A key factor in discussions about biblical transmission stems from apparent narrative variations between the Qurʾān and Bible. Classical commentators like Ibn ʿʿĀshūr, analysing stories such as the golden calf (Q 20:85–95), occasionally suggested these variations might reflect transmission challenges in the biblical text. In al-Taḥrīr wa’l-Tanwīr, Ibn ʿʿĀshūr cautiously suggests that narrative variations in the golden calf story (Q 20:85–95) may reflect challenges in preserving the Torah’s original form after the Babylonian exile.

The biblical version of the story describes how the Israelites, seeing that Moses was delayed in returning from the mountain, gathered around Aaron to create a God to lead them. Aaron took their gold earrings, fashioned them into a calf idol and the people worshipped it. This act of idolatry angered both God and Moses, as it represented a grave transgression against the monotheistic faith. Aaron then defends his actions by blaming the people, saying, ‘Do not be angry, my lord … You know how prone these people are to evil’ (Ex 32:22). In the aftermath, Moses summoned the Levites to take action, and they killed about 3000 people involved in the idolatry. The Qurʾān recounts this narrative with a few changes, including the addition of certain characters and the removal of others (Pregill 2007:643–644). Despite these modifications, the Qurʾān preserves the core message and does not alter the story’s central theme. These changes are part of the Qurʾān’s method of adapting previous narratives to its own rhetorical style and message. In this context, such modifications in the transmission of such accounts are acceptable, reflecting the broader Islamic tradition of adapting stories to fit the theological and narrative frameworks of the Qurʾān.

Islamic scholarship is well acquainted with the practice of narrative adaptation, a method that is often seen in the transmission of prophetic traditions [ḥadīth] and early scholarly accounts [riwāyah]. It is common for a tradition to vary across different versions, particularly with respect to the actions and roles of key characters. Despite these variations, the central message or moral of the tradition remains intact. This is an established feature of Islamic storytelling, where certain elements may be added or omitted in different narrations, but the essential teachings remain consistent. A similar approach is seen in the Qurʾān’s retelling of the golden calf story:

Another factor contributing to the notion of corruption is that there are several elements absent in the Qurʾān’s version of the narratives. Examining the golden calf episode specifically, we observe several noteworthy omissions:

As observed, certain figures, actions and words have been omitted in the Qurʾān’s retelling, while others have been introduced. These differences, however, do not undermine the core integrity of the story. Some scholars, such as Ibn ʿʿĀshūr, have posited that the maker of the calf in the Torah is Aaron, while in the Qurʾān, it is Sāmirī, suggesting the textual incompatibility in the transmission of the common narratives between the two scriptures. From this perspective, they have cautiously proposed that the Torah may have undergone textual variations during its transmission by rabbinic authorities. However, such interpretations may not fully account for the nuanced presentation in the Qurʾān. While Sāmirī’s role in misleading the Israelites is emphasised in Qurʾān 20:85–87, the text does not explicitly identify him as the maker of the calf in Qurʾān 20:88. Some commentators have extended the narrative connection between these verses beyond what the text clearly states, creating a perceived discrepancy with the Torah account that may be more interpretive than textual. The Qurʾān’s deliberate narrative style leaves certain details open to interpretation rather than presenting definitive contradictions. This narrative ambiguity may reflect engagement with alternative Jewish interpretive traditions. Recent scholarship suggests Qurʾānic exegesis occasionally incorporated Isrāʿīliyyāt – including Talmudic and Midrashic accounts (e.g. Ex Rabbah 41:7 on Aaron’s dilemma) – to illuminate such passages (Ross 2023:150–200), though always filtered through Islamic theological priorities.

