Did A Woman Edit The Qur'a N? Hafs.a and Her Famed "Codex": Ruqayya Y. Khan

Did a Woman Edit the Qur’ān?
Hafs.a and her Famed “Codex”

Ruqayya Y. Khan*
Downloaded from http://jaar.oxfordjournals.org/ at Pennsylvania State University on March 4, 2016

This article argues that modern western scholarship on how the Qur’ān
came to be compiled and codified is characterized by some androcentric
tendencies. Modern (including contemporary) historical work on the
Qur’ān’s formation as a text is of great significance, and it deserves to be
subjected to feminist inquiry for several overlapping reasons: one, inte-
grating feminist perspectives would permit historians and other scholars
to better understand the plausible historical and literary contexts associ-
ated with the Qur’ān’s compilation and codification, and two, this, in
turn, would contribute toward a greater consideration of the Qur’ān’s
pre-canonical history. By focusing upon the role of one early Muslim
female figure, Hafṣa bint ‘Umar (one of the wives of the prophet
Muḥammad), in how the Qur’ān came to be codified, I critique the
androcentric tendencies in western Qur’ānic studies’ scholarship. I also
seek to reclaim Hafṣa’s agency in the process of how the Qur’ān came to
be formed as a text.
*School of Arts and Humanities, Claremont Graduate University, 831 N. Dartmouth Avenue,
Claremont, CA 91711, USA, E-mail: ruqayya.khan@cgu.edu. Throughout this article, I am much
indebted to the excellent doctoral dissertation (2008, University of Toronto) by Aisha Geissinger,
entitled “Gendering the Classical Tradition of Qur’an Exegesis: Literary Representations and Textual
Authority in Medieval Islam.” Significantly, Dr. Geissinger’s dissertation examines Hafṣa bint ‘Umar’s
connection with the codification of the Qur’ān, and I attempt to build on this work. I also thank a
number of colleagues who have commented upon and offered suggestions regarding this article. I am
especially grateful to Jamal Elias for his insightful feedback on an earlier draft of this article. The genesis
for this article lies in my experience of teaching an introductory course on the Qur’an at Trinity
University beginning in 2009. I thank Trinity University’s Department of Religion and Office of
Academic Affairs for supporting the research for this article. I also thank Amir Hussain and the
anonymous reviewers of the JAAR for their comments.
Journal of the American Academy of Religion, pp. 1–43

doi:10.1093/jaarel/lft074
© The Author 2014. Published by Oxford University Press, on behalf of the American Academy of
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Page 2 of 43 Journal of the American Academy of Religion
In this article, I shed light on one early Muslim female figure in

modern western studies of the Qur’ān’s history as text. By so doing, I seek
to critique some of the androcentric qualities of modern western (i.e.,
authored by Europeans and North Americans) scholarship on how the
Qur’ān came to be compiled and codified.1 I argue that what is seemingly
a small matter in modern western twentieth-century scholarship on how
the Qur’ān came to be codified merits further examination: the portrayal
of Hafṣa bint ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭtạ̄ b (died c. 665), one of the wives of the
prophet Muḥammad and the daughter of the second caliph, ‘Umar b. al-

Khaṭtạ̄ b. Modern western Qur’ānic scholarship has not availed itself of
the opportunity to better illuminate both the literary and historical con-
texts associated with the Qur’ān through a developed and nuanced
examination of Hafṣa bint ‘Umar’s connection with the codification of
the Qur’ān (Donner 2011: 25–26). In other words, women’s history
ought to be an integral part of early Islamic historiography and the recon-
struction of early Islamic origins. Women are not peripheral to early
Islam but rather, to paraphrase an observation of the New Testament
scholar Elizabeth Schlüsser Fiorenza, “the textual corpuses under consid-
eration and the modern scholarship concerning them have aided in pro-
ducing the marginality of women” (1994: xx). Modern (including
contemporary) historical work on the Qur’ān’s formation as a text is of
great significance, and it deserves to be subjected to feminist inquiry for
several overlapping reasons: one, integrating feminist perspectives would
permit historians and other scholars to better understand the plausible his-
torical contexts associated with the Qur’ān’s compilation and codification,
and two, this, in turn, would contribute toward a greater consideration of
the “reality of the Qur’ān’s pre-canonical history” in contemporary western
Qur’ānic studies (Neuwirth 2003: 3).
SOME CAVEATS ON SOURCES AND METHODS

At the outset, I must state that this article chiefly examines a selection of
modern western English-language scholarship on the codification of the
Qur’ān. Moreover, this article pays attention to the traditional Islamic
accounts of the compilation of the Qur’ān in so far as an examination of
these accounts helps to analyze modern western English-language scholar-
ship. A full treatment of those Islamic sources is reserved for another
project. This article will not examine western revisionist scholarship on the
1
Modern western scholarship does not exclude scholars who are professed Muslims or scholars of
Muslim background. On this, see Andrew Rippin (2012: 5).
Khan: Did a Woman Edit the Qur’ān? Page 3 of 43
origins of the Qur’ān and Islam because this trajectory goes so far as to
sever the link between the Qur’ān and the life of Muḥammad. This last
remark prompts observations on the early Islamic sources which I rely
upon in this article: following the suit of many scholars, I do not dismiss
these traditional source materials as useless. I believe that they need to be
fully plumbed for the kernel of socio-historical realities that they offer.
While I recognize their limitations as primarily (but not exclusively) literary
sources sometimes composed or compiled a century or several centuries
later, they are often, “with all their distortion and idealization . . . sometimes

all the social history we possess.”2 I welcome the state of ferment and debate
in Qur’ānic studies that the revisionist approaches to early Islamic history
and the Qur’ān (e.g., John Wansbrough, Patricia Crone, Michael Cook,
Günter Lüling, and Christoph Luxenberg) have produced, but the conclu-
sions of these revisionist scholars are by no means entirely defensible and
some would argue, as does Angelika Neuwirth below, that they have been
largely discredited by scholars:3
Wansbrough’s work advocating a wholesale dismissal of Islamic tradition

and with it the Qur’ān’s chronological and geographic frame, induced a
turn in Qur’ānic studies. Though manuscript evidence has meanwhile been
discovered that disproves a later emergence of the Qur’ān, Anglo-Saxon
Qur’ānic scholarship still largely continues to dismantle the historical and
critical apparatus that contextualizes the Qur’ān: or at least to water down
the autonomy of the Qur’ānic corpus by merging Qur’ān and commentary,
tafsīr, to serve as one joint source text. As against this de-historisiation, two
German scholars, Günther Lüling and Christoph Luxenberg, more recently
ventured to restore a dubious history to the Qur’ān, considering it as a re-
writing of earlier Christian texts. The two cases of a revival of textual
archaeology, however unprofessionally applied and thus quickly rejected by
scholars of early Islam, have further widened the hermeneutic gap that
has long been dividing Qur’ānic scholarship into Islamic and western.
(2007: 122)
2
I borrow this phraseology from Anthony Colin Spearing who, in his study of secrecy and privacy
in medieval European love narratives, declares that “Much of it [the evidence about secular social life]
comes from romances themselves, which, with all their distortion and idealization, are sometimes all
the social history we possess” (1993: 14–15). I agree with Denise Spellberg that adopting the approach
of dismissing these early Muslim sources “leaves the historian of medieval Islamic society with much
early material, and seemingly with no worthy options for historical research except the confirmation
of Muslim duplicity and the omnipresence of negative historical evidence” (1994: 13–14).
3
Neuwirth (2007); also see Neuwirth (2003: 5–10); and Donner (2010: 50–56). Asma Afsarrudin
has rightly noted that “none of these revisionists has provided irrefutable evidence for casting doubt
on the overall reliability of the early Islamic material at our disposal” (2008: xv).
Notwithstanding Neuwirth’s critique, Andrew Rippin offers a counter-per-

spective when he states that “what has lingered as the most profound
impact of Wansbrough’s work is the opening up of new modes of
working with the Qur’ān that attempt to examine the text with a set of
assumptions indebted to a broader range of religious and literary models”
(Rippin 2006: 244).
Regrettably, these “new modes of working with the Qur’ān” embrace
few theories and methods from feminist and/or women’s studies.

Admittedly, western scholarship on the history of the Qur’ān as text has
been mainly authored by men. One feminist scholar has pointed out that
“all recovery of the past entails interpretation, so that no matter how
assiduously a historian might seek to let the past speak, he or she
unavoidably speaks alongside the historical record” (Bennett 2006: 14). In
this article, I scrutinize this male “interpretation” of recovering the past
about the Qur’ān’s compilation, and of course, my own contribution, as a
feminist critic, here is also political: I, too, “speak alongside the historical
record.” Feminist criticism informs the questions I pose in my research,
the methods I employ in this investigation, and it informs the conclusions
I draw.4 Among the questions I pose are the following: how do gender-
based5 criteria color the modes by which modern western scholars view
and examine the codification of the Qur’ān? Does Hafṣa’s role in the
compilation of the Qur’ān as attested to in early Islamic sources prompt
these western scholars to either foreclose or open up certain lines of
inquiry? In what ways may this research and scholarship marginalize,
alter, and/or elide Hafṣa’s agency?
Modern feminist theorists and scholars, including Rita Gross,
Elizabeth Schlüsser Fiorenza, Judith Bennett, Shelly Matthews, and Leila
Ahmed, have influenced my examination of Hafṣa.6 Yet, throughout my
research and writing of this article, the shuttling back and forth between
various contexts, the early Islamic, modern western Qur’ānic studies, and
contemporary western feminist contexts has been a dialogic process,
sometimes inspired and mandated by the exigencies of my sources, and
4
I paraphrase Judith Bennett (2006: 16–17). I recognize that the words “feminism” and “gender”
and “women” are highly contested terms. These terms, in the words of Elizabeth Castelli, “all signal
allegiances to particular disciplinary and interdisciplinary homes” (1994: 76). Certainly the second-
wave [1960s and early 1970s] “feminism” in the United States has fragmented into or yielded
“feminisms” and Castelli rightly asserts that this has occurred all the while it is “in conversation with
a variety of cognate politics and critical schools” (1994:78).
5
I am inspired by Joan Scott’s observation that the category of gender is a “primary way of
signifying relationships of power” (Bennett quoting Scott, 2006: 18).
6
I am grateful to Kecia Ali and Ruben Dupertuis for drawing my attention to the scholarship of
Joan Bennett and Shelly Matthews, respectively.
at other times, instigated by insights and claims made by feminist theo-

rists and critics and insights and claims that resonate richly with the
content of my own material. In other words, I seek to interrogate my
texts with respect to “not only . . . what they say about Hafṣa but also how
they construct what they say or do not say” (to paraphrase Schlüsser
Fiorenza 1994: xx). I am also inspired by Shelly Matthews’ claim “that the
best feminist historiography pays close attention to representation in texts
while still attempting to reconstruct a history of women” (2001: 54).

Overall, my approaches are inter-disciplinary, embracing feminist histori-
cal and literary critical methods.
This article is divided into four sections. In the first section, I perform
some stocktaking concerning the field of western Qur’ānic studies as well
as intersections (or the absence thereof ) between this field and feminism/
women’s studies’ scholarship with respect to the Qur’ān. There, I also
reflect upon why there is no dearth of scholarship on feminist/women’s
studies research concerning women in the Qur’ān (including feminist
interpretations of the Qur’ān), whereas there is a paucity of research on
women and the Qur’ān. This is followed by a section entitled “Taking
Hafṣa Seriously” through which I introduce Hafṣa to readers. I recon-
struct a basic history of Hafṣa focusing upon three factors: her marriage
to and near-divorce from the prophet; her literacy, that is, she both read
and wrote; and her role as a go-between in the context of her relationship
with her father, ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭtạ̄ b (d. 644). The third section, “Hafṣa
in Islamic Accounts on the Codification of the Qur’ān,” zeroes in on the
basic Islamic master narrative(s) regarding how the Qur’ān came to be
formed into a book with special attention to Hafṣa’s mention in them.
The fourth and final part is entitled “Hafṣa in Modern Western
Scholarship on the Qur’ān” and it contains a feminist critique of how a
selection of prominent twentieth-century western scholars engage (or dis-
engage) with Hafṣa in their comments on the history of the Qur’ān.
QUR’ĀNIC STUDIES AND FEMINIST STUDIES

Several scholars, in recent assessments regarding the current state of
western scholarship on the Qur’ān, have suggested that it is characterized
by a “sense of strife, even anxiety” (Reynolds 2008: 8), “a state of disarray”
(Donner 2008: 29), and that its state of affairs “calls for a re-thinking of
Qur’ānic studies” (Neuwirth 2007: 122). Walid Saleh argues that a “prolif-
eration of scholarship is taking place at time when no consensus exists on
a central core of works to define the field—let alone on a program to train
future scholars” (2003: 1). Various ideological labels abound in the field
to describe the multiplicity of stances regarding the Qur’ān and its
origins: “traditionalists, revisionists, skeptics and neo-traditionalists”

