Eid of Sacrifice is not only an act of worship observed individually in the form of sharing meat with those in close proximity; it is an important means of reaching into hearts in different parts of the world. Right at the beginning of the second chapter of the Qur’an, God Almighty declares the fact that He is the actual owner of things and we are temporary keepers by “out of what We have provided for them they spend…” Namely, what we donate are actually nothing but blessings He had granted us. By pointing out that “He” is the actual Provider of sustenance, He reminds us that there is no need for us to worry about depletion. This point is more directly expressed in another verse that God Almighty, the Omnipotent One, is the Provider of sustenance of all creatures (Dhariyat 51:58).

Actually, a person’s supporting others with their personal wealth—be it in the form of alms or sacrificial meat—is the minimal degree of generosity, without which, one wonders, how a person can consider himself or herself a believer.

As for the maximum degree of helping others, let us ponder over the following verse:

“They (believers) prefer [others] over themselves, even though poverty be their own lot.” (Hashr 59:9)

Someone who acts with this spirit will offer their time, means, knowledge, wisdom, wealth, vision, and shortly God’s every bestowal to the utmost degree for people to benefit, and will share what they have with others.

Similarly, during the festival of sacrifice, believers will conquer hearts by generously sharing the meat of their sacrifice with others.

The noble Prophet said that for those who observed this good act God will render their sacrifices given away for His sake into steeds to ride with on the Day of Judgment, at a time when they are most needy. Then as they will fill with feelings of admiration and wonder, they will try to decide which one to ride.

The noble Prophet demanded everybody who can afford to offer a sacrifice by stating: “Who has the means to offer a sacrifice but does not, let that person not approach our place of prayer!” Since this hadith conveys an intimidating message for those refusing to offer a sacrifice, scholars of the Hanafi school ruled that it is no less than wajib (necessary) to offer a sacrifice. As it is obligatory to give zakat alms for everybody who is wealthy enough, it is similarly necessary to offer a sacrifice for those who can afford it. Those who have the means should not forget the fact that poorer ones have a right to benefit from their wealth and thus support them.

Provisions for the Afterworld

Another verse encourages people to donate from what they love: “You will never be able to attain godliness and virtue until you spend of what you love (in God’s cause or to provide sustenance for the needy)” (Al Imran 3:92). Then one had better choose the sacrificial animal, which will become a steed on the way to Paradise, from robust ones. The religious rules for offering sacrifice already necessitate the animal’s being a healthy one without defects as a broken horn and the like. Note that everything done here will appear to us in the Hereafter with their true reflection of their meaning. As we cannot know how things will be in the next world, we cannot really imagine in what form they will return to us. Who knows, maybe our sacrificial animals will appear before us like a plane, ship, boat, or a good horse in the next life. If we consider the issue with respect to the immensity of God’s graces and the truthfulness of His promises, we can say that they will definitely return to us somehow.

According to a report by our mother Aisha, God’s Messenger distributed two thirds of the animal he sacrificed to the poor and left the one third at home for not depriving his family of it. This is the criterion for one who wishes to distribute the meat in compliance with the example of the Prophet.

As a matter of fact, seeking closeness to God in all acts of worship, saying “O God, I did this for Your sake only,” and having due integrity at feelings must be the basis of our actions. When giving from one’s wealth, to which people feel so much attached, it is necessary to remember other things one can possibly give and show obedience to Divine orders. During the festival of sacrifice we remember the situation of Prophet Abraham and his son who grasped so well the gist of worship and submission to Divine orders when they were tested with the greatest sacrifice one can possibly do: “Then when both had submitted to God’s will, and Abraham had laid him down on the side of his forehead” (Saffat 37:103). 

If a believer begins the worship of sacrifice with such a sound intention from the very beginning, then all of their ensuing acts will be counted within worship and other things done for the sake of this good deed will also return to that person as rewards for the Hereafter.

When the truth of our seemingly small actions is revealed to us in the Hereafter, they will make us say in astonishment, “O God, how bountiful You are!  You have taken these little things, made them bloom, flourish, transform, become eternal, and now You are offering them to us!” In this respect, a person should fulfill the worship of sacrifice in this world with an inner feeling of richness and contentment of the heart. The following verse also refers to this fact: “(Bear in mind that) neither their flesh nor their blood reaches God, but only piety and consciousness of God reach Him from you” (al-Hajj 22:37).  If a person carries out this act of worship with considerations in the heart like taking it as a means of connection with God Almighty and of being rewarded by Him, then that person will meet very different riches and surprises in the next world.

