Between Religion and Crisis: Yasir Qadhi’s Da‘wa as Islamic Practical Theology in Post-October 7 America

Abstract

Practical theology is the application of theological reflection to concrete human experience—how faith is interpreted and embodied within shifting social realities. In the article, I examine how Islamic practical theology was interpreted amid the extensive crisis in light of the Gaza war in post-October 7 America, connecting it to the Islamic concept of da’wa (call to Islam). As a case study, I explore the doctrine of Sheikh Yasir Qadhi, one of the most prominent clerics in the US, who emerged as part of a new generation of young American imams who burst into the Western public sphere during the post-9/11 era. The rise of social media gained him prestige and solidified his global influence, amplifying his impact on shaping contemporary Islamic discourse to millions in America and the West. Similar to Qadhi’s post-9/11 use of da’wa as a practical theology that transformed Islamophobia into a means of strengthening faith and American Muslim identity, his post-October 7 da’wa discourse is a clear case of Islamic practical theology in response to crisis. Following the October 7 events, Qadhi framed the chaotic situation in Gaza as both a spiritual and activist catalyst. His emphasis on da’wa promoted personal piety, repentance, and communal solidarity, while also urging political activism, interfaith dialogue, and advocacy for global Muslim causes. This dual strategy—spiritual renewal intertwined with socio-political mobilization—illustrates how da’wa functions as a flexible instrument of Islamic practical theology addressing individual, communal, and national concerns. By comparing Qadhi’s post-9/11 and post-October 7 discourses, the article highlights a shift from defensive apologetics shaped by Islamophobia to a more assertive public theology intertwined with political engagement. This evolution illustrates how American Muslim leadership employs a living, crisis-responsive theology to redefine faith, identity, and responsibility in moments of profound upheaval.

1. Introduction

1.1. Da’wa—Historical Review and Social Aspects

The semantic concept of da’wa comes from the Arabic word (daw), which means to invite to call, and appears in the Quran in many verses, for example, in Surat an-Nahl: “invite (all) to the way of your lord, with wisdom and beautiful preaching, and argue with them in ways that are best and most gracious” (Q 16:125). Da’wa has mainly been used to refer to missionary da’wa, or proselytizing to encourage non-Muslims to embrace Islam, and to inspire and guide Muslims to live a pious life (Moore 2015). The distinction between these two main targets of da’wa, was distinguished by Egdunas Racius, who referred to the missionary activity of da’wa as “extra-ummaic da’wa,” and towards da’wa aiming to Muslims to correct their ways as an “intra-ummaic da’wa.” (Racius 2004).

In contrast to the Christian understanding of religious mission, da’wa is considered a more flexible term. This grants it the ability to link a range of activities, such as preaching and guiding Muslims towards the proper behaviour, justifying the existence of Muslims as a minority in the West, and battling misconceptions about Islam and Muslims (Moore 2015). In this article, I argue that the concept of da’wa is well combined with practical theology, as will be explored through various examples from the doctrine of Yasir Qadhi amid post-October 7 events. The research methodology employed in this article is based on a qualitative analysis of Qadhi’s primary sources, drawing on a wide range of his sermons and public engagements from 2010 to 2025, most of which are available on his official YouTube channel. In addition, the article draws on secondary sources, including essential scholarly literature on Islam in America, especially during the defining period of the post-9/11 era.

Before addressing the concept of da’wa in our modern context, it is essential to provide a brief introduction to its historical development and evolution since the death of the Prophet Muhammad (632) to the present era, which can be divided into three main periods:

During the classical period (7th–17th centuries), there was little organized da’wa activity, aside from the ʿAbbāsid da’wa (720–750s) that was active in places such as Baghdad, and was primarily political, and the Fāṭimid da’wa1 which combined missionary and theocratic elements within Ismaʿili rule and was activated in cities such as Cairo and Damascus. In parallel, Ṣūfī preachers and merchants actively spread Islam across Africa and Asia, particularly among non-Muslims. From the eighteenth century onward, amid the Islamic revival, da’wa acquired a more ideological and political character in movements such as the Muslim Brotherhood, which viewed it as a means of internal Islamization rather than external conversion. In contrast, Ahmadiyya and Jamāʿat al-Islāmī movements adopted a more apolitical and missionary orientation, focusing on moral guidance for Muslims and outreach to non-Muslims alike. From the twentieth century to the modern era, da’wa has increasingly expanded westward, facilitated by Muslim migration to Europe and North America, as well as the establishment of key organizations such as the Muslim Students Association (MSA), the Islamic Circle of North America (ICNA), and the Leicester Islamic Centre. These organizations have emphasized social and educational dimensions of da’wa, reflecting the growing institutional presence and normalization of Islam in the West (Racius 2004).

While da‘wa activity during the mid-twentieth century was expressed mainly through publications, cassette recordings, and sermons in mosques or on street corners, a significant transformation began toward the end of the century with the rise of the internet and new media, which enabled global communication and the widespread dissemination of religious knowledge. As early as 1998, Muzammil Siddiqi, former president of ISNA (Islamic Society of North America), emphasized that digital media had “injected new life” into da‘wa, turning it into a global, virtual enterprise. Consequently, da‘wa shifted from a face-to-face encounter between the preacher and its audience in the mosque, to a worldwide digital system that made Islam accessible to anyone and significantly expanded its influence among Muslim communities across the globe (Racius 2004).

The latter form of digital da’wa has become highly relevant during the post-9/11 era, particularly with the rise of social media a few years after the attacks. Western Muslim preachers, who were at the center of the Islamophobia controversy, began to preach to the Western public about the authentic non-extremist Islam, defend its negative image, and battle misconceptions about the religion in general and the Muslim community in particular (Ben David 2020). The rise of 9/11 Islamophobia helped to form a type of da’wa that was a classic use of practical theology. In light of the rising Islamophobia in America and the West, da’wa was used not merely as proselytization but as a religious outreach activity that bridges faith and lived experience. It functioned as a form of faith-based engagement, through which leading Muslim figures translated theological principles into social responsibility, moral conduct, and public participation. This approach highlighted the practical-theological dimension of da’wa—transforming belief into action in contemporary society.

