Memories of My Pilgrimage to Makkah in 2002

Hajj, the Muslim pilgrimage to Makkah, Saudi Arabia, is one of the five pillars of Islam. Muslims who are physically and financially able must make the pilgrimage at least once in their lifetime. The annual event that draws close to 3 million Muslims from around the world has been scaled back this year due to the global coronavirus pandemic. No more than 10,000 people already residing in Saudi Arabia will be permitted to perform the Hajj, which begins on July 29 this year and lasts for five intense, demanding days of rituals, prayers and devotional acts. I performed the Hajj in February in 2002. The previous September, fanatics claiming Islam as their faith forced jetliners to crash into the World trade Center in New York, claiming close to three thousand lives. As an American-Muslim, I was shaken to the core by this horrific act of terrorism. I felt a desperate need to travel to the birthplace of Islam, to reflect on what my faith meant to me and what lessons it had for me to navigate through a world that had changed overnight. As member of an already-maligned minority, I was unsure how my fellow-Americans would act toward me, how much their opinion of Islam would influence their perception of me. This is an account of my Hajj, published in the San Jose Mercury News on Saturday, February 8, 2003. --- About 2.5 million Muslims from around the world - 45 percent of them women - are expected to congregate in Makkah, Saudi Arabia, this month to perform the Hajj, the once-in-a-lifetime obligation for Muslims. Approximately 10,000 American Muslims will be among the pilgrims seeking to turn over a new leaf in their lives through the demanding rites of the Hajj. During Hajj, Muslims affirm the centrality of God in their life. Hajj rituals include wearing special clothing, standing in the Plain of Arafat seeking forgiveness and renewal from the Creator, and walking around the Ka'ba. I performed the Hajj in 2002. I had meant to perform it earlier, but one thing or the other always came up, suggesting that my intention was perhaps flawed. In the summer of 2001, however, I made up my mind that I would be Makkah-bound the following February, no matter what. Then came Sept. 11, 2001. Terrorists claiming Islam as guidance struck the United States, taking 3,000 innocent lives. The attacks brought rage, resolve and a vivid sense of mortality. Life, we learned anew, was fleeting. Be grateful for what you have - health, family, freedom. Fulfill your obligations before it's too late. The events of Sept. 11 injected an extra dose of urgency into my planned pilgrimage. I had to travel to the birthplace of Islam to understand what my faith meant to me and how I, as a moderate Muslim, could help reclaim it from my radical co-religionists. Nothing less than the soul of Islam was at stake. On Feb. 9, 2002, I was among about 70 American Muslims at the Jeddah airport on the coast of the Red Sea in Saudi Arabia. We had changed into ihram (Arabic for purification), two pieces of unstitched white cloth, one wrapped at the waist and the other draped over the left shoulder. The women wore simple white dresses with head coverings but no veils. The modest clothing, one of the requirements of Hajj, signifies our equality before God and the leaving behind of all worldly ties. The formal pilgrimage was still 10 days away but we arrived early for familiarity with the ancient rites and extra time for reflection and remembrance of God in the hope that we would be at the peak of our spirituality during the Hajj. (The Hajj takes place on the same five days of the Islamic lunar calendar, from the eighth through the 12th of Dhul-Hijjah, the last month of the year. Because the lunar year is shorter than the solar year, each year the Hajj occurs about 11 days earlier than the previous year in the solar calendar). A new day literally dawned by the time we cleared customs and boarded the buses to take us to Makkah, 50 miles away. Approaching the holy city, we began to recite the unique talbiyah (invocation) of pilgrimage: Here I am at Your command, O God, here I am. Here I am at Your command. You are without partner. Yours is all praise and grace and dominion. You are without partner. We were to chant this refrain throughout the pilgrimage. After checking into the hotel, I made ablution and, still in ihram, headed for Masjid al-Haraam (the Grand Mosque) nearby. Skirting a teeming sidewalk bazaar, I soon stood at one of its many entrances. A few more steps and suddenly there it was before me, the Ka'ba (cube), a 40-foot high cubical structure of stone covered with black brocade in the center of an open courtyard inside the mosque. For over 40 years and from thousands of miles away, I had oriented myself toward this symbol of monotheism and bowed in prayers to God. Now I was no more than a hundred feet away from it and was overcome with emotion. Surging forward on a human wave and buoyed by a sense of transcendence, I joined a circle moving counterclockwise around the Ka'ba. This was the tawaf (circumambulation), another requirement of Hajj. The reflection of the blazing sun off the marble floor was blinding, but no one faltered as we went round and round murmuring supplications; men and women, young and old, firm and infirm, fast and slow, a river of humanity charged by the palpable presence of the Divine. With every completed circle, as I affirmed the centrality of God in my life, I felt a longing so deep that I thought my heart would burst. It was not until I was in my seventh, and last, circumambulation (seven implies infinity) that I dimly understood the origin of my longing: Without the physical presence of the Ka'ba and the demands and distractions of normal life pulling me this way and that, could I still hope for God to dwell in my heart always? Could an inner Ka'ba from this moment on become the focal point of my life? Only a desperate yearning for God's grace could bridge the gap between my hope and an assurance of its fulfillment. The tawaf completed, I walked to a covered arcade at the eastern edge of the mosque and walked briskly between the hills of Safa and Marwah seven times, commemorating the frantic search for water by Prophet Ibrahim's wife Hajar for her newborn son Ismail. The 1,300-foot distance between the hills was dense with pilgrims. I was surprised by the large number of Hajis in their 70s and 80s in wheelchairs performing this ritual called sa'y (effort). Looking at their radiant, tear-stained faces, it was easy to understand the significance of sa'y: Never despair of God's mercy and never stop striving, even when life appears at its bleakest. Entering a marble chamber near the Ka'ba, I drank from the cool waters of Zamzam, the spring that God brought forth for Hajar and her son, and which continues to flow to this day. Then I sought out a secluded cloister and made the supplication that was pent-up in me: I prayed for the souls of the 3,000 people who had perished on Sept. 11, 2001, and for God to grant them paradise, and I prayed for the well-being of the families they had left behind. Then I prayed for my loved ones and for all those who had asked me to remember them during my pilgrimage. After four days, we left for Medina, about 300 miles north of Makkah. It is not a requirement of Hajj to visit Medina, but most pilgrims do because of its historical association with Islam: It was the city that welcomed the prophet Muhammad when he was being persecuted by the Makkans for preaching monotheism. After a week, we left Medina for the valley of Mina, a few miles east of Makkah. We arrived the following day - Feb. 20 and the first day of Hajj - and spend the night praying and meditating in our tents. The following morning we set out for the plain of Arafat, six miles east. It is slow going as the roads are choked with traffic and many pilgrims are on foot. The wuquf (standing) in Arafat from noon until sunset represents the high point of Hajj, its emotional and spiritual climax. Two-and-a-half million pilgrims have massed here for a foretaste of the Day of Judgment. From where I stand, I can see the Jabal Rahmah (Mount of Mercy) in the distance, from which the prophet Muhammad delivered his last sermon over 1,400 years ago. Standing in ihram under a fierce sun, I reflect on my life, thanking God for all the undeserved blessings, asking for forgiveness for my sins and praying for renewal, particularly renewal in Muslim thinking. Another mass movement begins after sunset, this time for a place called Muzdalifa, midway between Arafat and Mina. We offered our evening prayers there and collected pebbles from the roadside to use on the following days. Drained physically and emotionally, I fall asleep in the open over uneven terrain under a first-quarter moon. When we reached our tent in Mina the next morning, it was time to pelt Satan with pebbles, a repudiation of evil commemorating Prophet Ibrahim's rejection of the devil when God asked him to sacrifice his son. We walk to a nearby place called Jamarat (which means stoning) where the crush of massed pilgrims around the symbolic Satan - a stone pillar - is physically daunting. I barely manage to throw seven pebbles at it, one after another, before hastily retreating. This is also the day of Eid al-Adha (feast of sacrifice) when Muslims all over the world commemorate Ibrahim's faith by sacrificing a sheep. Like most pilgrims, I had earlier paid $100 to a local organization to sacrifice a sheep on my behalf and distribute its meat among the less fortunate. On the flight home, I try to reflect on the most spiritually absorbing two weeks of my life, but my mind is blank, and I can only think of my wife and children and returning to them. But slowly the thoughts drift away, and in my mind's eye I see the Ka'ba and the concentric circles that I trace around it and realize that while my pilgrimage has ended, my journey into renewal has only begun.

