There is one tree that unites all monotheistic faiths, and it’s the sidr tree. Judaism, Islam and Christianity all have mystical connections to the tree. And besides the real-world honey that it provides (see our article on Yemeni sidr honey) Iraqi scientists say that the sidr tree, beloved by nations, can stop desertification. In a new article published by Faiza Khadim Dawood Al-Rumaydh, at the University of Thi Qar, Iraq, Sidr Trees Between Windbreaks and Production, he says the sidr (Ziziphus spina-christi) is a great contender for undoing the deserts. (We have a guide here which shows the sidr tree’s natural medicine)

“Because of their remarkable resistance to drought, salinity, and harsh conditions, sidr trees have a long history in the Arab world and around the world,” Al-Rumaydh writes.

That sentence alone explains why the sidr tree keeps showing up in conversations about desertification control. Long before sustainability plans and carbon accounting, this tree learned how to live with heat, wind, and water scarcity, and how to protect the land around it while doing so.

A complete ecosystem that provides sustainable protection for the soil

Al-Rumaydh describes the Sidr less as a single organism and more as a working ecological unit. Its deep roots reach down toward groundwater, while lateral roots spread wide to catch surface moisture. Its dense canopy slows wind instead of blocking it abruptly, reducing erosion.

In dry regions where wind strips topsoil and salinity creeps upward, this matters. Sidr trees, planted in rows or allowed to mature naturally, function as biological windbreaks—quiet infrastructure that doesn’t require electricity, sensors, or software updates.

Al-Rumaydh calls the Sidr “a complete ecosystem that provides sustainable protection for the soil.”

That phrase complete ecosystem reframes the tree from crop to collaborator. The Sidr doesn’t just survive harsh conditions; it reshapes them, creating shade, stabilizing soil, and allowing other life to persist nearby.

The Sidr’s value isn’t limited to ecology. Al-Rumaydh documents its economic importance across arid and semi-arid regions, especially in Iraq. The tree produces edible fruits rich in sugars and vitamin C, leaves that double as livestock fodder during drought, durable wood, and, perhaps most famously, honey. In English, fruits from the tree are called jujubes, and you can find them in Middle East, MENA and Levantine markets.

“Sidr honey is a complete bioactive complex rather than just a natural sweetener,” Al-Rumaydh notes, explaining why it commands high prices and international demand.

That honey economy matters. In rural areas where employment options are shrinking, Sidr trees support beekeeping, small-scale agriculture, and local markets. They reward long thinking. A Sidr tree can remain productive for decades, even as surrounding conditions deteriorate.

Al-Rumaydh’s paper stays firmly in the scientific lane, but it brushes up against something harder to quantify: continuity. Sidr trees have been present across Iraq and the wider region for generations.

That familiarity is part of why Sidr keeps resurfacing in modern sustainability discussions. When communities talk about restoring land, they often gravitate toward species that already belong there, not imported solutions, but remembered ones. Like the millions of mangrove trees restoring habitat in Saudi Arabia. It is also known as black magic medicine in Quranic literature, so watch out!

Could sidr trees become part of shared restoration efforts across the region? Not as symbolic gestures, but as practical acts—windbreaks planted along vulnerable farmland, buffer zones around settlements, living barriers against soil loss. Could all the nations of the world band together and make this happen?

Al-Rumaydh is careful to note that Sidr cultivation requires planning, spacing, early irrigation, and respect for local conditions. This isn’t a miracle tree but it’s a resilient one.

For those insisting on sustainable peace, the science article and applications can be found here.

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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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