1.2. Islamic Practical Theology

In recent years, scholars have begun extending the conceptual framework of practical theology beyond its Christian origins to include the lived, performative, and socially engaged dimensions of Islam. Practical theology emerged as a discipline concerned with the interaction between belief and praxis—with how theological convictions are embodied in ritual, ethics, and community life (Heitink 1999; Browning 1991). Within Islamic contexts, this orientation resonates with the classical integration of ʿilm (knowledge) and ʿamal (action), which has long defined Islamic orthopraxy. Islamic practical theology, therefore, explores how Muslims reinterpret core theological principles in response to contemporary social and moral challenges. It emphasizes that theology should not be reduced to abstract creedal doctrine (ʿaqīda), which remains stable mainly within Islamic tradition, but rather should be understood in terms of how theological commitments are interpreted and enacted in lived contexts. Therefore, what is negotiated through practice is not belief itself, but its practical and ethical implications—how faith is translated into action through preaching (da’wa), charity (zakāt), public ethics, and interfaith engagement. Recent studies have shown that Islamic preaching in minority contexts, particularly in the West, serves as a form of lived theology that seeks to reconcile fidelity to revelation with participation in pluralistic civic life (Bano 2018).

This approach aligns with what some scholars refer to as the ‘lived Islam’ or ‘Islamic moral performance’ paradigm (Fadil and Fernando 2015), which emphasizes how Muslims express their faith through moral agency, emotional cultivation, and social responsibility. Within this framework, da’wa—traditionally viewed as a means of propagation—becomes a practical-theological medium: a tool through which believers transform crisis, trauma, or social tension into renewed spiritual awareness and civic activism. Therefore, the article will show how post-October 7 events, much like post-9/11 events, exemplify a new synthesis between spirituality and social engagement, situating Islam within the broader discourse of practical theology.

1.3. Islam and Da’wa in America in the Post-9/11 Era

Although this article does not focus on Islamic practical theology after 9/11, an introduction about the topic is essential for understanding its core connection to post-October 7, and the use of practical theology in the American context: Islam is currently the third-largest religion in the US, after Christianity and Judaism, and the Muslim population is commonly estimated to be around 4.5 million (US Religious Census 2020), with estimates ranging to even six to nine million (Curiel 2015).2 Historically, Islam has been present in America since the seventeenth century, with enslaved Muslims from West Africa constituting its earliest documented presence, as reflected in figures such as Ayuba Suleiman Diallo and Omar Ibn Said. However, enslavement, social marginalization, and the severing of religious and familial ties, prevented the sustained transmission or active propagation of Islam during this period (Poston 1992; Ghazali 2012). A more organized and visible Islamic presence emerged in the twentieth century with the rise of the “Nation of Islam” under Elijah Muhammad, whose influence expanded through figures such as Malcolm X, alongside subsequent waves of Muslim immigration before and after the World Wars (Curtis 2019).

Nevertheless, the general solidification of Islam started to coalesce by regaining more presence and collective strength since the sixties in the previous century (Ukeles 2003). Da’wa in America became noticeable during that time, with the increase in immigration and the foundation of Muslim organizations, such as the MSA and ICNA, that set a goal to spread Islam to Muslims and non-Muslims alike, bolstering the concept of Islamic visibility in America. As a minority in a Western-secular environment, da’wa enabled some of them to justify their residence in a non-Muslim country (Dar Al-Kufr) that was considered outside the rule of Islamic law (Shariʿa). Other significant Muslim organizations were founded later, including ISNA in 1981 and CAIR (Council on American-Islamic Relations) in 1994. ISNA, which traced its origin to the MSA, continued the focus on the spread of Islam and the unity of the Muslim community, while CAIR functioned as a legal platform to promote a positive image of Muslims through media communication, lobbying, education, and legal protection. By and large, the negative perception of Islam has a long historical record in America (Haddad and Lummis 1987). However, Muslims have generally lived peacefully for many decades, despite a few notable incidents that have occurred from time to time (Ba-Yunus and Kone 2006; Shooman and Spielhaus 2009). Nevertheless, the 9/11 attacks symbolized a new era of Islam in America that, according to Larry Poston, “marked a watershed moment for Islam in the Western Hemisphere” (Poston and Guzik 2020). The waves of Islamophobia that took place as a result exacerbated the rage and the anti-Islamic hatred and boosted the rise of Islamophobia. This included, for example, the Patriot Act of 2001, spying on mosques, freezing or shutting down Islamic charitable (zakat) institutions, and increased harassment and assaults against Muslims (Ghazali 2012; Mir and Sarroub 2019; Curtis 2019; Cainkar 2010).

However, the rise of Islamophobia in the aftermath of 9/11, which thrust the Muslim community into the center of public scrutiny, also motivated it to protect its image and faith through greater social integration and civic engagement. This included strengthening intra-Muslim ties, fostering interfaith dialogue with Christians and Jews, and increasing social activism and political participation. Therefore, ironically, the attacks led to a broader presence of Islam in America, serving as a “grandiose advertisement for the religion of Islam,” with Muslim leaders emphasizing its peaceful nature and distancing it from associations with violence (Poston and Guzik 2020; Curiel 2015; Ukeles 2003; Hermansen 2004; Wolfe 2002). Another key factor in Islam’s growing social visibility was the rise of new media a few years after 9/11. Around the years 2005–2006, Muslim preachers and activists started using social media platforms to spread da’wa by promoting a better, positive image of Islam (Ben David 2020; Brunet 2013).3 The dual effort to counter Islamophobia and utilize social media for outreach, turned the 9/11 tragedy into a window of opportunity for the Muslim community to gain greater public presence.

Another significant outcome of 9/11 was the strengthening of American identity among Muslims, particularly those from the immigrant generation. While the ‘Americanization of Islam’ had earlier roots, the post-9/11 era solidified it. Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad and Nader Harb, for example, argued that the attacks prompted many Muslims to identify more strongly as Americans, giving rise to an ‘American Islam’ that preserved Islamic values while embracing integration (Haddad and Harb 2014). Therefore, this period saw increased efforts to develop financially independent American Islamic institutions and to train imams rooted in the American context, fostering an ‘indigenous Islam’ shaped by local Western realities rather than Middle Eastern paradigms (Curiel 2015).

