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Banning Sharia: A Slippery Slope Toward Banning Halakha

by Ram ben Ze'ev


Banning Sharia: A Slippery Slope Toward Banning Halakha
Banning Sharia: A Slippery Slope Toward Banning Halakha

It has been widely reported that the U.S. state of Texas is the first state to formally ban the application of Sharia (which, incidentally, means “law,” making the phrase “Sharia law” redundant). While there is a certain theatrical appeal in legislating against something that was never plausibly going to supersede American law, the deeper concern is not about Sharia itself, but rather about the precedent this sets.


Let us be intellectually honest: the notion that any group of Muslims could simply impose their religious legal system over the secular courts of the United States, or indeed of Texas, is nonsense. American jurisprudence is robust, and its primacy is well established. Even in communities with large Muslim populations, there is no evidence that Sharia courts have—or could have—authority over citizens beyond consensual arbitration in civil matters, which American law already regulates. If Sharia genuinely threatened to displace civil or criminal law, a ban would be unnecessary; the courts would naturally reject any such claim.



Yet the political impulse to ban it, to officially declare it incompatible with American values, is not about practicality—it is about signalling. It is about fear. And that is precisely why it is dangerous.


From my perspective as a Torah-observant Jew, this is where the slope becomes perilously slippery. If a state can decide to outlaw the application of Sharia—simply because it does not accord with the prevailing culture’s idolatry (which, in the United States, is overwhelmingly Christian)—then how long before the same suspicion turns toward Halakha (הלכה, Halakha, Jewish law)?


Let us be clear: I have no special concern for Sharia or for the Islamic faith. Some rabbis will assert that Judaism and Islam are both “Abrahamic religions.” I do not support that opinion. In my view, Islam is idolatry. I am equally unconvinced by the apologetics of those who say that while Christianity is idolatry, Islam somehow merits a special exemption. I believe this position arises either from a failure in their אמונה (emunah, faith) and בטחון (bitachon, trust) in G-D, from fear of militant Muslims, or both.


But whether I personally consider Islam to be idolatry is beside the point. My concern is not for Sharia’s preservation—it will not endure, nor will any system of law that denies the singular truth of השם (HaShem). Ultimately, all the nations will come to accept that truth.



The concern is for the here and now: if Texas feels empowered to ban religious law because it offends the local majority, this sets a precedent that religious practice itself may be suppressed whenever it is politically expedient. Halakha will inevitably be next.


And here, I must state unequivocally that while I comply with secular law, it has little meaning to me. The only law that ultimately matters is Halakha. Were the State to attempt to ban it, we Jews would find ourselves confronting a crisis not only of conscience but of covenant.


Those who champion these bans imagine themselves as defenders of their civilisation. In reality, they are weakening the fundamental commitment to religious liberty that underpins any society worth defending. What begins with Sharia will not end there.



It is time to recognise that this impulse—to outlaw that which is different, merely because it is different—is not strength, but insecurity masquerading as virtue. If Texas or any other state persists down this path, Jews—and all minority faith communities—should be under no illusion: our practices will be targeted eventually.


And when that day comes, I suspect many of today’s loudest supporters of banning Sharia will discover that their precedent has become a weapon turned against us.


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