As demonstrated, this approach appears to represent a specific method of interpretation (exegesis), where, when the subject or doer of a verb is unclear [muġlaq] or ambiguous [mubham], exegetes tend to assign the most fitting subject based on context – as may have occurred at Q 20:88. That said, considering the context, it could also be argued that Aaron might serve as the subject for the verb in Q 20:88, given that he arguably emerges as the most logical figure potentially involved in fashioning the calf. One might infer that Aaron could have been aware of this as a divine test of the Israelites’ devotion, possibly explaining his purported role in the calf’s creation. His subsequent call to worship Moses’ God (Q 20:90) seems to reflect this theological purpose (Neuwirth 2019). Additionally, as Moses’ appointed successor, Aaron would probably have been involved in the process, suggesting the people unlikely acted without his oversight.

Therefore, such Qurʾānic revelations are open to multiple interpretations because of their obscurity, ambiguity and compact structure. While some textual nuances might cautiously suggest Aaron’s potential awareness of the calf’s creation, classical exegetes overwhelmingly emphasise his passive resistance (Q 7:150) rather than active involvement, and the Qurʾān’s primary critique targets collective Israelite disobedience rather than Aaron’s individual actions. Because none of these interpretations is definitive or conclusive, it would be an overstatement and methodologically questionable to claim that the Bible has undergone textual alterations based on any particular reading of these verses. In light of this, no single reading can be considered binding, nor should differences necessarily imply the Bible’s textual corruption.

In addition to that, the Qurʾān never recounts the whole story; instead, it gives some significant fragments to highlight the divine message; therefore, the figures and their actions in the story are not as important as the main message (Rippin 2019:23). From the Qurʾānic perspective, regardless of who fashioned the calf, the central message concerns the spiritual shortcomings revealed through this episode – both among the Israelite community and in Aaron’s inability to adequately guide them away from idolatrous worship.

One of the central arguments in Andrew Rippin’s Literary Analysis of Koran, Tafsir, and Sira is that the historical narratives in the Qurʾān – particularly those shared with the broader Abrahamic tradition – are deliberately elliptical, constructed in a ‘referential’ manner. This structural feature suggests that the verses are not intended to be fixed in a rigid historical framework but are rather designed to invite multilayered interpretations. In this context, Rippin emphasises that the asbāb al-nuzūl reports were not meant to document historical events but served instead to construct narrative settings within exegetical discourse. Their value lies not in historical accuracy but in interpretive function. This underscores the idea that the Qurʾānic narratives often leave intentional gaps, prompting classical exegetes to fill these gaps through contextual reasoning and commentary (Rippin 1985:152).

In parallel, Rippin contends that the Qurʾān does not merely replicate earlier sacred texts but reworks inherited narrative motifs within the framework of Judeo-Christian sectarian polemics. Thus, variations in Qurʾānic storytelling should not be viewed as textual corruption but as purposeful narrative adaptation. The Qurʾān’s goal is not to reproduce the Bible in Arabic but to construct its own theological discourse using inherited themes. This perspective is consistent with Rippin’s classification of the Qurʾān as a form of ‘salvation history’ – a genre that does not chronicle factual events but rather affirms divine involvement in human affairs through literary means. Accordingly, Qurʾānic stories are not to be taken as direct reflections of historical reality but as strategic narrative instruments that serve the construction of sacred history (Rippin 1985:153–154, 156).

A close reading of the Qurʾānic text reveals certain nuanced elements that might be interpreted as hinting at Aaron’s possible connection to the golden calf incident. Firstly, in Q 20:88, the verb ‘fashion [aẖraja]’ appears without an explicit subject, mirroring the grammatical ambiguity of nearby verbs like ‘say [qālū]’ and ‘forget [nasiya]’. Notably, some exegetical traditions have favoured interpreting Sāmirī as the implied subject of ‘aẖraja’, though no such consensus exists regarding the other verbs’ subjects [qālū and nasiya]. Secondly, in Q 20:95, when Moses questions Sāmirī about his involvement, Sāmirī does not explicitly claim to have made the calf, but instead explains: ‘I saw what they saw not, I took a handful (of dust) from the footprint of the Messenger, and threw it (into the calf)’. This indirect response raises questions about the true origin of the calf’s creation.