Perspective on Ramadan Crescent and the Pope's Speech

Religious passions have a direct bearing on our spirituality, so it is important that we evaluate these passions from time to time to steer ourselves in the right direction.

One particular issue that ignites Muslim passion is marking the beginning of Ramadan. It determines not only the day we begin fasting, but also the days we celebrate Eid-ul-Fitr, the feast of fasting, and Eid-ul-Adha, the feast of sacrifice.

Most Muslims have traditionally split between two schools of thought, one going with moon-sighting announcements from the Middle East, typically Saudi Arabia, and the other with local moon-sighting. In most cases, the former begins Ramadan a day earlier, and celebrates the two Eids also a day earlier, than the latter.

About a month ago, the Fiqh Council of North America (FCNA) announced that it would use astronomical calculations to determine the beginning of the Islamic lunar months “with the consideration of the sightability of the crescent anywhere on the globe.” The sightability criterion was for the new moon to be born before 12:00 noon GMT somewhere on the globe before the end of the night in North America.

The Islamic Society of North America (ISNA) endorsed FCNA and referred interested Muslims to its Website for a “50+ page analysis and a PowerPoint presentation” for details.

The response was swift. The Islamic Shariah Council of Northern California, along with other organizations, issued a statement refuting the decision of FCNA to pre-fix the beginning of the lunar months on the basis of the said criterion, and forcefully reiterated its decision to continue with local moon-sighting.

