A great deal has been written on Israeli religious institutions, activities, and problems, but the treatment of the subject leaves much to be desired. Many studies focus primarily on a specific topic within the subject – the relationship between the polity and religion as reflected in institutional arrangements. But this problem is not coterminous with the subject as a whole. While the problem of relations between synagogue and state can be discussed as a formal constitutional problem, it cannot be understood sociologically, because it merely represents the tip of an iceberg, so to speak. The iceberg itself, still to be uncovered, consists of religious phenomena – the variegated activities of various groups whereby they relate to religious symbols. People engage in these activities in many ways, causing the emergence of various features of society, and the relationship between synagogue and state is only one of them. Another limitation of present writing on religion in Israel lies in the bias whereby the Israeli situation is often evaluated according to a model of separation of church and state of the American or French type. Many writers demonstrate impatience and lack of sympathy when discussing the religious establishment and the current role of religion in the Israeli state.

No major Allied Power contributed more men and more money td the defeat of the Ottoman Empire than Great Britain. No major Allied Power championed more zealously the cause of Greek ambitions in Asia Minor than Great Britain. No major Allied Power witnessed the despoliation of its peace objectives for non-Arabic Turkey with greater frustration than Great Britain. Between the drafting of the Armistice of Mudros in October, 1918, and the signing of the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923, the catastrophic drift of events was discernible to a number of British statesmen. Tragically, their observations were ignored or rejected by the key British statesman, Lloyd George.

In recent years the political roles of the People's Assembly, the Arab Socialist Union, town and village councils, labor unions, and other Egyptian governmental structures have been analyzed. Interestingly enough, most observers would probably agree that the Egyptian parliament is for the most part a rubber stamp; that Egypt is a partyless and not a one-party state; that it lacks a viable system of local government as distinct from the prevailing system of provincial administration; and that labor unions are official but not truly behavioral entities. In short, the Egyptian policy is dissected with conceptual tools borrowed from traditional institutional analysis, while it generally is recognized that Egyptian politics are not institutionalized, or, to use Moore's term, are ‘unincorporated’. This contradiction merits comment.

The problematic status of the historical urban core raises analogous questions for city planners in cities otherwise as diverse as Paris, Istanbual, or Mexico City. In the case of medinas of the Islamic world the historical core is less the site of monuments pertaining to our common heritage than it is a discrete part of the urban fabric which, while adapting somewhat to larger milieu, still stands apart as a striking testament to a peculiarly local way of life.

For several years, whenever time permitted, I have worked on a book, Southeastern Europe under Ottoman Rule, covering the centuries between the conquest of Gallipoli in 1354 and the beginning of the Serb revolt in 1804. As the title of my study indicates, it covers only the Balkan Peninsula, Hungary, and Romania. It is not a history of the Ottomans in Europe, but an attempt to present the story of the people who lived under Ottoman rule.

This paper reports the outcome of computations of indexes for total agricultural output and for apparent consumption of basic food: cereals and pulses in Egypt during the period 1886/87–1967/68.

Britain's strategic interest in Mesopotamia in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was a consequence of her control over India. The valleys of the Tigris and the Euphrates constitute a natural highway from Syria to the Persian Gulf, and thence to the Indian Ocean. Not until a relatively late stage in Imperial history, however, did Britain extend her formal protection to this region. In the nineteenth century successive British governments had refused to finance the establishment of either a Mesopotamian steamer service or railway line. Subsequently, they had first (1903) rejected participation in an international Baghdad railway scheme, and then (1914) sanctioned complete German control over the project as far as Basra. A small Indian force was despatched to the head of the Persian Gulf in October 1914, but the subsequent Mesopotamian campaign was ‘a haphazard affair from start to finish’ lacking political or military direction. Thus, the De Bunsen committee, which reported on Britain's desiderata in Asiatic Turkey in June 1915, had concluded that Ottoman “devolutionary control” over Mesopotamia was preferable to Indian annexation of any part of the region other than the Basra vilayet; that October, the War Cabinet experienced difficulty in deciding whether to sanction an advance on Baghdad. No proclamation of political interest in Mesopotamia was in fact made by a British government until the capture of the city in 1917. The immediate and local arguments impelling that operation have been fully investigated. By contrast, the strategic tradition that deprecated it has been relatively neglected. This paper proposes to survey the latter and to indicate the degree to which the extension of the Mesopotamian campaign contradicted previous British strategy toward the region.

The purpose of this study is to examine the socioeconomic role played by the local foreign minorities in modern Egypt. Who were these local foreign minorities? And what do we mean by their socioeconomic role?