Thirdly, Moses’ reaction upon seeing the people’s deviation includes a notably harsh interaction with Aaron, such as grabbing his beard and head (Q 7:150), which is not explicitly mentioned in the Torah. Moses’ reprimands could be interpreted as suggesting Aaron’s potential greater involvement than the text explicitly states, as his condemnation of the actions during his absence implies some degree of shared responsibility. Fourthly, while Aaron could have blamed Sāmirī directly by saying, ‘I did not make it, but Sāmirī did’, Aaron defends himself by offering alternative justifications, such as claiming that the people had judged him weak and nearly killed him (Q 7:150). These defences suggest that Aaron might have been implicated in the incident, even if his role was not as the primary maker of the calf.¹

Fifthly, the Israelites’ documented inclination towards idol worship, attested in both the Torah and Qurʾān (Ex 20:5; Lv 19:4, 26:1; Q 7:138), suggests their request for an idol may reflect a recurring tendency. Notably, shortly after leaving Egypt, they petitioned Moses to create an idol for them (Q 7:138). If Sāmirī alone were responsible for the calf, it would be unexpected for the people – who had previously sought Moses’ intervention – not to make similar demands of Aaron during Moses’ absence. This context raises the possibility that the same group (including Sāmirī and his followers) who approached Moses later redirected their request to Aaron, who – as both texts imply – may have reluctantly acquiesced because of fear or political pressure.

The Qurʾānic emphasis on Sāmirī’s role in promoting calf worship does not inherently contradict the Torah’s attribution of responsibility to Aaron. Rather, the narratives appear complementary: Sāmirī and his followers instigated the idol’s creation, while Aaron’s perceived compliance under duress allowed the act to proceed. This reading harmonises the accounts – the Torah focuses on Aaron’s leadership failure, while the Qurʾān highlights the community’s external influences. Such differences in emphasis need not imply textual corruption; instead, they demonstrate how each scripture contextualises the event within its theological framework. Ultimately, both texts recount the same essential episode, with variations that invite reconciliation rather than conflict (Neuwirth 2019:347–378; Ledit 1956: 50–69).

Finally, Moses’ subsequent plea for forgiveness – potentially encompassing his own role in enabling the incident – lends weight to the interpretation that Aaron may have been indirectly involved. While the Qurʾānic text does not explicitly confirm Aaron’s complicity, Moses’ dual repentance (for both his departure and his brother’s actions) suggests Aaron’s possible acquiescence, whether through passive allowance or reluctant participation.

When examined holistically, these textual nuances indicate that Aaron’s connection to the calf’s creation, though not definitively established, emerges as a plausible reading within the Qurʾānic framework. Consequently, the perceived contradiction between the Qurʾān’s and Torah’s accounts of the calf’s authorship appears overstated upon closer analysis. Given the interpretive flexibility of both narratives, the alleged discrepancy cannot serve as conclusive and binding evidence for claims of biblical alteration.

The identity of Abraham’s son in the sacrifice narrative presents an interesting case of scriptural interpretation. The Torah’s account in Genesis 22:2 provides specific details: ‘Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah …’. This explicit mention of Isaac’s name along with the geographical location creates a clear narrative framework with minimal ambiguity. The Qurʾānic version in Surah 37:101, while addressing the same event, presents the story differently: ‘So We gave him tidings of a gentle son [ghulām]’, without specifying which son is intended. This difference in narrative style has led to various interpretations among Islamic scholars across generations (mutaqaddimūn and mutaʾaẖẖirūn).

