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There are profound similarities between the critical nature of the eve of the Battle of Badr and the Children of Israel's initial, failed attempt to enter the Holy Land from Egypt. The threads binding the two groundbreaking events reveal striking parallels.
Both the Muslim community in Madinah and the community of the Children of Israel (Banu Isra'il) were still young in their civilizational roles, poised as potential makers of history. Both stood at the threshold of consequential destiny, facing either greatness permanently etched into the annals of time or a regrettable collapse from which recovery would be arduous, if not impossible.
For the first time in their respective histories, each community was organically independent, free to chart its own course, and empowered to make collective decisions. That freedom, nonetheless, carried with it the weight of consequence whereby they alone would bear responsibility for the outcomes of their choices. The stakes could not have been higher. Their legacies were destined to be shaped, and posterity would remember them forever, primarily on the basis of those decisive moments: what transpired, how they navigated the challenge, and what consequences followed.
In truth, not only their own histories but also the continuum of world history was indelibly marked, even dictated, by what happened then and there. Such moments became archetypes of civilizational testing, where hesitation or resolve determined the fate of nations and the memory of humanity.
Confronting the cruelty and heartlessness of the supporters of falsehood-whether through Allah's direct intervention or through jihad-was necessary for two reasons. First, because the confrontation between truth and falsehood is unceasing and brutal, with the forces of evil regularly the aggressors. Second, because Satan and his followers (hizb al-shaytan, in Qur'anic terminology) never rest; they are constantly preparing and arming themselves, recruiting new adherents, diversifying their strategies, and intensifying their operations.
For example, the rebellious people of Prophet Nuh were annihilated by the great flood; the people of Hud, 'Ad, by a furious and bitter wind; the people of Salih, Thamud, by a thunderous blast and storm of lightning; the people of Shu'ayb, the Medianites, by a mighty earthquake; the people of Lut by a shower of stones of clay; and finally, Pharaoh and his army by drowning in the Red Sea. Each destruction was a direct intervention of divine power against the arrogance of falsehood.
However, after the exodus from Egypt, the Israelites were granted a unique opportunity: to live in their own promised and holy land, under the aegis of their own laws and regulations. Their destiny was placed into their own hands, elevating them from the level of a mere qawm (people) to that of an ummah-an exemplary community propelled by a magnanimous and shared philosophy, vision, mission, and goals. At this doorway of renewal, they were commanded to undertake the sacred duty of jihad. The new legislation was the natural culmination of the Abrahamic Covenant, the very soul of their civilizational template. It was also integral to the rapid developments of civilization-weaving, embedding within them the responsibility to struggle for truth and justice.
Through the jihad mandate, the principal onus was placed upon the believers. Still, this did not mean that Allah withdrew His support or left them to fend for themselves. Instead, divine help remained present, but awaited activation. The believers were responsible for initiating the struggle, thereby inducing divine intervention. They were the cause; Allah's aid was the effect. The divine help was quiescent, waiting for instigation, ready to descend when the believers fulfilled the conditions of faith, patience, and firmness.
The following messages of the Qur'an affirm the mentioned subtleties of jihad. The Qur'anic texts are explicit that Almighty Allah inevitably helps but only the (true) believers; that surely Allah will help the one who helps Him (His cause) (al-Hajj 40); that if the believers help Allah (His cause), He will help them and plant firmly their feet (Muhammad 7); that patience, piety, remembrance of Allah, obedience, cooperation, and adequate preparations, are the prerequisites of Allah's assistance and victory (Alu 'Imran 125; al-Anfal 46-47, 60, 66).
It all began when the Israelites stood at the very cusp of the Holy Land under the leadership of Prophet Musa (Moses). There, they were commanded to make nominal sacrifices and enter, liberating the Land as their destiny demanded. They refused, nevertheless, and the rest became history: a prohibition of forty years, a wandering in wilderness marked by aimlessness and trial, and, at last, the long-awaited entry into the Land.
Two versions of these events exist: the Qur'anic account-authentic, restorative, and corrective-and the Old Testament version, which is distorted and conflicting in many respects. According to the Qur'an, entry into the Holy Land required overcoming "a people of exceeding and tyrannical strength" (al-Ma'idah 22). The implied was the land already inhabited by their forefather Prophet Ya'qub (Jacob, Israel), where his family had lived before migrating to Egypt, and where the al-Aqsa Mosque had already been established, beckoning them to fulfill their covenant.
