Islam, Judaism, and What Lies Between Them

Part One: Muhammad and the Essence of Islam

In this new series, I aim to explore the roots, nature, and development of Islam from a Jewish perspective. Join me on a compelling journey that may shatter long-held assumptions—about our Muslim neighbors, their culture, and perhaps even about ourselves.

"Islam means submission—the believer’s submission to Allah," wrote Ignác Goldziher (1850–1921), a Hungarian-Jewish orientalist and one of the founding figures of modern Islamic studies.

“This phrase—an unmistakable expression of the essence of the relationship Muhammad sets between the believer and the object of his worship—above all conveys a sense of total dependence on an omnipotent power. The human being must surrender entirely, annulling his own will. This is the core principle that runs through all manifestations of this religion: its ideas, its morals, its rituals. It is the clearest marker of Islam’s uniqueness and the type of human character it seeks to cultivate.”

By contrast, it is difficult to say that this definition captures the essence of Judaism. True, the Hebrew Bible is a text that fosters complete dependence on “the God of Heaven and Earth, who brought you out of Egypt.” But as Martin Buber emphasized, it is also a text of dialogue. Adam disobeys. Abraham argues with God. Moses argues. Isaiah argues. Job argues.

And yet, Judaism has not always remained in this dynamic tension between human will and divine command. In the depths of its mysticism—especially within the Hasidic movement—voices emerged that favored absolute surrender over dialogue. Here comes the surprising twist: it is precisely in the Jewish mysticism of Eastern Europe that we find a striking conceptual parallel to the core of Islam.

One of the clearest examples is the radical theology of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, an 18th-century Hasidic master.

"The main thing, the essential foundation, upon which everything depends," says Rabbi Nachman, “is to attach oneself to the Tzaddik (the righteous leader of the generation), and to accept his words unconditionally, whether in big or small matters. One must not deviate from his guidance, as our sages said: ‘Even if he tells you that your right is left.’ One must cast aside all of one’s own intellectual reasoning, as if one has no mind of their own, and instead receive everything from the Tzaddik. So long as one still retains their own intellect, they have not achieved spiritual completion, and are not truly attached to the Tzaddik.” (Likutey Moharan, Part I, Torah 123)

His foremost disciple, Rabbi Natan of Breslov, famously said:

“Every time I threw away a piece of my own intellect, I came closer to our Master.”

If we take Goldziher’s definition of Islam seriously—as the annulment of self-will before a transcendent Other—then we must admit that Judaism, too, has developed its own form of Islam: the radical spiritual surrender found in Hasidic Breslov thought.

To be continued...