population at that time numbered at least 20,000 people, more than twice the frequently cited figure of 8,000–9,000. This revision raises serious doubts about the veracity of hitherto commonly accepted population figures, most of them based on contemporary estimates by Western observers, for the various regions of Palestine during the first three-quarters of the 19th century. Moreover, when compared to available data for Nablus from the 16th and the late 19th centuries, it seems that the pattern of Nablus's demographic development differs from what the proponents of Ottoman decline and modernization theses have argued.2 Instead of decreasing during the so-called dark ages of Ottoman decline in the 17th and 18th centuries, Nablus's population increased significantly; and instead of growing robustly during the so-called period of modernization in the second half of the 19th century, it appears to have leveled off.