The holy month of Ramadan is getting to a close. Muslims who have made it through are thankful that they have been able to do so, hopefully renewed and reformed, not only in terms of losing a couple extra pounds, but more in terms of spirit and character – that they have become better than what they were before. The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said “One might fast and he gets nothing from his fast but hunger. One might pray at night but he gets nothing from his prayer but fatigue.”

In another hadith, the Prophet also said “When Ramadan comes, satans are chained up, the gates of fire are closed and the gates of paradise are open.” So, God does what we expect from His infinite Mercy; but are we doing what He expects of us, that is another question. Although satans are chained and they cannot come near us, we may still feel tempted to go near them. Without truly transforming in behavior, fasting, and all acts of worship for that matter, become only ritual, family tradition, diet, or physical exercise. I really hope we have made that transformation, or at least embarked on a journey on that path with this Ramadan.

I also choose to look into what we are going through under the pandemic conditions from the prism of Ramadan. As we pray for the loss of many who died due to Covid-19, we also need to think what the divine wisdom might be behind this what appears to be the smallest killer of all time, which is not even a living thing. What might be the wisdom that we are all grounded in our homes and now our mosques and temples closed?

I have been speaking with many friends about their Ramadan experience this year. And an overwhelming majority said this has been one of the best Ramadan they ever had. Of course, we miss hugging friends, enjoying iftar meals together, and praying the tarawih at the mosque. But it appears to me that we probably have lacked the true depth of prayer at an individual level which manifests itself when we can focus – and solitude is sometimes the best tool to reinstall our factory settings, to remember our true human nature. This is why many mystics seek to retreat from society to be able to listen to the inner call that is innately there and we humans under the conditions of our modern lifestyles are too busy to hear that divine voice.

So, fasting is not about remaining hungry a whole day, nor any forms of worship are physical exercise. Fasting serves best when we can “fast from the material world” to reinforce our spiritual world. Our religious traditions – at least that’s the case in Islam – are teaching us to seek a balance between our physical and spiritual needs – both need to be satisfied, both need to weigh equally on the scale. But we live in a world of rat race in which all of us live hastily to bring home bread, to pursue career ambitions that fill our whole time, and many of us do not even have a minute to have some serious deep contemplation about who we are, why we are here in this life, and what our purpose is.

“Quarantine” etymologically means “forty days.” Many mystics observe what we call in Islamic tradition chila or arbaeen, both of which mean 40, to attain that spiritual fulfilment they are after. Our pandemic has already been past forty days, but I think what we can do in these times of forced seclusion is to turn our homes into places of worship, not only to schools or offices, and try to engage in a deeper spiritual journeying even when Ramadan is over.

Fasting is a state of being year-round. For as believers we are already told to fast from bad behavior, over-consumption, greed, hatred, bad words, injustice, and eating certain things. We fast from our weaknesses and our trespassing desires. The holy month of Ramadan is a reminder of this duty, by observing our limits at least for a month. Thus, fasting is an important tool to bring harmony and security to the social order. During Ramadan statistics show that there is a huge drop in criminal activity in Muslim lands. The Prophet said, “When you are provoked to fight or argue during Ramadan, just say ‘I am fasting.’” We humans are unique for we can say no to our passions and elevate ourselves to an angelic form of living. Indeed, we can do much better than what our biological makeup allows us to. Our inner, spiritual peace and outer social peace can become possible when we can truly “fast” throughout the year.

Eid Mubarak.

Hakan Yesilova is the Editor-in-Chief of The Fountain Magazine

On the Islamic Feast of Sacrifice, Christians and Muslims come together to celebrate abundance.

Thursday, November 1st, 2012. A normally quiet afternoon at Tangaza College is suddenly vibrant. Life buzzes by the massive benjamina trees just in front of Pamoja Cafeteria. Tables are laden with pots of steaming rice and meat stew. There are several crates of soft drinks. Some excited students sway to the beat of the music reverberating nearby.