(Sadeghi and Goudarzi 2012: 2–5). Despite the pronouncements regard-
ing a perceived crisis and disarray characterizing the current state of
western scholarship on the Qur’ān, some of these scholars maintain that
this current disarray is not “necessarily a bad thing.” Fred Donner, for
instance, observes that: “Quite the contrary, it is far preferable to the
earlier stage of ‘false consensus,’ which really concealed a failure or
refusal to address some burning questions in a critical way ( perhaps for

fear of antagonizing believers)” (2008: 43). I would suggest that Qur’ānic
studies need to “address some questions important to feminist studies in
a critical way” (to paraphrase Donner’s remark). Actually, this trajectory
concerned with historical–critical analyses of the Qur’ān has been too
pre-occupied with its own recent internal debates to have a conversation
with women’s studies/feminist studies’ scholarship concerning the
Qur’ān. Contemporary historical–critical analyses or source criticism of
the Qur’ān has been dominated by major debates concerning the recon-
struction of early Islamic origins. Gabriel Said Reynolds has rightly noted
that this spike in interest in the critical questions of Islam’s origins is a
productive and positive development in Qur’ānic studies (2011: 5), yet,
while this interest has fostered conversations with several contemporary
disciplines and disciplinary orientations (archaeology, literary criticism,
history of religions, and linguistics), it can further build upon dialogs
with women’s studies/feminist studies’ scholarship.
Three Groups in Western Qur’ānic Studies
Broadly put, one can distinguish at least three separate and yet over-
lapping groups in contemporary Euro-American Qur’ānic studies.7 One
is what may be termed the archival/technical group which is heavily
geared toward the historical study of the Qur’ān and in which scholars
largely are engaged in painstaking, minute analyses of early manuscripts
(including radiocarbon dating of parchments). The manuscripts under
scrutiny are from among those discovered at the Great Mosque of San‘a’
in Yemen in 1972. A way to describe the great significance of this group’s
work is to comment upon the cutting-edge research and contribution of
Behnam Sadeghi, a student of Michael Cook.8 Basically, Sadeghi’s
7
The following offer excellent contributions on the “state of the art” in Qur’ānic studies: Motzki
2001, Rippin 2006, Neuwirth 2007, Bowering 2008, Reynolds 2008, Donner 2008 , and Sadeghi and
Goudarzi 2012. I thank a distinguished Islamic studies scholar for some thought-provoking remarks
regarding the configurations of these groups.
8
Sadeghi claims that Cook now may be considered “a defector from the revisionist camp” (2012:
4). Among other scholars linked with this archival/technical group are H. Bothmer, Francois
Deroche, Yasin Dutton, Alba Fedeli, and G. Puin.
research provides proof that the Qur’ān’s emergence cannot be read in

complete isolation from the historical dimensions of Muhammad’s biog-
raphy and the events transpiring in the half-century or so after his death.
No doubt that it is prudent for western historical study of the Qur’ān to
refrain from relying upon the minutiae and details of Muhammad’s life
(“which in its traditional shape is the product of later communal imagina-
tion,” Neuwirth 2012: 134), but western Qur’ānic studies cannot afford to
completely reject the historical contexts associated with the Qur’ān’s

early emergence and codification. First, Sadeghi and others have provided
“codicological evidence from the seventh-century at hand that makes the
hypothesis of a later compilation [as set forth by some revisionist schol-
ars] extremely implausible,” if not impossible (Neuwirth 2012: 134).
Second, based on radiocarbon dating of a Qur’ān palimpsest known as
San‘a’ 1, Sadeghi suggests that this manuscript was produced “no more
than fourteen or fifteen years after the death of the prophet” (2010: 383).9
This is an exciting discovery and Sadeghi is correct to state that the
“lower text of San‘a’1 is at present the most important document for the
history of the Qur’ān” (Sadeghi and Goudarzi 2012: 1).
The second group, also oriented toward the historical study of the
Qur’ān, is linked with the Corpus Coranicum research project at the Free
University of Berlin, and the main figure in this group is the director of
the project, Angelika Neuwirth. Neuwirth engages in microstructural
readings (emphasizing communication strategies, form criticism as well
as traditional philological methods) of the text of the Qur’ān to argue that
its emergence was a polyphonic process involving multiple agents: “the
prophet, the emerging community of his listeners and those adjacent
groups who acted as transmitters of the multiple traditions current in the
Late Antiquity Near East” (Neuwirth 2007: 121).10 In a recent spate of
articles and essays (spanning 2003–2012), Neuwirth relentlessly argues
that the “reality of the Qur’ān’s pre-canonical history” must be assigned
significance. She calls for “a change in focus from the exclusive perception
of a reified codex to a still-fluid canonical text that can provide a solution
to the historical problems that Qur’ānic scholarship addresses”
(Neuwirth 2010: 142). Neuwirth maintains that in its emergent phase, the
Qur’ān is a “still-mobile text reflecting an oral theological-philosophical
debate between diverse interlocutors of various late antique
9
Sadeghi holds that this “parchment . . . and its lower writing [dates] to the first half of the seventh
century” (Sadeghi and Bergmann 2010: 344). Labeling this manuscript “C-1,” Sadeghi maintains that
there is a 95.5% chance of dating it from before the year 661 (Sadeghi and Bergmann 2010: 383).
10
Among the scholars affiliated with this second group are Nicolai Sinai and Michael Marx.
denominations” (2010: 142).11 Yet, Neuwirth does not advocate on behalf

of attention to the “pre-canonical Qur’ān” as a replacement for what she
terms “the accepted post-canonical, i.e., exegesis-informed reading” but
rather she sees this attention as “add[ing] another voice to the already
existing readings” (2007: 123).
Qur’ānic Studies and the AAR

A third concentration of scholars includes Gabriel Said Reynolds who

has contributed significantly to the acclaimed Routledge series “Studies
in the Qur’ān” (of which the editor is Andrew Rippin). Reynolds aims to
bring the Qur’ān into conversation with biblical literatures, and model
Qur’ānic historical–critical analyses or source criticism after Biblical
studies. This third configuration also features a large cohort of scholars
who, while adopting diverse approaches to the study of the Qur’ān, privi-
lege Qur’ān-cum-tafsīr (Neuwirth 2007: 117).12 These scholars diligently
examine exegesis in all respects (e.g., its historical formation, practice, his-
toriography, literary aspects, gender dimensions, and so forth). Some
remarks are in order for why this cohort, that privileges the exegetical in
western Qur’ānic studies over historical studies of the Qur’ān, is well-rep-
resented in the AAR.
The 1970s were a watershed decade for western Qur’ānic studies (i.e.,
a decade during which revisionist theses were set forth by Wansbrough,
Crone, and Cook) that underscored a turn away from the reliance upon
traditional Islamic source materials. This was also the decade marked by
the milestone publication of Orientalism by Edward Said in 1978.
Bolstered by the anti-Orientalist critiques that the Academy was
11
Elsewhere, Neuwirth critiques western Qur’ānic studies for what she perceives as an excessive
focus upon the “post-canonical Qur’ān”: “Current Qur’ānic scholarship situates the Qur’ān at a stage
when it has already become a canonized text, i.e., when it has acquired a ‘status beyond history.’ In
this post-canonical text the dramatic scenario of the communication of the Qur’ānic message has
given way to a written compilation, thus glossing over the exchange process between the transmitter
of the message and his listeners. The differences between the two manifestations of the text can
hardly be overestimated. Whereas in the case of the post-canonical Qur’ān the scriptural character is
due to the mushaf being acclaimed as the Book of the Muslim community and an integral part of that
community’s beliefs, scripturality in the pre-canonical text is due to its emergence from a Biblically
imprinted world.” (Neuwirth 2007: 119).
12
As I have pointed out, these are distinct but overlapping groups. Hence, while some have
suggested that the current state of western scholarship on the Qur’ān is characterized by some rifts,
contributors from all of the aforementioned camps or groups collegially read and comment on each
other’s work. Moreover, members of all three have published in the magisterial multi-volume work
Encyclopaedia of the Qur’ān edited by Jane Dammen McAuliffe, and they also often publish their
research in the Journal of Qur’ānic studies founded in 1999 under the auspices of the Centre of
Islamic studies at the School of African and Oriental studies in London. For instance, Neuwirth,
Dutton, Sinai, and Rippin all publish in this latter journal.
absorbing through the fallout from Said’s book, revisionist arguments

were increasingly scrutinized and challenged in the subsequent two
decades. Revisionism, however, did not get totally sidelined; instead, it
could be argued that a kind of “de facto revisionism” informed the shift
toward the exegetical in western Qur’ānic studies. In other words, in this
context, there occurred what Neuwirth has described as a flight from his-
torical studies of the Qur’ān toward exegetical studies. The prevalence of
post-modern literary theories, such as post-structuralism and deconstruc-

tionism, further accentuated this turn. This flight coincides with Richard
Martin’s claim that “the cohort of new scholars in Islamic studies coming
on line in the 1970s was a transitional generation, from Orientalism to
Religious studies” (2010: 902). Martin points out that “the transitional
generation of Islamicists . . . were betwixt and between an era when
Islamic studies were dominated by Orientalism and the post-Orientalist
era of post-colonial criticism and critical theory in the social sciences and
much of religious studies” (Martin 2010: 904). Other factors that help shed
light on this flight were two complementary trends: again, in the words of
Martin, post-1970s, “Islamic studies would soon open up more to the work
of Muslim scholars and to the study of modern Islam” and “that the
American Academy of Religion was in those days, as it is now, more open
to religiously oriented scholarship than other academic associations”
(Martin 2010: 900–901). The shift to the exegetical away from the historical
in Qur’ānic studies would be one with which “Islamic-religiously oriented
scholarship” would be far more comfortable. “This reading of Qur’ān-
cum-tafsīr has become the standard approach” now according to Neuwirth
(2007: 117). Neuwirth decries that “the Qur’ān . . . [has] not [been] submit-
ted systematically to the set of methodological steps that are pursued in
Biblical studies,” and she implies that the reason for this “failure” has to do
with the ‘Qur’ān’s alterity, its exceptional position as a non-Biblical scrip-
ture (Neuwirth 2007: 116). Ironically, Neuwirth thinks this “alterity”
smacks of Orientalism due, in her view, to an “exotic perception of the
Qur’ān that fails to acknowledge it as a scripture of monotheism like the
other scriptures, i.e. texts that through the particular process of their can-
onization have acquired an extraordinary position in their communities”
(2007: 115–116).
Qur’ānic Studies and Women’s Studies/Feminist Studies
Muslim feminist studies’ scholarship concerning the Qur’ān has
embraced primarily feminist theological interpretations of the Qur’ān.
This trend mirrors the overall shift in western Qur’ānic studies from his-
toricizing the Qur’ān to situating it within exegetical contexts. Aysha
Hidayatullah observes that Muslim feminist theologians (who draw upon
the strategies of their counterparts, namely Jewish and Christian feminist

theologians) have pursued the following critiques and investigations: “(1)
criticism of the assumption that men are the normative recipients of reve-
lation; (2) criticism of the representation of God as male and the treatment
of prophets as patriarchs; (3) historical contextualization of divine and
prophetic texts; (4) close study of the language of revelation; (5) interpreta-
tion of sacred texts in light of women’s life experiences; and (6) recovery
of the stories of significant women figures in early religious history.”

