Muslim Poetry

Here are some excerpts from the works of Saadi of Shiraz, the 13th century Muslim poet, who wrote during the brief-lived zenith of Islamic culture, which prove the inherent Arab hatred for Jews. Not much has changed in 700 years, eh?

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I was hesitating about buying a house when a Jew said to me: “Buy it, my friend. As a landholder of this ward, I assure you that the structure has no defect.”

“Except that you are the neighbor of it,” I replied. “Truly, any house beside which a Jew lives can only be worth ten dirhams. Still, the hope may be entertained that, after your death, it will be worth a thousand.”

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A Muslim man passing by a fellow Muslim mistook him for a Jew, insulted him and struck him on the neck — whereupon the injured man identified himself and bestowed his robe on the aggressor.

“I acted wrongly,” said the attacker, “and you have forgiven me. But why give me a gift?”

“I am thankful that I am not a Jew,” was the reply. “And that, although I do not ride the donkey, I am not the donkey on which men ride.”

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In the Zoroastrian region of Sumanat [a celebrated Zoroastrian temple later demolished by Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni, who persecuted the non-Muslim Persian “idolaters” of his empire], I saw a beautiful idol set with jewels on a golden throne. The whole was supported by a dais of teakwood. Caravans from around the world brought living men — cursed be they! — to supplicate before its lifeless figure and to kiss its ivory hand.

To a Zoroastrian friend and roommate, I said with gentleness: “O Magi! I am astonished at the doings of this place. All of you are infatuated with this feeble form. You are imprisoned in the well of superstition.”

Angered, the Magi relayed my words to the idolaters, who became equally enraged. Destitute of help, I saw no remedy save in a pretense of politeness. When a numerous enemy hates you, safety lies in feigned gentleness and resignation.

I praised the Magi loudly: “Expounder of the Zend Avesta! I, too, am pleased with your idol. Its appearance was at first strange in my sight, but now I am its foremost advocate.”

Suddenly, to the wonderment of the crowd, the idol raised its arm!

The Magi smiled at me. “Now you will have no doubt.”

Seeing the Magi’s folly, I shed hypocritical tears and cried, “I am sorry for what I said. I, too, am a believer.”

For a few days, I posed as an infidel and discussed the Zend Avesta. One day, assigned to guard the temple, I locked the door and peeked through a screen behind the idol, where I saw the Zoroastrian high priest devoutly adjusting a rope. The rope was connected to the idol’s arm.

Greatly confused to see me, the priest fled in haste. I followed in hot pursuit and threw him headlong down a well — I knew that if he remained alive, he would seek to shed my blood. When the purpose of an evil man is revealed to you, pull him up by the roots; otherwise, he will wish you dead.

After making sure that the priest was dead, I fled from the land. When you set fire to a cane forest, beware of the tigers.

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Although a Christian’s well is always foul, you can still wash a dead Jew in it. Even dirty mortar is good for stopping an outhouse.

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One last quote from Saadi, considered by Islamic proponents to be the quintessence of Muslim nazi “ethics” and politics:

Whoever makes peace with the enemies of his friends greatly injures his friends. Wash your hands, O wise man, of a friend who sits with your foes.

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