When you hear “jujube,” you might first think of the chewy, retro gumdrop candy with its brilliant red, yellow and green colors. But “jujube” started as English for sidr, the tree considered holy in Islam.

In the Koran it’s written that on the Day of Judgment the faithful, will dwell in Paradise “Among thorn-less sidr trees and clustered plantains, and spreading shade, and water gushing, and plentiful fruit.”

Perhaps because of this, sidr leaves are said to have magical, mystical properties.

We’ve noted the multiple medicinal qualities of the sidr fruit and mentioned the potential of the tree to hold off desertification.

Every year, one evening at mid-Ramadan, the tree shakes. The names on the leaves that fall are of those who will die in the coming year.

The sidr tree in black magic

Then there’s the intriguing use of sidr leaves as protection from black magic and the evil eye. We described what the evil eye is. Basically, it’s ill-wishing someone from feelings of envy, rivalry, and hatred.

Jealousy exists in the human heart; it can’t be shrugged off. Mature people recognize and try to overcome it; if we can’t exactly turn the other cheek, at least we hopefully move on to a healthier way of coping than secretly ill-wishing someone.

In Islamic culture, and in cultures who have lived in close quarters with Moslems, the evil eye is feared as one would fear a physical threat. In speaking of another’s child or property, it’s polite to raise one’s hand, palm outward, and say “hamsah” several times – to show there’s nothing to fear – all one’s intentions are good.

Women are especially susceptible to the suggestion of an evil eye. A pretty girl. A married woman wanting to conceive. A protective mother.

Men may fear that their success in business may cause envy, or that their virility will be impaired by witchcraft. Women are especially susceptible to the suggestion of an evil eye. A pretty girl. A married woman wanting to conceive. A protective mother.

To ward off the evil eye, a person may wear an amulet bracelet.

Or hang a five-fingered “hamsah” on the office or home wall. See our post on the evil eye and how to avoid it.

But for a person needing stronger protection, there’s another, more intimate way to deal with witchcraft and the evil eye: bathing with sidr-infused water. This is also said to expel demons.

On the positive side, the sidr tree may host the spirit of a saint. Far from pagan, pre-Islamic tree worship, the tree itself isn’t a holy object; rather, the holiness of a saint whose custom it was to sit in its shade has been transferred to the tree. For this reason, it’s considered lucky to sit or sleep under a sidr tree.

There’s a Moslem legend about a sidr tree (also known in English as a lote tree) that grows in Paradise. On its leaves are etched the names of all humans. Every year, one evening at mid-Ramadan, the tree shakes. The names on the leaves that fall are of those who will die in the coming year.

It follows that sidr once served to purify the dead. In Iran, Iraq, India, and southwestern Saudi Arabia, deceased Muslims were washed water infused with sidr leaves. The custom has apparently faded out in most countries.

A magic holy sidr bath to deflect the evil eye?

It needs 7 powdered sidr leaves stirred into a bucket of warm water. The hadith of the Prophet Muhammad allows to repeat healing prayers and verses from the Koran to increase the water’s potency. 5 grams, or 1 tablespoon of sidr powder equals 7 leaves.

Take the bucket of warm sidr water into the shower and pour it all over. It’s ok to rinse off the powder residue. Then step out of the shower, freshly immune to other people’s bad vibes.

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Christ’s thorn jujube (Ziziphus spina-christi) also known as the sidr tree is a real, identifiable tree native to the Middle East, and it appears—directly or indirectly—in Islam, Judaism, and later Christian tradition. The connections between the three faiths are not theological agreements but overlapping uses, names, and symbolic associations rooted in the same landscape.

In Islam, the tree is known as the sidr. The Qur’an refers to Sidrat al-Muntaha, the Lote Tree of the Utmost Boundary, in Surah An-Najm (53:13–18). While the Qur’anic reference is cosmic rather than botanical, Islamic scholarship and popular tradition have long associated the earthly sidr tree (Ziziphus spina-christi) with this name. Separately, the sidr has practical religious use: its leaves are traditionally used for ritual washing, including funerary preparation, because of their cleansing properties. Islamic legal tradition also treats shade-giving trees such as the sidr as protected resources, discouraging their destruction because of their role in sustaining human and animal life in arid environments. In medieval medical literature the jujube appears fre-quently under various names, such as “sidar” or “tsal“, while the fruit is called “nabaq” or dum“. This is the confusing part, because it has so many different names. 

In Judaism, the same species is known in Hebrew as shizaf and in English, the jujube tree. The tree appears in rabbinic literature as a familiar fruit tree in the Land of Israel and surrounding regions. Its significance is legal and practical rather than mystical. The shizaf is discussed in the context of agricultural law, including restrictions against unnecessary destruction (bal tashchit, not wasting or destroying) and rules governing fruit trees, property boundaries, and communal benefit. Trees that provide food or shade, even if not commercially valuable, are afforded protection under Jewish law. Trees that provide fruit are forbidden from being cut down, and in Judaism there is even a holiday for the trees, called Tu B’shevat. The jujube therefore functions as part of Judaism’s broader land-based ethic rather than as a singular sacred symbol.

