Today, as we seek to understand the roots of Islamic antisemitism, the role of fitna stands out as a crucial element in the development of these prejudices, offering insights into how theological constructs were used to shape—and justify—perceptions of the Jewish community.
By Dr. Tim Orr
The concept of fitna has long been a powerful and often misunderstood force within Islamic thought. Beyond just a test of personal faith, fitna represents moments of crisis that have shaped the foundation of Muslim identity. In the early days of Islam, as Muhammad and his followers navigated the tumultuous political and religious landscape of 7th-century Arabia, fitna became a tool to frame conflict within the Muslim community and with those outside it, particularly the Jewish tribes of Medina. What began as a term describing spiritual trials soon evolved into a theological justification for hostility, laying the groundwork for deep-seated antisemitic narratives that would resonate throughout Islamic history. Today, as we seek to understand the roots of Islamic antisemitism, the role of fitna stands out as a crucial element in the development of these prejudices, offering insights into how theological constructs were used to shape—and justify—perceptions of the Jewish community.
When Muhammad and his followers migrated to Medina in 622 CE, they found themselves in a city with a complex social fabric. Several Jewish tribes, such as the Banu Qaynuqa, Banu Nadir, and Banu Qurayza, had established themselves as significant players in the city’s political and economic landscape. Initially, Muhammad sought to forge alliances with these tribes, creating a cooperative society that included Jews and Muslims under the Constitution of Medina (Lecker, 1995). This document represented an early attempt at religious pluralism, outlining mutual responsibilities and aiming to create a unified ummah—a community that transcended religious divisions.
However, the story of these early interactions soon took a different turn. Imagine a city full of promise—trade routes bustling, markets alive with the sound of negotiation between Jewish and Arab merchants, all under the tentative peace established by the Constitution of Medina. But beneath the surface, tensions simmered. Religious differences, economic competition, and political rivalries began to test this fragile alliance. The Jewish tribes, while initially cooperating with Muhammad, refused to recognize him as a prophet, and their perceived disloyalty during conflicts with other Arab tribes exacerbated tensions. What had begun as a political agreement now unraveled into a spiritual and existential crisis for the fledgling Muslim community.
Muhammad’s response to the perceived resistance from the Jewish tribes was decisive. One of the first incidents involved the Banu Qaynuqa, a Jewish tribe known for its expertise in craftsmanship, particularly metalwork. The tribe was accused of violating the terms of their alliance by supporting Muhammad’s enemies during a time of conflict. The breaking point came when Muhammad accused them of plotting against the Muslim community, framing their actions as an example of fitna—an act of discord that threatened the survival of Islam. The Banu Qaynuqa were expelled from Medina as punishment for their disloyalty (Donner, 1981).
The expulsion of the Banu Qaynuqa set a precedent. Shortly after, the Banu Nadir, another Jewish tribe, faced a similar fate. They were accused of conspiring with enemy tribes, and, once again, their actions were framed through the lens of fitna. Muhammad’s decision to expel the Banu Nadir was justified as a necessary action to eliminate a corrupting force that could undermine the unity and purity of the Muslim ummah. The situation escalated further with the Banu Qurayza. Accused of treason during a critical moment in a battle, Muhammad ordered the execution of the tribe’s men and the enslavement of their women and children. This event, perhaps more than any other, illustrates how the concept of fitna was used to legitimize extreme measures against those perceived as a threat to the Muslim community (Watt, 1956).
Imagine the fear and uncertainty that gripped Medina during these times. Jewish families, once integrated into the social and economic life of the city, now found themselves caught in a web of accusations, their fates sealed by the harsh judgment of being labeled as sources of fitna. The streets that once bustled with trade now bore witness to public executions, and the social fabric of Medina was irrevocably altered.
The idea of fitna was more than just a religious concept—it was a powerful tool for justifying political and military actions. As tensions between Muhammad and the Jewish tribes escalated, fitna became a convenient way to frame Jewish resistance as something more dangerous than mere political opposition. It wasn’t just that these tribes were acting out of self-interest or trying to maintain their autonomy; rather, they were seen as active agents of corruption, spreading discord within the Muslim ummah. Their resistance wasn’t just a political problem—it was a divine test that revealed their untrustworthiness and impurity.
The portrayal of Jews as sources of fitna legitimized the increasingly hostile actions taken against them. The expulsions of the Banu Qaynuqa and Banu Nadir, as well as the massacre of the Banu Qurayza, were all framed as necessary responses to the fitna these tribes allegedly caused. This framing provided a theological justification for actions that, on the surface, might have seemed extreme or unjustified (Guillaume, 1955).
