An Honest Conversation: On Prophecy, Politics, and Interpretation in a World on Fire

By V.A. Mohamad Ashrof, New Age Islam 4 August 2025 In the world of ideas, a thoughtful critic is a gift. The true work of understanding our world is not about shouting from a hilltop, certain of your own truth; it’s a conversation, a dialogue strengthened by those who challenge us to think harder and see clearer. It is with this sense of deep gratitude that I thank my brother, Naseer Ahmed, for his sharp and insightful response to my article, “An Analysis of Wahhabi and Salafi Anti-Semitic Views as Recorded in Major English Works and Tafsirs.” His critique didn’t just challenge my paper; it blew the doors open, inviting a richer, more complex exploration of the issues. It forces a reckoning with my own methods, a deeper dive into the tangled history of religious stories, and a frank look at how theology is shaped by the brute force of politics. This paper, therefore, is not a stubborn defence of my original work. Think of it as the next chapter in a vital conversation, an attempt to build a stronger argument by weaving in the crucial points Naseer Ahmed raised. My initial paper had a very specific, almost surgical, goal. I wanted to perform an internal critique, to look under the hood of a particular way of thinking common in some Wahhabi and Salafi circles that consistently produces anti-Semitic readings of Islamic texts. I argued that this method—marked by a rigid literalism, a habit of ripping verses from their historical context, and a dangerous tendency to mix classical scripture with modern political anger—was a betrayal of Islam’s own rich intellectual and ethical traditions. My focus was narrow by design, like a doctor diagnosing a specific illness within a community. Naseer Ahmed, with keen insight, showed me the limits of that narrow focus. He pointed to three blind spots in my analysis: first, the problem of my sources, particularly my use of the Middle East Media Research Institute (MEMRI); second, the massive, often overlooked question of Christian influence on Islamic beliefs about the End Times; and third, my failure to fully grapple with the geopolitical reality of the conflict, from the historical dreams of Zionism to the stunning political shifts we see today. This response will tackle each of these points, not as separate issues to be conceded, but as essential pieces of a larger, more honest picture. In doing so, I hope to show that while Naseer Ahmed’s critiques are right and necessary, they ultimately reinforce my central argument: the problem of anti-Semitism in parts of the modern Muslim world is, at its heart, a crisis of interpretation—a crisis that we must confront with unflinching honesty. The Tainted Source: Can You Separate the Message from the Messenger? Let’s get this out of the way first: Naseer Ahmed’s critique of my use of MEMRI is spot-on, both methodologically and ethically. He correctly flags the organization’s well-known Zionist leanings and its biased approach to information. MEMRI has a clear pattern: it selectively finds, translates, and blasts out the most hateful and extreme voices from the Arab and Muslim world, while conveniently ignoring similar extremism in Israeli society or the violent rhetoric of its far-right settler movement. This is not a secret. Scholars like Norman Finkelstein have shown how this selective outrage serves a political purpose, aiming to “portray the Arab world as a hotbed of fanaticism” to justify aggressive Israeli policies (Finkelstein, p.145). To have used this source without fully acknowledging its agenda was a scholarly oversight. I accept his call to “apply greater critical scrutiny to his sources and analysis” without reservation; it’s the bedrock of intellectual integrity. However, and this is a crucial distinction, a biased messenger doesn’t automatically mean the message is false. We must separate the source from the text. While MEMRI’s framing is deeply political, the video clips of sermons or the translations of religious rulings it provides are often verifiable primary documents. My goal was never to co-sign MEMRI’s political project, but to use its archives as a window into a public discourse that is hard for non-Arabic speakers to access. The hateful interpretations I analysed—preached by figures like Saleh Al-Fawzan (1935-) or spread on popular Salafi TV channels—are real. They can be independently found and verified in their original Arabic. The infamous Gharqad tree hadith, used as a literal prophecy to justify killing Jews, is not a MEMRI fabrication; it is a depressingly common feature of extremist sermons that originate from within these movements. Still, Naseer Ahmed’s point is bigger than a single verifiable quote. It’s about the distorting effect of relying on such a compromised source. By drawing from MEMRI’s well, you risk becoming an unwitting partner in its agenda, amplifying the very extremism it wants the world to see while making the vast majority of moderate and thoughtful Muslim voices invisible. For future work, a better, more ethical approach is needed. This means sourcing materials from multiple places: academic institutions, non-partisan research groups, and a wide range of Arab and Muslim media outlets to paint a fuller, more balanced picture. His critique is a vital reminder that our work isn’t just about getting the facts right; it’s about the ethics of how we gather and present those facts. Acknowledging MEMRI’s bias is step one; actively finding better, cleaner sources is the necessary step two to ensure our critique stays focused on the real problem—in this case, Salafi interpretation—without becoming a pawn in someone else’s information war. Borrowed Prophecies: Is ‘Islamic’ End-Times Theology Truly Islamic? This is where Naseer Ahmed’s critique gets truly fascinating, digging into the very roots of what we call “Islamic” eschatology—the study of the End Times. He observes that “much of what is labelled as ‘Islamic’ eschatology is in fact a reactive or adapted form of Christian