The Christian association is later and less textually grounded. The English name Christ’s thorn reflects a tradition that identifies the tree’s hooked thorns with the crown of thorns placed on Jesus Christ during the crucifixion. The New Testament does not name the plant species, and there is no definitive historical proof that Ziziphus spina-christi was used. However, the tree was common in Roman-era Judea, and its flexible, sharp thorns make the identification plausible enough to persist in Christian tradition and naming. This is one of the theories. Ever hike in the Judaean Mountains outside of Jerusalem, and dry thorny trees and bushes is about all you will find.

The clean line between the three traditions can exist: Islam names the tree as the sidr and elevates it symbolically and ritually; Judaism regulates it legally and ethically as part of a lived agricultural system. Mentioned in the Mishnah and Talmud, they are linked to the biblical atad and, historically. The sidr was also known as pilgrimage trees for women who were barren. Christianity retrospectively associates it with a central moment in the life of Jesus. All three traditions engage the same tree through different lenses—cosmic boundary, legal responsibility, and historical memory—without relying on the same texts or meanings. According to this article it is the only holy tree in Islam and the Druze also revere this tree for its spiritual importance.

The medicinal uses for Christ’s thorn, the sidr tree are vast. These are documented ethnobotanical use in Israel and the wider Middle East.

Medicinal Uses of Christ’s Thorn Jujube (Ziziphus spina-christi)

Source: Dafni, A., Levy, S., & Lev, E. (2005). The ethnobotany of Christ’s Thorn Jujube (Ziziphus spina-christi) in Israel. Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine, 1:8. https://doi.org/10.1186/1746-4269-1-8

What unites these traditions is that the jujube tree heals wounds, cools bodies, feeds communities, and thrives where water is scarce. It teaches patience, restraint, and coexistence with the land.

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In Islamic tradition, there is a point where creation ends — a boundary at the 7th heaven that marks the limit of what any created being can reach. That boundary is called Sidrat al-Muntahā, translated as the Lote Tree of the Utmost Boundary.

The reference appears in the Qur’an in a short, concentrated passage in Surah An-Najm (The Star), describing a vision “at the Lote Tree of the most extreme limit.” The lote tree is known as the Sidr tree, from which the Yemenites make holy honey, and it is also believed to be the thorn worn by Jesus.

Where the lote shows up in Islam’s most famous ascent story

The boundary, or Sidrat al-Muntahā is most often discussed in connection with the Prophet Muhammad’s Night Journey and Ascension (al-Isrā’ wal-Mi‘rāj) to Jerusalem, which was a dream. For in reality, Mohammed never actually made it to Jerusalem, the Holy City. In a well-known narration recorded in Sahih al-Bukhari, the moment is described with a modest line:

Then Jibril took me till we reached Sidrat-ul-Muntaha … which was shrouded in colors indescribable.

In the same narration, the ascent is tied to the establishment of the five daily prayers — a reminder that the story returns to lived practice. In Judaism, the three-times daily supplication was inspired by the Jewish forefather Abraham, described as “standing” before God, interpreted as the first morning prayer (Genesis 19:27), and Isaac going out to “meditate” (or pray) in the fields and Jacob inspired by the evening prayers.

What “utmost boundary” means

In Islam, the Arabic name is descriptive: sidrah (transliterated with an h or without) refers to a lote tree, and muntahā means the farthest point or extremity — the tree at the limit. One academic treatment explores how “the lote tree of the boundary” functions as a threshold image in Islamic interpretive traditions.

Knowing about the concept of the Lote Tree of the Utmost Boundary helps explain a core idea in Islam: God is beyond creation, and there are limits to what humans — and even angels — can know. Islam doesn’t aim for union with God or endless revelation; it emphasizes humility, restraint, and knowing when to stop asking. The story of the Lote Tree shows why Islam values discipline and practice, like daily prayer, over personal mystical experience. Protecting the boundary between the divine and the human is seen not as restrictive, but as essential.

The sidr tree and the Lote Tree

The sidr tree is a real, familiar tree across Arabia and parts of the Middle East. And it makes great honey. In English it’s often called the lote tree or Christ’s thorn jujube (Ziziphus species). It grows in harsh, dry conditions, provides deep shade, edible fruit, and medicinal leaves, and is known for its resilience.

For centuries it has been part of everyday desert life — practical, tough, and unremarkable in appearance.