They were told: "O my people, enter the Holy Land which Allah has assigned to you, and do not turn back (from fighting in Allah's cause), lest you become losers" (al-Ma'idah 21).
But their rebellious and adamant response was: "O Moses, within it is a people of tyrannical strength, and we will never enter it until they leave. If they leave, then we will enter" (al-Ma'idah 22).
An argument ensued, as two righteous men sought to soften their position and convince them to obey Allah and His Prophet Musa, to secure reward and avoid the infamy of mutiny. Allah records their plea: "Said two men from among those who feared (to disobey), upon whom Allah had bestowed favor: 'Enter upon them through the gate; when you have entered, you will be predominant. And upon Allah rely, if you are believers'" (al-Ma'idah 23).
The majority persisted in defiance, though, passing their conclusive verdict: "O Moses, we will never enter it, ever, while they remain. So go, you and your Lord, and fight. We will stay right here" (al-Ma'idah 24).
Helpless before the rebellion of his people, Musa could do little. It was left to Allah to intervene and settle the matter. His judgment was severe: the Holy Land would be forbidden to them for forty years, during which they would roam aimlessly, purposelessly, and dishonorably in the wilderness. Only after the lapse of this prescribed period would they be permitted entry. Allah declared: "Then indeed, it is forbidden to them for forty years, during which they will wander throughout the land. So do not grieve over the defiantly disobedient people" (al-Ma'idah 26).
That rebellion and rejection seemed to stain the very fabric of their collective being, so that noncompliance, waywardness, turbulence, and upheaval became habitual features of their historical arc. They became the archetype of decisive moments in which ordained paths are sealed and futures are unfolded.
The Qur'an itself hints at such states of mind and soul, repeatedly charging the Israelites with faithlessness, insubordination, distortion of their scriptures, maltreatment and even killing of their prophets until their hearts were sealed and dubbed harder than stone. They were cursed for their persistent and boundless disbelief (al-Baqarah 88; al-Nisa' 155).
Though every generation and every individual bears responsibility for his own guilt and misdeeds, the stage for this abominable collective consciousness and behavioral matrix was set in motion during their refusal to enter the Holy Land, the pinnacle of the mission of Prophets Musa and Harun (Aaron). To act thus was to rebel against the very grammar of decency, the laws of principle, and the light of logic. The traces of those first scars were never truly erased from collective memory, nor from the ingrained dispositions of their communal identity.
To illustrate: after forty years of wandering in the wilderness, when a new generation was raised and placed at the forefront of potential civilizational headway under the leadership of Prophet Joshua-since both Musa and Harun had died during the intermediary wilderness period-even then the national religious and ethical consciousness did not fundamentally change. They continued to follow their own ways of misdeed and to abuse the bounties of Allah.
The Qur'an informs: "And (recall) when We said: 'Enter this city (Bayt al-Maqdis or Jerusalem) and eat from it wherever you will in ease and abundance, and enter the gate bowing humbly and say: 'Relieve us of our burdens.' We will then forgive your sins for you, and We will increase the doers of good in goodness and reward. But those who did wrong changed those words to a statement other than that which had been said to them, so We sent down upon those who wronged a punishment from the sky because they were defiantly disobeying." (al-Baqarah 58-59)
And again: "And (mention, O Muhammad), when it was said to them: 'Dwell in this city and eat from it wherever you will and say, 'Relieve us of our burdens,' and enter the gate bowing humbly; We will then forgive you your sins. We will increase the doers of good in goodness and reward. But those who did wrong among them changed the words to a statement other than that which had been said to them. So We sent upon them a punishment from the sky for the wrong that they were doing." (al-A'raf 161-162)
According to Ibn Kathir in his tafsir or commentary of the Qur'an, after the years of wandering ended, Allah allowed the Children of Israel to conquer the Holy Land under the leadership of Prophet Joshua bin Nun. On the eve of a Friday, the sun itself was held back from setting until victory was achieved. When they entered Bayt al-Maqdis (Jerusalem), they were commanded to enter its gate prostrating in gratitude to Allah for granting them triumph, returning them to their land, and saving them from loss and wandering.
However, they distorted Allah's command both in word and deed. They were told to enter bowing down, but they entered sliding on their backsides with heads raised. They were commanded to say "hittah" ("relieve us of our errors and sins"), but they mocked the command and instead said "hintah" ("grain seed") in sha'irah ("barley").
This act epitomized the worst type of rebellion and disobedience, and it was for this defiance that Allah's anger and punishment descended upon them. Their sinning and rejection of divine commands became a paradigm of civilizational failure, a cautionary tale engraved into the remembrance of revelation and history alike.
The Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him and his family), contrarywise, entered Makkah upon its fath-its liberation-with profound humility, not as a triumphant conqueror but as a servant of Allah. His head was bowed so deeply in gratitude that his chin nearly touched the saddle of his camel, while his lips recited the verses of Surah al-Fath, acknowledging that victory belonged to Allah alone. There was no arrogance, no pomp, no vengeance. Instead, he proclaimed the day as one of mercy.
Muslims, on the other hand, consistently demonstrated deeply embedded faith, resolve, and fortitude, and their legacies were shaped in like manner. Their triumph at Badr was but the beginning. From that moment, their progression towards collective fulfillment assumed an upward curve, rarely stalling or plummeting. Needless to say, both communities experienced notable exceptions in their historical conduct, yet these never amounted to invalidating the overarching rule.
For this reason, Muslims are explicitly called by the Qur'an "the best nation ever evolved for mankind" (Alu 'Imran 110) and designated as witnesses against the rest on the Day of Judgment (al-Baqarah 134)-the day when every nation will be seen kneeling in fear, summoned to its record, and told: "Today you will be recompensed for what you used to do" (al-Jathiyah 28). Clearly, in addition to individual reckoning, there will also be a form of collective reckoning.
When the two communities-the Israelites and the Muslims-were brought together in the newly formed urban ecosystem of Madinah, coexistence was envisioned, cooperation seemingly possible. However, the chemistry of peaceful cohabitation never ignited. The ingredients were not right. From the very first day, Madinah proved too narrow a stage for two radically conflicting existential paradigms. Without pessimism but with clarity: the Jews, as a collective nation, could not be aligned on the same wavelength, nor could a common future be carved out.
The Qur'an itself seals the verdict with eloquence: "Never will the Jews or the Christians be pleased with you until you follow their way. Say: Indeed, the guidance of Allah is the (only) guidance. And if you were to follow their desires after the knowledge that has come to you, you would have against Allah no protector or helper" (al-Baqarah 120).
In retrospect, Madinah was founded upon the premises of veracity, freedom, justice, egalitarianism, and partnership. Yet these noble principles were refracted through different lenses, yielding divergent conclusions. Muslims and Jews alike perceived in Madinah distinct horizons, each entailing different prospects, and so adjusted their thoughts and demeanors accordingly. It soon became evident that the Jewish tribes sought not genuine coexistence but obstruction. They endeavored to cancel out and seize the unfolding developments for selfish ends, in line with their long-established objectives and historical modus operandi. Thus, the promise of partnership was undermined, and Madinah began to reveal itself as a crucible where conflicting paradigms could not be reconciled.
Thus, from the very inception of Madinah's existence, the two communities began to drift irreparably apart, despite the Prophet's continuous socio-political and legal overtures to build a common framework for moving forward. By the time the Battle of Badr came about, Jewish discontent with the ideals of Madinah-ideals with which they could never be at ease-had become so pronounced that their case warranted, however indirectly, mention in the Qur'an's disparaging tone and in Surah al-Anfal: "Those with whom you made a treaty, but every time they break it, they do not fear Allah" (al-Anfal 56). Regardless of whether the reference pertained to some future or ongoing events, the case stood firmly established.
Little wonder, therefore, that scarcely a month after the triumph at Badr, the incident of the Banu Qaynuqa-one of the three major Jewish tribes of Madinah-erupted. Their violation of the Constitution of Madinah and their hostile stance in the wake of Muslim victory led to their siege and eventual expulsion. The bitterness and contempt harbored by the Jewish tribes grew exponentially after Badr, for the Muslims' approach to jihad, their uncompromising self-respect and honor, and their unmatched readiness to defend the ideals of righteousness, autonomy, and liberty were now on full display. Madinah had become the repository where betrayal was exposed, and where the Muslim community's tenacity was purified into providence. The Jews were not only unmasked thereby but also dwarfed, and thus indirectly censured. A humiliation of their own making was soon to follow.
If Badr revealed who and what the Muslims truly were, it also cast into sharp relief who and what the Jews were not, though they were expected to be. In Jewish eyes, Badr was not merely another event; it was a rude awakening to the realities of their Achilles' heel. History could no longer be distorted, manipulated, or sweetened. It is the predictable outcome that the Qur'anic account of the Battle of Uhud, which occurred one year later, similarly-though still indirectly-addressed the problematic case of the Jews: "Those who said: 'Indeed, Allah has taken our promise not to believe in a messenger until he brings us an offering which fire from heaven will consume.' Say: 'Messengers before me came to you with clear proofs and with that which you speak of. So why did you kill them, if you should be truthful?'" (Alu 'Imran 183).