Some exegetes have proposed that the Qurʾānic reference points to Ishmael, particularly when considering the subsequent verse (Q 37:112), which mentions Isaac’s prophethood: ‘We gave him tidings of Isaac – a prophet – one of the Righteous’. These scholars argue that if both verses referred to Isaac, there would be redundancy in announcing his birth twice. This perspective suggests the first announcement concerns Ishmael, while the second addresses Isaac’s prophetic future (Qurṭubī 2006:15/97; Ṭabarī 1955:21/72–100). However, alternative interpretations merit careful consideration. A close reading suggests that verse 37:112 may not be announcing Isaac’s birth but rather his future prophetic status, with the first announcement (Q. 37:101) referring to his miraculous birth to aged parents. This sequential reading finds support in the works of respected scholars, including early authorities like ʿOmar, ʿAli, ʿAbbās b. ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib, Kaʾb al-Aḥbār, Qatāda, Saʾīd ibn Jubayr, ʿIkrima and Ibn Masʿūd, as well as later commentators such as al-Rāzī (1981:153).

The linguistic context strengthens this interpretation. The term bashshara [glad tidings] in the Qurʾān typically denotes extraordinary announcements, making it particularly suitable for Isaac’s miraculous birth to the elderly Sarah, as opposed to Ishmael’s birth to Hagar, which occurred under normal circumstances. This suggests the first announcement (37:101) more likely refers to Isaac’s birth, while the second concerns his prophethood. These differing interpretations highlight how scriptural narratives can employ distinct approaches while maintaining theological coherence, with variations reflecting different narrative purposes rather than substantive contradictions. The Torah’s explicit identification serves its historical narrative, while the Qurʾān’s more elliptical reference aligns with its thematic focus on Abraham’s test of faith.

Similarly, the verb ‘giving good tidings [bushrā or bashshara]’ is employed in the context of the births of John the Baptist and Jesus, as both events occurred under exceptional circumstances – Zachariah (the father of John) was advanced in age and his wife was infertile, while Mary (the mother of Jesus) was a virgin. In such cases, the verb ‘bashshara’ reflects an extraordinary occurrence, with a low probability of happening, akin to the situation of an infertile woman giving birth. Given that Isaac’s birth also occurred under similar extraordinary circumstances, it seems reasonable to interpret him as the son offered to God as a sacrifice.

The biblical account of Ishmael’s departure (Gn 21:8–13) presents additional contextual considerations. After Sarah observed Ishmael ‘mocking’ Isaac, Abraham reluctantly sent Hagar and Ishmael away to the wilderness (Beer-Sheba). This narrative tension could imply Abraham’s deeper emotional bond with Isaac, the son who remained within the familial covenant. Some scholars cautiously suggest this might make Isaac a more theologically fitting candidate for the sacrifice test, as the narrative emphasises Abraham’s devotion through the potential loss of his promised heir.

Therefore, it may be difficult to conclusively argue for textual alteration in the Torah based on this narrative difference. The available evidence suggests the son in both texts was likely Isaac, though some interpretative ambiguity remains. While the Qurʾān doesn’t explicitly name the son, contextual clues – particularly the miraculous birth motif – appear to favour Isaac. Thus, claims of a substantive contradiction between the scriptures might be overstated given these considerations.

The perceived discrepancy regarding God’s activity after creation has been carefully examined by classical scholars like Ṭabarī and Qurṭubī (Böwering 2002:326–327). The Torah states God ‘rested on the seventh day’ (Gn 2:2), while the Qurʾān employs different terminology, mentioning God mounting the Throne’ ([istawā], Q 25:59) and explicitly denying any divine fatigue (Q 50:38). This variation in expression has led to thoughtful scholarly discussions about the nature of divine activity. Rather than representing a fundamental contradiction, these differences may reflect distinct theological emphases within each tradition. The Hebrew verb shavat [to cease] and the Arabic istawā [to establish] both convey completion of creation without necessarily implying physical rest. The Qurʾān’s specific denial of weariness [luġūb] might be understood as clarifying the metaphorical nature of such anthropomorphic expressions, a concern shared by both Jewish and Islamic exegetical traditions.

