Essays and Features

 

Across the Middle East and North Africa, superstition has long coexisted with religion, folklore, and everyday life. Beliefs surrounding the evil eye, divine curses, unseen forces, and supernatural causes for misfortune continue to shape how many people interpret disasters and hardship. While these traditions have deep historical roots, Algerian novelist and thinker Amin Zaoui argues in his essay, “When Natural Disasters Become a Breeding Ground for Superstition,” published in Independent Arabia, that their continued prominence carries consequences extending far beyond personal belief -- that is, superstition is not merely a harmless cultural practice but a force that can discourage critical thinking, perpetuate social injustice, and provide political authorities with a convenient escape from accountability.

 

Lebanese people often say that just as Egypt is the gift of the Nile, Lebanon is the gift of the Litani. Rivers create the ideal conditions for the rise of great civilizations, a connection acknowledged since ancient times through the worship and reverence of rivers in Greece, Egypt, Mesopotamia, and across the wider world. From the creation of myths and the birth of numerous fertility deities to celebrations, festivals, and offering ceremonies, rivers have been central to the lives of the communities surrounding them. “As the presence of water is inextricably linked to the presence of life — and its absence to death — it is hardly surprising that rivers, waterways, and their basins have frequently ignited wars and bloody conflicts among humanity,” states Shawqi Bzeih in “The Litani River: Guardian of Memory and Legend, Ignored by Poets,” published in Asharq al-Awsat.

 

Just in time for the closing of Arab American Heritage Month, French-Moroccan artist Sara Ouhaddou in collaboration with NYC Parks, the Washington Street Historical Society, the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs, and funding by the Mellon Foundation, unveiled a vibrant art installation on April 30 that not only celebrates the history of its surrounding area, but stands imbued with the hopes of preserving the community’s legacy for years to come. With its permanent home at the Elizabeth H. Berger Plaza in the Financial District, Ouhaddou’s sculpture and mosaic installation, nearly a decade in the making, honors the memory of Manhattan’s Little Syria, which was completely demolished and its residents evicted in the 1940s to make way for the construction of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. The unveiling was also organized in conjunction with a symposium at NYU’s Kevorkian Center, titled “Beyond Al-Qalam: Literary Rebellion and Visual Abstraction in Little Syria,” held on May 2, 2026, exploring the legacy of New York’s early Arab American writers.

 

Arabic in the pre-Islamic era — or Jahiliyyah, the ‘age of ignorance’ — was a diverse continuum of spoken dialects and poetic language rather than a single unified language. The period encompasses the history of the Arabian Peninsula and surrounding regions prior to the spread of Islam in 610 CE, a time characterized by nomadic Bedouin tribes and a rich oral poetry tradition. Mustafa Attia Juma’s essay, “The Reality of Arabic in the Pre-Islamic Era,” explores the deep history of the Arabic language and the conditions that determined its purity.

 

Two languages, two sets of expectations — a twofold rejection on both sides, and at the heart of it, a complex relationship with identity. The Francophone writer perpetually exists between two worlds, regardless of efforts to bridge the distance between them. French-Moroccan writer Leila Slimani’s recent book, “Assault on the Border” (Assaut contre la frontière, Gallimard, 2026) explores the predicament of Maghrebi identity fragmented by two languages — more specifically, the writer’s relationship to her language, Arabic, bound by a “yearning that can never be sated, for its object was not suddenly lost, but rather never fully formed in the first place,” writes Anisa Makhalda in Asharq al-Awsat. “Assault on the Border” provides an intimate look into the writer’s personal life and reservations, especially surrounding Slimani’s “profound loss of Arabic” as a Francophone writer who has lost touch with what she considers her “paternal language.”