This celebration was All Saints Day. Celebrated every November 1st, in the Catholic tradition, it is a time to remember not only the well known saints, but all holy men and women, even those beyond the boundaries of the institutional church (Payne, OCD). To mark this solemn occasion, free lunches were generously offered to members of Tangaza College by Muslim neighbors as part of their own important celebration, Eid-ul-Adha (Feast of Sacrifice). Indeed this was an extraordinary, atypical way of commemorating the feast of all saints, a celebration in style.

Some watched the festivities – Muslims, as represented by members of the Respect Foundation and Christians of Tangaza College, celebrating with Christians – and labelled it “unusual,” “historic,” “rare,” or even “remarkable.”

The festivity started with Fr. Steven Payne, OCD, Principal of Tangaza College, welcoming our Muslim brothers and sisters. He continued by reminding the gathering of the positive attitude of the Catholic Church towards different faiths and traditions, particularly Muslims, as expressed in the documents of the Vatican Council II. Lumen Gentium, one of its documents, states that “the plan of salvation also includes those who acknowledge the Creator. In the first place amongst these are the Muslims, who, professing to hold the faith of Abraham, along with us, adore the one and merciful God, who on the last day will judge humankind.” One declaration says that it is the duty of Catholics to foster unity and charity among all peoples. He also stated clearly that the Church has high regard and esteem for Muslims who share some beliefs with Christians, value leading moral lives, and worship God, especially through prayer, almsgiving, and fasting.

Fr. Payne then welcomed Mr. Fatih Akdogan, Chairperson of the Respect Foundation, Kenya Chapter. Mr. Fatih briefly explained the meaning and significance of Eid-ul-Adha to the Islamic community. The feast is one of the two greatest feasts in the Islamic calendar marked at the end of the Hajj (pilgrimage) to Mecca every year. It is a celebration that commemorates Ibrahim’s (Abraham’s) submission and consequent tribulations when God asked him to sacrifice his son, Ishmael. As the story goes, confirming Abraham’s total submission, God provided a ram to be sacrificed in place of the son. During Eid-ul-Adha, Muslims slaughter animals as a sign of their willingness to make sacrifices in order to remain right with God. The meat is divided into three parts. One portion is retained by the family or community, the second portion is donated to the needy, while the third portion is given to friends and neighbors, regardless of race and religion. Quoting Yunus Emre, a Sufi poet, Fatih added that this love extends to all of creation because God is the creator of everything.

The Chairperson of this organization that promotes interfaith and intercultural understanding went on to say that both Muslims and Christians describe Abraham as a “father in faith.” This gives Christians and Muslims one common heritage in faith. In spite of Christian-Muslim religious strife in many countries, the Qur’an recognises Christians as those nearest to them; both are children of Abraham and believe in the same God or Allah.

There were no elaborate speeches, as would normally have been expected of an institution of higher learning. Soon, I recited a universal prayer of blessing for the food. Then everyone present was invited to share the meal before us.

This was a one of a kind treat. There was enough food to feed more than 500 people. Laughter and excitement ruled the air. Amid the sounds of joy and eating, there were silent questions, some of which may never be answered. But above all else, there was the curiosity to know what these celebrations were for.

Fr. Steven Mr. Fatih and I are optimistic that the new-found relationship between Tangaza College and the Respect Foundation will be nurtured by all concerned parties. Grateful that their Muslim brothers and sisters took the initiative to extend their generosity and love, the Tangaza fraternity also hopes and prays that the spirit and embers of such inter-faith liaisons will be reignited every day.

Sr. Lilian Curaming is a Franciscan Missionary of Mary, Directress of St. Anthony of Padua Institute of Africa (SAPIA) and Coordinator of Franciscan Studies of Tangaza College

Perhaps, without even knowing it, you have been waiting your entire life for this journey, the journey to the Ka’ba, the original and oldest house of monotheism, built thousands of years ago by the Prophet Abraham and his son, Ishmael. Before you were awake to it, your soul was yearning to walk where the Prophets walked, to retrace the footsteps of Hagar, left alone in the desert with her young boy, Ishmael-left alone and looking for water. Through the grace of God, you secure your funds for the journey, yet you do not know with whom you will go or even exactly the specific rites of Hajj. Still you make your intention, and the time draws closer. You take a class on Hajj, you read a couple of books, you shop for essentials, but the nearer the time comes, the more your world seems to spin out of control. Your bank account is depleted, your workload increases beyond your capacity, two weeks from the departure date you break out in hives, and you find out you need to have a tooth pulled. You get a cold. A few days before you are set to leave, your childcare arrangements fall apart, even your husband leaves for another trip, and there is not a soul to see you off on the morning of your journey.

