While the institution maintains Islamic character, it is deeply embedded within the Israeli state system.

In the heart of Israel’s diverse legal system lies a remarkable institution: the Shariah courts. Far from being relics of history, these courts remain active and relevant today, quietly handling personal matters for the country’s 1.7 million Muslim citizens. They represent not only legal pluralism, but also the careful balancing act between faith, law, and national identity in a complex society.

Ottoman Roots in a Modern Nation

Shariah courts in Israel trace their origins back to the Ottoman Empire, when Islamic law governed personal status matters for Muslims in the region. The British Mandate preserved the system, and rather than dismantling it after the formation of the State of Israel in 1948, the new government incorporated it into its judiciary. Today, these courts are fully recognized under Israeli law and function under the Ministry of Justice.

There are currently nine regional Shariah courts across the country, with a Supreme Shariah Court headquartered in Jerusalem. These courts have jurisdiction over personal status issues such as marriage, divorce, child custody, alimony, inheritance, and burial for Muslim citizens.

Functioning Inside the Israeli Legal Framework

Muslim citizens of Israel can voluntarily use the Shariah courts to resolve family matters in line with Islamic tradition. Qadis (judges) appointed to these courts must be trained in both Shariah and Israeli civil law. Their rulings are legally binding and enforceable like any other court decision in the country.

While the institution maintains Islamic character, it is deeply embedded within the Israeli state system. This integration creates a unique dynamic — one which is both accepted and questioned by segments of the Arab Muslim community and Israeli society at large.

Influencer Shareef Safadi Sheds Light on Tel Aviv’s Shariah Court

Popular Arab-Israeli influencer Shareef Safadi, known for his educational and cultural commentary, brought the Shariah court in Tel Aviv into public focus through a now-viral video filmed in Jaffa. His commentary offers both humor and insight into how these courts operate in contemporary Israel.

“Today we are in the Sharia court in Tel Aviv,” he begins. “Yes, a Sharia court in Tel Aviv — or more specifically in Jaffa.”

Safadi explains the court’s primary role, “Now the Sharia court deals mainly with Islamic civil matters such as marriages, divorces, inheritance, and so on and so on.”

He adds a historical twist, pointing to the building’s past, “This house belonged to a Palestinian Christian family who fled during the war of 1948 during the Nakba. It was later used by the Israeli military, and then it was abandoned — and then after that, it became the Sharia court.”

In a reflective tone, he touches on symbolism and political nuance, “This court is part of the Israeli judicial system and therefore it has to have an Israeli flag. But when Arabs have to put the Israeli flag in governmental institutions, they fold it so the flag isn’t shown that much — as you can see in this court.”

Safadi’s video, layered with subtle commentary and cultural sensitivity, underscores the balancing act Muslim institutions in Israel navigate — functioning under a Jewish state while retaining a distinct religious and communal identity.

A Landmark Moment: The First Female Judge

In a historic development, Hana Khatib became Israel’s first female judge in the Shariah court system in 2017 — a watershed moment in a traditionally male-dominated domain. Appointed after a rigorous process, Khatib, a lawyer and expert in family law, broke significant barriers and became a symbol of evolving gender dynamics within Islamic jurisprudence in Israel.

Her appointment was widely celebrated among Arab-Israeli civil society and cautiously welcomed by religious authorities. For many Muslim women, Khatib’s presence in the courtroom provided a sense of representation and greater confidence in seeking justice through the Shariah courts.

Between Tradition and Modernity

For Muslim communities across Israel — from Nazareth to Rahat — the Shariah courts remain a vital thread in preserving religious identity within a modern, pluralistic state. Elders, imams, and family advocates continue to guide families in navigating these courts, ensuring that age-old traditions meet the demands of modern legal systems.

And while challenges persist — particularly around gender equity and modernization — the Shariah courts of Israel stand as a unique example in the region. They blend faith and law in a way that few other Middle Eastern states manage, allowing Muslims in Israel to live their personal lives in accordance with Islamic values — without stepping outside the bounds of the state.

In a nation often framed through the lens of conflict, the Shariah courts offer a quieter but profound story: of adaptation, coexistence, and continuity.

Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites.

In recent remarks, Pakistan’s Army Chief General Asim Munir articulated his ideological vision for the country with a clarity that many leaders deliberately avoid. He unapologetically reaffirmed the Two-Nation Theory and emphasized the enduring divide between Hindus and Muslims—a worldview deeply rooted in religious exclusivism.