(2009: 163–164) Undoubtedly, Muslim feminist theologians (Amina
Wadud, Riffat Hassan, Asma Barlas, Azizah al-Hibri, and Kecia Ali) have
made important strides during the last few decades as regards interpreta-
tions of the Qur’ān. Moreover, within the context of women’s studies
(Leila Ahmed, Barbara Stowasser, and Fatima Mernissi), a plethora of
works exist in modern western scholarship on women in the Qur’ān, i.e.,
representations of women and gender issues in the Qur’ān.
Far less scholarship exists on the history of women and the Qur’ān. A
focus upon women and the Qur’ān would imply historiographical scru-
tiny of the role early Muslim women played in how the Qur’ān came to
be formed and compiled (including processes of recitation, memoriza-
tion, transmission, writing, editing, authorship, and/or custodianship).
From Hidayatullah’s list, this article is mainly concerned with the last
item, “recovery of the story” of western study of the history of the Qur’ān
(especially the story of how one significant woman figures in this western
study). As for feminist or women’s studies’ scholarship on Hafṣa’s role in
the codification of the Qur’ān, I credit Aisha Geissinger as being the only
scholar who has analytically addressed Hafṣa and the compilation of the
Qur’ān in her doctoral dissertation.13 This dissertation has a subsection
entitled “Literary representations of women and written quranic materi-
als” (Geissinger 2008: 240–264) in which she employs gender as a central
category in her analysis of what she terms “representations of women and
quranic materials.”14
Another reason that there are so many more Muslim feminist theolo-
gians of the Qur’ān than there are feminist scholars engaging in the study
of the history of the Qur’ān concerns a distinction that Rita Gross makes
between feminist scriptural interpretation and feminists who pay more
attention to the history of the [scriptural] text. Gross suggests that feminists
13
The fourth chapter in Geissinger’s doctoral dissertation (University of Toronto, 2008) is entitled
“Epistemology, Gender and Textual Authority: A literary Approach to Some Traditions about
Women and Copies of the Qur’an.”
14
Within this subsection, there is a ten-page portion entitled “Hafṣa and the ‘Uthmānic recension”
(Geissinger 2008: 242–251).
who engage in scriptural interpretation “are somewhat traditional in that

they regard the scripture as ultimately authoritative, which is why interpret-
ing it matters so much . . . feminists who pay more attention to the history
of the text often readily concede that the [scripture] . . . is a thoroughly pat-
riarchal and androcentric document; therefore, they construe its authority
differently” (Gross 1996: 180). To some extent, Gross’ remark regarding
“construing the Qur’ān’s authority differently” resonates with my enter-
prise in this article. I approach the Qur’ān with the stance of the empathetic

but non-theological feminist scholar of religion.
Feminist historians have much that is instructive to contribute to the
debates and developments in western Qur’ānic studies. For example,
Shelly Matthews declares that “rather than formulating the question of
textual representation and historical reality as an either/or question, these
historians argue both for the study of gender in textual representation
and for reconstructive historical projects” (2001: 51). Matthews points
out that there is the “growing body of feminist historiography influenced
by post-structuralism . . . which aims to ‘problematize . . . the relationship
of text to reality, and specifically the relationship of women in texts to
actual women in history’”(2001: 48–49). Yet she correctly notes that the
drawback to this approach is its reductionism: “each woman in the text
becomes a sign, a means of communication between men, but serves no
other possible function” (Matthews 2001: 50). Citing the oft-mentioned
feminist emphasis upon treating the duality of women as “both signs and
producers of signs,” she states that this duality “dovetails with the work of
feminist historians who argue first for the importance of interrogating
texts for the ways women function as signs within them, and second for
further work reconstructing historical women speakers who existed
beyond these texts” (Matthews 2001: 51).
Feminist historiography on early Islam has begun to take up both
gendered representation in traditional Islamic accounts of the history of
the Qur’ān and reconstructive historical projects of female speakers in
these textual accounts. Even these normative Islamic accounts, which
almost unanimously privilege men or the male role in the process,
suggest that in both Mecca and Medina, there were instances where “reve-
lation descended upon Muḥammad” in the company of women. After all,
the traditional biography of Muhammad holds that marriage as a condi-
tion of his life precedes his career as a prophet. A narrative of this biogra-
phy is the account of how it was the company of a woman (namely
Khadīja, his first wife) that Muḥammad sought immediately after the first
numinous encounter with Gabriel in the cave of Hira. Feminist historiogra-
phers (Muslim and non-Muslim) as well as Muslim feminist theologians
could pay more attention to the representation and/or reconstruction of
women in the formation of the [scriptural] text, given several factors: first,
the Islamic tradition’s view of revelation, that is, it was a continuously
unfolding phenomenon (interactive and contextual) as experienced by the
prophet Muḥammad over a span of roughly twenty-two years; second, the
biographical tradition’s recognition that the prophet’s private (and aspects
of his public) life was frequently in the company of women (i.e., his wives
and daughters) during these two decades; and third, the female company
was ample: most classical sources (e.g., biographical and exegetical materi-
als) concur that the following women were the “Wives of the Prophet”

(also described as the “Mothers of the Believers” by Islamic tradition):
Khadīja bint Khuwaylid, ‘A’isha bint Abī Bakr, Hafṣa bint ‘Umar ibn al-
Khattāb, Umm Salama, Zaynab bint al-Khuzayma, Juwayriyya, Zaynab
bint al-Jahsh, Māriya the Copt, Umm Habība, Safiyya bint Huwayy,
Maymūna bint al-Hārith, and Rayḥāna bint Zayd (Stowasser 2001: 510–
514). It seems reasonable to posit, given these basic factors, that one or
more of his spouses would be intimately involved in the processes of mem-
orization, transmission, writing, and/or editing of the Qur’ānic revelation
during his lifetime and after his death.
Some early sources do suggest that the prophet’s wives shaped how
the Qur’ān came to be formed. Indeed, codices of the Qur’ān are attrib-
uted to three wives of Muḥammad: Hafṣa, ‘A’isha, and Umm Salama15
(Jeffery 1975: 14). A political subtext informs the marriages of two, if not
all three, of the wives mentioned as having their own codices. ‘A’isha was
the daughter of Abū Bakr, an early convert and the first caliph after his
death. Hafṣa was the daughter of ‘Umar, another major convert, and the
second caliph following the death of Abū Bakr. But textual content attrib-
uted to all three of these codices is characterized by some conventions
that suggest later invention or forgery (Jeffery 1975: 213). It is important
to mention that none of these codices is extant. From among these three,
the strongest case that both the traditional sources and western scholars
make (in terms of historical veracity) is on behalf of the sheets/codex of
15
Arthur Jeffery, an Australian Orientalist, in his 1937 book Materials for the History of the Text of
the Qur’ān, listed fifteen “Primary Codices [of the Qur’ān]” (culled from his close consultation of the
Kitab al-Masaḥ if or Book of Codices, dated 1283 by Ibn Abī Dawud) and of these, three are associated
with these three wives of the prophet. According to Jeffery, this manuscript that “now lies in the
Zahariya Library at Damascus . . . is apparently the sole surviving example of the little group of
Masaḥ if books which studied the state of the Qur’ān text prior to its canonization in the standard text
of ‘Uthman” (1937: vii). Jeffery’s own work consists of a list of the old codices with his accompanying
comments and the inclusion of the Arabic text of Ibn Abi Dawud’s manuscript. Of this manuscript,
Jeffery offers the following caveat: “The text of this work of Ibn Abī Dawūd is presented here as
accurately as it can be settled on the basis of this unique MS” (1937: vii–viii).
Hafṣa and it is my aim to put a spotlight on some of this western scholarly

work as regards this female figure, Hafṣa bint ‘Umar, and her ṣuḥ uf.
It is necessary to make some comments on the Arabic terminology at
hand.16 In the classical sources, the term frequently invoked to describe
what Hafṣa had in her possession (in the way of Qur’ānic writings) is
ṣuḥ uf. The term ṣuḥ uf (singular, ṣaḥ ifa) carries with it the following
semantics: “written pieces of parchment” or “written pieces of skin” (Lane
1984: 1654–1655). The Arabic equivalent for the term “codex” is muṣḥ af
(plural, maṣāḥ if) and it is derived from the same root as ṣuḥ uf. The lexi-

cons state that a muṣḥ af is “A book, or volume, consisting of a collection of
ṣuḥ uf [parchment sheets or skins] written upon, and put between two
boards” (Lane 1984: 1655). A muṣḥ af therefore is a (bound) volume
between two covers. Theologically, Islamic tradition employs this term to
describe the written Qur’ān (i.e., the canonical codex). Occasionally, the
term muṣḥ af [codex] is used to describe Hafṣa’s materials in the early
Arabic sources. In western English-language scholarship, sometimes, the
term “codex” is loosely employed to refer to either ṣuḥ uf or muṣḥ af. For
this article’s title, I have borrowed the phrase “famed codex of Hafṣa” from
Daniel Madigan’s book on the Qur’ān (2001: 38). The distinctions between
these two terms in the historical sources are somewhat murky, but for the
purposes of this article, I take ṣuḥ uf to mean “collected or assembled sheets
of written parchment or skins” whereas I understand muṣḥ af to mean
“bound volume, codex.” Therefore, an accurate translation of the Arabic
phrase ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa (oft-mentioned in the classical sources) is as follows:
“the written sheets of Hafṣa or Hafṣa’s written sheets.”
TAKING HAFṢA SERIOUSLY

What do the early sources allow one to say about Hafṣa? The paucity
of sources on seventh-century Arabia, the era during which she lived,
compels the modern historian to rely upon eighth-century and ninth-
century Arabic sources. The earliest fullest biography on Hafṣa is by the
Baghdadi scholar Ibn Sa‘d (d. 845), whose compendium entitled Book of
Classes (Kitāb al-Tabaqāt) contains a six-page entry that delineates the
main contours of her life. It must be noted that Ibn Sa‘d mentions
nothing about Hafṣa and the collection of the Qur’ān in his entry.
Hafṣa bint ‘Umar al-Khaṭtạ̄ b was born circa 605 in the Mecca of pre-
Islamic Arabia and she died approximately sixty years later in Medina,
16
Translations of Arabic sources cited in this article are mine unless otherwise indicated. In some
instances, where there exist widely circulating and established translations of the pertinent material, I
have modified these translations to better reflect my own understanding of the textual excerpts.
where the new community of believers had been established (Ibn Sa‘d
1958: 8: 81). Hence, she would have been a young girl of about five years
when Muḥammad launched his prophetic career. Her father, as her name
suggests, was the famous ‘Umar al-Khaṭtạ̄ b (d. 644), an early convert to
Islam, who after Muḥammad’s death became the second caliph from
among the four so-called Rightly-Guided caliphs (al-Khulafā’ al-
Rashidūn). Her mother was named Zaynab bint Maz‘ūn. ‘Umar married
a number of women during his lifetime. Consequently, Hafṣa had over

eight brothers and she was among the eldest, if not the eldest, of all of
‘Umar’s children (Ibn Sa‘d 1958: 3: 265–66). Hafṣa’s entry into the
Islamic historical record is due primarily to the link with her father but
also to her marriage to Muḥammad in 625 when she was approximately
twenty years old. Apposite here is the mention that Muḥammad’s lifespan
straddles the two Arabian cities of Mecca (where he was born in 570)
and Medina (site of the first Believers’ community in 622), and it is in
Medina that his multiple marriages take place.17 At that time, Hafṣa was
a young widow whose first husband, Khunays ibn Hudhāfa ibn Qays,
died in Medina from injuries he suffered in the Battle of Badr. At the age
of twenty-eight years, Hafṣa was again widowed when Muḥammad died
in 632. She was his fourth wife and they were married for about seven
years.
A little over a decade after this, in 644, Hafṣa also lost her father, the
then caliph ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭtạ̄ b. In his classical biographical work, Ibn
Sa‘d states that ‘Umar had designated her to be the executor of his will
(1958: 8: 84). Hafṣa lived in Medina for about twenty more years after her
father’s death (and about thirty years after Muḥammad’s death). Ibn Sa‘d
narrates six or seven short vignettes of her death including three accounts
in which a governor of Medina at the time, Marwān ibn Hakam (d. 685),
plays a key role in her burial and funeral (1958: 8: 86). This latter refer-
ence to Marwān, as we shall see, though a seemingly minor detail,
actually turns out to be an important element in both the traditional
Islamic accounts of and western scholarship on the Qur’ān’s codification.
Controversies Surrounding Hafṣa
Hafṣa is a somewhat controversial figure because Muḥammad divorced
her (and then “took her back”). According to some traditional Islamic
accounts, this incident is linked with his near-divorce of all his wives.
To better understand the controversies surrounding this divorce or
17
My use of the term “Believers” here reflects my agreement with Fred Donner’s argument that
“Muḥammad and his early followers thought of themselves above all as being a community of
Believers, rather than one of Muslims, and referred to themselves as Believers” (2010: 58).
near-divorce, we need to start with her marriage to Muḥammad. It is likely

that Muḥammad’s marriage to Hafṣa occurred because of his strong bond
with her father, ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb. The numerous narratives in Ibn
Sa‘d’s account frame the centrality of the relationship between Muḥammad
and ‘Umar in the prophet’s decision to marry Hafṣa (Ibn Sa‘d 1958: 8: 81–
83). Sources (both Muslim and western) frequently point to the signifi-
cance of male religious and political networks and alliances in
Muḥammad’s marriages.
It may be inferred, from these same sources, that just as ‘A’isha was

