“Remember Khaybar”: A Battle Cry Echoing Time

By Dr. Tim Orr

When I landed in London on October 7, 2023, I expected a week of conversations, research, and interfaith dialogue. Instead, I entered a cultural firestorm. It was the day Hamas launched its coordinated attacks on Israeli civilians—a massacre that would soon dominate global headlines.

In the following days, I took 18 Uber rides and asked each driver, “What do you think about what happened?” I didn’t argue or lecture. I listened.

The responses were not just passionate—they were disturbingly consistent. While a few drivers expressed uncertainty or deflected the question, the vast majority voiced sentiments that revealed animosity toward Jews, shaped by theological narratives rather than political critique. Each ride revealed animosity toward Jews and, to a lesser extent, toward the West. This wasn’t about policy; it was visceral, theological rage. Some references to hadiths. Others cited Jewish opposition to the Prophet. One said, “Their time will come again.”

The emotional undercurrent pointed to a more than 1,300 years memory: the Battle of Khaybar.

What I Heard in London: Khaybar in Real Time

Though not always spoken, the memory of Khaybar was embedded in the attitudes I encountered. Some mentioned Islamic battles. Others spoke of Jewish deception and the need for justice. The message was the same: the Jews wronged us; revenge is inevitable.

These conversations weren’t like 18 separate dialogues but one recurring narrative. The same themes echoed across voices, shaped by sermons, media, and Islamic education. Figures like Zakir Naik, Nouman Ali Khan, and weekend schools often emphasize pride and grievance. Social media intensifies this, amplifying outrage and reinforcing identity-based victimhood across Western echo chambers. In non-Western contexts, state media and clerics fuel similar radicalization. What I encountered wasn’t random anger—it was rehearsed doctrine, repeated with slight variation. By 'doctrine,' I mean a set of theological convictions—rooted in specific hadiths, Qur'anic passages, and historical narratives—that frame Jews not just as political adversaries, but as theologically condemned figures. Once confined to scholarly circles or extremist literature, these ideas have now filtered into everyday discourse.

In the West, social media algorithms amplify grievances and create echo chambers that emotionally and tribally deepen theological animosity. In non-Western contexts, ideology spreads through state-sponsored media or clerical messaging. In the West, old grievances are personalized and intensified.

What I encountered wasn’t just anger—it was doctrine in motion.

Theology on the Street: From Khaybar to Doctrine

These interactions showed how theology becomes street-level ideology. Once reserved for scholars, ideas have filtered through sermons and stories into the hearts of ordinary people. Khaybar isn’t a distant memory—it’s a modern identity marker.

The Battle of Khaybar In 628 CE, Muhammad’s forces attacked the Jewish oasis of Khaybar. This military victory led to the deaths and enslavement of Jews and introduced the concept of jizya. As Free Donner (2010) notes, Khaybar symbolized Muhammad’s authority over dissenting Jewish tribes (p. 163).

The story became a model for later Islamic conquests: allow Jews and Christians to live, but only under submission. This continues to influence radical groups today.

Theological Echoes and Eschatology

In Islamic theology, Jews are portrayed as recipients of revelation who betrayed it. The Qur’an accuses them of altering scriptures (2:75–79) and killing prophets (2:91; 3:112). Muhammad’s conflict with Jewish tribes is framed as part of a theological pattern of rejection.

Hadiths like Sahih Muslim 2922 declare that a final battle will pit Muslims against Jews, with nature assisting in their demise. This embeds hostility into sacred texts and shapes perceptions across generations.

When identity is framed against a theologically doomed "other," it can lead to dehumanization. Khaybar is remembered, rehearsed, and reimagined in modern political contexts.

"Remember Khaybar": A Weaponized Chant

The chant “Khaybar, Khaybar, ya Yahud...” ("Khaybar, Khaybar, O Jews") refers to the 7th-century battle in which Muhammad’s forces defeated the Jewish tribes. Today, the chant is a modern weapon. It’s used by Hamas, Hezbollah, and protestors worldwide. It’s not historical remembrance—it’s a threat.

In conflict zones, it’s a literal battle cry. In the West, it’s a symbolic act of resistance, expressing loyalty and belonging for those feeling alienated. For second-generation Muslims, it echoes a narrative of betrayal and promised vindication (Herf, 2022, p. 34).

Worse still, the chant recruits. For alienated youth, it offers empowerment. Extremists use it to script the future, not just recall the past.