Zareena Grewal, addressing the post-9/11 era in the American context, noted how government and media scrutiny reshaped the discourse among Muslim intellectuals and leaders, particularly in debates over religious authority. Grewal cited as an example Hamza Yusuf, one of America’s prominent Muslim figures, who following 9/11 appeared publicly in Western attire and emphasized that Islam affirms Western, enlightened values. Yusuf’s educational vision also shifted from the traditional Islamic East to the establishment of a ‘traditional’ seminary within the American academic framework (Grewal 2014). Qadhi similarly emerged as a key post-9/11 figure who moved away from rigid Salafi doctrines toward a more pragmatic orientation. However, while both Yusuf and Qadhi recognized the need to adapt Islam for the future in America, their trajectories underlying these shifts differ in essential ways. Whereas Yusuf’s evolution was primarily cultural and civilizational—shaped by the symbolic shock of 9/11 and the need for Muslim public respectability—Qadhi’s transformation was more gradual and intellectual, mainly driven by his doctoral studies at Yale University, which foregrounded historical consciousness and critical engagement with the Islamic tradition.

1.4. The Figure of Yasir Qadhi

Sheikh Dr. Yasir Qadhi is one of America’s most famous and prominent Muslim scholars, and was described by the New York Times Magazine as “one of the most influential conservative clerics in American Islam” (Elliott 2011). Qadhi is currently the chairman of the Fiqh Council of North America, a resident scholar at ‘Epic Masjid’ in Plano, Texas, and dean of the Islamic Seminary of America, after serving as dean of academic affairs at Al-Maghrib Institute in Texas from 2002 until 2019. Qadhi is essentially part of the generation of young American-born preachers who burst into public awareness during the post-9/11 era, by defending Islam and spreading its message in fluent English to an audience of millions, with the help of social media platforms such as YouTube and Facebook (Ben David 2020).

Born in 1975 in Houston, Texas, to immigrant parents from Pakistan,4 Qadhi spent his early years in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, where his father was employed.5 When he returned to America as a teenager, he studied and graduated with a BSc in Chemical Engineering from the University of Houston. After his graduation, Qadhi decided to delve more deeply into Islam and studied at the Islamic University of Madinah in Saudi Arabia for a decade. There, he completed a second Bachelor’s degree specializing in Hadith studies, and continued to pursue an MA in Islamic Theology from the College of Da’wa. After returning to America in the early 2000s, he studied for a PhD. in Religious Studies at Yale University from 2005 to 2013 (Razavian 2018).

During his Madinah phase, Qadhi was considered a hardcore Salafi Muslim,6 with harsh views towards the Shia, Sufi, and even some controversial statements towards Jews (Elliott 2011; Razavian 2018). But the combination of the 9/11 attacks and his Yale studies softened much of his ultra-conservative and rigid doctrinal position. The consequences of 9/11 caused him to see the need to build bridges between Muslims and non-Muslims, and his studies at Yale exposed him in depth to the Western liberal perspective on Islam (Hannini 2016). Gradually, Qadhi’s ideological shift from hardcore Salafism to mainstream7 American Islam during the post-9/11 era was gradually reflected in his criticism towards the Salafi movement, claiming that it fails to confront Western modern challenges successfully and cannot fit into the context of Western Islam, especially in the post-9/11 era in the US8 (Qadhi 2014).

Over the last decade, Qadhi has been portrayed as a pragmatic scholar who combines unique elements, enabling him to bridge the gap between the East and the West through his involvement in both Islamic theological and Western intellectual paradigms. ISNA has described him as “one of the few people who has combined a traditional Eastern Islamic seminary education with a Western academic training of the study of Islam” (Hannini 2016). These qualities likely also account for his extensive media and social network visibility.9 Yet, alongside his considerable influence on many American and Western Muslims, his navigation of the thin line between conservatism and pragmatism, has made him a target of criticism mainly from polar sides: on the one hand, American right-wing groups, that still viewed him as a “radical Muslim,” and on the other, rigid Salafi Muslims, who regarded him as a “liberal” who has strayed from the “straight path” of Islam (IPT 2011; Estes 2014; Ibn Mansoor 2018). It is also estimated that in light of the unprecedented Gaza war, during which Qadhi has articulated increasingly explicit and sharper criticism of Israel and Zionism—his negative portrayal among far-right movements is likely to be further reinforced.10

2. Qadhi’s Da’wa Perception in the Post-9/11 Era as Practical Theology

Qadhi’s da’wa methodology, as a form of practical theology, has been evident in his religious activities over the years, particularly since the post-9/11 era. Qadhi has repeatedly responded to tragedies, traumas, and Islamophobic incidents for practical theology goals, such as increasing faith and being more involved with society by enhancing civic responsibility. For example, concerning the appropriate Muslim response to the blasphemous portrayals of the Prophet Muhammad in the 2012 film ‘Innocence of Muslims,’ Qadhi tried to promote a combination of religious and practical responses to the attacks against Islam and Muslims, viewing the two dimensions as complementary. On the one hand, he argued that such Islamophobic attacks should serve as a catalyst for bolstering religious devotion—through prayer, renewed closeness to Allah, and personal piety. However, on the other hand, he emphasized that these attacks should also inspire active engagement through demonstrations, social activities, writing, media commentary, and other forms of public expression. Therefore, alongside increased spirituality, the Muslim community must also draw inspiration from the Prophet’s own legacy as a social activist—one who was deeply involved in public life, rather being only confined in the mosque (Qadhi 2012c).

Another example of Qadhi’s promotion of practical theology in relation to da’wa, was his emphasis on social involvement, as a tool to present and spread the message of Islam, especially relevant in post-9/11 America. Qadhi claimed that Muslims in America, as a minority, are separated from the social situation in which they live, acting out of a wrong conception that emphasizes the importance of social involvement, only when it is related to salient theological-Islamic issues. To back his argument, Qadhi drew on the famous Hilf al-Fudul pact—a 7th-century Meccan alliance formed after a Qurayshi man wronged a poor Yemeni merchant—to illustrate Islam’s moral essence, emphasizing that even before revelation, the young Muhammad (the Prophet) embodied justice and solidarity with the oppressed (Qadhi 2012d).