Muḥammad’s “favorite wife,” it is likely that Hafṣa was one of his “least
favorite” wives. Certainly there is nothing in the sources to suggest that
there was a spark of attraction and/or affection between them in the stage
before their marriage. Assuming Hafṣa was arguably Muḥammad’s least
favorite wife sheds light on why ‘Umar, her father, is frequently portrayed
in the sources as making sure that Hafṣa never forget her “place” in the
prophet’s harem. Not surprisingly therefore, she is the only wife who, in
classical Islamic sources, is associated with the gravest divorce episode
involving Muḥammad. Various early traditions (including that of Ibn
Sa‘d) suggest that the prophet indeed divorced Hafṣa, and then God
ordained Muḥammad to “take her back” (she “was restored to divine
favor by divine command”) through the archangel Gabriel’s interven-
tion.18 Most sources date this divorce episode to circa 629–630. Ibn Sa‘d
devotes six narratives to this episode in his entry on Hafṣa (1958: 8: 84–
85). As conveyed in the following rather poignant and revealing vignette,
Hafṣa asserts her pride even amidst her grieving over the divorce:
He divorced Hafṣa, daughter of ‘Umar, and two of her maternal uncles

came to [see her] and she wept and said: “By God the messenger of God
( peace be upon him) did not divorce me on account of being sick of me,
or out of having had his fill of me.” Then the messenger of God came
and entered (i.e., came in upon) her and she donned her outer cloak (i.e.,
she put on the jilbāb) and he said: “Indeed Jibrīl came to me and he said
to me, take Hafṣa back for she devoutly fasts and prays and she is your
wife in heaven.” (Ibn Sa‘d 1958: 8: 84)19
As the vignette demonstrates, Hafṣa did not want to be pitied or seen as a

woman the prophet merely got fed up with and cast aside. Ibn Sa‘d
18
It should be mentioned that in most classical and modern Islamic sources, it is another wife,
‘A’isha, who is rendered prominent in having been exonerated through divine revelation. (See Denise
Spellberg’s book Politics, Gender and the Islamic Past: the Legacy of ‘Aisha bint Abi Bakr).
19
Translation of this Arabic excerpt is mine.
himself makes no reference to the causes for the divorce in his biographi-
cal entry on Hafṣa; however, he does so elsewhere in his multi-volume
biographical dictionary. Barbara Stowasser relays multiple “sets” of tradi-
tions that Ibn Sa‘d presents regarding the divorce, and in half of these,
Hafṣa is rendered the culprit and as the main “cause” for the divorce
(1994: 96). Most classical Islamic sources frame this divorce or near-
divorce in terms of the jealousies and intrigues among the co-wives.20
This divorce episode reverberates throughout the classical and modern

Islamic traditions. Indeed, certain sets of Qur’ānic verses (chiefly 66: 4–5)
are held by the Islamic classical exegetical tradition to be associated with
this episode in Muḥammad’s life. Stowasser tries to shed light on this
controversial event in the following quotation:
Traditions specify several factors that may have triggered this crisis, such
as the prophet’s wives’ desire for more possessions, especially clothes, or
the women’s bickering over shared food; else the crisis is said to have
occurred because of the prophet’s relations with his concubine Mārya
the Copt, of whom his wives were jealous. Other traditions link the
domestic disturbance with the fact that two of the wives ‘made common
cause against the prophet’(66: 4) which led to the divine warning of
divorce of all of them (66: 5). (1994: 96)
Suffice it to note that while Stowasser correctly depicts the standard andro-
centric themes associated with the wives of the prophet in the classical
Islamic traditions, feminists of various persuasions would take issue with
the generalized description of the wives as “bickering,” “wanting more
clothes,” and being “jealous”—these descriptions are rooted in well-estab-
lished stereotypes of women. It is also noteworthy that so little historically
is known about this near-divorce episode despite its significance in the
family of the prophet. As Stowasser points out, “by all accounts, however,
the domestic turmoil was of major proportions, even if its historical ‘reason’
or ‘reasons’ may not have been clearly or fully recorded” (1994: 96).
A number of sources indicate that, again, it is the strong bond between
Muḥammad and ‘Umar that saves the marriage. The existence of the motif
of “heavenly consort” underscores the controversies that surround this
event for such motifs likely are inserted into subsequent redactions to reha-
bilitate Hafṣa. Hence, for example, Ibn Sa‘d’s accounts of Muḥammad’s
marriage to Zaynab bint Jahsh, another wife whose very entry into the
20
Immediately following the discussion of divorce, Ibn Sa‘d conveys several variants of an intrigue
(i.e., the honey incident) involving Hafṣa and two to three co-wives (‘A’isha, Sawda, and/or Safiyya)
who conspire against her over the issue of claims to Muḥammad’s attention (1958: 8:85).
historical record (including the prophet’s marital life) is shrouded in con-

troversy, contain some remarkable motifs of heavenly miracles or miracle-
like happenings; for instance, “the food the prophet’s servant Anas ibn
Malik had prepared for her wedding feast multiplied until it sufficed to
feed seventy-one guests ” (Stowasser 1994: 114).21 Stowasser has discussed
these motifs of Muḥammad’s terrestrial wives being his consorts in para-
dise. As regards the three main wives (i.e., ‘A’isha, Hafṣa, and Zaynab bint
Jahsh) with whom such motifs are associated, it is my contention that each

of these wives was linked to certain episodes or situations deemed contro-
versial—and later sources sought to redeem them through the presence of
such motifs.
Hafṣa Memorized, Recited, and Edited the Qur’ānic Materials
Several sources indicate that Hafṣa was literate (she both read and
wrote) and highly intelligent. Various classical narratives depict her as
being very “teachable” and intellectually curious. One brief but important
vignette in Ibn Sa‘d’s account shows Muḥammad as being cognizant of his
wife Hafṣa’s wide-ranging curiosity and desire to learn: the prophet
chances upon her one day in a session with an accomplished woman
named Shifā who is well-versed in the arts of healing, and Muḥammad
instructs her to “teach” Hafṣa (Ibn Sa‘d 1958: 8: 84). This same woman,
Shifā bint Abdullah, portrayed as a female mentor of Hafṣa, is subsequently
appointed by ‘Umar, during his reign of caliph, “as the inspector of
markets in Medina, a position roughly equivalent to that of a city mayor”
(Afsaruddin 2008: 40). Perhaps, in part due to her being very intelligent
and “teachable,” Hafṣa also was inclined to teach, or more precisely,
remonstrate and correct others, including the prophet. “She did not feel
constrained to avoid embarrassing her husband whenever he did some-
thing which displeased her, and she answered boldly if she found a point
against him” (Bint al-Shātī’ 1971: 105). That she had memorized the
Qur’ān (or parts of it) is evident in a tradition from Ibn Sa‘d’s work that
illustrates her challenging and almost dueling with the prophet over the
relevance of certain verses in the Qur’ān:
the prophet mentioned to Hafṣa [about] his Companions who gave an

oath of allegiance to him under the tree of al-Hūdaybiyya. He said: “God
willing, no one who has taken this oath will go to Hell.” Hafṣa demurred,
21
See Bint al-Shātī’ (quoting Ibn Sa‘d’s Tabaqāt) in The Wives of the Prophet, translated by
M. Moosa in the chapter on Zaynab bint Jahsh.
“Yes . . . [ perhaps]” she said. Muḥammad chided her and she [then]
recited the following Qur’ānic verse, “Not one of you shall escape the fire
of Hell: this ordained by God.” The prophet answered : “God has said:
We will save those who have believed and keep the wrong-doers in Hell
upon their knees.”22
A telling picture emerges from the following account cited in an early source
by ‘Abdullah Ibn Wahb (d. 812) and attributed to ‘Urwa b. al-Zūbayr (d.
712), a famous Medinese jurist and “pioneer in history writing” (Duri 1957:

12).23 In it, Hafṣa is clearly portrayed as being conversant with reciting,
reading, writing, and even editing Qur’ānic material. Muḥammad is shown
instructing Hafṣa in the Qur’ān as well as writing Qur’ānic verses for her.
Evidently, her father ‘Umar regarded her as an authority on the oral and
written Qur’ān, because he seeks her out when it came to sort out competing
recitations of Qur’ānic verses:
Abu l-Aswad related [that] ‘Urwa b. al-Zūbayr said, “People differed

over the recitation of ‘Those who disbelieve from among the People of
Book . . . ’[Q 98: 1], so ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭtạ̄ b came to Hafṣa, [bringing]
with [him a scrap of ] leather (adīm). He said: When the Messenger of
God comes to you, ask him to teach you ‘Those who disbelieve from
among the People of the Book’ . . . and tell him to write it for you on this
[scrap of ] leather. She did [this], and he [i.e., Muḥammad] wrote it for
her. This reading became public and widespread [’āmma]. (Ibn Wahb
2003: 62)24
‘Umar is shown as asking Hafṣa to edit the Qur’ān on the basis of

Muḥammad “teaching” her the correct recitation and writing of the said
22
Bint al-Shātī’ (quoting Ibn Sa‘d’s Tabaqāt, vol. II, 73) in The Wives of the Prophet, translated by
M. Moosa, 105–106. Translation of the Arabic chiefly by Moosa with my own modifications
integrated for the sake of greater clarity.
23
According to Duri, al-Zūbayr was identified as “the initiator of the Medina school of history,”
who was known to have a “deep interest in Muḥammad’s prophetic career and early Islamic history”
(1957: 1): “The beginnings of history writing in Islam were cultivated in two centers - Medina,
representing Islamic interests and primarily concerned with the Sīra (Life of the prophet) and the
early history of Islam, and Iraq-more specifically Kufa and Basra-representing tribal interests and
lines of historical studies” (Duri 1957: 1).
24
Translation of the Arabic by Aisha Geissinger with modifications by me for the sake of greater
clarity. These accounts from Ibn Wahb’s source are extremely important as they are dated prior to the
most widespread Islamic traditions (i.e., Hadīth from al-Bukhārī) regarding the codification of the
Qur’ān. As Harald Motzki points out, the source written by Ibn Wahb (died 812) suggests “it does
seem safe to conclude that reports on a collection of the Qur’ān on Abu Bakr’s behalf and on an
official edition made by order of ‘Uthman were already in circulation towards the end of the 1st
Islamic century” (2001: 31).
verse.25 It is also noteworthy that Hafṣa’s edited version of the verse is

then presumably orally disseminated, and it is described as becoming the
community’s common and prevailing reading. Moreover, it is revealing
that Hafṣa is shown functioning as a significant “go-between” in the rela-
tion involving the prophet and ‘Umar—a “go-between” role that unfolds
as part of a communication process concerning Qur’ānic materials.
Importantly, this account provides a glimpse into a plausible context for
the emergence of what Neuwirth has termed the “still-fluid pre-canonical

text” of the Qur’ān (2010: 142).
Hafṣa’s literacy, intellectual curiosity, and recitation skills are on
display in another fascinating tradition. It is interesting that this tradition
is transmitted on the authority of al-Zuhrī (d. 742), a noted chronicler
from Medina, who was keenly invested in the transition from oral to
written modes in the rise of historical studies:26
‘Abd al-Razzaq informed us, on the authority of Ma’mar, on the author-

ity of al-Zuhrī, that Hafṣa came to the prophet with a [ piece of ] writing
on a camel’s shoulder-blade from the stories of Joseph (bi-kitāb min
qiṣaṣ Yūsuf fī katf ). She began to read this to him. The prophet’s face
changed color, and he said, “By the one in whose hand is my life, if
Joseph were to come to you while I am still among you, and they were to
follow him and abandon me, they would go astray.” (‘Abd al-Razzaq
2000: 145)27
Hafṣa is depicted as a “listener” conversant with “biblical and post-biblical

lore,” who is carrying written scriptural materials with her. Her recitation
to Muḥammad from qiṣaṣ Yūsuf bespeaks of a “metadiscourse” involving
both the ancient and nascent scriptural traditions (Neuwirth 2010: 141).28
No doubt this account underscores that she read, recited, collected, and/or
wrote scriptural writings. Claims set forth by several scholars that the
“developing Qur’ān had to stake its own claim to authority in
25
Concerning the theological doctrine of Muḥammad’s illiteracy or ummi status, see Sebastian
Günther (2002: 1–26). Geissinger’s dissertation (Geissinger studied with Günther) drew my attention
to this source by Günther and I am thankful for this.
26
According to Duri, “Zuhrī makes frequent references to relevant verses of the Qur’an [in his
reports] . . . In fact Waqidi’s traditions from Zuhrī make it plain that the study of the Qur’an, with its
frequent references to the affairs of the Muslims in Medina, was another motive for the rise of historical
studies” (1957: 8). As remarked, al-Zuhrī played a key role in the development of written history: “He
rendered a great service to historical studies by writing down his traditions” (Duri 1957: 11).
27
Translation of the Arabic by Geissinger with modifications by me for the sake of greater clarity.
28
Relevant to this tradition is Neuwirth’s assertion that “The Qur’ān . . . [was] communicated to
listeners whose education already compris[ed] biblical and post-biblical lore, whose nascent scripture
therefore should provide answers to the questions raised in biblical exegesis” (2010: 142).
confrontation with the Judeo-Christian notions of scripturality” shed some

light on the portrayal of the prophet’s reaction of dismay to her recitation
(Neuwirth 2010: 145). That the piece of writing is from the biblical or post-
biblical lore regarding Joseph is potentially crucial. In the Qur’ān, the
Meccan Chapter 12, entitled “Joseph” (Sūrat Yūsuf), is strongly character-
ized by intertextual resonances with biblical and post-biblical traditions.
Furthermore, Chapter 12 is characterized by certain motifs of women as
“temptresses;” for example, it portrays Potiphar’s wife (unnamed in the