Local foreign minorities were those foreigners like the Greeks, the Armenians, the Italians, and other Europeans, who emigrated to Egypt during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and who kept their language and culture and did not get assimilated into Egyptian society. Other local foreign minorities included the Syrians and the Jews. The former were originally Arabic speaking but a large proportion of them tended later to acquire foreign nationalities and a Levantine outlook. A great number of Jews in Egypt were foreign emigrants who settled during the nineteenth century and early twentieth century in Egypt, whereas a section of the indigenous Jewish population acquired foreign protection and foreign nationalities during the same periods.

Historians, among others, expose the lies and deceptions of politicians, dead and alive. But historians themselves often are deceived by the limitations of their own approaches to history. While they themselves may act emotionally or sometimes irrationally in their personal lives, they are too often committed to seek rational explanations for the behavior of statesmen. Grossly understimates in many instancees is the power of retionalization as a factor in the ‘decisionmaking process.’ Often great decisions have been made on the basis of inadequate or false information, with consequences that the decision-makers could not foresee. Sometimes decisions are the result of muddleheadedness. Sometimes a governmental decision seems to be the product of a succession of miscalculations. But it is the natural impulse of those in positions of authority to justify their decisions by some explanations that relate to their zeal for the ‘national interest.’ In so doing they do not necessarily deliberately lie; often they deceive themselves as well as others. Reasons developed after the fact provide a cerebral gloss for unintellingent decisions leading to unintended actions. The background for the occupation of Egypt in 1882 provides an illustration.

To the people of the province of Syria, Midhat Pasha's appointment as their governor on 13 November 1878 was no ordinary event. Midhat was well known there, largely as a result of his involvement in the deposition of Sultan 'Abd al—'Azīz (1861–1876) and the declaration of the Constitution on 23 December 1876. He was frequently referred to as ‘the father of the free and the deposer of sultans.’ He came to the province of Syria with a well-founded reputation, having served three times as governor in the provinces of Bulgaria, Danube, and Baghdād, and twice as grand vizier, the second most important position in the Empire. The optimism and hope his appointment generated in the province were as genuine and deep as were the corruption and deterioration there. Lisān al-Hāl reflected this optimsim when it said: ‘Syria has had enough oppression and misery. It has been up till now a marketplace for governors and functionaries: they come to it empty-handed and leave with tired shoulders because of the heavy treasures they carry away. Undoubtedly, Midhat Pasha came to it as a tradesman, his merchandise being justice and reform.’

On the whole, King Hussein of the Hijaz, sharif of Mecca, has fared badly at the hands of British historians. To most of them he was an obstinate old man, so overambitious for himself, and so overconfident about his following in the Arab world, that he was a poor judge of his powers and unrealistic to a great extent. Examination of the papers in the British Public Record Office, in conjunction with his own letters and other sources, offers another image. It shows quite a different man – consistent in his beliefs and policy, stubborn about questions of principle, and wholly set on pursuing with dignity the rights that he reckoned the British to have promised to all Arabs ‘liberated’ from the yoke of the Turks.

Because the Seljuk throne managed to survive for sixty years after the establishment of the Mongol Protectorate in Seljuk Anatolia in 1243, there seems to have been no sudden upheaval in Anatolian society and its formal institutions. Nevertheless, a gradual, and at first rather inconspicuous, transformation took place which resulted in the shifting of centres of both power and the arts to western Anatolia in the centuries that followed. This paper addresses itself to the resulting alterations and innovations in architecture, especially with respect to the directions they gave to subsequent periods in Anatolian—Turkish architecture.

The transformations that created the classical period in Ottoman architecture began between approximately 1250 and 1450. As a result of these changes, Anatolia came to derive its models and inspiration no longer from Iran, but from the eastern Mediterranean whose traditions now gave the major direction to the following centuries in Anatolia.2 This shift in orientation was by no means sudden or radical, but rather it was the long-term result of a particular political situation. Nevertheless, a critical date in this evolutionary process seems to be around 1250, the time of the coming of the Mongols.

Throughout the nineteenth century, the cities on the southern and eastern shores of the Mediterranean, Tunis, Alexandria, Beirut, Smyrna, and Istanbul among them, experienced an influx of foreign communities which, combined with an increase in the indigenous populations and new urban policies on the part of certain rulers, tended to disrupt customary patterns of urban relationships. Although the scholarship of recent years has provided a new awareness of the network of interrelationships which held together the segments of medieval Islamic urban society, studies on the nineteenth-century changes in those relationships as represented by the policies of Muhammad ῾Alī, Aḥmad Bey, and the Ottoman Tanzimat reformers, have tended to focus more on aspects of state and government than on cities as such. Yet cities, especially capital cities, reflect most intensely periods of social and institutional transition.