Thus, Qadhi argued that Muslims should revive this spirit through a da’wa grounded in ethical action and social justice, seeing it as the most authentic means of spreading Islam’s message. Qadhi criticized the type of da’wa that is reduced to verbal preaching and debates, stressing that before the Prophet preached theology solely, he had earned moral credibility through social engagement and the defense of justice in Mecca. Therefore, in relation to the situation of American Muslims post-9/11, Qadhi argued that contributing to society and battling its ills is an essential part of da’wa, stressing that active social involvement strengthens Islam’s image as a religion of truth and justice, which clearly emphasizes Qadhi’s Islamic practical theology doctrine (Qadhi 2012e).

2.1. Qadhi’s Utilization of the October 7 Events to Boost Da’wa to Intensify the Faith

The October 7 events in 2023, commenced with Hamas’ brutal attack on Israeli citizens11, quickly sparked the unprecedented war in Gaza, which took the lives of dozens of thousands of Palestinians with enormous destruction throughout the city. In comparison to previous Israel–Hamas conflicts, the October 7 events were marked not only by unprecedented levels of killing and atrocities, but also by reverberations that extended far beyond the Middle East, especially across Europe and America. In the US, the horrific war in Gaza quickly transformed into a moral and political crisis that reignited debates over religion, identity, and justice within Muslim communities. For many American Muslims, the tragedy and its aftermath became a decisive moment of reflection—raising questions about faith, belonging, and public representation in an era of renewed polarization (Mansoor 2024).

Much like the post-9/11 period, October 7 catalyzed a surge in da’wa aimed at bolstering communal faith and moral resilience amid widespread scrutiny and emotional turmoil. Prominent American preachers like Qadhi, interpreted the crisis as both a test of belief and an opportunity to revive spiritual consciousness and civic engagement. His response illustrates how moments of global trauma can become engines for theological renewal and intensified da’wa in the American context (Qadhi 2023f). During the Gaza war, he linked it many times to sole spiritual goals, framing its crisis as a trial that provides an opportunity for American Muslims to appreciate their freedom, and to demonstrate a renewed and increased form of faith:

This is one of the greatest wisdom sisters and brothers, oh Muslims- through pain, through suffering, through tragedy iman [faith] is built […] When tragedy strikes, when there’s a national or personal issue that affects us, all of a sudden our iman is revived […] that revival- do not underestimate the power, it is a tidal wave that is coming from the entire ummah […] This type of tragedy [in Gaza], the least it should motivate us to do, is to be better Muslims. Every one of us, we have the freedoms to pray, the freedoms to fast, the freedoms to be righteous, our brothers and sisters are being slaughtered- they don’t have those freedoms. How then can we not take advantage of those freedoms—That is a massive positive that comes out- our iman is stirred up, our sense of religiosity is awaken, and this is one of the goals of pain and tragedy.

(Qadhi 2023f)

To bolster his practical theology in response to the crisis in Gaza, Qadhi draws on well-known episodes from the Sīrah of the Prophet Muhammad, where early Muslims endured hardships and persecutions. He mentioned, for example, the torture of early Muslims like Sumayyah, Yāsir and ʿAmmār in Mecca, when the Prophet himself could not interfere physically, but could only make du’a12 and pray for their deliverance. By invoking these narratives, Qadhi draws a parallel between the trials of the earliest Muslim community and the suffering of Palestinians. He underscores that, just as the prophetic stories began in hardship yet ultimately led to restoration and hope, the present crisis should likewise be understood as part of a divine trajectory that promises eventual renewal and deliverance. Qadhi also stresses that crises and persecutions are not signs of God’s absence, but tests that the Qur’an has already warned about, mentioning some of the verses in Surat al-bakara: “Unquestionably, the help of Allah is near,” (2:144), and “We will surely test you with … loss of life and property … Give glad tidings to the patient.” (2:155). He uses these verses to eliminate the anguished cry of Allah’s alleged absence, stressing that divine assistance is near, even amid severe trials. Qadhi further invokes these Qurʾānic verses to conceptualize suffering as ibtilāʾ—a divinely ordained test—and to foreground ṣabr (patient perseverance) as the appropriate ethical and spiritual response (Qadhi 2023e). Through this framing, Qadhi urges believers to sustain their faith, console the afflicted, and rely on the Qurʾānic promise that steadfastness amid injustice will ultimately be rewarded with divine vindication. In this regard, Qadhi warns against spiritual numbness and indifference within the Muslim community, highlighting that the suffering in Gaza must transform a believer’s inner life—deepening faith, sharpening moral consciousness, and compelling ethical responsibility, stressing the urgent need for a total faith deconstruction amid the horrific Gaza war:

Our iman our takwa [piety], our spirituality- it must be affected by what is going on […] We have to remind ourselves of the purpose of this dunya [world] […] these images, these realities, these massacres, this genocide- it must create an impact in our lives! Oh Muslims to be blunt- you cannot be the same person today that you were last year, if you are- then something is wrong! You cannot be the same person today as you have been for the last ten months, you have to see what is going on, and it needs to impact you at the spiritual level. You need to raise your own game, your own bar, you need to demonstrate to Allah subhahna wa ta’ala [Glorified and Exalted is He] you recognize your [American context] test is different, but it is a test nonetheless.

(Qadhi 2023b)

Qadhi condenses a normative ethic for Muslim response to large-scale injustice in the injunction to “answer ignobility with nobility and hatred with spirituality,” situating this posture within Qurʾānic discourse on trial and divine recompense: suffering is a test that calls for patient, theologically grounded resilience rather than retaliatory expedience. Drawing on the Prophet’s pastoral response to early persecution, Qadhi emphasizes prayer, communal consolation, and dignifying narratives as sources of moral steadiness that do not substitute for action, but anchor it. Linking the trauma in Gaza to increase piety and spirituality among Muslims, he calls on believers to act from moral strength rather than anger. In this framing, devotional practices are not escapism but the formative ground for sustained, credible public engagement; suffering thus becomes a context for deepening worship and ethical consistency rather than moral erosion. In addition, by stressing the positive spiritual outcomes of the Gaza war, Qadhi highlights how it sparked an immense amount of solidarity and reconnection to the ummah among the younger generation:

In my whole life on this earth, I have never seen the next generation more enthused about doing something, more on a revivalist streak, more in tune with the ummah, more curious to ask questions and hear answers, than I have seen because of Gaza […] so we already see one of the positives, which is, bluntly- the blood of the martyrs of Gaza has revived the spirits of the ummah.