Imagine the Reverse: A Christian Analogy

Imagine if Christians chanted, “Crusade, Crusade, O Muslims...” The outrage would be immediate. Yet “Remember Khaybar” is often tolerated, even praised. While the comparison is provocative, it is also instructive. The Crusades, though remembered by Muslims as brutal invasions, do not serve the same theological function in Christianity as Khaybar does in Islam. The memory of the Crusades is largely historical for most Christians, rarely used to inspire action or shape identity.
In contrast, Khaybar functions within Islamic theology and eschatology as a template for future confrontation, giving it enduring emotional and ideological weight. The outrage would be immediate. Yet “Remember Khaybar” is often tolerated, even praised.

In 2021, it was heard during an anti-Israel rally in Berlin (Marcus, 2021). Jewish communities have asked governments to recognize its threat. Cloaked in memory, the chant is theological militarism.

Uber Theology: When the Past Is Present

Back in London, I realized I wasn’t hearing political views—I was hearing a script. These weren’t spontaneous thoughts. They were recitations from a theological tradition in which Jews are perennially guilty.

The theme: "They did it to the Prophet. They’re doing it again." Khaybar was no longer history—it was prophecy.

What shocked me most wasn’t the rage but its uniformity. Different men, same message—a shared emotional script fueled by grievance, loss, and a mandate to avenge.

The Fragility of Interfaith Trust

Memory can build bridges or burn them. “Remember Khaybar” burns them. In contrast, shared memories of collaboration—such as Muslim leaders protecting Jews during World War II in Albania, or Christian and Muslim communities cooperating in interfaith disaster relief—can inspire hope. These stories remind us that when rooted in compassion and mutual dignity, memory can also lay the foundation for peace.. For Jews, it’s a reminder of theological justification for subjugation. For Islamists, it’s a divine template. For peacebuilders, it’s a sobering reality.

Mark Durie warns, "Theologies that idealize domination...create deep problems for coexistence" (2010, p. 154). Until these narratives are addressed, interfaith trust will remain brittle.

Christian leaders must not shy away from truth-telling. Peace built on denial is false. Real peace requires confronting hostile memories and texts. This might include interfaith study groups engaging sacred texts with trained facilitators. These study groups foster honest dialogue and mutual respect. Gospel-centered Christians can offer clarity with humility, replacing hostility with understanding.

From Khaybar to Calvary

As a Christian, I must speak—not with fear or hatred, but with truth. Jesus, too, was rejected. But He responded not with conquest but with the cross. He forgave, ransomed, and reconciled (Luke 23:34; Mark 10:45).

The Christian memory is not "Remember Khaybar," but “Remember Calvary.”

Christians must speak clearly: We denounce antisemitism. We confront toxic narratives. We offer the cross, where justice and mercy meet.

Our mission must be pastoral and theological. We must understand Muslim narratives and counter them with gospel hope. Khaybar is one story, and Calvary is another. One calls for vengeance, and the other calls for sacrifice.

My Mea Culpa Moment in London

October 7 changed me. I had assumed such theology was either distant or diminished in the West. I was wrong.

The Uber conversations showed me that militant narratives had migrated into Western streets. I had studied these texts, but not grasped their street-level influence. That realization reshaped my ministry.

I now embrace polemics—not to attack, but to clarify truths I once hesitated to confront. As I reflected on how deeply these narratives permeate public discourse, this shift had already begun to take shape, but London made it urgent. Polemics, used humbly in sermons, classes, and training, can dismantle falsehoods and prepare hearts for Christ. It is truth-telling with love. Polemics can be used humbly in sermons, classes, and training to dismantle falsehoods and prepare hearts for Christ. It is truth-telling with love.

Conclusion: Rewriting the Script

Khaybar is not destiny. Christians are called to a better story—grace, reconciliation, and love.

I witnessed how memory fuels hatred, but I’m more convinced than ever that only the gospel can break this cycle.

The choice between Khaybar and Calvary defines our future. One fuels hate. The other offers healing. Let’s choose the cross.

References

Donner, F. M. (2010). Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origins of Islam. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Durie, M. (2010). The Third Choice: Islam, Dhimmitude and Freedom. Melbourne: Deror Books.

Herf, J. (2022). Israel’s Moment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Marcus, I. (2021). "Khaybar, Khaybar": Why this chant... The Jewish Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.thejc.com

Sahih Muslim 2922. (n.d.). Sunnah.com. Retrieved from https://sunnah.com/muslim:2922

Stillman, N. A. (1979). The Jews of Arab Lands: A History and Source Book. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society.

The Qur’an. (n.d.). Surahs 2:75–79; 2:91; 3:112.