eschatology.” This single insight is a game-changer. It forces us to ask a tough question: what in our tradition is truly from God, and what is a later cultural or theological import? As Naseer Ahmed correctly states, in Islam, authentic divine revelation is “confined strictly to what was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad and preserved in the Quran.” When we hold our traditions to that high standard, much of the dramatic, highly detailed apocalyptic literature that fuels modern Salafi anti-Semitism starts to look like it’s built on sand. The Quran, while powerfully affirming the reality of a Final Judgment (Yawm al-Qiyamah), is surprisingly reserved about the specific details. It speaks of the earth shaking, of moral reckoning, and of God’s ultimate justice, but it doesn’t give us a screenplay for the end of the world, complete with a cast of characters like the Dajjal (a figure akin to the Antichrist) or a geopolitical map for the final battle. These elements, which are the lifeblood of the extremist worldview, come almost entirely from the hadith—the massive collections of the Prophet Muhammad’s sayings, compiled centuries after his life. The historical study of hadith shows it was a messy process of collection, transmission, and sometimes, outright invention. Early Islam didn’t grow in a sterile bottle; it blossomed in a Middle East saturated with Jewish and Christian stories, especially the fiery apocalyptic and messianic traditions that were popular at the time. Scholars of early Islam, like Patricia Crone, have shown just how much "cross-pollination" of ideas occurred between the young Muslim community and its neighbours (Crone, p.21-35). This makes it almost certain that many stories, known as Isra’iliyyat (tales from the Children of Israel), were absorbed into Islamic folklore and eventually written down as hadith. The apocalyptic hadith that animates so much anti-Semitism—like the Gharqad tree prophecy, which claims that on Judgment Day, trees and stones will tell Muslims to kill the Jews hiding behind them—bears a striking resemblance to themes in Christian end-times literature. The scholar David Cook, in his book Contemporary Muslim Apocalyptic Literature, documents how motifs like an end-times deceiver (Antichrist/Dajjal), a final world-ending battle, and the return of a saviour figure are common to both traditions, pointing to a shared pool of ancient stories (Cook, p.45-60). Naseer Ahmed’s insight gives us a powerful tool for internal critique. If these apocalyptic scripts aren’t from the Quran but are later borrowings, shaped by the religious rivalries of the medieval world, then the Wahhabi-Salafi insistence on their literal, timeless truth is a catastrophic theological error. It treats historically questionable and possibly foreign stories as if they are the direct word of God. This isn’t about throwing out all hadith, but about using the critical tools that classical Islamic scholars themselves developed—like distinguishing authentic narrations from weak ones, and always using the Quran as the final judge (al-Furqan). Even more brilliantly, Naseer Ahmed suggests we look at Christian Zionism. This powerful political movement, especially in America, uses the exact same hyper-literalist reading of its own holy book. Its followers believe that the gathering of Jews in Israel and the sparking of a massive Middle East war are necessary steps to bring about the Second Coming of Christ. This creates a horrifying symbiotic relationship: you have Islamist extremists reading their texts to predict a final battle against Jews to bring about their messiah, and Christian Zionists reading their texts to support policies that could ignite that very battle to bring about their messiah. Looking at them side-by-side reveals the problem isn't unique to Islam. It’s a feature of a certain kind of politicized, literalist faith that can poison any religion, sacrificing human dignity today for a violent, pre-ordained script of tomorrow. A Story Written in Fire: Why Politics Can’t Be Ignored Religious texts are not read in a quiet, sterile library. They are read in the real world, a world shaped by power, memory, and fear. Naseer Ahmed correctly takes me to task for not properly framing the Salafi response within the larger political inferno. He highlights two critical factors: the historical ideology of Zionist expansionism and the recent, head-spinning realignment of Middle Eastern alliances. First, he points to the long-held dream within powerful factions of Zionism for a “Greater Israel” (Eretz Israel Hashlema). While never the official policy of the Israeli state, this maximalist vision—which imagines Israeli rule from the Mediterranean Sea to the Jordan River, and sometimes even further—has been a driving force in right-wing Israeli politics and the settler movement for generations. Israeli revisionist historians like Avi Shlaim have painstakingly shown how this expansionist desire has guided pivotal moments in Israel’s history, often sabotaging chances for peace (Shlaim, p.72-85). For millions of Palestinians, Arabs, and Muslims, the daily reality of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, the annexation of East Jerusalem, and the brutal siege of Gaza are not just policies; they are the concrete, bloody proof of this long-term project. My failure to put this front and centre was a major weakness in my original paper. The hateful rhetoric of Salafi preachers doesn't just spring out of a book. It is lit on fire and given a desperate urgency by the lived experience of occupation, humiliation, and perceived colonial assault. The Wahhabi- Salafi preacher who reads a 7th-century Quranic verse about conflict with a specific Jewish tribe in Medina and applies it to the 21st-century state of Israel is able to make that leap precisely because of the ongoing political reality. This does not excuse the evil slide from political anti-Zionism into racist, religious anti-Semitism—that is a profound moral and theological failure. But, as the great