Qur’ān) as one who tries to seduce the prophet Joseph. This portrayal is
shot through with motifs of female trickery and guile (i.e., euphemistically
women are labeled “the [seductive] companions of Yusūf”). I would
concur with Geissinger that “the choice of a female protagonist [in both
chapter 12 and this tradition] could be read as an attempt to evoke the ster-
eotypical depictions of women as temptresses, in order to implicitly catego-
rize the pursuit of such knowledge as dangerously seductive, and best
avoided” (2008: 251).
Exercises in Influence: Hafṣa Acted as Go-Between

There are a number of narratives indicating that Hafṣa functioned in a
significant way as a go-between figure for her father, ‘Umar. The bond
between the father and daughter was strong and intense. While his harsh-
ness and severity with his daughter and other women is well-recorded,
what is less visible is the extent to which ‘Umar expected her to exert
influence in familial contexts and interactions—in other words, to func-
tion as a kind of intermediary and “go-between.” For example, the below
Hadīth implies that she had influence over her brother(s), and that ‘Umar
expected her to exercise it:
Mālik related to me that he heard that Umar ibn al-Khaṭtạ̄ b saw a female
slave belonging to Abdullah ibn Umar ibn al-Khaṭtạ̄ b. She was dressed
up in silks. He went to his daughter Hafṣa and said, “Didn’t I see your
brother’s slave-girl dressed up in silks walking among the people and
causing trouble?” Umar disapproved of that.29
Of significance here is that ‘Umar’s complaint of his son Abdullah’s

behavior is made not to Abdullah himself, but rather to the latter’s elder
sister, Hafṣa. ‘Umar turns to his daughter to expresses his disapproval
regarding his son’s perceived excesses, and thereby, relies upon Hafṣa as a
29
http://www.cmje.org/religious-texts/Hadīth/ Complete Mālik’s Muwatta, 54.17.44.
potential go-between and mediator in the tensions (albeit those involving

a female slave) between father and son.
Other accounts indicate that she was expected to and tried to exert
influence as an intermediary and go-between in a wider communal context.
In the next Hadīth account, Hafṣa is clearly seen as an emissary on behalf
of a group of early Muslims vis-à-vis her father, the then caliph ‘Umar:
Indeed ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb disdained everything but severity [in life-

style . . . even while] God brought forth abundance and wealth. Hence . . .
[a community of] Muslims came and [met with] Hafṣa [about this
matter] . . . and she [Hafṣa] . . . shared their concerns. So when they
departed from her, he [‘Umar] encountered her, and she informed him of
what the community said. ‘Umar then said to her: “O Hafṣa, daughter of
‘Umar, you counseled [acted as counselor with] your people, and cheated
your father. Indeed my family has a claim on me and my property, but not
upon my religion and faith.” (Ibn Sa‘d 1958: 3: 278)
A group of Muslims seeks out and meets with Hafṣa. They desire to
discuss their concerns with Hafṣa because, being at odds with ‘Umar’s
ascetic and frugal lifestyle (and with the possible impact of this on his
policies as caliph), they view her as having access to and influence vis-à-
vis her father. Indeed, ‘Umar himself is shown acknowledging her “advi-
sory capacity” through his reference to her as having “counseled the
people” although he is described as rebuffing this attempt.
HAFṢA IN ISLAMIC ACCOUNTS ON THE

CODIFICATION OF THE QUR’ĀN
The mainstream Islamic account of the compilation of the Qur’ān
holds that there was no complete and/or definitive collection of the Qur’ān
when the prophet died. Large pieces of the revelation were in the collective
memory of members of the community, and/or some segments or passages
may have been written down by several persons. According to the most
widespread Islamic tradition, there are two principle texts (i.e., Hadīths or
canonical dicta of the prophet) involving the compilation and codification
of the Qur’ān. Both are to be found in the ninth-century canonical Hadīth
collection of al-Bukhārī (d. 870) and below, I provide translations of both.
Hadīth text (1):30
30
Saḥ īḥ Bukhārī, “Fadā’il al-Qur’ān” http://Hadīth.al-islam.com/Page.aspx?pageid=192&TOCID=
2772&BookID=24&PID=4797#4701 (Translation of Arabic, mine).
Zayd ibn Thābit said: Abū Bakr al-Siddīq sent for me (following) the
battle of the people of Yamāma. I found ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭtạ̄ b with him.
Abū Bakr said: “‘Umar came to me and said, ‘The casualties of the
Qur’ān-reciters [qurra’] were heavy at Yamāma and I fear that more
Qur’ān-reciters will be killed at other regions and much of the Qur’ān
will disappear. Hence, I think you should undertake the collection of the
Qur’ān.’ I said to ‘Umar: ‘How can you do something which the
Messenger of God did not do?’ ‘Umar replied, ‘By God, it is a good
thing.’ ‘Umar did not cease urging me [and this continued] until God

lightened my burden [literally: opened up my chest] for [doing] this,
and I saw in it what ‘Umar saw.
Zayd said: Abū Bakr said, “You are an intelligent young man and above
reproach. Moreover, you used to write down the revelation for the
Messenger of God; so search for the Qur’ān and collect/assemble it.” By
God, if they had ordered me to move a mountain, it would not have
been heavier for me than what they commanded me do in regard to col-
lecting the Qur’ān. I said: “How can you do something that the
Messenger of God did not do?” He said, “By God it is a good thing.”
And Abū Bakr did not cease urging me [and this continued] until God
lightened my burden [literally: opened up my chest] for [doing] this,
and I saw in it what Abū Bakr and ‘Umar saw.
So I searched for the Qur’ān, and collected it from palm leaves, stones
and the breasts of men . . . The sheets (ṣuḥ uf ) were with Abū Bakr until
he died, and thereafter with ‘Umar [until his death], and thereafter, with
Hafṣa, daughter of ‘Umar.
As the text signals, the first collection was assembled during the reign of
Abū Bakr and the impetus behind this was the death of large numbers of
Qur’ān-reciters. This Hadīth features ‘Umar as the driving force behind the
project of assembling the Qur’ān: it is ‘Umar who persuades Abū Bakr (e.g.,
“‘Umar did not cease urging me [and this continued] until God lightened
my burden.”) and it is also ‘Umar who joins Abū Bakr in compelling Zayd
ibn Thābit, a former scribe of the prophet, to assemble the Qur’ān on sheets
(ṣuḥ uf). The principal narrator of this Hadīth is Zayd ibn Thābit, and
according to him, this collection was first in the possession of Abū Bakr,
and when he died, he left it with ‘Umar (the second caliph), and upon his
death, it passed onto his daughter, Hafṣa.
The next Hadīth tradition holds that two decades after the making of
this first collection, in the 650s, during the reign of the third caliph,
‘Uthmān disputes over reading and recitation of the Qur’ān in far-flung
regions of the empire prompted him to convene a commission of sorts to

establish bound copies or codices of the Qur’ān.
Hadīth text (2):31
Musa related: from Ibrahim, from Ibn Shihāb [al-Zuhrī], that Anas
b. Malik said:
Hudayfa b. al-Yaman approached ‘Uthmān when the people of al-Shām

and the people of al-Iraq were fighting to conquer Armenia and

Azerbaijan. Their differences in the recitation [of the Qur’ān] distressed
Hudayfa and he said to ‘Uthmān: O Commander of the Believers, take
this community in hand before their disputes over the Scripture [resem-
ble] the differences of the Jews and Christians. So ‘Uthmān relayed [a
message] to Hafṣa: “Send us the sheets [ṣuḥ uf ] so that we may copy
them into codices [al-maṣahif ] and then we will return them to you.”
Hence, Hafṣa sent them to ‘Uthmān. Thereafter, he gave the order to
Zayd ibn Thābit, ‘Abdullah bin al-Zubayr, Sa‘īd bin al-‘As, and ‘Abdur-
Rahmān bin al-Hārith bin Hishām and they made copies of them into
codices. ‘Uthmān said to the contingent of the three Qurayshī men,
“Should you differ with Zayd ibn Thābit with respect to anything in the
Qur’ān, write it in the dialect of the Qurayshīs—certainly it was revealed
in their dialect.” They undertook this, and when copies had been made
of the sheets into codices, ‘Uthmān returned the sheets to Hafṣa. And he
sent a Qur’ānic codex [muṣhaf ] from what they had copied to every
region [of the empire] and he ordered that whatever else was [out there
in the community] of the Qur’ān in each and every sheet and/or codex
be burnt.
Two key items are pivotal in these narratives: first, ‘Uthmān is shown
reassuring Hafṣa that the sheets he has asked for will be returned to her
(“then we will return them to you”) and second, the Hadīth text goes out
of its way to actually state that “when copies had been made of the sheets
into codices, ‘Uthmān returned the sheets to Hafṣa.” Both these items
taken together are very important, in part, because their very presence in
the text alerts the reader to the charged aspect of the connection between
Hafṣa and her ṣuḥ uf. Reading between the lines, Hafṣa is depicted as
being extremely careful and guarded in her release of the ṣuḥ uf to the
caliph ‘Uthmān. Indeed, in an Islamic account that pre-dates the afore-
mentioned Hadīths by al-Bukhāri, Hafṣa is actually quoted as setting a
pre-condition for the release of the materials. This account is found in a
31
http://Hadīth.al-islam.com/Page.aspx?pageid=192&TOCID=2772&BookID=24&PID=4798#4702
(Translation of Arabic, mine).
source by ‘Abdullah Ibn Wahb (d. 812), and interestingly, it uses the term
muṣhaf to describe Hafṣa’s materials: “‘Uthmān sent a message to Hafṣa
that she send the [muṣhaf ] to him. She said: ‘Upon the condition that
you return it to me.’ He said: ‘Yes’” (2003: 27).
In several accounts that post-date these two Hadīths, there is yet
another scenario in which Hafṣa’s guardianship of the ṣuḥ uf is rendered
prominent. In the second Hadīth tradition (cited above), the caliph
‘Uthmān had a codex sent out to each of four prominent cities and he

called for the destruction of non-canonical Qur’ān codices (i.e., that may
have been in circulation in the community at large). Several other
accounts indicate that Hafṣa guarded her collection of the Qur’ān from
burning and/or destruction. Below, the thirteenth-century Kitāb al-
Masaḥ if or Book of the Codices, by Ibn Abī Dāwūd (d. 929), features the
actions of a powerful male figure, the governor of Medina, Marwān ibn
Hakam (d. 685), in his attempts to destroy Hafṣa’s ṣuḥ uf:
Marwān sent a message to Hafṣa asking her for the ṣuḥ uf from which
the Qur’ān had been written. Hafṣa refused to give them to him . . . so
when Hafṣa died [and we returned from burying her], Marwān
demanded that ‘Abdullah ibn ‘Umar hand over those ṣuḥ uf and he did
that. Then because Marwān ordered it, they were torn up. Marwān said
that “I did this because whatever was in them was already written and
preserved in the muṣhaf and I feared that when and as time lengthens
among the people, there would [arise] skepticism due to these ṣuḥ uf.” Or
he said indeed that there was something in them not written [in the
muṣhaf ]. (Ibn Abī Dawud 1937: 24–25)
Of great significance in this account is Hafṣa’s refusal in the face of

Marwān’s demand. The narrative does not shed light on this refusal;
however, Marwān ibn Hakam clearly had a vested interest in making sure
the ‘Uthmānic recension prevailed and was not undermined. Marwān,
who was governor of Medina for two time periods, namely, 661–668 and
674–677, was ‘Uthmān’s cousin and benefited both politically and finan-
cially from this connection. The accounts vary in their descriptions of
exactly how the ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa were destroyed—whether they were torn up
(as in Ibn Abī Dāwūd’s account) or rinsed.32 Irrespective of how they
were destroyed, Marwān did not waste any time in carrying through his
plans immediately after Hafṣa’s death. It is somewhat suspicious that Ibn
32
According to the tenth-century commentator al-Tabarī, “when Hafṣa died, a strict order was sent
out to her brother, ‘Abdullah ibn ‘Umar for the ‘scroll’ and when he gave it to them, it was given a
thorough washing” (1987: 27).
Sa‘d, while he makes no mention of the ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa in his entry on

Hafṣa, devotes approximately six or seven short vignettes to her death
including three accounts in which Marwān plays a key role in her burial
and funeral (Ibn Sa‘d 1958: 8: 86).
Suffice it to note that, as stated earlier, these normative or traditional
Islamic accounts almost unanimously privilege men or the male role in the
process of the codification of the Qur’ān: the three caliphal figures associ-
ated in one way or another with the compilation and codification of the

