In this article we present a threefold argument—chronological, geographical, and sociocultural—in order to demonstrate that interest in the woman question and the lively, and at times charged, debate that it stimulated began in Greater Syria in the early nahḍa (awakening) period and persisted throughout, drawing into its orbit leading intellectuals as well as members of the general public and permeating even peripheral areas of Greater Syria. The study is based on an analysis of Hadiqat al-Akhbar, Al-Jinan, Al-Muqtataf, Thamarat al-Funun, and Al-Hilal, whose articles, editorials, regular columns, op-ed items, and readers' letters provide a sense of the breadth, richness, coherence, and continuity of the debate and its accompanying “community of discourse.” We conclude with a consideration of the ramifications of the argument on future understandings of the nahḍa as a sociocultural phenomenon and on the study of the place of women in modern Arab societies.

The Soviet Union's collapse and the end of the Cold War have been accompanied by a declining interest in Marxian-inspired theories of political economy in the study of core–periphery relations. Concepts such as dependency and imperialism have been replaced by market forces and structural adjustment. Similarly, post-modernism's impact has been to erode interest in historical theories, especially those with a teleological bent. Thus, Robert Tignor's study, Capitalism and Nationalism at the End of Empire, is refreshing in raising issues that have not been central to the recent intellectual agenda in the study of non-Western societies.

A central question of economic history since the 19th century has been why capitalist development (often identified with modern transformation) took place in western Europe and not in other parts of the world, notably, in China and Islamic lands, which experienced commercial expansion and the beginnings of industrial development. Diverging patterns of institutional change in the West and elsewhere, representing divergent responses to changing conditions of trade and production, have attracted historians’ attention especially at moments of dramatic institutional shifts such as those of the 19th century. These moments coincided with the establishment of the hegemony of one region over others. With respect to the Ottoman Empire, Islam and its institutional deficiencies—most notably, of its law—have been invoked as explanations for the region's inability to achieve modern economic development. Scholars have portrayed a pragmatist state culture as responsible for the empire's longevity, while the same scholars also held that culture responsible for impeding liberal market development by allowing intensive state intervention in the economy.

The year 1929 was a particularly disruptive period for the city of Kabul (perhaps the only comparable time was when the mujahedin fought over it in the 1990s). In January of that year, under pressure from a band of Tajik rebels who entered Kabul almost unopposed, the ruler of Afghanistan, Amir Aman Allah, abdicated his throne and fled the capital. The man who occupied his office was a former soldier-turned-highwayman from the village of Kalakân some twenty miles north of Kabul. He was named Habib Allah (and is so called throughout the work under review), but he is better remembered by the epithet “Bacha-i Saqqaw,” or “Water Carrier's Son,” his father having once served in that role for the military. A Tajik, he was the first non-Pushtun to occupy the throne since the birth of Afghanistan in the 18th century. He would hold it for only nine months.

After the establishment of the State of Israel, the Zionist narrative dominated the histories and historiographies of Middle Eastern and North African Jewries. Accordingly, Jews and Arabs were largely kept as distinct binaries divided by the intellectual walls that separated Middle East studies and Jewish studies programs. Local North African and Middle Eastern scholars also silenced or overlooked the Jewish dimension of Middle Eastern societies in the same manner that Israeli scholars ignored the historical connections between Arabs and Jews that existed both before and after 1948. The exclusive, sacred yet ebbing, nationalist paradigm has been plagued with historiographical fissures in recent decades, allowing a new wave of intellectual engagement by a young generation of Jewish and Muslim scholars who began to put the Jew and the Arab back into local and global histories formed through complex social, cultural, economic, and political networks.

Forced migration has come to be the defining feature of the contemporary Middle East, a region that is both the source of and host to some of the largest forcibly displaced populations in the world. In 2015, 65 percent of the world's 19.4 million refugees—including the 5.5 million Palestinian refugees—as well as 30 percent of the world's thirty-eight million internally displaced persons were in the Middle East, while one out of every four refugees worldwide was from Syria. Seeking security and stability, millions of people from the region are on the move within and across social spaces that are at once strange and familiar, and in which they themselves are familiar and strange to others. In 2015, Turkey became host to the world's largest refugee population of over two million, while Zaʿatari camp in Jordan has grown rapidly to become one of the world's largest camps since the Syrian civil war began. With 7.6 million people—or 35 percent of the population—internally displaced, Syria now has the highest number of internally displaced persons in the world. Iraq has produced multiple overlapping displacements, resulting in one of the largest refugee resettlement programs of the past decade. Thousands of Syrians, Libyans, and Iraqis have undertaken perilous journeys across the Mediterranean Sea to seek asylum in Europe and elsewhere. Palestinian refugees are now in a fourth generation of exile, making their plight the longest running unresolved refugee situation in the world.