In Islam, this ordinary tree is given extraordinary meaning. Sidrat al-Muntahā — the Lote Tree of the Utmost Boundary — takes its name from the sidr tree but is not simply a botanical reference. It marks the furthest limit of creation and knowledge, the point beyond which no created being, including angels, can go.

The Qur’an mentions it briefly, without description or symbolism piled on. That restraint is intentional. Islam does not turn the sidr tree into a symbol of God or a ladder toward divinity as the Jewish text goes – Jacob wrestling with the angel. Instead, it uses a known, grounded tree to mark a boundary. In Islam God remains beyond the created world, and knowing where that boundary lies is part of the faith.

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Canada criminalized female genital mutilation/cutting (FGM/C) in 1997, defining it as aggravated assault. Get caught doing it to a child or woman of any age, and expect 14 years in jail. We’d think the clinics from Toronto had shut down years ago after demonstrations against them in the 90s (it’s still happening in London), and in Islam in general – read here, yet a recent report by Islamic Relief Canada makes the uncomfortable point plain: the law exists, the practice persists, and the systems meant to protect girls and support survivors are still not ready.

Get the PDF report: Documenting and Responding to Female Genital Mutilation in Canada

There are no reliable national prevalence statistics for Canada — a gap so visible that Prime Minister Justin Trudeau publicly called for better data. That absence of measurement is not neutral. It creates the conditions for denial, and for harm to continue in private. It can happen from infancy to about age

The report released in 2025 documents what many Canadians prefer to believe cannot happen “here”: FGM/C can be arranged and performed inside Canada, including in private homes with no medical oversight. One participant recalls being told: “We must carry our culture with us wherever we are.”

Another Canadian Muslim describes the reality of secrecy and confusion when it happens on Canadian soil: “It happened in Canada… It was done in secret, at home.” And the damning detail: “The woman who did it wasn’t even a medical professional.”

In one case, the cutting was effectively imported to Canada: “My grandmother visited us… She purposely travelled to have me circumcised.”

“Vacation cutting”: taken abroad — and brought back

The report is explicit that Canada also faces the cross-border version. It is a criminal offense to remove a child from Canada for the purpose of FGM/C, yet families may still send daughters abroad. This is the most documented pathway internationally: the procedure is done during a “family trip” and returns to Canada with the harm already inflicted — and often undisclosed and most of the scars healed over.

Some of the data shows the greatest amount of cases in Alberta.

What may be most disturbing is not only that FGM/C can happen — but that Canada’s healthcare system is still too often unprepared to recognize it, document it, or support survivors with competence and dignity. From the healthcare practitioner survey cited in the report:

• Only 9% rated their knowledge as “Excellent,” while 57% rated it “Fair” or “Poor.”
• 48% said they were unfamiliar with the four types of FGM/C.
• 60% reported no formal education on FGM/C.

Stigma compounds the gap. A service provider explains that women may choose midwives from within their community to keep their status private. Another line cuts to the core: “There’s a lack of understanding… especially psychologically.”

Here is the part Canadians and new immigrants to Canada should understand clearly: aggravated assault in Canada carries a maximum penalty of up to 14 years in prison. Yet the report warns that punitive law alone does not necessarily stop the practice — and can drive it deeper underground through fear of consequences for family members.

That is why the authors emphasize a coordinated approach: training, culturally competent care, community leadership, and survivor-centered support — not just criminal statutes.

If you suspect risk or harm: who you can report to in Canada

If a child is at risk, act as if it is an emergency. According to Canada’s Department of Justice, FGM is child abuse and should be reported. If you suspect risk, contact the police. END FGM believes there are 100,000 women in Canada who are victims to FGM. To date there are zero cases of prosecution. In July 2017, a leaked internal report by the Canada Border Services Agency acknowledged that FGM/C practitioners were “almost certainly entering Canada” to engage in the practice.

Watch a video of what they found coming to Canada.

FGM by country

If you or someone you know is a victim of FGM or could be taken abroad for the procedure, you can call the

• Police / Emergency services: Justice Canada guidance on FGM. Call 9-1-1.
• Provincial or territorial child protection services (police can direct you if unsure)
• School safeguarding channels (principals or designated safeguarding leads)
• Hospital safeguarding teams or professional regulatory bodies

If travel is imminent and there is concern a child may be taken abroad for FGM/C, report urgently to the police. It is also illegal to remove a child from Canada for this purpose under the Criminal Code.

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The recently inaugurated Ismaili Center in Houston has been celebrated as a triumph of architecture, culture, and interfaith dialogue. Yet some in the architectural community are urging a deeper look at what such projects represent in geopolitical and environmental terms. Sustainable Architect Ronak Roshan from Iran (who calls out the Shia Muslim Aga Khan Award for greenwashing its award) offers the following perspective on the origins, symbolism, and environmental implications of the project:

“This issue can be examined from several perspectives to clarify the reasons behind the emergence of such a project in the heart of this site. The construction of multiple mosques in the West should be understood within the policy seen in Paris, where, due to the fear of the rise of fundamentalism following the migration of Muslims caused by war, poverty, and other reasons to the West, the directive to build numerous mosques was issued to organize these communities.

