الذبح

The القرآن describes this pivotal event in Surah As-Saffat (37:100-111). After Ibrahim prayed for a righteous son and was blessed with Ismail, he saw in a dream that he was sacrificing his son. In Islamic theology, the dreams of prophets are a form of divine revelation. Ibrahim shared the dream with Ismail, saying: 'O my son, indeed I have seen in a dream that I must sacrifice you, so see what you think.' Ismail's response was extraordinary: 'O my father, do as you are commanded. You will find me, if Allah wills, among the patient' (37:102). This exchange reveals two remarkable qualities: Ibrahim's transparency with his son and Ismail's willing submission to divine will.

When both father and son had submitted to Allah's command, and Ibrahim had laid Ismail down and taken the knife, Allah called out: 'O Ibrahim, you have fulfilled the vision. Indeed, We thus reward the doers of good. Indeed, this was the clear trial' (37:104-106). Allah then provided a great sacrifice — a ram — as a substitute for Ismail. The test was never about the actual taking of a life; it was about the willingness to surrender what one loves most for Allah's sake. Ibrahim proved his absolute devotion, and Ismail proved his own willingness to submit. The القرآن concludes: 'And We left for him favorable mention among later generations: Peace upon Ibrahim' (37:108-109).

This event is directly commemorated in two of Islam's most important practices. During الحج, الحجاج perform the Hadi (animal sacrifice) on the 10th of ذو الحجة, echoing the ram that replaced Ismail. The stoning of the الجمرات commemorates Ibrahim and Ismail's rejection of Shaytan, who attempted to dissuade them from obeying Allah's command — tradition holds that Ibrahim threw stones at Shaytan at three locations, which are now the sites of the three الجمرات pillars. Globally, Eid al-Adha (the Festival of Sacrifice) is celebrated by Muslims worldwide on the same day, with families performing Qurbani (animal sacrifice) and distributing the meat to the poor, family, and neighbors.

The story of Ibrahim and Ismail poses a profound question to every الحاج: what are you willing to sacrifice for Allah? The question is not about physical sacrifice in the modern context but about spiritual surrender. What attachment — to wealth, to status, to a particular sin, to comfort — are you clinging to that Allah is asking you to release? الحج systematically asks this question through its rituals: الإحرام strips away your worldly identity, Arafah demands your vulnerability, and the sacrifice asks you to let go. The الحاج who engages honestly with this question, rather than treating the sacrifice as a mere transaction, experiences the transformative power that الحج is designed to deliver.