Certain scholars have examined the Torah’s description of God ‘resting’ [istarāḥa] on the 7th day (Gn 2:2), with some suggesting this could be misinterpreted as implying divine fatigue. This reading appears to contrast with the Qurʾānic emphasis that ‘no weariness’ [luġūb] affected God during creation (Q 50:38). Commentators like Ṭabarī, Qurṭubī and Bayḍāwī proposed that the Qurʾān’s use of istawā [established Himself on the Throne] (Q 25:59) may serve to clarify God’s transcendence, avoiding anthropomorphic implications that could arise from the verb ‘rest’ (Bayḍāwī 2000:3/318; Qurṭubī 2006:460; Ṭabarī 1955:22/375). Rather than a corrective, this difference might reflect distinct theological vocabularies – the Torah’s shavat [ceased] emphasising completion, while the Qurʾān’s istawā underscores divine sovereignty. Both traditions ultimately affirm God’s absolute power, with the variation likely stemming from their unique revelatory contexts and linguistic nuances. The Qurʾān’s explicit denial of fatigue could thus be seen as complementary rather than contradictory to the Torah’s narrative framework.

The interpretation of God’s ‘rest’ in Genesis 2:2 may stem from a linguistic nuance worth noting. The Hebrew verbs lehashbît [לְהַשְׁבִּית] and Shabat [שָׁבַת] fundamentally denote cessation or completion of work rather than physical rest or fatigue.² This suggests the Torah’s description likely emphasises God’s transition from creating to sustaining, not fatigue. The Qurʾān’s denial of divine weariness (Q 50:38) thus appears complementary rather than corrective, as both traditions conceptually agree on God’s transcendence while employing different metaphorical language appropriate to their respective revelatory contexts.

Claims of textual alteration based on this narrative difference appear linguistically untenable upon closer analysis. The variations instead reflect appropriate adaptations of divine description to different revelatory contexts and audiences. Rather than evidence of corruption, these distinct expressions collectively enrich our understanding of how sacred texts communicate God’s absolute perfection while using human language. Such nuanced reading honours both traditions’ integrity while acknowledging their distinctive rhetorical approaches.

In this context, another area of interpretive complexity emerges from the Torah’s narrative regarding Solomon’s later years, which mentions: ‘His wives turned away his heart after other Gods… For Solomon went after Ashtoreth, the Goddess of the Sidonians … did not fully follow Jehovah’ (1 Ki 11:4–11). These verses have raised concerns among some readers (Qurṭubī 2006:15/192; Ṭabarī 1955:21/191–209), especially when compared with the Qurʾānic portrayal: ‘It was not Solomon who disbelieved, but the devils disbelieved’ (Q 2:102), and ‘And to David We gave Solomon. An excellent servant; indeed, he was one repeatedly turning back (to Allah)’ (Q 38:30). Based on this contrast, it has been argued that the biblical account may reflect a different interpretive lens. Yet, a closer look at the Qurʾānic narrative suggests a more nuanced understanding than a simple accusation of textual distortion.

Specifically, Qurʾān 38:30–40 is best understood within the broader framework of the Qurʾān’s figurative and refined style when referring to the human shortcomings of prophets. The Qurʾān generally avoids direct or explicit mention of morally sensitive issues – such as those involving personal conduct – and instead presents such matters through layered expressions and suggestive parables that preserve the dignity of prophetic figures. A clear example of this subtle narrative method appears in the story of ‘David and the ninety-nine ewes’ (Q 38:21–30). In this account, two disputants come to David. One says: ‘Verily, this is my brother; he has ninety-nine ewes, and I have only one ewe. Yet he says: “Give it to me,” and he overpowered me in speech’. David responds:

According to several classical exegetes, this story is interpreted as a symbolic way of conveying a divine admonition to David (Ṭabarī 1955:21/191–209). The parable is thought to allude indirectly to David’s lapse in marrying Bathsheba, and the narrative serves as a dignified, metaphorical form of guidance rather than a direct reproach.