Afghanistan proceeded along the road of constitutional monarchy for a decade from 1963 to 1973 in the reign of King Muḥammad Ẓāhir (1933–1973) much as it had during the reign of King Amān Allāh (1919–1929). In the 1950s, parliamentary democracy was also practiced for a brief period. But these experiments failed, and the reigning monarchs were forced into exile in Italy. In 1973, Afghanistan was proclaimed a republic. This article examines why, in the last period, the constitutional system of government, as well as the well-established Afghan monarchy, collapsed.

No problem has perplexed students of modern Ottoman history more than that of determining the state of the empire's population during its last century. Foreign travelers and diplomats and various nationalist leaders claimed that the Ottoman government had no census of its own. They made self-serving estimates of its population to support their own political or diplomatic ambitions, using at best methods such as multiplying by preset figures the number of males found in neighborhood coffeehouses or Sunday religious services, or simply accepting the estimates of local priests. In the face of this, the Ottomans did no more than publish their figures without providing supporting data or bothering to explain their census procedures. As a result, the Ottoman census system and its data were largely ignored in the outside world, and the rough and inaccurate estimates of foreigners were generally accepted in preference to the official figures.

One of the few predictable opportunities for the exercise of free will that comes the way of most human beings is the bestowal of names upon their children. To be sure, local or national custom may legally restrict or otherwise limit the scope of that freedom in some cases; but by and large, there is normally some choice to be made, and the beneficiary of the choice, the child, is inevitably powerless to influence it.

The process of modernization in Morocco is dramatically symptomized by the decline of traditional authority. Postindependence politics have been in a state of permanent crisis, and the monarchy could only survive as any other political alternative promised imminent chaos. The abortive military coup of Skhirat in July 1971 was only another link in the chain of events that have perpetuated internal crisis. The army's massive interference in national politics was, however, a novelty. It had the effect of greatly accelerating the latent process of disintegration of traditional society and politics.

§I. All the Jews of Zakho, together with all the Jews of Iraq, emigrated to Israel in the years 1951 and 1952. Some waves of Kurdish Jews had already arrived in Palestine in the 1920s. In Israel, their Neo-Aramaic speech became strongly influenced and gradually superseded by Israeli Hebrew. The Neo-Aramaic speech of the elders, however, was much less influenced by Modern Hebrew and still retains characteristic Kurdistani features, including a large number of loanwords from Kurdish–Persian, Arabic, Turkish, and old, traditional Hebrew. Another typical feature is the coloring of their Neo-Aramaic speech with numerous proverbs in the languages of their neighboring ethnic groups. The multilingual proverbs are an excellent example of the mutual influence of the various ethnic groups and cultures of Iraqi Kurdistan.

A synthesis of Ottoman administrative history has yet to be written, and it is unlikely that one will appear in the near future. The task is enormous, and more glamorous subjects continue to receive priority. Even now the field of administrative history exists largely as an ancillary to the study of Ottoman diplomatic instruments or as a foundation for the study of the moderization of traditional society. In the latter case it has fallen under the spell of institutional history, where three theses and at least one ‘antithesis’ scurry in their murine way across the tiles of the Ottoman edifice. Despite the fact that a developed literature is lacking, speceialists in other disciplines have used the Ottoman example for broad comparative studies of bureaucratic empires. Their premature attempts have perpetuated the notion already endemic in Islamist circles that what we know of Islamic government is all there is to know and need be known. Several themes, however, have dominated the study of governing institutions in the Middle East with a force that has surely impeded progress and fresh thought. Our first results from the four theses referred to earlier are terribly outdated at worst or in need of modification at best. New source materials in the Ottoman archives and new readings of older materials long subject to scholarly scrutiny call for a reexamination of those leading themes and the theses they inspire before any attempt at synthesis and comparison is made.

The chronicle of Rabbi Elijah Capsali (ca. 1483–1555), which concerns itself with the history of the Ottoman Empire, turns up as a subject for discussion from time to time. Capsali, rabbi of the Candia community in Crete, wrote the chronicle entitled Seder Eliyahu Zuta during the plague of the spring and summer of 1523. It is divided into four parts and 166 chapters and includes an introduction in which he explains the reasons for writing it and mentions his sources. As yet, however, the importance of this chronicle has not been sufficiently emphasized. The interpretation presented by Uriel Heyd at the Sixth Turkish History Congress held in Ankara in 1961. dealt with a number of aspects such as the sources of Capsali and Jewish references in the text, but only in their most general form. In this paper I examine the importance and limitations of the chronicle more thoroughly.