“Saudi Arabia and several Arab countries also contributed financially (to building mosques). It is undeniable that every person has the right to have a place of worship according to their faith, but the question is whether this is the right approach. This should be seen from the political roots and the role of governments in power relations.

“I do not view the formation of this mosque outside of this perspective.

“Keep in mind that this project began before the current Aga Khan.

“The new Aga Khan studied environmental sciences in the United States and is expected to be both aware of and sensitive to such issues. These policies were not in place during his tenure. The Aga Khan Award manager is Iranian, a person with significant influence whose development-oriented approach is old school and largely symbolic, very close to Farshid Moussavi, the Iranian architect based in London. These connections are not coincidental.

“I mention these points to clarify the small but important reasons behind the formation of such projects. It must be emphasized that a project of this scale cannot truly support the environment unless they themselves transparently disclose or reveal that they have offset the carbon footprint or have fully transparent reports. Otherwise, such projects should have been undertaken at smaller scales and within smaller neighborhoods.

“Ms. Moussavi generally works on large-scale projects and even has some failed projects in her record; for example, some speculative developments in Turkey. A beautiful object with high spatial quality is no longer considered successful architecture in today’s world.”

Roshan’s critique reframes the Houston Ismaili Center not as a beacon of progress, but as a mirror reflecting the entanglement of faith, politics, and greenwashing in contemporary architecture — a beautiful object whose sustainability remains, for now, a matter of belief rather than proof.

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On November 6, 2025, Houston welcomed its newest civic landmark: the Ismaili Center, Houston, a luminous Shia Muslim complex overlooking Buffalo Bayou Park that merges Islamic art, architecture, and landscape design.

It was inaugurated by Mayor John Whitmire alongside Rahim Aga Khan V.

Related: 5 eco mosques in the world

Aga Khan is the new Imam of the world’s Shia Ismaili Muslims — the Center marks the first Ismaili civic and cultural complex in the United States, and perhaps the most ambitious example of faith-based sustainable design built in the South. It is the first Ismaili Center in the United States, joining those in London, Vancouver, Lisbon, Dubai, Dushanbe, and Toronto. The project fulfills a vision set in motion by Shia leader Karim Aga Khan IV (1936–2025) and realized by his son and successor.

But in Texas, a state where political tensions are now rising over pluralism, and at a time when the Aga Khan’s own architecture awards have faced accusations of greenwashing, Houston’s newest monument is more than a work of beauty — it’s a test of credibility.

In September 2025, Governor Abbott signed a law banning what the state describes as “Sharia compounds” — developments “open only to Muslims” or controlled by religious law structures. This was in response to a Muslim-built EPIC city that discriminates on who can buy homes in the community based on religion.

A Civic Oasis in a Divided State?

The estimated $170 million project sits at the intersection of Allen Parkway and Montrose Boulevard, within walking distance of the Rothko Chapel and the Menil Collection — Houston’s spiritual-artistic corridor.

That spirit will be tested. In recent months, Governor Greg Abbott has come under fire for launching a campaign to halt construction of a proposed Islamic-planned community near Dallas, drawing accusations of Islamophobia from faith leaders and civil-rights groups (Houston Chronicle). Elsewhere, redistricting maps have cut Black and Latino representation in Houston by half, prompting protests by local clergy and activists (Houston Chronicle).

Amid this climate, a Muslim-led institution dedicated to “shared human values” carries political resonance. The Ismaili Center, Houston, designed by London-based architect Farshid Moussavi and landscape architect Thomas Woltz, aims to model pluralism through design witnessed by open courtyards, shaded eivans (verandas), and gardens meant for dialogue, art, and quiet reflection.

The building’s green credentials are strong — at least on paper. Rising above the 500-year floodplain, its underground garage doubles as a flood reservoir. The 11-acre landscape slopes gently toward the Bayou, channeling runoff through terraces, reflecting basins, and flood-adaptive gardens. It’s parking lot underground can hold runoff in the case of a flood.

Woltz calls it “a transect of Texas,” planted with desert agave, prairie grasses, and Gulf Coast reeds — a living metaphor for ecological and cultural adaptation.

Materials were chosen for longevity — stone, steel, and ultra-high-performance concrete with a 100-year life cycle. Natural light filters through perforated screens that recall Persian craft traditions. The design philosophy echoes the global movement for regenerative Islamic architecture explored in Green Prophet’s stories on Hassan Fathy’s legacy and green architecture across MENA.