Qur’ān are all male; the so-called contingent or commission (convened by
‘Uthmān as seen in the second Hadīth) consisted of all men and it was
headed by a man, namely Zayd ibn Thābit; the pivotal events linked with
the impetus behind the formation of the Qur’ān, in both instances, feature
masculine contexts of battles: in the first event, the death of male reciters
(in battles) and in the second event, the differences in recitations among
warriors; Qur’ānic material that was gathered from the community had to
be attested to by two male witnesses; and the names behind the destruction
of Hafṣa’s ṣuḥ uf are all male.
Significantly, classical Islamic accounts do not allude to much less
mention the designation by ‘Umar of Hafṣa as the “official” executor of
his will and estate (in spite of the fact that he had several sons) in the
context of the transmission of the ṣuḥ uf to her.
HAFṢA IN MODERN WESTERN SCHOLARSHIP ON THE

CODIFICATION OF THE QUR’ĀN
Modern western studies of the compilation and codification of the
Qur’ān, if they discuss Hafṣa bint ‘Umar at all, they treat her in a tangen-
tial manner.33 For instance, some scholars maintain that Hafṣa’s role is
fabricated and she only surfaces in Qur’ān compilation accounts as a
linking device—hence, these studies reduce Hafṣa bint ‘Umar’s agency by
exclusively regarding her as merely a “sign” in the relevant sources. Other
scholars maintain that while much in the traditional Islamic accounts
may be dismissed, if there is anything that is certain—it is the existence of
ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa. Therefore, the traditions concerning the ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa are rec-
ognized by a number of scholars as being historically reliable. Furthermore,
33
Modern Islamic sources also attempt to sideline Hafṣa’s agency. One important way modern
Islamic accounts marginalize Hafṣa’s participation is to imply that she was designated the temporary
holder of Qur’ān materials by her father ‘Umar. In other words, he died so suddenly that he did not
have the chance to appoint a male successor and if he had had the chance, then the ṣuḥ uf would have
gone to this successor (al-Azamī, 2003: 86).
they are intrigued by the tradition of Hafṣa’s refusal to destroy her collec-
tion after the canonization of ‘Uthmān’s codex, and yet they read these
accounts to open up certain lines of inquiry and foreclose others.
Why Were the Ṣ uḥ uf Given to a Woman?

No doubt gender issues color the way in which European-American
male scholars view and analyze references to Hafṣa in their published

work. As recently as the first half of the twentieth century, several
Orientalist scholars directly posed the question: why were the ṣuḥ uf given
to a woman? Leone Caetani (d. 1935), an Italian scholar of Islam, implies
that by entrusting a copy of the Qur’ān to a woman, namely Hafṣa, the
caliph Abū Bakr, in effect, hid the text and practically consigned it to obliv-
ion (1915: 380–381). The Danish Orientalist, Frants Buhl (d. 1932), also
writing in the early twentieth century, wonders why a woman obtained
what was an authorized standard manuscript of the Qur’ān. He thus
regards the whole matter to have been handled in a cavalier manner and
without any “authorization.” Buhl, like Caetani, seems to associate diffi-
culty of access, privacy, and concealment, with the idea of a woman’s pos-
session of the Qur’ānic materials (Buhl 1953: 278–279).
Montgomery Watt (d. 2006), the renowned Scottish Islamic Studies
scholar, is only somewhat less relenting in his assessment of the ṣuḥ uf
Hafṣa. His foundational work, namely Bell’s Introduction to the Qur’ān,
produced in 1970 is described by Walid Saleh as “the standard introduc-
tory text in the field of Qur’ānic studies” (2003: 1).34 According to Watt,
that there was a collection in the possession of Hafṣa is further support
for the argument that there existed no official caliphal collection ( prior to
‘Uthmān’s recension):
Lastly and most significant of all, the ṣuḥ uf on which Zayd wrote the
Qur’ān were, at the time when the revision came to be made, in the
keeping of Hafṣa. Now Hafṣa was ‘Umar’s daughter, and we are appa-
rently to assume that since ‘Umar had become caliph by the time Zayd
finished his work, the ṣuḥ uf were handed to him, and from him passed
to his daughter. If Zayd’s collection was an official one, however, it is
hardly probable that it would pass out of official keeping, even into the
hands of the caliph’s daughter. That Hafṣa had a copy of the Qur’ān on
ṣuḥ uf seems certain; but it is unlikely that it was an official copy made in
the official way that tradition asserts. (Watt 1970: 41–42)
34
Walid Saleh has argued that “To date, there is no generally-accepted alternative to M. W. Watt’s
1970 reworking of Richard Bell’s 1953 Introduction to the Qur’ān” (2003: 1).
Watt goes back and forth in his pronouncements on Hafṣa. Is whatever

she possessed unimportant because it was a collection privately held by a
woman and therefore deemed unofficial? For instance, at one point, he
declares that the “‘leaves’ of Hafṣa were unsuitable as a basis for the new
edition” (Watt 1970: 44), and in his conclusion, he diminishes the impor-
tance of the “leaves” of Hafṣa by relegating primary authority to
Muḥammad himself:
On the whole, then, it seems unlikely that the ‘leaves’ of Hafṣa were of

primary importance. They cannot have contained more than what had
been arranged in the ‘book’ by Muḥammad at the time of his death; and
they can hardly have been the sole or main basis of the ‘Uthmānic text.
(Watt 1970: 43)
Elsewhere, Watt adopts a different line. He sets up a distinction between

“official” vs. “authoritative” concerning the writings in Hafṣa’s possession.
In one way or another, according to him, though this “mass of written
documents” was not official, it clearly was “authoritative, and . . . [was] used
in producing ‘Uthmān’s Qur’ān” (Watt 1970: 50–51), and furthermore, he
suggests that whatever written sheets (ṣuḥ uf) she had, they probably were
written during the lifetime of Muḥammad (Watt 1970: 106).
The contemporary Australian scholar of Islam, Daniel Madigan, in
his The Qur’ān’s Self-Image, takes this line of argument further. Madigan
is not so concerned about whether the traditions concerning Hafṣa and
the ṣuḥ uf are historically reliable—he finds it incredible that even narra-
tives fabricated along these lines exist. Madigan regards such traditions as
demonstrating that not much regard was reserved for the physical materi-
als of the Qur’ān: “this does not rely on the traditions’ being reliable: it is
sufficient that those who put them into circulation and those who accepted
them could conceive of such a status for those materials” (2001: 38). As
seen in the following statement, Madigan applies the Qur’ānic verses
regarding female testimony to Hafṣa’s custodianship of the ṣuḥ uf and
thereby undermines her authority in the process:
Tradition further has it that the famed codex of Hafṣa was called for
when ‘Uthmān’s recension was in process, and it does not seem to have
been a matter of embarrassment that it was kept under her bed and it
was found to be worm-eaten. Such reports are of course a convenient
way of keeping open the possibility of variants to the official ‘Uthmānic
text, and are most unlikely to be historically reliable. Even so, several
factors in the traditions nicely indicate the status of written Qur’ānic
material: no great scandal was attached to this apparent carelessness; nor
to the treatment of the prophet’s own muṣhaf as private inherited
property rather than the prized possession of the community; nor to its
being kept under the bed where animals could get at it; nor to the docu-
ment’s having been given into the keeping of a woman, who because of
the customary laws of evidence, would not have been able to vouch on
her own to its authenticity (Madigan 2001: 38).
Apart from setting up certain semantic and syntactic links between

notions of “carelessness, kept under the bed, worm-eaten, and [in] the
keeping of a woman,” Madigan seizes upon gendered concepts regarding

inheritance in the Qur’ān to question Hafṣa’s custodianship: how could
she be a keeper of the Qur’ān when she, as a woman, could not vouch on
her own to its authenticity? Geissinger takes aim at this in her disserta-
tion: “It is evident that I do not agree with Daniel Madigan’s contention
that such portrayals of Hafṣa indicate that written quranic materials were
not held in high esteem in the early Muslim community” (Geissinger
2008: n. 103, 245). Geissinger questions Madigan’s reference to Qur’ānic
laws of testimony in this context, arguing that “Q 2: 282 deals with con-
tracts, not scriptures, and the Qur’ān as a whole does not present a
uniform view of the weight of a woman’s witness” and furthermore,
according to her, he “does not seem to take into account the fact that
such depictions of female religious authority in late antique texts are
anomalous almost by definition” (2008: 245).
In all these examples from modern western Qur’ānic studies’ scholar-
ship, what seems to be recurrently implied is that because the ṣuḥ uf were
passed onto a woman, they necessarily ought to be characterized as
private, non-official, and/or unauthorized. No attempt is made to under-
stand just what exactly terms and concepts such as public/private, offi-
cial/non-official may have meant in the context at hand. Moreover,
feminists would challenge the simplistic gendered polarities that are
established and employed to undermine Hafṣa’s agency: private vs.
public; non-official vs. official; and non-authorized vs. authorized/
caliphal. In a previously mentioned vignette in which ‘Umar is shown as
asking Hafṣa to have the prophet “teach” her the Qur’ān, the text states
that whatever she had the prophet convey to her became publicly and
communally known as the “sanctioned” reading. This bit of information
alone suggests the existence of markedly different notions of public vs.
private, authorized vs. un-authorized than what these male scholars
somewhat anachronistically imagine. Leila Ahmed, in her influential
work Women and Gender in Islam, has conceptualized women’s author-
ity and participation within the first Muslim community in terms of a
continuum, rather than a polarity, between public and private:
Women of the first Muslim community attended mosque, took part in

religious services on feast days, and listened to Muḥammad’s discourses.
Nor were they passive, docile followers but were active interlocutors in
the domain of faith as they were in other matters. Thus the Hadīth narra-
tives show women acting and speaking out of a sense that they were enti-
tled to participate in the life of religious thought and practice, to
comment forthrightly on any topic, even the Qur’ān, and to do so in the
expectation of having their views heard . . . .That women’s words had
weight, even concerning matters of spiritual and social import, contin-

ued to be a feature of the Muslim community in the years immediately
following Muḥammad’s death, as is clearly demonstrated by the accept-
ance of women’s contributions to the Hadīth (Ahmed 1992: 72).
What is more telling is the complete inattention to the particulars of

Hafṣa’s life in this scholarship. In other words, there seems to be a disregard
for drawing out the plausible historical contexts associated with the
Qur’ān’s codification since these contexts render prominent a woman. So,
for instance, in puzzling over the question of “why were the ṣuḥ uf given to
a woman?” there is little consideration of exactly who is this woman. Apart
from invoking simplistic labels to describe Hafṣa, such as “wife of the
prophet,” “widow of Muḥammad,” or “daughter of ‘Umar,” this scholar-
ship makes no attempt, in the context of studying the history of the Qur’ān
as text, either to meaningfully assess the connection between Hafṣa and the
prophet, or to take stock of the bond between Hafṣa and her father, ‘Umar.
Hence, there is no attention paid, for example, to the significance of the
spatial, symbolic, and affective factors connecting Hafṣa to the prophet
Muḥammad. Geissinger richly evokes these factors when she asserts that
“As both ‘Umar’s daughter and heir, and one of the ‘Mothers of the
Believers,’ Hafṣa represents the link between her father and the prophet.
And as her dwelling adjoins the prophet’s mosque (and tomb), her
[Hafṣa’s] guardianship of the quranic materials (re)places them in as close
proximity to Muḥammad as possible, at the site where revelation once
descended, symbolizing the collection’s completeness and authenticity”
(2008: 245). Perhaps, in part due to this disregard of Hafṣa as a woman and
member of the first Muslim community, modern Qur’ānic studies’ scholar-
ship also remarkably omits raising any question regarding Hafṣa’s literacy,
much less mentioning that she read, memorized, recited, wrote, and/or
edited the Qur’ān. Furthermore, there is no mention whatsoever of Hafṣa
as executor of ‘Umar’s estate—a factor that could help shed light on the oft-
posed question of “why were the ṣuḥ uf given to a woman?” Admittedly, the
classical master narratives in the Islamic tradition do not contain any
mention of this, but this does not justify the absence of this in modern his-
torical–critical scholarship on the Qur’ān.35
Hafṣa Was a Linking Device