Nor was it coincidence that the incident of the Banu Nadir, the second of the three prominent Jewish tribes in Madinah, exploded barely two and a half months after the Muslims' partial setback at Uhud. This tribe too had been signatories to the Constitution of Madinah, bound by treaty obligations. But the unfavorable outcome of Uhud emboldened their scheming; they sought to extinguish the ideals and principles of Muslim struggle and replace them with their own antitheses. Their plotting culminated in an assassination attempt against the Prophet when he visited them to seek assistance in paying blood money. Their breach of covenant and open hostility led to the siege of their fortresses. Ultimately, they were expelled from Madinah, permitted to take what they could carry, save for weapons.
Then about two years after the debacle of Uhud, the decisive Battle of Khandaq took place. At that juncture, it was the turn of the last substantial Jewish tribe in Madinah, the Banu Qurayzah, to make public its true colors. Within the tribunal of jihad and authentic struggle for the values of freedom, justice, integrity, and uprightness, their inner propensities were shown and their behavioral inclinations stirred, leading to an outcome that, for those with insight into history, was neither new nor unpredictable. Like their brethren before them, the Banu Qurayzah had initially cooperated with the Muslims, even lending tools for the digging of the trench (khandaq). However, during the siege of Madinah, they betrayed the treaty, aligning themselves with Quraysh and their confederates, seizing the moment as an opportunity to eliminate the Prophet and the Muslim community once and for all.
As soon as the confederates retreated, the Prophet ordered a twenty-five-day siege of their stronghold. In the end, they surrendered and were judged with justice, their punishment commensurate with their crimes. The Qur'an itself records their misconduct and its consequence: "And He brought down those who supported them among the People of the Scripture from their fortresses and cast terror into their hearts, so that you killed a group and took captive a group. And He caused you to inherit their land, their homes, and their properties, and a land which you had not trodden. And ever is Allah over all things competent" (al-Ahzab 26-27).
All things considered, such was good riddance. The Jews, in truth, brought upon themselves everything that befell them. The issue was never one of ethnic incompatibility between Muslims and Jews, but rather of irreconcilable ideas and principles. One side sought truth and humanity-freedom, honesty, transparency, and fairness-while the other pursued their opposites. Badr, as the criterion distinguishing right from wrong and truth from falsehood, reached out to all the stakeholders of Madinah, including the Jews, shaking them to their very foundations and exposing their corrupted ideals and flawed values. As the battle between light and darkness continued-assuming different forms and proceeding on different battlefields-the uncovering of the Jewish case only intensified, leading to consequences that were predictable, inevitable, and just.
On the one hand stood the Muslims who sought to put history into perspective, to correct its distortions and begin afresh with an untainted narrative. They desired to inject freshness and wholesomeness into approaches to history and civilization that had long been dulled by narrow-minded and bigoted outlooks-outlooks that dethroned virtue and normalcy, replacing them with iniquity and aberration. On the other side of the spectrum were the Jews who had played a critical role in such distortions, and who then ensured their concealment, suppressing the record and allowing it to fade into silence, sweeping it under the carpet, so to speak. The tension between the two impulses-rectification and erasure- has continued unabated, irreversibly shaping the contours of today's ideological and historiographical struggles.
Prior to reaching the threshold of the Holy Land-where the Israelites faltered-they had spent ages in Egypt as slaves. So prolonged was their bondage that their legacy became inseparable from servitude; they knew nothing else. Their identity, consciousness, and inner spiritual propensities were wholly shaped by slavery. To be free, to be independent, to make their own decisions, these were anomalies, blessings they neither knew how to cherish nor how to employ. From the inception of Prophet Musa's mission-whose chief task was to liberate the Israelites and lead them from Egypt to the Holy Land-his greatest challenge lay not in the external journey but in the internal condition of his people. The transition demanded a leap from a reviled state of existence-body, mind, and soul-into its radiant opposite.
Musa's struggle centered on the manifestations and workings of his people's attitudes. To be fair to the Israelites, their failure was not entirely a matter of will or intention, but of readiness, capacity, and spiritual wherewithal. They were, quite simply, incapacitated. As they advanced from Egypt towards the Holy Land, their condition worsened proportionally, culminating at the very borders of the Land. There, the greatest test presented itself, and as expected, the Israelites' collapse was at once the most severe and the most significant. Their "best" was not enough. They were for neither the Holy Land nor civilization itself.