The Shadow of Aga Khan Greenwashing

The Aga Khan Development Network (AKDN), which oversees the Ismaili Centers and funds the prestigious Aga Khan Award for Architecture, has faced increasing scrutiny over how it markets “sustainability.”

Green Prophet’s recent investigation, “When Greenwashing Overwrites Ecology at the Superadobe Majara Residence”, questioned the ecological validity of one of the Aga Khan Award’s 2025 winners in Iran. That project — celebrated for its earthy “superadobe” domes — was found to rely heavily on unsustainable materials, tourist economics, and a romanticized desert aesthetic. They did not reply to our questions and ignored an Iranian architect Ronak Roshan who embodies ecological integrity above all in her practice.

Another Green Prophet piece on the 2025 Aga Khan Architecture Winners argued that the Award risks functioning as a form of cultural branding — celebrating Islamic modernity while skimming over deeper environmental costs and issues. These critiques raise a question for Houston: will this Center be an authentic green civic landmark, or a monumental case study in eco-optics and religious politics?

As we’ve explored in “Saudi Greenwashing at NEOM” and “UAE Green Finance and COP29”, even projects wrapped in the language of sustainability can mask carbon-heavy construction and elitist urbanism.

A Real Test of “Faith in Practice”

Unlike many mosques or churches, the Ismaili Center Houston explicitly presents itself as civic infrastructure: a place for performances, classes, and lectures, with a café and art exhibitions open to all. The Aga Khan center does the same in Toronto. Yet when we see the way a dominant group politically includes projects with little merit for the sake of politics, we believe this is more politics and optics than true pluralism.

The Aga Khan’s global network has a record of genuine impact — funding hospitals, universities, and rural-resilience projects from East Africa to Pakistan. Yet critics note a lack of public reporting on carbon metrics or third-party audits.

If the Ismaili Center Houston truly evolves into a community green hub — hosting lectures on climate justice, native gardening workshops, or open dialogues on the energy transition — it could redefine how faith institutions serve cities in crisis. But given the rise of antisemitism across the United States and Canada, much of it fueled by extremist rhetoric, it’s fair to ask whether this is also a political project dressed in the language of pluralism. If its lush gardens and polished stone remain mostly symbolic, the Center risks becoming yet another addition to the Aga Khan’s portfolio of beautifully designed but tightly managed “sustainable” showcases.

Whether the Ismaili Center becomes a true model for green faith architecture or just another chapter in the Aga Khan’s controversial brand of eco-diplomacy will depend on what happens after the press photos fade.

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Tattoo artists might be wondering if they will be out of jobs, or just able to license their NFT designs to a computer? A new Austin-based startup called Blackdot says it has built an AI-powered tattoo machine that is safer and less painful than getting a human-applied tattoo.

Called Aero for Artist Enabled Robotic Operator, Blackdot’s machine uses computer vision, fine control, and very shallow needle penetration to reduce discomfort. It is now installed at Bang Bang in New York, and already operating in Austin.

In some areas of medicine, robotics and machine learning have changed the name of the game and survival outcome for removing cancers like prostate. Robotics can help a human operator be more precise, but are we ready to hand over the controls?

Do we want a machine that takes the craft out of the hand of the artist? I make pottery out of earth because I believe there is spirit in matter. Is a tattoo applied by a machine giving the same vibes as a potter’s mug made in a factory or a violin made on a machine?

According to the people at Aero, the device tattoos in dot-based grayscale patterns, applying many minute points rather than deep continuous lines — a technique they say limits pain and improves precision.

One upside: fewer tattoos gone wrong?

Tattoos, not just in hipster times, have long carried a dual identity: as personal art but also no small part of getting a tattoo is about the pain and the act of bodily risk. Also, I wonder: does a machine-made tattoos open up the practice of skin art at a time when researchers are calling us to pay attention to the risks of the materials in tattoos and a possible link to auto-immune diseases and cancer. As there is little regulation, there is little known about the long-term health effects of tattooing.

What do the world’s religions say about tattoos?

From a Islamic perspective, tattooing is generally considered prohibited (haram) in many schools of thought. The Prophet Muhammad is narrated in hadith literature to have cursed both the tattooer and the tattooed (for altering the creation of God). Some scholars argue that tattoos break the ritual purity (ablution, or wudu) because they alter the skin surface.

We find some literature to back up the Islamic prohibition: ‘Abd-Allaah ibn Mas’ood said: “May Allah curse the women who do tattoos and those for whom tattoos are done, those who pluck their eyebrows and those who file their teeth for the purpose of beautification and alter the creation of Allah.” (Al-Bukhari, al-Libas, 5587; Muslim, al-Libas, 5538).

In parts of Lebanon, Iraq, and Iran, some Shiite communities have historically tolerated or quietly practiced tattooing, especially small religious motifs (like the names of Imams or sacred symbols). And among younger Shiites, especially in diaspora communities, tattoos are increasingly popular as personal or religious expression — though clerical authorities still discourage them.