Still you go. You turn off your computer, you step out the front door, and you-your mind, your heart, your soul-leave it all behind and go somewhere else. Before starting the Hajj ritual, your group first travels to Medina and visits Al-Masjid al-Nabawi, the Mosque of the Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. You forget everything from home in that place of tranquility. Your mind and heart are united in their focus on the journey. And it will begin in a few days. Along the way, you will stop at a miqat, a geographical boundary which before passing you must enter into a state of ihram by making your formal intention and donning your pilgrim garb. Your first visit is to the holy Ka’ba where you perform Umrah (Please see the table). Then, you travel on to the largest temporary city in the world, a place called Mina, a rocky, dusty outland where the Hajj rituals commence in earnest.

With much anticipation, you arrive at the camps of Mina, and as you realize your living situation for the next several days, you wonder how you will cope. The wall of one tent is the wall of the next, and so it continues, tent after tent, row after row, mile after mile. In one tent, forty-four sisters from various continents, lying head-to-head toe-to-toe, crowded restrooms, food prepared and packaged just like airline food, only not as good, but more plentiful, water from plastic canteens. But then you remind yourself that Mina is a camp, and you are camping, and for camping this is pretty good.

And so you settle in. You realize that the opportunities of the camp are greater than they might first appear. You and your tent mates soon find the few containers in camp with fresh, cool, Zamzam water and work to keep each other’s water bottles full of it. You get lost in the camp looking for a better shower, before admitting that this is it. You learn when the bathrooms are least crowded, and you discover an identical row of bathrooms in the back, a mirror image of the front.

You rest one day in Mina. You awake from your sleep at 2 am; the tent is alive with activity; all the lights are turned on. You think that everyone must be excited, for today is the day of Arafat, and Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, in a well-known hadith, stated that “Arafat is Hajj” (al-Tirmidhi, Tafsiru’l Qur’an, 2). Arafat is the day when all prayers are accepted, all sins are forgiven, and at the end you become as sinless as a newborn; here you become “Hajji.” Still you are not ready to get out of bed. You lie there resting and reflecting on this blessed day. For several days now, you have been reciting Labbayk, chanting “Here I am Allah at your service, here I am.” You have answered His Call; you have come to perform your duty and nothing else. He welcomes you as His guest and during your stay here, you will be treated in an extra special way, and just as a guest receives the best china, the best morsels of food, you will be offered a taste of the spiritual delights of the Hajj. And so you stay in your bed with your eye mask protecting you from the bright lights, and you let the spiritual atmosphere wash over and through you. Somehow the back of your mattress sandwiched between two others and wedged up against the back of the tent becomes a space for you to fall back into, a cave to another dimension where the sounds of the tent diminish and the sounds of the unseen world increase. And in this very early morning of the day of Arafat, you somehow sense that the whole universe, seen and unseen, is united in glorifying the oneness of God.

The day of Arafat causes you to reflect on the Day of Judgment when all humanity will stand before their Creator. The sea of white garments and bareheaded pilgrims standing in the hot sun where the rich is indistinguishable from the poor reminds you that we will all be judged by our deeds in this life according to divine principles. In this heat – which you sense will seem like a cool breeze compared to the heat of the Day of Judgment – you realize how badly you want to be included among those who will be shaded from the near sun of that day. As sunset nears, you wait and wait as your ear searches for the adhan, the call to prayer. But there is no adhan, there is only an increase in the refinement of the air. No adhan is recited in Arafat for your next duty as a hajji is to leave immediately at sunset and travel to Muzdalifah where you will combine your sunset and evening prayers in accordance with the sunnah or practices of the Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him.