(Qadhi 2025c)

Qadhi’s utilization of the Gaza’s tragedy to boost da’wa, by linking historical hardships mentioned in the Sirah of the Prophet Muhammad, was salient among other prominent American Muslim clerics. Imam Omar Suleiman, for example, an influential preacher and the founder of “Yaqeen Institute,” has drawn parallels between episodes of persecution described in the Sīrah—particularly the torture of early Muslims by Quraysh leaders led by Abu Jahl13, and the contemporary situation of Muslims in Gaza. Using this comparison, Suleiman implicitly likens Israel’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, to the archetypal figure of Abu Jahl, symbolizing moral cruelty and obstinate oppression. Building on this analogy with an optimist perspective, Suleiman emphasizes that just as Abu Jahl was ultimately abandoned by members of his own social circle who recognized the extremity of his brutality, a comparable process is unfolding today in the West: non-Muslims increasingly express solidarity with the Palestinian struggle, often articulated through support for the Palestine Liberation Organization, and, in some cases, through conversion to Islam (Suleiman 2023).

Qadhi and Suleiman’s rhetoric of “faith born of suffering” is well reflected in the rise of solidarity towards Gaza among young audiences since the horrific events of October 7. Surveys indicate that the Gaza war’s calamity caused non-Muslims in the West to embrace Islam as they were inspired by the resilience and the faith of the Palestinians (Aytekin 2024).14 This trend was also evident among Qadhi and Suleiman’s own religious domains, where Suleiman presided over the American writer and activist Shaun King’s public recitation of the shahāda15 during a live broadcast of Ramadan 2024. King explained that his decision to embrace Islam was deeply influenced by the suffering of Palestinians in Gaza, particularly by their unwavering faith and their inspiring devotion to Islam despite the ongoing assaults against them, bestowing new meaning upon his life and opening his heart in profound ways (MuslimMatters 2024). Another viral conversion to Islam occurred at Qadhi’s Epic Masjid, where he presided over a young man from Texas, who acknowledged that his growing closeness to Islam emerged after his participation in pro-Gaza demonstrations, during which he felt a personal need to draw closer to the religion (Qadhi 2023g). These incidents, combining the disastrous situation in Gaza with the viral discourse of influencer imams, demonstrate that the rhetoric of “faith born of suffering” can be appealing for young audiences, as it translates moral outrage and empathy into religious identification, particularly relevant in digitally mediated religious environments. Qadhi’s use of the October 7 events to bolster da’wa and faith aligns closely with the concept of moral injury within the American Muslim community, understood as the psychological and ethical harm incurred from witnessing, participating in, or being subjected to actions that violate one’s moral code. This dynamic was evident both in the post-9/11 and October 7 eras, periods marked by heightened Islamophobia and intensified public scrutiny of Muslim identity in the US (DeRose 2024). Shareda Hosein’s study on moral injury among Muslim military personnel (MMP) serving in the US armed forces, demonstrates that ethical distress often arises not from combat itself, but from experiences of marginalization, suspicion, and association with a perceived co-religionist enemy. In this framework, moral injury is triggered when Muslim identity becomes a source of exclusion and moral misrecognition rather than belonging, producing feelings of shame, anger, and ethical dislocation. Although situated in a military context, Hosein’s analytical framework is useful for understanding the post–October 7 experience of American Muslims more broadly. Much like MMP, many American Muslims faced a tension between moral outrage over Gaza and civic constraint, accompanied by public suspicion and enforced silence (Hosein 2019). Qadhi’s post–October 7 da’wa can thus be read as a form of Islamic practical theology that responds to moral injury by restoring moral agency, reframing suffering through Islamic concepts such as ibtilāʾ and ṣabr, and offering ethically legitimate avenues for spiritual and civic engagement under conditions of heightened scrutiny.

2.2. Qadhi’s Political Activism in Response to the October 7 Events

While Qadhi argues that strengthening faith through prayer and duʿā is essential and considered a priority, as in the case with the blasphemy against the Prophet Muhammad in 2012, he pointed out that it is only the first step and not sufficient on its own. He stresses that the Prophet himself combined worship with concrete action—preaching, negotiating, even fighting when necessary—and urges Muslims today to go beyond rituals by engaging in legitimate forms of activism, politics, and media (Qadhi 2012c).

2.2.1. Criticism of the Normalization of Muslim Countries with Israel

The Israeli–Palestinian conflict has long generated anger and frustration among Muslims worldwide, shaped by perceptions of injustice, occupation, and the symbolic centrality of Jerusalem and Gaza. Within this context, many American Muslim leaders have criticized normalization with Israel as political arrangements that disregard Palestinian suffering, entrench structural inequalities, and neglect what they view as a moral duty of solidarity (Chapman 2004). This attitude was well reflected in Qadhi’s stance a few years pre-October 7, when he manifested harsh criticism of the Abraham Accords in 2020, referring to it as a “betrayal of the Palestinian people,” addressing the Muslim leaders who signed these agreements as munāfiqūn (hypocrites), caring only for their wealth and geo-political status (Qadhi 2022). Following the October 7 events with the destructive war in Gaza, Qadhi sharply criticizes Muslim rulers and regimes in the Middle East for their failure to defend the Palestinian cause, urging his audience to “name and shame” those who remain silent in the face of Gaza’s ongoing tragedy. Qadhi condemns these Muslim governments that have normalized relations with Israel—implicitly referring to states like the UAE, which signed the treaty in 2020, as well as Saudi Arabia’s prospective normalization plans (Qadhi 2023e). Beyond this, Qadhi also censures neighbouring countries such as Egypt, Jordan, and Turkey, arguing that despite their considerable military and diplomatic influence, they have abdicated their moral responsibility toward the ummah and remain passive amid the suffering of the Palestinians:

Without a doubt, collectively we should call upon our Muslim leaders and rulers. That we can and we must do. Collectively, we must call out to those that have that clout, to those that have that diplomatic pass, to those that have the requisite strength—What are you doing? How can you allow this to take place when you have the strength and the armies, when you have the diplomatic clout to intervene and do something?! We don’t just want words from you. We expect words from Europe, we expect words from the UN, [but] from our Muslim rulers, from our Muslim leaders, we want more than just words.