In Judaism, tattoos are often discouraged based on Torah injunctions and Levitical prohibitions, and tattoos are not encouraged at all.  It is permitted to remove a tattoo and pierce your ears. That said many Jewish people do get tattoos. Common ones include the Tree of Life symbol, Hebrew and biblical expressions (The Nation of Israel Lives), and some people get tattoos of their grandparent’s numbers printed on them during the Holocaust.

In Christian traditions, the picture is more varied. Some conservative or literalist communities may discourage tattoos, particularly when associated with body modification or vanity, but there is no universally binding doctrine rejecting them. Many churches do not formally forbid tattoos, leaving it to individual conscience, church culture, or pastoral guidance. This blog offers some history of Christian tattoos in Jerusalem. The author points out that some conservative or literalist groups still reject tattoos outright, holding to Leviticus as binding.

Many other Christians see tattoos as a matter of conscience, arguing that Old Testament prohibitions were tied to ritual purity, pagan associations, or covenant identity, and are not binding in the same way after Christ. In some traditions (like the Razzouk family in Jerusalem), tattooing is even a Christian devotional act, marking pilgrimage and identity.

Unlike in Abrahamic religions, tattoos (godna in Hindi) have been widely practiced in Hindu culture for centuries. Tribal and rural communities across India have used tattoos for spiritual protection, identity, and beauty. Some designs are linked to deities, mantras, or cosmic symbols.

What about the art of it?

Almost painless tattoos may worry tattoo artists who will be out of jobs unless they figure out how to sell designs as NFTs, and also people who may more liberally get tattoos without possible health or spiritual implications.

In Sci-Fi dystopia, we’ve reported on how tattoos can be used for nefarious purposes, such as IDing and tracking people. Such as the tattoo below, from MIT Media Lab.

Tattoos could be used as a trackpad to remotely control your mobile phone or adjust the volume of the music you tune into. They can track user data and report back to you, like a body-integral Fitbit, with embedded thermochromic displays that change color in reaction to heat, reporting on body temperature, blood pressure, breathing patterns. It might also report on your immediate environment, checking air quality, weather conditions, and alert you to the presence of harmful substances.

After hearing all sides — from health warnings and religious prohibitions to the futuristic promises of AI-driven tattoo machines — I’ve made my choice. I’ll keep my skin tattoo-free, au naturel. For me, my body already carries its own stories.

The post Blackdot’s painless AI-based tattoos will make inked skin less taboo? appeared first on Green Prophet.

Saudi Arabia’s grand mufti, Sheikh Abdulaziz bin Abdullah al-Sheikh, who served as the kingdom’s top religious cleric for over 25 years, has died in Riyadh. He was 84. Funeral prayers were attended by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, the kingdom’s de facto ruler. The funeral was held at the Imam Turki bin Abdullah Mosque in Riyadh.

As grand mufti since 1999, Sheikh Abdulaziz held one of the most influential religious roles in the Sunni Muslim world. Saudi Arabia, home to the holy cities of Mecca and Medina and the annual Hajj pilgrimage, has long tied state legitimacy to clerical authority under its strict Wahhabi interpretation of Islam.

Sheikh Abdulaziz’s role as grand mufti put him in the spotlight because of every Muslim’s goal of attending the annual Hajj pilgrimage required of all able-bodied Muslims once in their lives. The grand mufti’s words are carefully followed. (Related: take these steps and jump into the Green Prophet guide for a greener Hajj).

Blind from a young age, Sheikh Abdulaziz was appointed grand mufti by the House of Saud’s King Fahd. Fahd was King and Prime Minister of Saudi Arabia from 13 June 1982 until his death in 2005.

Sheikh Abdulaziz’s rulings reflected decades of Islamic ultraconservative thought, once condemning mobile phone cameras as a threat to morality and he compared chess to gambling. (This year the Taliban banned chess). He opposed women driving and described gender mixing as “evil and catastrophe” before later softening his stance as the state changed course. Saudi Arabia decided to let women drive in 2018.

At times, his comments provoked international backlash. In 2015, he reportedly told Kuwaiti officials it was “necessary to destroy all the churches of the region” in the Arabia peninsula— remarks his aides later attempted to downplay. He also issued sectarian statements against Shiite Muslims, particularly following Iran’s criticism of Saudi Arabia after the deadly 2015 Hajj stampede.

Luckily for the western world, and peaceful prospects in the region through the Abraham Accords, he condemned al-Qaida and the so-called Islamic State, calling them “enemy No. 1 of Islam.” After 9/11, when Saudi Arabia battled an al-Qaida insurgency within its own borders, he rejected militant jihad as “fake.” We should not forget that 15 of the 9/11 hijackers were from Saudi Arabia.