Some scholars regard Hafṣa as a mere linking device between the two
aforementioned “Hadīth proof-texts” adduced by the Islamic tradition in
support of how the Qur’ān came to be codified. By selectively pursuing

lines of inquiry that treat Hafṣa bint ‘Umar as a mere “sign” in the classi-
cal sources, while foreclosing other lines that could broach her status as a
“producer of signs,” these scholars marginalize Hafṣa bint ‘Umar’s
agency. Yet, in all fairness, it must be said that the scholars who view
Hafṣa as a semiotic device are not taking aim at Hafṣa as much as they are
challenging the historicity of one or both of these Hadīth. John Burton,
for example, views both of these traditional Islamic accounts (i.e., both
Hadīth texts) as fabrications, and hence he necessarily regards Hafṣa’s
role also as a fabrication. Other scholars such as Watt and Alford Welch
hold that the first account (featuring Abū Bakr and ‘Umar) is inauthentic
but they subscribe, in some measure, to the second one featuring
‘Uthmān. I first delve into John Burton’s scholarship followed by that of
Watt and Welch, respectively.
A fascinating treatment of what I would call the topos of Hafṣa (by
topos I mean the literary use of the idea of Hafṣa’s role) is found in the
British scholar John Burton’s The Collection of the Qur’ān. Burton’s
research on the compilation of the Qur’ān falls within the trajectory that
expressed skepticism regarding the validity of Muslim sources on early
Islam (e.g., on the time of the prophet and his companions). Motzki
notes that Burton (along with Wansbrough) “came to the conclusion that
all Muslim traditions concerning the collection and redaction of the
Qur’ān are historically unreliable and must be regarded as projections of
dogmatic or legal discussions from end of the 2nd Islamic century
onwards” (2001: 11). As Motzki points out, Burton held that “neither a
35
Women’s studies’ scholarship, not surprisingly, is more cognizant of Hafṣa’s role as custodian
(through executorship) of the Qur’ān. In the following quotation, the noted historian Leila Ahmed,
while she speaks of Abū Bakr’s entrusting ‘A’isha with fiduciary responsibilities, also indirectly
implies that the Qur’ān was bequeathed to Hafṣa by her father as part of a trust: “‘Aisha and Hafṣa, as
daughters of the first two caliphs, Abū Bakr and ‘Umar, enjoyed even further prestige and influence.
Both Abū Bakr and ‘Umar, just prior to their deaths, entrusted their daughters, rather than their sons,
with important responsibilities. During his last illness Abū Bakr made ‘Aisha responsible for
disposing of certain public funds and properties and distributing his own property among his other
grown sons and daughters. At ‘Umar’s death the first copy of the Qur’ān, which had been in Abū
Bakr’s possession and then in ‘Umar’s, passed into Hafṣa’s keeping” (1992: 74).
collection on Abū Bakr’s behalf nor an official edition made by the order
of ‘Uthmān has ever existed” (2001: 12).
Burton held that the Qur’ān (in the form it is known today) had been
compiled by Muḥammad himself, but that later Muslims “wrote” the
prophet out of the history of the collection of the Qur’ān (1977: 132).
What is noteworthy is the explanation Burton proposes for what he terms
the device of the ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa:

A device was needed to knit the various phases together. This is the role
played by the ṣuḥ uf of Hafṣa, who besides being the daughter of ‘Umar,
was also the widow of the prophet. The solution was not always consis-
tently applied, for we found versions of the report on ‘Uthmān’s Qur’ān
initiative which portrayed that too as a collection ab initio. Modern
European writers have greatly exaggerated the part played in the story by
the ṣuḥ uf of Hafṣa. (1977: 158–159)
Elsewhere he writes:
If Muḥammad is not to be permitted to have collected the Qur’ān, then,

in order to guarantee that the muṣhaf is nevertheless complete, authentic
and involves neither deficiency nor unwarranted addition, its collection
must be attributed to a senior Companion. With certain reservations, it
would be immaterial which Companion was chosen. Some were obvi-
ously disposed to attribute the enterprise to a Head of State and Church.
Hence the attributions to Abū Bakr, ‘Umar, ‘Uthmān and ‘Ali. Other
attributions include the prophet’s widows: ‘A’isha, Hafṣa and Umm
Salam. Among the Companions named: Miqdad (or Mu ‘ad), Abū
Musa, ‘Abdullah, ‘Ubada and Zaid b. Thābit. (Burton 1977: 165)
Burton singles out the German Orientalist, Friedrich Schwally,

(d. 1919) in particular and while he criticizes what he perceives as
Schwally’s “oversimplification” in the treatment of ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa as being
the basis for the ‘Uthmānic codex, he does credit him with being correct
on two fronts: “in his surmise that the unpopularity of the figure of
‘Uthmān had induced the Muslims to reduce his stock by attributing the
first collection of the sacred texts to his more revered predecessors, Abū
Bakr and ‘Umar, who had been erected by Muslim sentiment into models
of semi-legendary piety and energy respectively” and in “detecting in the
ṣuḥuf of Hafṣa a motif for linking the ‘Uthmānic with the ‘Umar collec-
tion” (Burton 1977: 225–226).
Burton is not the only one to regard Hafṣa as a linking device.
A number of other western scholars profess this stance. Montgomery
Watt also implies that Hafṣa’s collection exists only “to link up this
[second, ‘Uthmānic] account with that of the first ‘collection’ under Abū-
Bakr” (1970: 43), and he dismisses the accounts of the first two caliphs
putting together a collection. Likewise, Welch, in an influential article on
the Qur’ān in The Encyclopaedia of Islam, makes the following telling
observation regarding what he describes as “the most widely accepted
story of the ‘first collection’ of the Kur’an,” that is, the existence of an offi-
cial copy of the written Qur’ān during the reign of Abū Bakr:

There are . . . sufficient grounds for rejecting the historicity of this story,
the most likely purposes of which were to obscure Muḥammad’s role in
the preparation of a written Kur’an, to reduce ‘Uthmān’s role in estab-
lishing an official text, and to attempt establish the priority of the
‘Uthmānic text over those of the ( pre-‘Uthmānic) Companion codices.
All three purposes would be accomplished by establishing the belief that
the first official collection of the Kur’an was prepared during the short
reign of Abū Bakr and served as the basis for ‘Uthmān’s rescension.
(Welch 1986: 405)
Welch then discusses the “second collection” of the Qur’ān (i.e., under
‘Uthmān) and regarding Hafṣa, he notes that “the Hafṣa element seems
to be simply a device for tying the two collection stories together” (1986:
405).
No doubt, it is vital to critically assess the historicity of either or both
of the classical Hadīth texts regarding the codification of the Qur’ān, but
what is problematic is how these scholars pursue certain lines of inquiry,
and foreclose others. For example, it seems fair and judicious to ask: why
is it that the figure of Zayd ibn Thābit is not regarded as a linking device?
Upon closely examining the two “proof-texts,” could it not be argued that
Zayd’s role is there chiefly as a means “to link up this [second,
‘Uthmānic] account with that of the first ‘collection’ under Abū-Bakr”?
After waxing eloquent about Hafṣa as a “linking device,” Burton eventu-
ally arrives at this conclusion as can be seen in the following excerpt from
the end of his book:
In this connection, it should be noted that Zaid’s name is more prominent

and more consistently used than that of Hafṣa. It also perhaps should
be noted that Zaid and Hafṣa shared roughly the same late death-date.
The fact of their both having survived the major Companions mentioned
in connection with Qur’ān matters doubtless accounts for the frequency
with which both names occur. They both occur, as has been seen, as links
connecting the alleged ‘Uthmān collection with the alleged Abū Bakr-
‘Umar collection. (1977: 228)
Actually, few scholars have made parallels between Hafṣa and Zayd. More
tend to draw attention to Zayd over Hafṣa. For instance, Gerhard
Bowering makes the following useful observation about Zayd (in a para-
graph discussing future directions in Qur’ānic studies) without mention-
ing Hafṣa:
A very significant role in the final redaction of the Qur’ān was played by
Zayd ibn Thābit, who served Muḥammad as his principal scribe in Medina
and whose central role in the collection of the Qur’ān needs a fresh analysis

(together with those who assisted him in the task). (2008: 82)
This observation could also be applied to the role of Hafṣa bint ‘Umar.
Moreover, several modern western scholars have challenged the his-
toricity of “the first ‘collection’ under Abū-Bakr” by arguing that it only
exists because it functions “to reduce ‘Uthmān’s role in establishing an
official text,” given that he came to be regarded as a controversial figure
by subsequent generations of Muslims. For example, as already men-
tioned, Burton credits Schwally for perceptively discerning the Islamic
tradition’s attribution of “the first collection of the [Qur’ānic] sacred texts
to . . . [‘Uthmān’s] more revered predecessors, Abū Bakr and ‘Umar, who
had been erected by Muslim sentiment into models of semi-legendary
piety and energy respectively.” A feminist reading would counter with the
following question: Could the historicity of “the first ‘collection’ under
Abū-Bakr” be challenged on the basis of an obscuring of Hafṣa’s possible
role in the preparation of a written Qur’ān? In other words, the Hadīth
account of “the first ‘collection’ under Abū-Bakr” may have been fabri-
cated for many reasons, among them not only to suppress Hafṣa’s role in
establishing an ‘official’ text given that she was a woman, but also because
she, too, came to be shrouded in some controversy due to the stigma of
divorce. One may recall that Ibn Sa‘d’s ninth-century text only redeemed
her because of God’s (i.e., through Gabriel’s intervention): she was not to
be divorced by Muḥammad because she was granted the status of a “heav-
enly consort.” After all, as we have seen, Hafṣa recited, read, and wrote
Qur’ānic materials. Moreover, multiple traditions attest to her being an
engaged participant in the recording or editing of the Qur’ānic revelation
and at times, facilitating this process as a vital link and go-between in inter-
actions between the prophet and ‘Umar. It is at least worth asking: could
the classical Islamic tradition have devised this first story (regarding Abū
Bakr–‘Umar) to suppress and marginalize agency attributed to Hafṣa as
regards editing and/or writing the sheets of the Qur’ān (i.e., ṣuḥ uf)?
Shoring up Female Agency: Hafṣa as Editor

One western scholar who comes close to raising the issue of whether
Hafṣa herself was the writer and/or editor of scriptural writings is Arthur
Jeffery (d. 1959). Jeffery posits the existences of two codices (both belong-
ing to Hafṣa) and he argues that one of these was edited by her. Jeffery sug-
gests that the story of Marwān trying to destroy Hafṣa’s codex “makes it
quite clear that in the case of this Codex we are in touch with a pre-
‘Uthmānic text which differed, perhaps considerably, from that of

‘Uthmān” (1937: 213). Hence, he maintains there were two codices associ-
ated with Hafṣa, one that was in her possession (i.e., a pre-‘Uthmānic
codex) and is at the heart of the aforementioned story featuring Marwān,
and another that essentially consisted of the ‘Uthmānic codex but edited by
her. Whatever such codex Ibn Abi Dawūd (the author of the Kitāb al-
Masāḥ if) consulted, according to Jeffery, “was undoubtedly a copy being
made for . . . [Hafṣa] of the canonical ‘Uthmānic text” (Jeffery 1937: 213).
He further states:
When small variants are quoted from the Codex of Hafṣa it is thus
always a question whether the reference is to the old pre-‘Uthmānic
Codex or to the copy of the ‘Uthmānic text made and corrected at her
command. (Jeffery 1937: 213)
What is important is that, according to Jeffery, Hafṣa exercised authority

in this process: she helped edit her copy of the ‘Uthmānic codex. Jeffery is
one of the few western male scholars (from the first half of the twentieth
century) who do not marginalize the agency attributed to Hafṣa as
regards editing and/or writing the sheets of the Qur’ān (i.e., ṣuḥ uf ). By
positing a type of hybrid codex, Jeffery inadvertently shores up her
female agency: a codex that Hafṣa edited that was a hybrid of the materi-
als she had in her possession ( pre-‘Uthmānic) and the eventual canon-
ized ‘Uthmānic text.
Where both Jeffery and Watt foreclose certain lines of inquiry
(regarding Hafṣa) is concerning the story of Hafṣa’s key refusal to destroy
her ṣuḥ uf. Watt mentions the account that Marwān sought to destroy her
ṣuḥ uf for one main purpose: to demonstrate why they were “disqualified”
as official materials:
In particular, there is a story of how the caliph Marwān, when governor

of Medina, wanted to get hold of the ‘leaves’ of Hafṣa to destroy them,
and eventually on her death persuaded her brother to hand them over.
Marwān was afraid lest the unusual readings in them might lead to
further dissension in the community. On the whole it is unlikely that
this story has been invented, for it implies that the ‘leaves’ of Hafṣa were
unsuitable as a basis for the official text. (Watt 1970: 43)
Jeffery, on the other hand, infers that the codex belonging to Hafṣa was
“considerably different from that in ‘Uthmānic text” on the basis of this
story (1937: 212). He cites the story of Marwān’s attempt to destroy it as
evidence of this:

The story tells of how when Marwān was Governor of Madina he sent to
Hafṣa demanding her Codex that he might destroy it, but she refused to
give it up. When she died Marwān assisted at her funeral and at its conclu-
sion sent and with much insistence demanded the Codex from ‘Abdallah
b. ‘Umar, Hafṣa’s brother. ‘Abdallah finally sent it to him and he had it
destroyed, fearing, he said, that if it got abroad the variety of readings that
‘Uthmān desired to suppress would recommence. (Jeffery 1937: 212–213)
Jeffery, along with most western male scholars of Qur’ānic studies, has
interpreted this account to ponder the obvious: what was in the ṣuḥ uf
that prompted Marwān to go to such lengths to destroy them? This ques-
tion could be rephrased: what about Hafṣa’s ṣuḥ uf compelled her to
strongly resist the state’s (represented by Marwān) attempt to destroy
them? Neither scholar, in my opinion, meaningfully engages with this
story of Hafṣa’s refusal to destroy her ṣuḥ uf primarily because neither
scholar takes Hafṣa herself seriously.
From a feminist perspective, Hafṣa’s refusal here is a powerful
example of female agency that stands out in these androcentric classical
narratives. This act of refusal to comply with Marwān’s demand was no
small matter and may have extended over ten years (given that most
scholars hold the ‘Uthmanic text was promulgated around 650 and she
presumably died more than ten years later). What palpably comes across
is the special and intense nature of the relationship between her and the
ṣuḥ uf. Western scholars of Qur’ānic studies need to ponder the not-so-
obvious: of what significance, if any, is the vigilance and tenacity with
which Hafṣa guarded the ṣuḥ uf? What could Qur’ānic studies’ scholars
glean from the way in which Hafṣa “owned” or possessed the ṣuḥ uf (espe-
cially since the intensity of this relation is evident in nearly all the classical
narratives associated with the codification of the Qur’ān)? Is the special
and intense nature of the relationship between Hafṣa and the ṣuḥ uf
simply due to them being ultimately her editorial product? Is this inten-
sity a marker of her intellectual labor vis-à-vis the ṣuḥ uf—that is, the
Qur’ānic writings that she collected, recorded, and edited? There are
other scenarios. Perhaps, the intensity is simply a function of the
daughter–father bond because the ṣuḥ uf were bequeathed to her by her

father ‘Umar. Or perhaps the intensity of Hafṣa’s relation to the ṣuḥ uf is a
function of the father–daughter joint effort as regards the collecting,
copying, and editing the Qur’ān. It is plausible that if ‘Umar possessed a
copy, he would have his daughter Hafṣa help him make this copy, espe-
cially given the reports concerning her literacy. After all, according to the
first Hadīth tradition (from Bukhārī’s collection), it was ‘Umar who was
very invested in the project of assembling the Qur’ān. Furthermore,

assuming these accounts of the destruction of the ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa are read as
attempts at erasing traces of the pre-canonical Qur’ān, then Marwān’s
obsession with destroying these codical materials possibly was a function
of not just what was in them, but also of who “owned” them—namely, a
woman and a “once-divorced” widow of the prophet at that. In other
words, these accounts may also be read as the normative tradition’s
attempts at erasing traces of the pre-canonical Qur’ān assembled,
recorded, and edited by a woman who, though recognized as one the
“Mothers of the Believers” and “Wives of the Prophet,” did not escape a
stigmatized legacy. These, among other questions, tantalizingly remain
waiting to be explored.
CONCLUSION
By shining a spotlight upon Hafṣa bint ‘Umar and her ṣuḥ uf as repre-
sented in mainly western Qur’ānic studies, I have attempted to critique
the androcentric tendencies characterizing this scholarship. I have sought
to demonstrate how Hafṣa is marginalized in these discourses regarding
how the Qur’ān came to be compiled and codified and I also have
attempted to partly reclaim Hafṣa’s role in the process of how the Qur’ān
came to be formed as a text. Clearly, gender criteria do color the modes
by which western male scholars examine and analyze Hafṣa in their pub-
lished work. Gender criteria inform the questions they do pose and do
not pose; gender criteria inform areas of discussion they open up and
foreclose. I have deliberately chosen historical–critical Qur’ānic studies’
scholarship and its discourses as the domain for my feminist inquiry and
analysis for several reasons: by bringing “gender” as an analytic category
to the largely male discourses of the western history of the Qur’ān, I have
tried to elucidate how, to paraphrase Judith Bennett, “gender [is] present
in the rationales, languages and discussions of the Qur’ān’s compilation
and codification, even if women themselves are not.”36 Furthermore, I
36
I am paraphrasing Bennett (2006: 18) who in turn is speaking about Joan Scott.
have chosen this scholarship as my domain in order to bolster the claim

that historians and other scholars studying the Qur’ān’s compilation and
codification should integrate attention to the likely historical contexts
associated with it from a feminist perspective.
Regrettably, female figures still continue to be largely kept out of the
major scholarship (regarding the Qur’ān’s early history) being generated
by several groups in contemporary Euro-American Qur’ānic studies.37
Contemporary twenty-first-century scholarship on the Qur’ān’s forma-

tion as text replicates some of the androcentric tendencies characterizing
the work of twentieth century, mainly male scholarly predecessors. How
may taking Hafṣa seriously contribute to or complement their research
trajectories? Paying attention to Hafṣa may help shed light on the proc-
esses of orality and semi-orality that went into the formation of the text
of the Qur’ān, and that also played a role in generating non-canonical
codices. For example, the “communicational context” of the Qur’ān’s
emergent phases looms very large for Angelika Neuwirth, who often
makes references to “diverse transmitters,” “debaters,” and “listeners.”
Just who are these “listeners”? Who is doing the “transmitting”? Beyond
the focus upon the “text” and the “subtext” of Qur’ānic speech (Neuwirth
2012: 134), it would be helpful to draw out the plausible milieu of the
“religious landscape of [Qur’ānic speech]” (Neuwirth 2012: 136).38
Feminist reconstructive historical enterprises of understanding the
women in the aforementioned “communicational context” would com-
plement Neuwirth’s research trajectory.
Angelika Neuwirth’s call for greater attention to the “reality of the
Qur’ān’s pre-canonical history” (2003: 3) has resonances with Behnam
Sadeghi’s ongoing research on a Qur’ānic manuscript that he labels “C-
1.” In terms of the putative identity of the “Companion” in “C-1,”39
Sadeghi rules out the names of certain individuals,40 but he does not
37
Sadly, in at least two very recent seminal books concerning historical–critical scholarship on the
Qur’ān edited by Gabriel Said Reynolds, Hafṣa is not once listed in the indices of both books (and
only fleetingly mentioned in the body of the texts), whereas ‘Uthmān and Zayd ibn Thābit together
have about twenty mentions.
38
Furthermore, this enterprise of reclaiming women’s history, including Hafṣa bint ‘Umar’s place
in how the Qur’ān came to codified, may bolster Fred Donner’s important claim “that the [Islamic]
tradition’s presentation of the period following the hijra is more [historically] credible than it is for
the period before the hijra, reports about which seem overwhelmingly legendary in character” (2011:
30).
39
The letter “C” in “C-1” stands for the word “Companion,” a term devised by the Islamic tradition
to describe those individuals or “companions” forming the earliest circles of converts surrounding
Muhammad, including the first four caliphs, and the prophet’s wives.
40
“The C-1 textual tradition is distinct not only from that of ‘Uthman, which is known from both
literary sources and manuscripts, but also from those of Companions Ibn Mas‘ud and Ubayy b. Ka‘b,
whose recensions of the Qur’ān are not attested in manuscripts, being known only from descriptions
proffer any evidence to eliminate the name of Hafṣa from a hypothetical

consideration in this regard.41 I have discussed how Sadeghi’s research on
C-1 buttresses the claim that the Qur’ān’s emergence should not be read
in complete isolation from the historical dimensions of the prophet
Muhammad’s biography and the events transpiring in the half-century or
so after his death. Based on carbon dating, Sadeghi holds that this parch-
ment dates to the first half of the seventh century (Sadeghi and
Bergmann 2010: 344) and that it is non-‘Uthmanic (in other words, it is

part of the pre-canonical history of the Qur’ān). It is important to note
that Sadeghi accepts that the Qur’ān’s standard textual tradition goes
back to ‘Uthman. He accepts that ‘Uthman disseminated the codices
(2010: 364–66) to “Kufa, Basra and Syria” and that he “kept a copy with
him in Medina,” (2010: 364) and therefore by implication, Sadeghi also
accepts the following: that a “recension [was] promulgated by ‘Uthman
b. ‘Affan, the Companion of the prophet Muhammad who ruled the
Muslim empire as the third caliph during 23–35/644–56” (2010: 364).
These two signature elements (e.g., the promulgation and the sending out
of the codices) are part of the same master narrative that features other
signature elements, including the respective roles of Hafṣa bint ‘Umar
and Zayd ibn Thābit in the transmission and copying of Qur’ānic codical
materials.
In conclusion, modern western Qur’ānic scholarship needs to better
integrate women’s history with its debates over early Islamic historiography
and the reconstruction of early Islamic origins. By examining Hafṣa bint
‘Umar’s connection with the codification of the Qur’ān, this scholarship
could avail itself of the opportunity to better shed light on both the literary
and historical contexts associated with the Qur’ān. Not surprisingly, it is
contemporary Muslim women themselves (including Muslim female
scholars and/or theologians) who increasingly have begun to remember,
reconstruct, reimagine, and perhaps re-appropriate Hafṣa. To give just one
brief example, here is how a contemporary Islamicist (of Muslim back-
ground), Asma Afsaruddin, describes Hafṣa and her contribution:
Furthermore, the accounts concerning the collection of the Qur’ān

emphasize the role of a woman, Hafṣa, the daughter of ‘Umar ibn al-
Khaṭtạ̄ b and the wife of the prophet, in preserving an early form of the
in literary sources” (Sadeghi and Bergmann 2010: 344). Furthermore, Sadeghi maintains that there is
a 91.8% chance that the parchment is dated before the caliph ‘Uthman’s death in 656 (2010: 383).
41
However, it is somewhat disconcerting that Sadeghi’s approximately one-hundred page article
entitled “The Codex of a Companion of the prophet and the Qur’ān of the prophet” not once
mentions Hafṣa.
text committed to her safekeeping by her father. This manuscript is said

to have formed the basis for the ‘Uthmānic recension. (2008: xviii)
Elizabeth Schlüsser Fiorenza has observed that “history is best figured not
as an accurate record or transcript of the past but as a perspectival dis-
course that seeks to articulate a living memory for the present and future”
(1994: xxii). These “rememberings, reimaginings and re-appropriations”
on the part of especially Muslim women (scholars, theologians, and acti-
vists) are very much an example of the “living memory” referred to in

Schlüsser Fiorenza’s observation regarding the “historical record.”
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Did A Woman Edit The Qur'a N? Hafs.a and Her Famed "Codex": Ruqayya Y. Khan

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Did A Woman Edit The Qur'a N? Hafs.a and Her Famed "Codex": Ruqayya Y. Khan

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Did a Woman Edit the Qur’ān?

Hafs.a and her Famed “Codex”

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Journal of the American Academy of Religion, pp. 1–43

In this article, I shed light on one early Muslim female figure in

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SOME CAVEATS ON SOURCES AND METHODS

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Wansbrough’s work advocating a wholesale dismissal of Islamic tradition

Notwithstanding Neuwirth’s critique, Andrew Rippin offers a counter-per-

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at other times, instigated by insights and claims made by feminist theo-

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QUR’ĀNIC STUDIES AND FEMINIST STUDIES

origins: “traditionalists, revisionists, skeptics and neo-traditionalists”

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research provides proof that the Qur’ān’s emergence cannot be read in

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denominations” (2010: 142).11 Yet, Neuwirth does not advocate on behalf

Qur’ānic Studies and the AAR

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absorbing through the fallout from Said’s book, revisionist arguments

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the strategies of their counterparts, namely Jewish and Christian feminist

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who engage in scriptural interpretation “are somewhat traditional in that

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Hafṣa and it is my aim to put a spotlight on some of this western scholarly

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TAKING HAFṢA SERIOUSLY

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near-divorce, we need to start with her marriage to Muḥammad. It is likely

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He divorced Hafṣa, daughter of ‘Umar, and two of her maternal uncles

As the vignette demonstrates, Hafṣa did not want to be pitied or seen as a

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historical record (including the prophet’s marital life) is shrouded in con-

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the prophet mentioned to Hafṣa [about] his Companions who gave an

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Abu l-Aswad related [that] ‘Urwa b. al-Zūbayr said, “People differed

‘Umar is shown as asking Hafṣa to edit the Qur’ān on the basis of

verse.25 It is also noteworthy that Hafṣa’s edited version of the verse is

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‘Abd al-Razzaq informed us, on the authority of Ma’mar, on the author-

Hafṣa is depicted as a “listener” conversant with “biblical and post-biblical

confrontation with the Judeo-Christian notions of scripturality” shed some

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Exercises in Influence: Hafṣa Acted as Go-Between

Of significance here is that ‘Umar’s complaint of his son Abdullah’s

potential go-between and mediator in the tensions (albeit those involving

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HAFṢA IN ISLAMIC ACCOUNTS ON THE

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regions of the empire prompted him to convene a commission of sorts to

Hudayfa b. al-Yaman approached ‘Uthmān when the people of al-Shām

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Of great significance in this account is Hafṣa’s refusal in the face of

Sa‘d, while he makes no mention of the ṣuḥ uf Hafṣa in his entry on

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HAFṢA IN MODERN WESTERN SCHOLARSHIP ON THE