(Qadhi 2023e)

To highlight that even words of solidarity are silenced and restricted in the Muslim world, Qadhi points out that when al-Azhar University merely issued a statement condemning the siege and calling on the ummah to help, the Egyptian authorities intervened and forced it to retract. To back his harsh criticism from a historical-theological perspective, Qadhi draws a comparison from the Sirah between the Quraysh boycott of the Prophet Muhammad’s clan (Banu Hashim) in Mecca and the current blockade of Gaza. Qadhi notes that one of the pagans from the Quraysh, Zuḥayr ibn Abī Umayyah, who had no faith in Islam—but was moved by basic humanity to publicly end the boycott. Using this parallel, Qadhi highlights the contrast of today, when two billion Muslims and their leaders fail to do the same for Gaza. While focusing his harsh criticism towards the Muslim majority demographers, Qadhi also emphasizes the disappointment from Western Muslim politicians, who choose to remain silent and betray their own community through inaction (Qadhi 2025b).

It is also evident that Qadhi’s post-crisis da’wa political activism strategies differ from other post-crisis da’wa approaches, such as those of Middle Eastern clerics in response to the Arab Spring. Various ʿulamāʾ, such as Ali Gomaa, sought to legitimize regime stability, avoid fitna16, and withdraw into pastoral spirituality, prioritizing obedience or depoliticization (Al-Azami 2022). This strategy contrasts with Qadhi’s post-crisis da’wa in the Western context, which called for political action, by framing crisis as a moral obligation for civic engagement, protest, and public advocacy within democratic systems. This contrast underscores how post-crisis da’wa in minority contexts, represented by clerics like Qadhi, aiming to mobilize ethical participation and collective agency within pluralistic political frameworks, rather than preserving state order and the status quo, as in Middle Eastern regimes.

Nevertheless, even within the American Muslim community, Qadhi’s post-crisis da’wa on Gaza’s war diverges from other clerical approaches, particularly within quietist Salafi circles. Uthman Ibn Farooq, a conservative cleric based in California, for example, dismisses protest-based political resistance as largely ineffective and morally compromising, arguing that divine support depends not on public mobilization but on individual piety, repentance, and strict adherence to the Qurʾan and Sunnah. His position thus stands in contrast to Qadhi’s framing of political activism as an integral dimension of da’wa in times of crisis, echoing Qadhi’s da’wa only as a form of spiritual Islamic adherence (Ibn Farooq 2025).

2.2.2. The Limited Aid from the American Muslim Community to Gaza

Nevertheless, alongside Qadhi’s criticism of Muslim countries and their leaders, who can (and should) use their force to impact the reality in Gaza, he stresses the marked difference among American Muslims, who cannot offer military solutions. This position was evident even before October 7, when Qadhi emphasized that American Muslims are not religiously obligated to provide material or military assistance to Palestinians if such actions jeopardize their political standing. Rather, he argued that support should take the form of nonviolent advocacy—raising public awareness, promoting justice, and offering principled criticism of US policy—while avoiding any direct intervention (Qadhi 2010). In light of the Gaza war, Qadhi, therefore, highlights that American Muslims should act in terms of the possible and lawful, such as by providing humanitarian aid, lobbying politicians, raising public awareness, supporting legal and media work that documents abuses, and mobilizing votes and civic pressure against policymakers who enable violence. Building on the earlier example of Sumayyah and ʿAmmār’s persecution in Mecca, Qadhi reiterates that just as the Prophet Muhammad lacked the capacity for physical intervention in that context, American Muslims today confront similar constraints. He uses this parallel to underscore the need for patience, faith, and moral steadfastness in the face of contemporary injustices (Qadhi 2025b). Qadhi’s criticism and call for political actions were further manifested in his joint statement among eighty-five Muslim scholars, imams, community leaders, and institutions, urging Muslim-majority governments—especially Arab states near Palestine—to take immediate and concrete action to end Israel’s escalating genocide in Gaza (MuslimMatters 2025). By participating in this collective initiative, Qadhi positioned American Muslim leadership as a moral voice in global Muslim discourse and further illustrated how the post–October 7 moment intensified his turn toward political activism as an expression of practical theology. This collective stance also sharpened Qadhi’s broader argument, that moral responsibility in moments of crisis cannot be separated from political action, therefore framing political silence as a religious failure, stressing that rulers and politicians will be held accountable by Allah. Qadhi, therefore, links faith to practice by calling Muslims to “push the boundaries,” urging them to withdraw support from leaders who violate their trust, grounding political responsibility in the Islamic principles of amānah,17 with emphasis on iconic American Muslim figures:

We see this from our own history, Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali […] he went to jail because he didn’t go and fight in Vietnam, now we consider him to be a hero […] Muslims—now is the time to strategize, now is the time to mobilize, now is the time to have a deep dive about what we are doing as an American Muslim community. I don’t have all the answers, but I do know silence is not an option, cowardice is not an option, I do know we need to stand up and do something, because wallahi what we have seen especially in this last week [in Gaza]—words cannot even describe the barbarity […] for how long will this continue […].

(Qadhi 2024b)

A more in-depth approach to the legacy of Afro-American figures in relation to their similarities with the Palestinians’ struggle was emphasized by Zaid Shakir, a leading Afro-American Imam and one of the founders of “Zaytuna College” in California. Shakir argued for a structural affinity between the Palestinian liberation struggle and the African American freedom movement, stressing that this parallel resonates widely among African Americans and is grounded in shared experiences of racialized oppression and state violence. Shakir substantiates this claim by referencing collective acts of solidarity, including a public letter signed by over a thousand African American ministers and theologians calling for a ceasefire, as well as symbolic and material exchanges—such as the circulation of George Floyd’s image in Palestinian spaces, the Palestinian humanitarian support for African American communities following Hurricane Katrina, and the killing of Michael Brown. Therefore, while Qadhi focused on the general Islamic moral register, Afro-American Muslim leaders add a distinct analogical discourse grounded in the historical experience of Black resistance in America with the Palestinian liberation struggle, emphasizing shared patterns of racialized oppression and state violence (Shakir 2024).