scholar Edward Said argued, it is intellectually fraudulent to analyse the "discourse of the other" without also analysing the systems of power and dispossession that discourse is responding to (Said, p.5-9). A complete picture must admit that the Salafi interpretation, while theologically broken, is also a reaction, feeding on a very real and raw sense of injustice. Naseer Ahmed’s second point, about the new strategic map of the region—especially Saudi Arabia’s warming ties with Israel—adds another layer of mind-bending complexity. This quiet normalization, driven by a mutual hatred of Iran and a pragmatic hunger for trade and technology, is an earthquake. It shatters the old, simple image of a unified “Arab-Muslim world” locked in eternal struggle with Israel. It exposes a deep canyon between the cold, calculated moves of governments and the fiery ideology of the religious movements they once funded. This split makes the critique of Wahhabi-Salafi ideology more urgent, not less. While the Saudi state may be pivoting to pragmatism, the global Salafi networks—in Egypt, Pakistan, Jordan, and Western cities—are still pushing the same old anti-Semitic and anti-Zionist message. This ideology is now unmoored from its original state sponsor; it has a life of its own. It continues to inspire extremist groups, radicalize young people, and shape the worldview of millions. Understanding this divorce between state and ideology is crucial. The problem is no longer just state propaganda; it’s a deeply embedded, global ideology that now opposes not only interfaith peace but also the foreign policy of its own country of origin. The Way Forward: A Two-Front War for the Soul of a Faith Naseer Ahmed’s critique has been an indispensable gift, pushing this entire analysis to be more rigorous, historically grounded, and politically aware. When we put all these pieces together, a clearer picture emerges. The anti-Semitic way of reading texts found in Wahhabi and Salafi thought is a complex tragedy, born at the intersection of several powerful forces: a broken interpretive method that chooses literalism over ethics; a reliance on apocalyptic stories of questionable authenticity and foreign origin; and a reactive anger fuelled by the real, ongoing trauma of Israeli expansionism and Palestinian suffering. Yet, even as we acknowledge these powerful external forces, I must return to the core argument of my first paper. The existence of a political fire does not excuse the choice to respond by pouring theological gasoline on it. The decision to interpret sacred texts in a way that dehumanizes, demonizes, and calls for violence against an entire group of people is a hermeneutical choice. It is not the only choice. As brilliant scholars like Khaled Abou El Fadl have argued, the Islamic tradition is overflowing with other ways of reading—ways rooted in ethics, reason, and the Quran’s highest principles of justice (adl), compassion (Rahmah), and the sacred dignity of every human being (Abou El Fadl, p.201-215). These traditions prioritize context, purpose, and morality over a blind, rigid literalism. The very fact that these ethical interpretations exist and are championed by leading scholars proves that the Wahhabi-Salafi method is a narrow and distorted reading, not the one true voice of Islam. The path forward, then, requires us to fight a war on two fronts. It demands that we, as Muslims and as scholars, engage in a fearless and honest internal battle, challenging the theological poison of extremist interpretations and championing an Islam of ethics and intellect. At the same time, it demands that our critique be intellectually honest enough to place these internal problems in their full, painful context. This means we must condemn the anti-Semitism of a preacher in Riyadh while also condemning the policies of occupation and apartheid, documented by organizations like B’Tselem and Human Rights Watch, that create the very despair in which such extremism thrives. This isn’t "whataboutism." It is intellectual integrity. It is the simple recognition that ideas and actions are locked in a dance. Naseer Ahmed’s intervention has made this truth sharper and more urgent. I thank him for his intellectual generosity and for elevating this conversation. It is only through this kind of sincere, critical engagement—looking both inward at our flaws and outward at the world’s injustices—that we can hope to dismantle the twin cancers of religious extremism and political oppression, and start building a future based not on violent prophecy, but on shared justice and human respect. Bibliography Abou El Fadl, Khaled. The Great Theft: Wrestling Islam from the Extremists. New York: HarperOne, 2007. Cook, David. Contemporary Muslim Apocalyptic Literature. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2005. Crone, Patricia. Slaves on Horses: The Evolution of the Islamic Polity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. Finkelstein, Norman G. Image and Reality of the Israel-Palestine Conflict. London: Verso, 2003. Said, Edward W. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books, 1978. Shlaim, Avi. The Iron Wall: Israel and the Arab World. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001. ------ V.A. Mohamad Ashrof is an independent Indian scholar specializing in Islamic humanism. With a deep commitment to advancing Quranic hermeneutics that prioritize human well-being, peace, and progress, his work aims to foster a just society, encourage critical thinking, and promote inclusive discourse and peaceful coexistence. He is dedicated to creating pathways for meaningful social change and intellectual growth through his scholarship. URL: https://www.newageislam.com/debating-islam/conversation-prophecy-politics-interpretation/d/136393 New Age Islam, Islam Online, Islamic Website, African Muslim News, Arab World News, South Asia News, Indian Muslim News, World Muslim News, Women in Islam, Islamic Feminism, Arab Women, Women In Arab, Islamophobia in America, Muslim Women in West, Islam Women and Feminism