This book is a most welcome addition to the literature on Russian–Israeli relations. Although Yaacov Ro⊃i, in his study Soviet Decision Making in Practice: The USSR and Israel 1947–1954 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Books, 1980), covered the 1947–53 period thoroughly, and although there is an extensive body of literature on Russian policy toward Israel (and the rest of the Middle East) after the 1967 war, a gap has existed for many years in the scholarly coverage of Russian–Israeli relations from the death of Stalin in March 1953 until the June 1967 Six Day War. Yosef Govrin, a retired Israeli Foreign Office official who specialized in relations with the USSR, has gone a long way toward filling this gap. Having the advantage of access to the Israeli archives and internal political debates, Govrin presents a balanced picture of the Soviet–Israeli relationship, pointing out where, in his opinion, both Israel and the USSR made mistakes in developing their ties. He also goes into great detail on the question of Soviet Jewry (more than half of the book), noting how Israel's efforts to get the Soviet government to allow Jews to emigrate to Israel was a serious complicating factor in the relationship, although the primary cause for the USSR's breaking of diplomatic relations with Israel in June 1967 (Govrin was first secretary of the Israeli embassy in Moscow at the time) stemmed from Moscow's backing of the radical Ba⊃athist regime in Syria, which helped precipitate the 1967 war.

I thank Professor Nikki R. Keddie for her constructive critique and am using this opportunity to clarify a few points. First, let me reiterate that I do not consider statist approaches to be “wrong,” but “one-sided,” and that I am not calling for their disposal but for “trying out new sources and perspectives then fusing them with state-centered perspectives into a broader panorama of Pahlavi Iran” (pp. 38–39). I see neither “sins” nor “an ongoing struggle between ‘statists’ and ‘antistatists.’” Such language would undercut a productive debate now and disregard the fact that in the long run—as some excesses of the cultural turn in the 1980s and many historians' subsequent search for new historiographic syntheses demonstrate—the pendulum always swings back.

Compared to its neighboring countries, Afghanistan remains something of a blank on the historiographical map. Falling between Middle Eastern, South Asian, and Central Asian fields of expertise, it is in many respects the last great unclaimed territory of historical studies, not so much competed over as ignored by scholars trained in these areas. Despite a rich burst of scholarship in the 1960s, and the efforts of a small but distinguished cadre of scholars since then, Afghan history has neither truly developed as a historical field in its own right nor been successfully absorbed into the study of any of its adjacent regions. This is not to deny that Afghanistan has received some expert (and inexpert) attention since the U.S.-led intervention in late 2001: several important analytical works stand out among the shelves of other, more or less hastily written, books of the past decade. But anthropologists and political scientists have led the way; historians’ interventions in this burgeoning literature have been few. Of the three most significant books on Afghan history published since 2001, two deal with Afghanistan in relation to colonial India, and the other is a survey work written by an anthropologist (albeit benefiting from the analytical cross-fertilization).

Asma Barlas's objective in this book is to uncover the essentially egalitarian message of the Qurءan by defining the best methodology for reading the Qurءan and by applying this methodology to better understand its message concerning the ontological and social status of women. In Part I, she draws on the work of previous scholars to fashion a critique of interpretations that conflate the Qurءan with secondary texts such as a hadith and tafsīr, texts she views as instrumental in the incorporation of misogynist beliefs and customs into Islam. She calls for a reaffirmation of the primacy of the Qurءanic text but read in a new way—holistically and as a historically situated text. A Muslim who does not question the divine origin of the Qurءan, Barlas insists on the individual responsibility of its readers correctly to uncover its meanings through the use of their intellects, using the tool of ijtihād rather than the blind acceptance of traditional interpretations.

Scholars have long struggled with various and even conflicting historical narratives and definitions of Salafism (al-salafiyya), but a closer look at the history of the concept itself—rather than of the ideas for which it stands—goes a long way toward explaining the perennial confusion that has typified this religious orientation. This article examines the production of knowledge about Salafism as a conceptual construct and a typological category. It argues that although Salafi epithets have existed since the medieval period, they did not start referring to a religious concept known as salafiyya until the 1920s. By the same token, the widely accepted idea that salafiyya referred to an Islamic modernist movement in the late 19th and early 20th centuries is a historical fiction that originates with Louis Massignon. The history of Cairo's Salafiyya Press and Bookstore, however, sheds important light on the process by which the construction of Salafism took place.

The first twelve months following the arrival of the American Protestant missionaries to the shores of Syria, the eastern Mediterranean haven of religious dissidence, constituted the “bright spring time of the mission” as one observer put it. Soon thereafter in 1824 the ecclesiastical authorities of the Maronites, “Romanists”, and Uniat Meichites awoke to the danger threatening them and began to resent their presence. The reason for the short honeymoon is not difficult to perceive: when the missionaries took stock of the situation it soon dawned upon them that they could function in one of two ways, “either silently in the bosom of native churches to revive religion or attempt a reformation of rites and ceremonies”. They chose the second course, and the end result was both hostility to their activities and a feeble Protestant community at best, unable to survive without outside protection and support.

Bandali al-Jawzi (1871–1943) has been regaining popularity recently, particularly among his native Palestinians and Muslim nationalists of his adopted home, the Soviet Union. In 1977, for instance, the Union of Palestinian Journalists and Writers, in cooperation with the Oriental Institute of the Soviet Academy of Sciences, commemorated Jawzi as an outstanding Palestinian author. At that time a collection of various of his articles on the Arabic language and history was published in Beirut, as well as an edition of his only book, Min Tārīkh al-Harakāt al-Fikriyyat fi'l-Islām (The History of Intellectual Movements in Islam), first published in 1928. It is this recent exposure which was to take its rightful place in Islamic intellectual history.