This narrative exemplifies the Qurʾān’s tendency to use indirect language and metaphors to present moral lessons while preserving the dignity of the figures involved. In the case of Solomon, the Qurʾān’s method is no different. By portraying the errors in a more figurative and refined way, it avoids the crude attribution of sin, in line with its broader theological approach to prophetic sanctity. Thus, while the Torah presents Solomon as succumbing to idolatry because of the influence of his wives, the Qurʾān provides a more nuanced view, emphasising that Solomon himself did not disbelieve, but rather the devils were responsible for leading people astray. This difference in presentation reflects the Qurʾān’s distinctive rhetorical and theological style (Mir 2006:88–106). It does not necessarily indicate a contradiction with the core narrative found in the Torah. Divergent narrative styles or emphases between scriptures may arise from differing theological and literary aims and do not, in themselves, imply a fundamental inconsistency in the overarching message or the essential outline of the story.

Following this episode, the Qurʾān continues to recount, ‘David realized that it was We who had tested him, so he sought forgiveness from his Lord, fell down in prostration, and turned to Him in repentance’ (Q 38:24). This raises an important question: Why would David seek forgiveness and repentance after fulfilling what appears to be a moderating and just role between two disputants? The answer becomes clearer when examining the fuller narrative as presented in the Torah. There, the story unveils that the 99 ewes mentioned in the Qurʾānic account symbolise the 99 wives or women that David had in reality. The one ewe belonging to the other man symbolises Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah. According to the Torah, David desired Bathsheba and orchestrated a situation in which her husband was sent to the frontlines of battle, ensuring his death. After Uriah’s demise, David took Bathsheba as his own (Qurṭubī 2006:15/161–192; Suyūṭī 2003:7/153–175; Ṭabarī 1955:21/174–191). The Qurʾān, however, refrains from explicitly narrating this moral transgression in detail. Instead, it employs metaphoric language, consistent with its methodology of addressing the shortcomings of prophets in a way that preserves their dignity. David’s act of repentance in the Qurʾānic account reflects his acknowledgement of his error and his return to God in humility, embodying the exemplary moral conduct expected of a prophet even in moments of human frailty.³

A similar interpretive approach can be applied to the episode of Solomon ‘and the light-footed horses (Q 38:30–35)’. The Qurʾān recounts that Solomon, captivated by the sight of magnificent, swift horses presented to him at dusk, became so enchanted by their beauty that he momentarily neglected the remembrance of his Lord. When the horses vanished from sight – hidden, as the verse describes, ‘in the veil’ [tawārat bi al-ḥijāb] – Solomon commanded their return. Upon their reappearance, he began passing his hands over their necks and legs in a gesture of affection. Soon after, realising that this incident was a divine test, Solomon turned to God in repentance and sought forgiveness, much like his father David (Neuwirth 2019:347–378).

This account raises a parallel question to the earlier one concerning David: Why did Solomon seek forgiveness after engaging with the horses in this manner? Turning to the biblical narrative as a potential interpretive lens, we find contextual elements that could enrich our understanding of this Qurʾānic passage. The biblical narrative (1 Ki 11:1–3) describes Solomon’s numerous political marriages to foreign princesses – including Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Sidonians and Hittites – which reportedly influenced his spiritual commitments. When read in light of the Torah’s account, the Qurʾānic portrayal of Solomon’s horses [al-ṣāfināt al-jiyād] may carry symbolic significance. The phrase ‘hidden in the veil’ [tawārat bi al-ḥijāb] metaphorically represents these women, while Solomon’s act of passing his hand over the horses’ necks and legs [mesḥan bi al-sūqi wa al-aʿnāq] corresponds to his caressing and physical affection towards his wives. Furthermore, Solomon’s admission, ‘I gave preference to the love of good things [beautiful women] over the remembrance of my Lord’ (Q 38:32), echoes the Torah’s account: ‘King Solomon loved many foreign women … He clung to these women in love … his wives turned his heart away from being with God’ (1 Ki 11:1–7).