2.3. Practical Theology for Boosting Inter-Religious Dialogue

Qadhi’s ideological and intellectual shift, as was described earlier, in relation to his Muslim–non-Muslim bridge-building in America, also included engaging in dialogue with Jews, manifesting various encounters and positive actions towards the Jewish community. For example, back in 2010, Qadhi joined prominent American Muslim leaders on an official visit to the Auschwitz and Dachau concentration camps to counter antisemitism (Rozen 2010). Alongside his clear condemnation of the Holocaust, he emphasized areas of Jewish–Muslim cooperation and highlighted similarities between kosher and halal practices as a basis for joint efforts against antisemitism and Islamophobia, reflecting his broader view of the strong parallels between conservative Muslims and Orthodox Jews (Qadhi 2012b).

Qadhi has also expressed appreciation for the Neturei Karta ultra-religious group, and for cases of ultra-Orthodox Jews who converted to Islam despite massive challenges (Qadhi 2012a, 2017). Overall, he rejected the idea of an inherent or eternal Jewish–Muslim conflict, instead pointing to the “Golden Age” of Muslim Spain—when prominent figures like Maimonides and Rabbi Saadia Gaon thrived under Islamic rule—as evidence of historic coexistence and intellectual exchange (Qadhi 2013). Qadhi’s discourse in the aftermath of October 7, therefore, serves as another example of highlighting practical theology to intensify Muslim–Jewish similarities to ease tensions between the two communities.

Despite Qadhi’s salient criticism of Israel’s foreign policy and its military actions in Gaza, he used several sermons to call for a distinction between antisemitism and anti-Zionism and to present Muslim–Jewish relations in a more positive historical light. In an appearance before Muslim students at Yale University in 2024, for example, he emphasized that the slogan ‘from the river to the sea Palestine will be free,’ does not in any form, imply killing or harming Israeli people, contrary to the seemingly violent tone often associated with the slogan during protests. Qadhi also argued against the notion that criticizing Israel’s foreign policy constitutes an attack on Jews or Judaism, emphasizing that censuring a state (Israel) is different from criticizing a faith (Judaism). To clarify his stance, he offered an analogy, noting that condemning the Taliban or other theocratic Muslim regimes in the Middle East—as he and other clerics do—should not be understood as denouncing Islam (Qadhi 2024a). In a broader historical perspective, Qadhi further highlighted the role that Muslim civilization played in protecting hundreds of thousands of Jews throughout history, stressing the marked difference between the treatment of Jews in Muslim lands and in Christian Europe, where antisemitic attacks and theological hatred were persistent. Referring to World War II, Qadhi cites multiple cases where Muslims protected and saved Jews. He gave the example of Sultan Muhammad V of Morocco, who in 1940 refused to comply with Nazi policies under the Vichy regime, thereby saving the lives of 250,000 Jews from deportation to Nazi death camps, and Muslim communities in France during that time, that sheltered and saved thousands of Jews (Qadhi 2023b, 2025a). In addressing the American Jewish community on the Gaza tragedy, who have a direct relation to the Muslim community in America, Qadhi tried to invoke shared values and historical memory to urge joint action—dialogue, charity, and activism—to build trust and cooperation for the Palestinian cause:

We appeal to members of the Jewish faith who have conscience, who believe in the God of Abraham, who know from history what persecution means, and especially to our Jewish brethren and sisters who understand this reality […] It is heartening to see so many in the Jewish faith understand this—there’s an organization called Jewish Voice for Peace18 which is asking for human rights for Palestinians […] There are many Ultra-Orthodox rabbis who are opposed to the political program of Zionism—we Muslims need to ally with them, take lessons from them, and join hands with Christians, Jews, [and] people of no faith to clamour for a human rights issue in this area.

(Qadhi 2023a)

Qadhi’s emphasis on interfaith dialogue as a response to crisis can be compared to the discourse of other prominent American Muslim clerics, such as Hamza Yusuf, who generally adopts a less hostile stance toward Israel and Zionism, also reflected in promoting stronger Muslim–Jewish relations. Yusuf, for example, supports the UAE-Israel deal, and also expressed more empathy for the Jewish tragedy on October 7, in contrast to Qadhi, who rejected the 2020 normalization and refused to condemn Hamas (Yusuf 2016; Farooq 2020; Qadhi 2022, 2023d). Within this broader context, in the aftermath of the October 7 events, Yusuf frames interfaith dialogue as a moral and theological obligation rather than a political strategy. He stresses that Jewish–Muslim coexistence was historically normative and that the current rupture between Israelis and Palestinians should be understood as a product of modern political processes instead of an inherent religious antagonism. Drawing on shared Abrahamic ethical frameworks, Yusuf argues that both Judaism and Islam conceive of themselves as exemplary moral communities and therefore bear a heightened responsibility to uphold empathy, restraint, and ethical self-critique in times of conflict. Interfaith dialogue, in this formulation, functions as a mode of moral accountability, calling religious traditions to resist dehumanization and to reclaim ethical solidarity amid prolonged political violence (Yusuf 2023). This comparative example highlights contrasting Muslim clerical approaches to interfaith dialogue. While both Yusuf and Qadhi have articulated generally positive orientations toward Jews, Yusuf adopts a more conciliatory tone toward Israelis, whereas Qadhi’s discourse is marked by a more confrontational anti-Zionist framing and tends to limit its conciliatory emphasis primarily to Jews rather than to Israel.

2.4. Protests with LGBTQ Activists in Support of Gaza

Another notable example that illustrates Qadhi’s theological–practical doctrine for expanding social and political activism after October 7 can be manifested in his stance towards the LGBTQ community. While Qadhi maintains a clear theological prohibition towards LGBTQ ‘moral sins’, he supports Muslim participation in pro-Palestinian demonstrations that include a visible LGBTQ presence, as an act of prioritizing the solidarity with the Palestinian–Muslim religious and national struggle. Qadhi opposes conservative Islamic voices in America,19 rejecting Muslim participation in the Gaza protests due to the LGBTQ presence, refuting those claims as divisive and counterproductive, emphasizing that solidarity with the Palestinians should transcend ideological disagreements over the sexual identities of fellow protesters (Qadhi 2023c). Qadhi stressed that the higher purpose of such actions—defending Muslim dignity and justice—outweighs the presence of elements considered religiously objectionable:

You go and you monitor your own decency, and you fear Allah as much as you can, but for you to negate the efficiency of an entire campaign because of some minor issues happening, I think you are losing the forest from the trees, as the saying goes, and I think that you are not being wise in this regard. Yes, there’s going to be some haram [forbidden] that take place there, some people will come that we don’t agree with, as well we’re going to have people that have lifestyles different than our own [LGBTQ] that are going to show up. But the cause is halal [permissible], and if something happens on the grounds that is not fully there [Islamic], we’re not going to stop the cause because of things we cannot control.