For me, this honesty is refreshing. At least he is not hiding behind the concept of “Taqiya” (dissimulation) or the carefully crafted ambiguity that many political actors use. He owns his hardline position openly.

But we must ask—what does this ideological commitment to Islamic identity actually mean in practice? If Islam is the unifying principle behind Pakistan’s statehood, as claimed by its top military leadership, then why have fellow Muslims suffered under its policies—both at home and across borders?

In 2023, the Pakistani state forcibly expelled nearly 1.7 million Afghan refugees, many of whom had been living in the country for decades. Men, women, and children—many of whom were born in Pakistan—were sent back to a nation plagued by instability and repression. These individuals were not ideological enemies or agents of discord; they were fellow Muslims seeking safety and sustenance. The logic behind their expulsion wasn’t religious. It was ethnic, political, and economic.

This contradiction isn’t new. In 1971, during the Bangladesh Liberation War, West Pakistan (now Pakistan) unleashed brutal violence against East Pakistanis (now Bangladeshis). According to historians, up to three million people were killed, and countless women were subjected to sexual violence. And who were the victims? They were not religious “others.” They were Muslims—sharing not just faith, but language, history, and family ties.

These historical and recent episodes raise a troubling question: Is Pakistan’s national identity truly anchored in Islam, or has religion been used selectively—as a political and strategic tool to justify repression, exclusion, and control?

The Two-Nation Theory, which underpinned the partition of British India in 1947, proposed that Muslims and Hindus were distinct nations who could not coexist peacefully in a single state. But this idea, though foundational to Pakistan’s creation, has since mutated. Rather than fostering a pluralistic Muslim society, the theory has been wielded to divide people further—between Punjabis and Pashtuns, Baloch and Mohajirs, Shias and Sunnis, Deobandis and Barelvis. The outcome is not national unity, but chronic fragmentation.

Instead of serving as a source of cohesion, Islam has become a battlefield of sectarian and ethnic contestation. Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites. The lived reality of the Pakistani state contradicts its ideological claims. Whether it’s the suppression of Baloch voices, the marginalization of Sindhi culture, or the persecution of Shias, the nation has drifted far from its idealized Islamic unity.

This is not to say that Islam, as a faith or moral system, is to blame. The issue is how Islam has been instrumentalized by the state and military elites. When any religion becomes a political instrument, it loses its spiritual purpose and becomes a tool of coercion.

The youth of Pakistan—and indeed South Asia as a whole—deserve better than this endless recycling of exclusionary doctrines. They do not need more sermons on “us vs. them.” They need education systems that teach empathy, critical thinking, and historical introspection. They need media that values truth over propaganda. And most of all, they need leadership that champions collaboration over conflict.

True unity is not built by suppressing diversity. It is achieved by embracing it. Religion can inspire compassion and solidarity, but only when it is divorced from the machinery of state control and identity politics. A nation cannot find peace if its founding principle is fear of the other.

Pakistan’s future lies not in reinforcing ideological walls but in tearing them down—brick by brick. It lies in building bridges with its neighbors, reconciling with its own people, and redefining what it means to be Pakistani—not as a monolithic Islamic identity, but as a plural, inclusive, and humane society.

History has shown us where hate leads. It’s time to try something different.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

The UAE’s Interior Ministry identified the convicted individuals as Olimpi Toirovich, 28, Makhmudjon Abdurakhim, 28, and Azizbek Kamlovich, 33. Authorities arrested the three men shortly after the crime, launching a swift investigation and legal proceedings.

Rabbi Kogan, 28, a young emissary dedicated to fostering Jewish life in the region, was reported missing on November 21, 2024. Three days later, his body was discovered in Al Ain, near the Omani border, sending shockwaves through the Jewish community and beyond.

The tragic loss of the young rabbi, who managed a kosher supermarket in Dubai and played a key role in Jewish outreach, has raised concerns about the safety of Jewish residents and visitors in the Gulf region.

According to reports, the suspects acted under orders from Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and had been tracking Rabbi Kogan’s movements before abducting and killing him. This revelation has heightened tensions in an already sensitive geopolitical landscape.

The UAE’s swift legal response reflects its commitment to justice and the safety of its diverse communities. Emirati authorities have been praised for their decisive action, reinforcing the nation’s stance on security and coexistence.

Rabbi Kogan’s tragic death serves as a solemn reminder of the threats faced by religious minorities and the importance of vigilance in protecting all communities.

However, there is no official confirmation from Emirati authorities.