Finally, you reach Muzdalifah, a valley of dust situated near mountains of barren rock. Here you will spend the night out in the open. With the dust swirling all around, your group leader pulls out a tarp, and the mother of the group smiles while looking up to the sky and says “Five-star hotel.” We find comfort in the reminder that the reward for a successful Hajj is paradise, and that it is only obligatory to do it once. Later, we will all share how we cannot wait to come back again, but for now this knowledge fortifies us. With giant, glaring flood lights masking our true canopy-the hidden night sky, we settle in for the night having shared our face masks, our dates, and our last wipes.

The next day, we return to Mina with renewed appreciation, now recognizing its rightful glory, we are thankful for the showers we once disdained, blissful in our beds, now we truly settle into Mina. But we have also come prepared for the battle of the next four days. With our seventy stones collected at Muzdalifah, we will endeavor to remove the crusts from our hearts by stoning the jamarat.

The sunnah is to spend Eid (holiday) at Mina plus three more days. Eid at Hajj is not like Eid at home. Eid at Hajj is hard work; our duties that day are to offer our sacrificial animal to the poor, stone the jamarat, come out of ihram by cutting our hair (women) or shaving our heads (men), and if possible, travel to Mecca to perform tawaf ifadah-seven times circumambulation of the Ka’ba followed by walking seven times between the hills of Marwa and Safa.

The first task is taken care of for us by the Hajj authorities. We paid for our animal previously, and turned the task over to the slaughterhouse. We are not even required to visit, but it is possible if you wish. None of us wished to do so. We rest in the morning weary from the previous night. We wait until after the late afternoon prayer (Asr) when it is cooler and the crowds have thinned (“thinned” being a relative term when there are five million or more people performing rites at pretty much the same time), and set out for the long walk to the jamarat. Before leaving for Hajj, we were told to prepare ourselves for an hour-long walk from our camp to the jamarat. “No big deal” you naively thought as you pictured your often-enjoyed cool walks surrounded by trees around the lake in your neighborhood, time spent in reflection and enjoying the solace of nature. But this walk turns out to be something else all together, crowded streets filled with people, a makeshift bazaar lining the edges of the camp roads, piles of trash, and once you hit the main road, you are competing for road space with buses, as you try to find a gasp of fresh air in the dusty, diesel-fumed air with the hot sun relentless in its brightness.

What is this ritual of stoning the jamarat? We are told in our hajj training that the jamarat does not represent idols, it is not the devil as many believe; we are not stoning the devil. We are told that for each stone, we are forgiven a major sin, and reminded that in Islam lying and gossiping are major sins. So, what is this ritual then? Perhaps the jamarat represents our own hard hearts and with each rock thrown, we are chipping away at its crust endeavoring to restore it to its newborn softness. Perhaps, the enemy is within ourselves – our carnal self, the nafs. With each rock thrown, you hope to gain a bit more mastery over your nafs and you recall the prayer of Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him; “O God, cleanse me of sin as a white garment is cleansed from filth. O God, wash away my sins with snow and water and hail.” Indeed, the many rocks hitting the jamarat make the same sound as a hailstorm. In this context, the long difficult walk to and from becomes part of the cleansing, part of the blessings of this ritual. You learn the importance of striving in reaching nearer to God, the All-Glorified.

It is your last day to stone the jamarat. You no longer have the energy to compete with the buses, so you decide to take your chances with the pedestrian route – which means you must pass through tunnels. Tens of thousands throng through the streets, from all over the world, and all on the same mission. We reach the tunnel; we fill the tunnel; we walk; and then suddenly we stop. You do not know the reason for this stopping, you cannot see past the masses of people in front of you. You pray for sakina (peaceful calmness) for all your fellow travelers. We wait, we start to move again, we stop, we move again. It happens three times; all of the thousands remain calm. With the Grace of God, we make it through the tunnel and continue on to our mission.

One day, you venture out of the camp into the streets of Mina sprawling with vendors who have come to sell their wares to the hajjis-jilbabs, scarves, dhikr beads, toys, fruit, and henna. Suddenly, a truck pulls up, opens its back and the driver starts distributing its contents. The shouts of free food go out and people seem to lose themselves a bit in the rush to get whatever is being given away. You realize that they are giving away yogurt, and after a few days on antibiotics, it is just what your body is craving, yet you do not want to push in for a gift. So you wait and you watch when suddenly, the driver reaches down and pulls out not one, but two containers of yogurt. He shouts your name, “Hajji,” extends his arm over the crowd and hands you your body’s desire.