Our interpretation that not all Qur’ānic expressions should be understood literally but may carry symbolic meanings can find support in the metaphorical exegesis [ta’wīl] of scholars such as al-Māturīdī and Ibn ʿĀshūr. In his commentary on Q 48:10 (‘Allah’s hand is over their hands’), al-Māturīdī interprets the word ‘hand’ [yad] as signifying Allah’s support and empowerment of the Prophet rather than indicating a physical form, thereby demonstrating that this term cannot be understood in its literal sense (al-Māturīdī 2005:9/298–300). Similarly, Ibn ʿĀshūr explains that Qurʾān 17:24 (‘lower the wing of humility for them [parents] out of mercy’) cannot refer to literal wings because humans have none; rather, the expression serves as a metaphorical representation [al-isti’āra al-tamthīliyya] of voluntary submission and tender affection towards parents (Ibn ʿʿĀshūr 1984:15/65–74). These examples clearly show that Qur’ānic expressions often convey metaphorical and symbolic meanings beyond their literal sense (Boulaouali 2021:120–132; Mir 1989:2–3). This hermeneutical principle lends support to this study’s proposed interpretation that the term ‘khayl’ (horses) in the Solomon narrative may metaphorically allude to women.

However, modern exegetes have generally interpreted Solomon’s horses not as symbolic entities but as real, physical beings, viewing his attachment to them as a divine test. For instance, Muhammad Makhlūf explains that the horses mentioned in these verses were warhorses belonging to Solomon’s army, and that his missing the ʿAṣr prayer while admiring them served as a form of trial. Similarly, Ṣābūnī asserts that the horses distracted Solomon from remembering God, which led him to sacrifice them. In contrast, Yusuf Ali claims that Solomon’s love for the horses was driven by a desire to earn God’s pleasure and that he did not kill them but merely caressed them. These interpretations reflect a literal reading of the Solomon narrative and reject any symbolic understanding of the horses (Johns 1997:260–262).

The verse states: ‘innī aḥbabtu ḥubba l-khayri ʿan dhikri rabbī’ (Q 38:32), traditionally translated as ‘I preferred the love of worldly goods over my Lord’s remembrance’. However, given the phonological resonance and lexical proximity between al-khayri [الخير] and al-khayl ([الخيل], ‘horses’), it invites reconsideration. This potential paronomasia [jinās] finds contextual support in Solomon’s equestrian narrative ([ṣāfināt al-jiyād], 38:31–33), the Qurʾān’s penchant for homophonic symbolism, and comparative scriptural traditions that allegorise Solomon’s attachments through analogous imagery.

The Solomon narratives in both scriptures reflect broader ancient Near Eastern literary traditions while employing distinct narrative approaches. The Bible’s account of political marriages (1 Ki 11) mirrors regional royal historiographies that frame foreign alliances as both strategic assets and spiritual risks – a motif well attested in Egyptian and Mesopotamian texts. The Qur’ān’s allegorical portrayal (Q 38:30–35), with its potential al-khayri or al-khayl wordplay and symbolic horses, aligns with Late Antique trends of encoding moral lessons through symbolic narratives, as seen in Syriac Christian and Rabbinic exegesis. These differences stem not from substantive contradictions but from complementary theological emphases: where the Bible provides political-historical contextualisation of Solomon’s challenges, the Qur’ān elevates the story’s ethical dimensions through its characteristic parabolic style (Neuwirth 2019:347–378). Both ultimately converge in their portrayal of Solomon’s repentance, demonstrating how shared cultural frameworks could be adapted to different revelatory purposes – the Bible as political theology, the Qur’ān as ethical parable – while maintaining theological coherence about prophetic humanity and divine mercy.