(Qadhi 2023c)

Emphasizing the importance of these protests, Qadhi underscored Israel’s deep dependence on the US, describing America as the “umbilical cord” that provides it with crucial economic and military support. From this perspective, he sought to highlight the political potential of American Muslims as citizens of the world’s most powerful and influential nation, urging them to leverage their civic power to influence US policy as much as possible (Qadhi 2023c). As in other instances where Qadhi adopted a pragmatic approach to LGBTQ issues to preserve Muslim unity, he similarly stressed that unity is vital for advancing the Palestinian cause, framing it as a moral priority that can, in specific contexts, override legalistic concerns, as long as core Islamic principles are upheld. Qadhi’s support for Muslim participation in Gaza protests that include LGBTQ activists reflects his practical theological approach, prioritizing moral purpose and civic impact over strict legal concerns. While upholding traditional prohibitions, he argues that solidarity for Palestinian justice constitutes a higher ethical imperative, making unity and engagement key expressions of lived Islamic commitment.

3. Summary and Conclusions

Yasir Qadhi’s response to the October 7 events exemplifies the essence of Islamic practical theology—the dynamic fusion of faith and action in moments of crisis. By transforming tragedy into a platform for spiritual renewal, civic responsibility, and ethical engagement, Qadhi demonstrates how Islam in America has evolved into a living theology that responds to both local and global challenges. His post-October 7 discourse—through da’wa, political activism, interfaith outreach to Jews, and joint protests with the LGBTQ community—highlights how American Muslim leadership seeks to reaffirm Islamic values, foster resilience, and navigate the delicate balance between theology, identity, and public responsibility in the modern Western context. While this article emphasizes the influence of Qadhi’s post-crisis da’wa within American Islam, it also implies critical endorsement. His approach reflects the ongoing debates over the balance between civic engagement and quietist Islamic guidance, the place of religious responses in crisis events, and the limits of political activism and interfaith ethics in polarized public contexts. These tensions illustrate the challenges facing American Muslim leaders when responding to moral injury under conditions of political and social crisis.

This article identifies three core dimensions of Qadhi’s practical theology: spiritual (moral–devotional formation), communal (identity, solidarity, and authority), and political (civic agency and strategic action). Spiritually, Gaza is framed as a divine trial intended to “revive the faith,” eliciting concrete devotional responses such as intensified prayer, repentance, patience, and ethical self-discipline. Suffering is thus interpreted through an Islamic lens that redirects grief and anger toward piety, moral steadiness, and sustained commitment rather than despair or unrestrained rage. Communally, practical theology strengthens bonds within the ummah by cultivating shared moral emotions, setting normative expectations, and distinguishing “responsible” from “reckless” responses, while legitimizing particular forms of leadership in a polarized context. Politically, it translates moral claims into lawful and institutionally legible action—lobbying, voting, media engagement, coalition-building, interfaith outreach, and protest—framing dissent as patriotic citizenship and converting religious obligation into civic repertoires under conditions of securitization.

Therefore, although Qadhi highlights the ultimate importance of spirituality, prayer and du’a, he insists they must be coupled with activism, political engagement, media work, and community organizing. By highlighting their American citizenship status as the representative of the most powerful Muslim community in the world, he calls on Muslims to use their voices, resources, and platforms to oppose American foreign policy, which has a significant impact on the Palestinians. While acknowledging that no single strategy can resolve the crisis, Qadhi views the diversity of activist efforts as positive, so long as they pursue a common moral aim: justice and humane treatment for Palestinians (and all people). Despite the profound suffering and uncertain future, he underscores the need to sustain hope, citing growing global awareness and positive shifts in the narrative on Palestine. He maintains that every Muslim bears a responsibility—spiritual, social, and political—to contribute to the eventual realization of change and divine justice.

Nevertheless, as the article has shown, the capacity of narratives that spiritualize reproductive suffering to significantly impact structures of injustice was limited and mainly oriented, toward long-term horizons. Their social-political significance lies less in direct confrontation with power than in reshaping subjectivities, legitimizing specific forms of authority, and sustaining collective resilience under conditions of inequality: The spiritualization of reproductive suffering generated widespread affective solidarity with Gaza, but failed to produce corresponding shifts in political leverage, legal frameworks, or material conditions. The study also advances Islamic practical theology by theorizing da’wa as a crisis-responsive theological practice rather than a purely missionary activity. A focused case study of Yasir Qadhi’s post–October 7 discourse shows how Islamic theology is translated into spiritual formation, communal authority, and civic action under conditions of crisis. The article thus offers a concise model for analyzing Islamic practical theology as lived, situational practice in contemporary Western Muslim contexts.

In addition, the scope of Qadhi’s study extends beyond American Muslim clerics and has broader implications for the study of Muslim minorities in the West. It suggests a shift from treating religion primarily as an identity or belief toward analyzing it as a crisis-responsive practice. Therefore, rather than viewing crises merely as external pressures, this approach foregrounds how moments of upheaval become generative sites for theological reinterpretation, emotional regulation, and the redefinition of collective belonging. This positions da’wa as a form of practical theology that links spirituality, communal and civic engagement within pluralistic and securitized public contexts, revealing how Muslim minorities negotiate legitimacy, agency, and moral responsibility within such contexts. Therefore, while this study explored the discourse of Western clerics in the aftermath of October 7, it highlighted a shift among Western Muslims in general, who became more vocal in expressing their political stances unconditionally, without fear of political scrutiny that might undermine their citizenship status or the ongoing tension between loyalty and dissent.