Welcome back to Road to Hajj.
This isn’t a comprehensive Hajj guide — just a simple, day-by-day overview of what the hujjaj do, with some reflections on its deeper meaning.
Today is the 10th of Dhul-Hijjah — Yawm an-Nahr — the Day of Sacrifice. This is the peak of the Hajj journey.
To understand this day, we look at the story of Prophet Ibrahim عليه السلام, starting from the 8th of Dhul-Hijjah, Yawm at-Tarwiyah — the day of pondering. That’s when he began to reflect deeply on a troubling dream: that he was slaughtering his son.
By the 9th, Yawm ‘Arafah, the meaning became clear to him. He shared the dream with his son, Prophet Ismail عليه السلام, asking what he thought.
And Ismail replied:
يَا أَبَتِ افْعَلْ مَا تُؤْمَرُ ۖ سَتَجِدُنِي إِنْ شَاءَ اللَّهُ مِنَ الصَّابِرِينَ
“O my dear father, do as you’re commanded. You’ll find me, inshaAllah, from among the patient.” [Surah as-Saffat, 37:102]
So now we arrive at the 10th — the day they went out to fulfil the dream. But Prophet Ismail asked: let’s do this further away from home, in Mina. He didn’t want his mother, Hajar, to hear any cries or pain.
So they walked together — about five kilometres — from Makkah to Mina.
And when the moment came… when Ibrahim was ready to place his son’s head on the rock, when both father and son surrendered completely to Allah — Allah called out:
قَدْ صَدَّقْتَ الرُّؤْيَا
“You have fulfilled the vision.” [Surah as-Saffat, 37:105]
Allah stopped the sacrifice. He didn’t require it. He never did.
Because Islam isn’t a religion that demands suffering to please God.
Prophet Ibrahim lived in a time when it was common across cultures and religions to sacrifice lives to appease the gods. Blood offerings were the norm. But this — this was something different.
Allah was teaching a lesson — not just to Ibrahim, but to all of humanity.
He doesn’t want your pain. He wants your heart.
Even though Ibrahim was willing to go through with it — and Ismail was ready to be sacrificed — Allah intervened. He replaced the son with a ram.
And Allah says in the Qur’an:
لَن يَنَالَ ٱللَّهَ لُحُومُهَا وَلَا دِمَاؤُهَا وَلَٰكِن يَنَالُهُ ٱلتَّقْوَىٰ مِنكُمْ
“It is neither their meat nor their blood that reaches Allah, but what reaches Him is your taqwa.” [Surah al-Hajj, 22:37]
That’s what Allah wants — your sincerity, your consciousness of Him. Not the meat. Not the blood. Not the spectacle.
So what does this teach us?
Islam isn’t about suffering. It’s not a religion that glorifies pain. It doesn’t ask you to harm yourself to prove your devotion. It’s not a masochistic faith.
Yes, life includes hardship. Yes, we’re tested — sometimes with ease, sometimes with pain. But it’s not the pain that earns us reward. It’s how we respond.
Are we grateful in times of ease? Are we patient in times of trial?
And more importantly — do we strive to improve our condition?
Islam doesn’t teach us to glorify suffering. It teaches us to alleviate it — in ourselves, and in others.
If you’re tested with wealth, you’re expected to use it to help those in need.
If you’re tested with poverty, you’re encouraged to work, strive, and lift yourself and your community.
And that’s why many acts of worship in Islam are built around economic responsibility.
Take zakat — you can only give it if you’ve saved and earned beyond a certain threshold.
Or Hajj — it’s only fard on those who are financially and physically able, and who can leave enough behind for their families.
Islam encourages productivity. It sees wealth as a tool for good — not something to be ashamed of.
As the Prophet ﷺ said to ‘Amr ibn al-‘Ās:
نِعْمَ الْمَالُ الصَّالِحُ لِلرَّجُلِ الصَّالِحِ
“How excellent is good wealth in the hands of a righteous man.” [Musnad Ahmad]
So today, as we remember the sacrifice of Prophet Ibrahim and Ismail, we reflect not just on obedience — but on the mercy of Allah.
Even when both father and son were ready for the ultimate sacrifice, Allah said: That’s enough. I wanted your heart, not your hurt.
Imagine that moment. For a father, it’s easier to suffer himself than to see his child in pain. For a child, especially one so young, nothing matters more than his own life — yet Ismail was willing to give it up for Allah.
That’s the essence of devotion.
But Allah said no. He honoured them, preserved their story, and replaced the act with one that the ummah continues today — the udḥiyah.
So when we celebrate Eid al-Adha, we’re not just barbecuing meat. We’re remembering a powerful lesson: that true devotion lies in taqwa, not torment.
That is Yawm an-Nahr — the Day of Sacrifice.
May Allah accept our qurban, our efforts, and our devotion.
Wassalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh.
