Al-Fashoush fi Hokm Qarakosh
Bayan AlTarikh walFan walHaki AlShaabi
(Revisiting the Book on the Stupidity in the Judgements of Qaraqush – History, art, and folk tales)
Omar Abdel-Aziz Mounir, Elain, Pp 340.
This volume opens a window into history to offer much insight into how Egyptians criticized their dictator rulers and got away with it.
It is also about the unfailing Egyptian sense of humour that persists through the century.
Omar Abdel-Aziz Mounir is effectively revisiting and scrutinizing a text written in the 12th century on one of the commanders and judges of the founder of the Ayyubid dynasty, Salaheddine.
Al-Fashoush fi Hokm Qarakosh was first put together by Al-Assa’ad Ibn Mamati.
Then, in the 15th century, Hafez Galaleddine Al-Syouti reworked the book with some additions to do exactly what Ibn Mamati had done: safely exercise political satire.
Mounir’s job with this 340-page volume is rather different, as he states in his introduction.
The author, an academician with several published titles on the relationship between history and folk tales, is pursuing a diligent historical endeavour to draw a line, thin as it might be, between the true story of Qaraqush and the tales associated with him.
In essence, Mounir shows how both Ibn Mamati and Al-Syouti were parties to an otherwise much more layered dynamic that branded Qaraqush as a silly, impulsive, aggressive, and incompetent ruler — when he was not necessarily all of the above, at least not fully.
Mounir argues that Qaraqush is the epitome of absurd dictatorship in the collective Egyptian folk history.
This is precisely why people, through the centuries since Ibn Mamati put out his volume, use the reference to this Ayyoubid commandor to qualify an illogical and abrasive decision.
However, Mounir wrote that the count of history is rather different because Qaraqush was a competent military leader with Salaheddine's confidence.
Thus, the author acknowledges that Qaraqush was far from a cultivated ruler and more of a military man than a politician.
The result, Mounir wrote, was that it became very easy to label Qaraqush with poor judgement and stubborn decisions – as detailed in the Ibn Mamati book and later in the work of Al-Syouti.
Mounir explained that over the centuries, it became almost standard for intellectuals who would not dare criticize the subsequent Mamlouk or Ottoman rulers of Egypt to discuss Qaraqush's stupidity and poor judgment.
Mounir wrote that Qaraqush continued to inspire. Throughout the 20th century, several plays and films were produced in Egypt based on the story.
In this sense, Mounir asserted that his book should not be read solely as a study of the convoluted image of Qaraqush but also as a study of the relationship between the people and their rulers — and vice versa.
Yahoud AlDaher
Massoudah waElisha’ waMarzouk
(Jews of Al-Daher Neighbourhood: Massoudah, Elisha, and Marzouk)
Soheir Abdel-Hamid, AlMasriyah Al-Lebenaniah, Pp 359.
This book adds to a growing list of volumes examining Egyptian Jewry's history.
The author, Soheir Abdel-Hamid, is a journalist who has published several titles on the modern history of Egypt, including "Nahum Effendi — Asrar Al-Hakham Al-Akhir lYahoud Masr” (Nahum Effendi—Secrets of the Last Rabbi of Egyptian Jews). Al-Massriyah Al-Lebenaniyah also published this during the 2024 Cairo International Book Fair.
In this volume, Abdel-Hamid takes her project a step further by moving from a zoom on a specific figure of Egyptian Jewry during the very last segment of their many centuries in Egypt to a neighbourhood community — or rather to the neighbourhood and its predominant Jewish residents of the early 20th century.
The book is designed as a very long feature that depicts the history of the neighbourhood, which she found to be “a bridge” between the residents of the poorer Jewish alley in Mouski (Hareit Al Yahoud) and the residents of the upscale neighbourhoods of Zamalek and Garden City.
Abdel-Hamid recalls the early beginnings of the Al-Daher neighbourhood and its association with the famous Mamlouk who ruled Egypt in the 14th century, Al-Zaher Baibars. In colloquial pronunciation, “Al-Zaher” had evolved to "Al-Daher."
She then recalls the evolution of the neighbourhood, which by the 20th century had a majority of middle-class Jewish residents — some of whom had moved from Harret Al-Yahoud (The Jewish Alley) after climbing the socio-economic scale.
“In a way, Al-Daher was a bridge between the poorer Jewish community of Harret Al-Yahoud and the well-off community of Egyptian Jews who lived in Garden City, Zamalek, and Heliopolis,” Abdel-Hamid wrote.
The book is essentially divided into a long sequel of subtitles, which includes quotes from personal testimonies, archival material, and historical references.
This writing plan offers two things. The first is a broader perspective than that of the author on how the Jews of Al-Daher – essentially but not only – lived and interacted with other Egyptians, including the richer and poorer of the Jews.
The second is an easy, anecdotal read about the modern history of Egyptian Jewry. It references their habits, most famous figures, and synagogues and rabies.
Along with the storytelling, The Jews of Al-Daher includes photos that complement Abdel-Hamid's thorough and passionate research.
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