But the consequences of this justification were far-reaching. By framing Jewish resistance as fitna, a precedent was set for how Jewish communities would be viewed in Islamic society for centuries to come. The idea that Jews were not just unbelievers but active agents of discord who sought to undermine Islam became a foundational narrative that shaped antisemitic attitudes within Islamic thought.
As the early Muslim community sought to consolidate its identity between 622 and 632 CE, the portrayal of Jews in Islamic texts began to shift. Initially, there were moments of cooperation and mutual respect between Muslims and Jews, but over time, these interactions became increasingly marked by suspicion and hostility. The concept of fitna played a crucial role in this transformation.
Imagine the power of a narrative that not only casts a community as outsiders but also as corrupters—those who actively seek to disrupt the moral and social fabric of society. This is the role that Jews came to occupy in early Islamic thought. Qur'anic verses and Hadith literature (Qur'an 2:191, 8:25; Sahih Bukhari, Book 92, Hadith 377) began to depict Jews as individuals who spread falsehoods, disrupted social order, and undermined the faith of believers. By linking Jews with fitna, these texts contributed to the creation of an image of Jews as perpetual enemies of Islam.
This shift in portrayal had profound implications. By framing Jews as agents of fitna, early Islamic texts laid the foundation for antisemitic stereotypes that would persist throughout Islamic history. Jews were not just seen as unbelievers—they were viewed as active threats to the Muslim ummah, individuals who, through their actions, sought to spread corruption and discord. This image would prove enduring, influencing how Jews were perceived and treated in later Islamic societies (Stillman, 1979).
The association of Jews with fitna didn’t remain confined to the early Islamic period—it became a lasting framework for understanding Jewish communities in Islamic societies. Imagine living as a Jew in the centuries following Muhammad’s death, aware that your very presence is seen as a potential source of corruption. This theological foundation influenced how Jews were treated in many Islamic societies, where they were often marginalized and subjected to discriminatory practices.
These stereotypes—the idea of Jews as conspirators, betrayers, and corrupters—became deeply embedded in Islamic jurisprudence and political discourse. Jews were often viewed as destabilizing forces responsible for spreading fitna, and this perception fueled discriminatory policies that marginalized them socially and economically. In many Islamic societies, Jews were relegated to second-class status, subject to restrictions on their economic activities and social participation. Over time, these restrictions became normalized, further entrenching the idea that Jews were not just unbelievers but active agents of corruption (Lewis, 1986).
This association with fitna also made Jews convenient scapegoats for broader societal issues. Whenever a community experienced unrest or conflict, it was easy to blame the Jewish population for spreading discord. This pattern of scapegoating reinforced the cycle of prejudice and marginalization, ensuring that antisemitic attitudes persisted throughout Islamic history.
The concept of fitna played a foundational role in shaping the theological constructs of Islamic antisemitism. Initially, fitna was a term that referred to trials of faith and communal discord, but over time, it became a powerful tool for justifying hostility towards Jewish communities. By framing Jews as agents of fitna, early Islamic narratives contributed to the development of antisemitic stereotypes that would persist throughout Islamic history. These stereotypes influenced how Jews were perceived and treated in later Islamic societies, where they were often marginalized and scapegoated for broader social and political issues.
Understanding the role of fitna in shaping these antisemitic narratives is essential to unpacking the complex relationship between Islam and antisemitism. The theological constructs that emerged during the early Islamic period resonate today, influencing contemporary discussions about interfaith relations, religious identity, and prejudice. By examining the historical roots of these narratives, we can better understand the challenges of combating antisemitism in the modern world and foster a more nuanced dialogue between communities.
Tim Orr is an Evangelical minister, conference speaker, and interfaith consultant with over 30 years of experience in cross-cultural ministry. He holds six degrees, including a master’s in Islamic studies from the Islamic College in London. Tim taught Religious Studies for 15 years at Indiana University Columbus and is now a Congregations and Polarization Project research associate at the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture at Indiana University Indianapolis. He has spoken at universities, including Oxford, and mosques throughout the U.K. His research focuses on American Evangelicalism, Islamic antisemitism, and Islamic feminism, and he has published widely, including three books.
This is an adaptation of a portion of a paper I wrote titled Islamic Antisemitism: A Critical Examination of Theological Foundations and Historical Manifestations, which I have yet to publish.