An apple purchased from a street vendor is infused with the scent and flavor of roses. You realize that despite the multitudes of people, the heat, and the dust, the camp does not smell. In gratitude, you start to comprehend the sacredness of this place, this time, this space. Mina is a place you must see with your heart, and not let your eyes blind you to its true beauty.

We were warned to pack lightly for Mina and told that we would not be allowed to board the bus if our guide deemed our luggage too big. This was good and as it should be. Upon arriving at the tent, we all quickly realize there is no room for luggage, but having packed light, we are not quite prepared for the hardship of the camp and our changing personal needs as our cycles shift with the close proximity to so many sisters, and as we pass illness from sister-to-sister in the close sleeping quarters. The conditions force us to rely on each other. Here, as we share our last Advil, our last cough drop, our last wipe, as we share our shampoo, hangers, clothes, and soap, we are tested daily and sometimes hourly. Here in Mina, we find the true meaning of sisterhood where you can live the Prophet’s saying, “None of you have faith until you love for your neighbor what you love for yourself.”

We pass our days, sleeping, eating, and praying, spending our energy on the basic chores of living, punctuated each day with a late afternoon trip to stone the jamarat. One morning a sister approaches and asks to read the Qur’an together. A circle of us passes the book around each taking a passage, from a young girl to her mother, and sister-to-sister. We find our hearts soft, our eyes overflowing and the angels pressing in – here in Mina – a camp where first we were anxious about staying and now find ourselves not wanting to leave.

Margaret A. Johnson, PhD, is a sociologist, writer, and business owner residing in Germantown, MD.

Eid Eve

Enter state of ihram and move to Arafat

Pray noon and afternoon prayers together

Stay in Arafat until sunset and move to Muzdalifah

Pray evening and night prayers together

Collect pebbles for jamarat, stoning of the pillars

1st day of Eid

Move to Mina after morning prayer

Throw seven pebbles to Aqaba pillar

Animals are sacrificed

Shave and now you can leave the state of ihram

Make your tawaf and sa’ee

2nd and 3rd Days

Following the noon prayer, go to Mina to the jamarat and throw seven pebbles to all the three pillars. This can be repeated voluntarily on the fourth day too.

Brief Overview of the Main Steps of the Hajj Journey1

Hajj starts on the 8th Day of the lunar month of Dhu al-Hijjah.

Before Hajj: Perform Umrah:

1. Ihram-Cleanse oneself, don the hajj garments, and make intention.

2. Umrah-Perform Tawaf: circumambulate around the Ka’ba seven times, perform two Ra’kah prayers of prostration behind the Station of Prophet Abraham, and make Sa’ee: go back and forth between the hills of Safa and Marwah seven times (legs not laps).

Day 1 – Mina: Get back into state of Ihram and arrive in Mina around noon time.

Day 2 – Arafat (Eid eve): Leave Mina after sunrise prayer for Arafat and stay there until Sunset. After sunset in Arafat leave immediately for Muzdalifah, spend the night there.

Day 3 (first day of Eid): After sunrise prayer, proceed to Mina. Go to the stoning pillars (3 rock columns, small, medium, and large) after the noon prayer and throw seven pebbles at the large pillar, slaughter your sacrifice, come out of Ihram by cutting or shaving the hair.

Day 3 or after: Go to Mecca and perform Tawaf. After Tawaf, make Sa’ee.

Day 3-Day 6: Return to Mina and spend the 11th and 12th nights of Dhu al-Hijjah in Mina. On days 4, 5, and 6, you will return to the stoning pillars after the noontime prayer, and throw seven pebbles at each of the three pillars.

You may leave Mina on the fifth day after the stoning ritual.

After day 5 and before you leave Mecca: Perform a farewell Tawaf, and two Ra’kah prayer. This should be the last thing you do in Mecca.

1 These steps are for “Hajj-Tamattu” which is the type of Hajj which combines Umrah with Hajj. It is the most frequently performed Hajj today, and it was recommended by the Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. This is just a brief overview; it does not include all the details.