Let My People Go: Abdullah Hashem’s Historic Speech on the Middle East

On the 8th of May 2025, the voice of Aba Al-Sadiq rose like a mournful call across the ages, drawing forth the tears of parents who have lost their children, the hopes of the weary, and the buried dreams of the faithful. In his impassioned speech delivered from the Holy Basilica, he reminded Jews and Arabs alike of their shared roots in Abraham, Isaac, and Ishmael, and he spoke with the same fiery urgency that once blazed from the lips of Moses over three thousand years ago, as he stood before Pharaoh.

This is an emotional journey through Aba Al-Sadiq’s Speech. It is a story of buried graves and broken covenants, of prophets’ families betrayed, and of children whose blood spilled in the name of pride and power. It is a stark reminder that when one child suffers, all of us suffer; and that when one soul is lost, the whole human family trembles.

Aba Al-Sadiq began by taking us to the Cave of Machpelah, where Abraham, Isaac, and Ishmael lie side by side. “They were all believers in the same God, and part of the same Abrahamic covenant,” he said. Yet today, he lamented, their descendants, Jews and Arabs, shed one another’s blood as if each drop were a tribute to a forefather.

He asked: How will they face Abraham, Isaac, and Ishmael? What shame covers their faces as they continue a cycle of violence that dishonors those ancient bonds of kinship?

 Aba Al-Sadiq did not spare either side. He reminded Jews of their own history of rejecting prophets, crucifying Jesus, beheading John the Baptist, killing the prophets sent to them. How then could they be merciful to others?

And he reminded Muslims of their own betrayals: the burning of Fatima’s house, the murder of Imam Ali during the month of Ramadan, the poisoning of Hasan, the beheading of Hussein and the parading of his head on a spear.

These were not political coups or dynastic struggles alone, he argued, they were wounds opened in the body of Islam itself, curses that have dogged the Muslim world ever since. They cut away the rightful heirs of Mohammed, choosing instead evil tyrants and usurpers, and now they watch helplessly as their children fall victim to the same cycles of violence that their forefathers committed upon the Family of Mohammed in the past.

In one of the most tender moments of his speech, Aba Al-Sadiq reminded everyone: “The life of a single one of those little children, Jewish or Arab, is more sacred than your temple, your mosque, and your land. Certainly more sacred than your pride.”

Aba Al-Sadiq placed the sacredness of every human life above the greatest institutions of religion and power. He refused to let ancient shrines and royal palaces justify the slaughter of the innocent, thus both honoured the needs of humanity before any religion.

A Covenant Broken, A Nation Cursed

Aba Al-Sadiq cited the words of Muhammad’s family: God cursed the nation that prepared horses and armor without just cause. “They were never granted success,” the family said, “and they will never be granted success until the avenger of al-Hussein rises.”

He quoted: “There is no Eid for the Muslims… a renewed sorrow comes upon the family of Muhammad,” because they see their rightful position in the hands of their enemies. This sorrow has shaped the Muslim soul for fourteen centuries, he said.

This reminds us of the story of Moses, which Aba Al-Sadiq himself referenced later on in his speech. Moses’s people, too, knew sorrow in Egypt. Generation after generation, they cried out under forced labor, sorrow no less deep than the sorrow of the Prophet’s family. But Moses did not bow to the sorrow, he turned to God and demanded justice. He insisted that Pharaoh honor the covenant: release the people, or face the consequences.

Aba Al-Sadiq, like Moses, looked to divine justice. He called not simply for revolt against earthly tyrants, but for submission to the higher authority of God and the true heirs of the Prophet. He offered a letter of appointment, his own commission to lead his people to peace and prosperity, if they would but listen to him.

In the final portion of his speech, Aba Al-Sadiq spoke of prophecy and promise. He reminded Muslims that Mohammed had foreseen a caliph from the Bani Hashim who would fill the earth with justice, rebuild the Bayt al-Maqdis (the Jerusalem sanctuary), and unite the believers. He called for a shared temple, a place where Jews and Muslims would worship side by side, honoring Solomon and David, the Messiah and the Mahdi together.

This vision of a rebuilt, shared Jerusalem mirrors Moses’ vision of the Promised Land, a place flowing with abundance, a place where all tribes would live in harmony under God’s law. Just as Moses led the Israelites out of bondage toward Canaan, Aba Al-Sadiq called the children of Abraham out of the bondage of mutual hatred toward a land renewed in justice and peace.

Aba Al-Sadiq reminded everyone that the mosques on the Temple Mount were built by the enemies of Muhammad and his family, that the true “Masjid al-Aqsa” might lie elsewhere. He argued that the site, like any political or religious monument, meant little if the people themselves refused to honor God’s appointed successor in the land.

The Call to “Let My People Go”

Perhaps the most direct echo of Moses came when Aba Al-Sadiq addressed the Israelis by name: “Benjamin Netanyahu, let my people go.” Two million people in Gaza, he said, were crying out under siege, much as the Israelites cried out under Pharaoh. He condemned violence on both sides, but he also demanded that the oppressor put down his weapons and free the oppressed.

Moses had confronted Pharaoh with plagues, with warnings, with the parting sea itself. Yet his ultimate demand remained simple: let the captives go. Aba Al-Sadiq, too, cast his demand in stark terms: if you refuse me, God will deny you. But if you heed me, God will stand with you both—Jews and Muslims alike.

In the closing moments of his speech, Aba Al-Sadiq promised deliverance: an age of comfort and prosperity, where no one would hunger or thirst, where every child would receive the best education and health care. He spoke of riches overflowing from the tyrants who now rule to the believers, and of a just state guided by the family of Muhammad.

Aba Al-Sadiq’s speech was at once a devastating rebuke and a tender appeal. He called out the sins of both communities, yet he never lost sight of their common heritage. He reminded them that David and Solomon, Abraham and Ishmael, Muhammad and Jesus, all spoke of one God, one covenant.

Now, Aba Al-Sadiq reminded Jews and Muslims that the same choice rests before them: continue in violence and bear the curse of Abraham’s children, or unite in peace and fulfill the promise of that ancient covenant.

In the days of Moses, the people of Israel crossed the Red Sea under a pillar of cloud and fire. They left behind the tyranny of Pharaoh and moved toward the mountain of God. Along the way, they stumbled; they turned back; they grumbled in the wilderness. Yet God’s hand was with them, guiding them toward the Promised Land.

Today, Aba Al-Sadiq stands as a new messenger to the Jews and Muslims, calling out to the children of Isaac and Ishmael to cross the deserts of hatred and enter the land of peace. 

The speech of Aba Al-Sadiq and the speech of Moses mirror each other across the centuries: both demand that power yield to justice, that pride give way to compassion, that the innocent be spared for the sake of the covenant. Both hold out a vision of a new society, where God’s people live in dignity and peace.

If the sons of Isaac and Ishmael will only listen, then perhaps the grandchildren of those buried in Machpelah will once again stand together, their children playing by the olive trees, mothers singing lullabies in a shared tongue, fathers building homes side by side. Perhaps, at last, the children of Abraham will honor their forefather’s dream, and the world will see what true peace can look like when the voice of Moses of this time is finally heard.