From Wahhabism to Vision 2030

Sheikh Abdulaziz’s career spanned a period of dramatic transformation under the House of Saud, a grand kingdom that rose from rules in mud castles. Once aligned tightly with the religious establishment, the monarchy gradually moved to curtail clerical power — especially under Saudi Arabia’s young visionary Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman.

In 2018,  under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, Saudi Arabia ended the ban on women driving — a watershed reform that the grand mufti eventually supported.

The University of Novarra’s Naomi Moreno, pens a piece on Saudi reform saying it might be being more for optics than for real change within: “While some perceive the crown prince’s actions to be a genuine move towards reforming Saudi society, several indicators point to the possibility that MBS might have more practical reasons that are only tangentially related to progression for progression’s sake. As the thinking goes, such decrees may have less to do with genuine reform, and more to do with improving an international image to deflect from some of the kingdom’s more controversial practices, both at home and abroad. A number of factors drive this public scepticism.”

Mohammed bin Salman’s “Vision 2030” supervised by Sheikh Abdulaziz has also pushed massive economic liberalization, from Saudi Aramco’s controversial IPO to the multibillion-dollar mega-city NEOM. While any PR material put out by Saudi Arabia’s development companies, owned and operated by the House of Saud, tout sustainability objectives, no third party organizations or journalists can verify any claims.

Eco Branding or Environmental Boondoggle?

The grand mufti’s declining influence coincided with Saudi Arabia rebranding itself as a global hub for tourism and sustainability, no doubt advised to them by well-paid consultants and architects eager for multi-million, even billion dollar contracts. Ultra-luxury resorts are being marketed as eco-destinations across the Red Sea and virgin islands, even as construction threatens pristine habitats. See Shebara.

From coral reefs to fragile desert ecosystems, critics argue that these projects risk becoming environmental boondoggles — glossy green branding masking ecological disruption. The dynamic mirrors other regional tragedies, such as the controversial Qatari-backed resort development on Assomption Island near the Aldabra Atoll.

“Sheikh Abdulaziz served the faith and the nation with dedication,” the Saudi Royal Court said in its obituary statement. Yet his legacy remains contested: a staunch defender of Wahhabi orthodoxy who presided over a society that — under royal command — shifted toward liberalization, consumerism, and grand “eco” visions for the future.

As Saudi Arabia accelerates its transformation, the passing of its top cleric who memorized the Qu’ran at age 10 underscores the changing face of religious authority and perhaps tolerance in a kingdom increasingly defined by megaprojects, oil wealth, and the House of Saud’s push to rebrand itself for a post-oil world.

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Think of Islamic mud structures and more than likely the iconic Great Mosque of Djenne in Mali will come to mind. The largest mud brick building in the world, the mosque is considered to be amongst the greatest achievement of Sudano-Swahelian architecture and one of the most famous landmarks of Africa.

But it’s not only Africa that boasts impressive (and sustainable) mud structures, the Middle East is home to some of the most stunning mud buildings in the world. From Shibam – the Manhattan of the Desert – in Yemen to the Bam citadel of Iran, these mud structures show that there’s more to Muslim architecture than Mecca and Masdar.

Why is Mud Building Sustainable?

For thousands of years, mud has been used as building material because it’s cheap, widely available and durable. Although many question its durability, there are numerous ancient mud buildings which have withstood the test of time. Mud construction is also an extremely environmentally-friendly method as it creates little waste, there is minimal energy consumption (mostly in the construction and transportation process), and it is easy to maintain and recycle.

In fact, Hassan Fathy, who has been hailed as the Middle East’s father of sustainable architecture and was behind eco-projects such as the Gourna village in Egypt wrote: “For centuries, the peasant had been wisely and quietly exploiting the obvious building material, while we, with our modern school-learned ideas, never dreamed of using such a ludicrous substance as mud for so serious a creation as a house.”

Modern Living in the City of Shibam

Yemen is home to one of the most impressive, one of the oldest and also one of the tallest mud cities in the world. Before the city scrapers of New York, the city of Shibam had built high rise apartments out of mud which tower to over 100 feet and are between 5 and 11 storeys high.

Dating back to around the 2nd century CE, the city was built using local clay and is still home to around 7,000 residents who live in the fortified city.

Although it is over 2,000 years old, rain and erosion necessitates constant maintenance, which efforts are now supported by restoration and urban development programs. Nicknamed Manhattan of the Desert, the city is testament to the durability of mud not just for single structures but also for modern high-rise living.

Another impressive city made of mud is Bam in Iran. Built using mud bricks known as adobe, the Bam tower or citadel (Arg-e-Bam) is believed to have been the largest adobe building in the world and was built over 2,000 years ago.