They refused to obey God and His Prophet, to enter the Land and confront the forces of evil and oppression. As a result, they were forbidden entry for forty years. During this period, a new generation of Israelites was raised under the watchful guidance of Prophet Musa and his brother, Prophet Harun. The enslaved and shackled-both in mind and soul, albeit physically free-were to be replaced by those who prized liberty and possessed the strength to act upon it, fulfilling the requirements for entry into and life inside the Holy Land.
This is what, at long last, transpired. History, nonetheless, bears witness that the scars of bondage were so profound and enduring that their effects became engraved into the very fabric of their being, into their very genes. The scars continuously generated new forms of resistance to truth and normalcy, crystallizing into patterns of defiance and forgery for which the Israelites became renowned ever after.
The Jewish communities in Madinah stood as perfect examples of such a universe and its dominant features. They never ceased to display their existential allegiance to their ancestors, remaining blind to any other possibilities. In actual fact, the Jews had no original connection to Madinah, neither in terms of religious dynamics nor civilizational aspirations. Their presence there was the consequence of the unfavorable currents of history, which they themselves had set in motion by failing to be what they were meant to be, and instead becoming what they had fashioned themselves into.
They were driven by the force of truth and the sweetness of freedom and self‑determination. That Islam had unchained them, eliminated their fears, and bestowed upon them identity was itself the greatest victory, rendering all subsequent victories mere corollaries. The Muslims were not like the Israelites, nor did they wish to be. They took them as a lesson to be learned and applied. If there was any positive in the Jewish presence in Madinah, it was precisely this: a cautionary example, a learning curve.
The Muslims did not shirk from the burdens of history‑making and civilization‑building. They understood that facing and overcoming challenges was the very path to maturation and growth. The greater and more severe the challenges, the more mature and progressive they became, and the sweeter their victories tasted. Without trials and triumphs, life-whether personal or communal-stalls and grows stale. It becomes like a stagnant swamp, its waters murky and foul, a breeding ground for decay and disease.
Moreover, the Muslims recognized that their actions entailed shedding light on authentic history and correcting its falsifications, establishing themselves as much history‑makers as history‑reformers. Such a revolutionary stance inevitably created antagonists, which the Muslims fully anticipated-chiefly among those who turned history into a tool of manipulation, concealment, and paralysis, such as Jews. Yet they were ready. With Badr behind them, firmly under their belt, they carried the confidence that no subsequent battle could unsettle or frighten them.
The message thus conveyed was that the victory of life, followed by the victory of the Hereafter, was so precious and invaluable that a true believer must be ready, if necessary, to sacrifice everything for its sake. Even then, sufficiency is not measured by quantity but by quality-by faith, outlook, determination, and intention, which are themselves partly otherworldly and thus beyond the realm of mere quantity. That is why what transpires generally on the jihad battlefields-where the true servants of Allah strive in fulfillment of His purpose for creation-cannot be judged by conventional standards of warfare. What actually goes on transcends those measures, deceiving the senses and confounding calculations. Empiricism stands paralyzed before such miraculous developments. Only those who live through it, who experience and feel its reality, truly know what is taking place.
It was for this reason that Sa'd employed such language as crossing a sea, loving more what is sacrificed than what is retained, and though unprepared, being ready to plunge into the heat of battle and whatever challenge lay ahead. At first glance, such expressions may appear irrational or metaphorical. However, they were neither. They were real, pronounced as intended, and experienced as echoes of the transcendent realm by a man-representing others of the same ilk-who was rapidly moving towards the same realm, sensing its presence and inhaling its overpowering fragrance.
Often, when such people speak and act, those who have not yet attained the same degree of realization are baffled and confused. They do not understand, for they do not share the same merits nor the language for articulating them. This was precisely why the hypocrites of Madinah and those in whose hearts was disease-among them weak and wavering Muslims in Makkah who had yet to summon the will and courage to migrate-misunderstood the Battle of Badr and the way the Muslims approached and conducted themselves. To them, on the eve of that earth‑shattering event, Badr appeared a mission impossible, a reckless and suicidal undertaking. The Qur'an itself documents their words in Surah al‑Anfal: "Their religion has deluded them" (al‑Anfal 49), painting Badr as a looming catastrophe.
Episode 18: Lessons from Battle of Badr - Stories of the Prophets