At its peak, the city served as a site of pilgrimage and was the trading centre of the Silk Road, which brought goods from the Far East to the capitals of Europe. Sadly, an earthquake in 2003 destroyed a large part of the historic city (around 70%) and killed over 26,000 people. There were more later showing that earth architecture has some limits.

Mud Castles, Walls and Mosques

Other notable mud structures in the wider Muslim world include the Bob Dioulasso Grand Mosque in Burkina Faso, and the Khiva Wall in Uzbekistan, which is built around a collection of Islamic schools and mosques. The Siwa Oasis in Egypt (which we visited and posted about here) and the Eastern Castle in Syria have also employed mud bricks in their construction, and research shows that the famous walls of Jericho were built using sun-dried mud bricks.

Whilst these mud buildings may seem like something of the past, they are in fact increasingly considered as options for low-carbon and low-cost construction. As well as having a small footprint, mud structures have been shown to reduce energy consumption as they are able to regulate temperature.

Hopefully mud architecture will not only decorate our past, but our future too.

Image of Great Mosque in Mali via Juan Manuel Garcia and image of Bisham in Yemen by Aysegul Tastaban.

Updated 2025

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Green Prophet has covered the topic of alcohol—and specifically beer—from several angles over the years. Here’s a concise roundup of those articles, all grounded in Islamic teachings, cultural context, and contemporary nuances.

1. The Religious Foundation: Beer Is Prohibited

The core reason Muslims abstain from beer stems from explicit Quranic and hadith teachings. The Quran denounces intoxicants, stating: “Intoxicants … are but defilement from the work of Satan, so avoid it that you may be successful” (Surah Al-Ma’idah 5:90)

Additionally, Prophet Muhammad is quoted in hadiths saying, “Every intoxicant is khamr (wine) and every khamr is haram (forbidden),” emphasizing a zero-tolerance stance—even if a substance doesn’t intoxicate in small amounts.

Green Prophet’s article further explains that alcohol—including wine or anything fermented from grapes or dates—is considered impure (najis) and forbidden (haram), regardless of its form or concentration.

2. How Islam Separated From Pre-Islamic Drinking Culture

Alcohol was common in pre-Islamic Arabia, but with the emergence of Islam and its ethical reforms, usage significantly declined. Islamic scholars and historical records highlight how early teachings shifted the norm from daily intoxication to deliberate abstinence.

3. Variations in Practice—Not All Muslims Abstain

Green Prophet recognizes that real-world practices vary. In some regions—depending on legal systems, personal beliefs, and societal norms—some Muslims may still choose to consume alcohol. A Pew Research Survey (2013) found that in certain countries up to 10% of respondents considered alcohol morally acceptable. For example, Jordan, with a predominantly Muslim population, has seen Christian-owned craft breweries operate—such as Carakale Brewery in Amman—highlighting complexity in regional brewing traditions and religious contexts. The same is true in Israel where Arab Christians are a thriving part of society.

4. Negotiating Social Settings—Mocktails and Alcohol-Free Trends

While alcohol is forbidden, Muslims still participate in social gatherings—and often choose creative alternatives. Mocktails—or “virgin” versions of popular cocktails—are widely accepted as long as they contain no alcohol or derivatives.

Green Prophet’s “10 Alcohol-Free Mocktails for Summer” article presents a variety of flavorful, alcohol-free options perfect for parties or summer gatherings, underscoring that abstaining doesn’t mean missing the fun.

5. Fermented Yet Halal? The Case of Kombucha

Kombucha introduces an interesting caveat: a popular probiotic drink produced by fermentation, typically containing trace amounts of alcohol. Is it halal?

• For: Some scholars and halal certification bodies consider commercially produced kombucha with less than 0.5% ABV to be halal, as the alcohol is minimal and a byproduct—not the purpose of consumption.
• Against: Others argue that any amount of alcohol—even if from fermentation—is impermissible, placing the decision in personal or local scholarly jurisdiction.:

As Green Prophet advises: when in doubt, look for halal certification, especially if fermenting at home, where alcohol levels are harder to control.

6. Exceptions in Practice: Alcohol in Muslim-Majority Countries

Green Prophet reported that—despite strict Islamic laws—some Muslim-majority countries allow limited alcohol access to non-Muslims or foreign residents. For instance, Saudi Arabia recently opened its first alcohol shop in 70 years, servicing diplomats under tight regulation. However, these exceptions don’t change the religious ruling that for observant Muslims, alcohol remains strictly forbidden.

Want to know more? Explore the Green Prophet eco-Muslim archives:

• Why Muslims don’t drink alcohol
• Why Muslims don’t drink alcohol (2011)
• Islam’s ban on alcohol and how it’s applied
• Saudi Arabia opens first alcohol shop in 70 years
• 10 alcohol-free mocktails for summer
• Can Muslims drink mocktails?
• Can Muslims drink kombucha?
• Jordan gets its first craft brewery, causing ire among religious clerics

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