A close reading of FCNA and the Sharia Council declarations, however, reveals a startling fact: The two groups have used the same set of core Quranic verses and sayings of the prophet to justify their respective conclusions and refute the other!

So what’s new, a cynic might ask.

What is new is that for the first time, FCNA has defined a specific astronomical calculation to mark the beginnings of lunar months, particularly the month of Ramadan. This has had the unfortunate effect of revealing more sharply than ever the latent acrimony between the two schools of thought and polarizing Muslim communities further.

Why does this particular issue arouse such passion? More importantly, can we do something about it?

I believe the heightened passion is due to a myth that has gone unchallenged for too long, which is that to begin fasting on the same day and to celebrate the two Eids together reflect Muslim unity at it best. Conversely, not doing so implies that Muslims are fragmented and disunited.

It is time we exploded this myth once and for all. Muslim unity has nothing to do with the same-day commencement of Ramadan or its same-day ending. It is a false criterion, a red herring that leads to bitter finger-pointing such as “You have sold your soul to the Saudis,” “No, you have sacrificed independent thinking on the altar of your ignorance,” and so on.

Once the myth is gone, the invectives can disappear and the stress that accompanies the start of the sacred month can be a thing of the past.

But we can also look at the issue in a more positive way. Consider this saying of the Prophet: “The differences of opinion among the learned within my community are a sign of God’s grace.” In this light, we see the two schools of thought not as a cause for anger or sorrow but as a blessing. After all, both schools consist of Muslim scholars, imams, astronomers and professionals drawn from different fields. Why not celebrate their good intentions, even if their conclusions differ?

This points to two larger problems, however: first, the inability of many Muslims to articulate their position without indulging in overheated rhetoric and second, responding to religious provocations with violence. The reaction to Pope Benedict’s “evil and inhuman” speech is only the latest of such examples.

Muslims had a right to be offended by Pope Benedict XVI quoting a 14th century Byzantine emperor’s insult of Prophet Muhammad and “his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached.” Many Muslim leaders and organizations responded to the Pope’s speech at the University of Regensberg in Germany on September 12 with calm dignity and accepted his subsequent expression of regret, but there were also many shrill and incendiary denunciations that were disgraceful. And there could certainly be no excuse whatsoever for the firebombing of churches in the West Bank and Gaza and the killing of the Italian nun Leonella Sgorbati in Mogadishu.

Even though we cannot control the behavior of a minority of deviants and extremists among the world’s 1.2 billion Muslims, it must never keep us from unequivocally condemning their acts of terror and bring them to justice whenever possible. Many Muslims, in fact, were quick to condemn these acts and demanded the apprehension of the perpetrators. Surely the Quranic warning that “if anyone kills an innocent human being it is as if he has killed all mankind” applies to the killers of the 65-year-old nun in Somalia.

As we transcend our polarizing passions in the month of renewal that is upon us, and as we work on improving our ability to articulate our opinions, we should also recognize that in a world of contending truths, provocations through words, cartoons, pictures or movies should be met not with violence or displays of religious chauvinism but with dialogue and decency.

The Case of the Afghan Apostate

Islamic Pluralism 1, Religious Dogmatism 0.

This is how I greeted the news that Abdur Rahman has been spared execution and freed by an Afghan court. He is the Afghan who converted to Christianity from Islam 16 years ago. When his apostasy came to light last week after a family squabble, a prosecutor threatened to execute him as mandated by what he claimed to be Afghanistan’s Sharia law.

Many Muslim media carried compelling articles about the illegality and immorality of apostasy-killing as the hapless Rahman’s impending fate filtered out of Afghanistan. The most powerful indictment comes, of course, from the Quran: There can be no coercion in matters of faith (2:256).

By citing a weak and dubious hadith, one that goes against the message of love and compassion that Prophet Muhammad preached and practiced throughout his life, a handful of Afghanistan’s frozen-in-time, pre-Taliban clerics sought to impose the death penalty on Rahman.
But worldwide outrage and a fledgling democracy’s resolve under President Hamid Karzai to do the right thing forced the clerics to retreat.

While Rahman’s travails remind us that we still have ways to go before the interpretation of Islam is loosened from the grips of dogmatists, we can also take some satisfaction from the progress that has been made.

Consider what would have happened to Rahman if the Taliban were still in power. Remember the harrowing video - widely distributed after the 9/11 attacks - of the woman who was publicly executed in a soccer stadium in Kabul, “cowering beneath a pale blue all-enveloping burqa?” Can anyone doubt that Rahman would not have met the same fate, given the Taliban’s record in these matters, particularly the record of its "Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice”?

Implementing Sharia, as the Taliban defined it, became synonymous with beatings and killings. Is it any wonder that anytime patriarchal clerics talk of implementing Sharia, it sends shivers down the spines of Muslims in the affected areas, particularly of Muslim women?

Consider also the question of stoning to death (unmarried) people accused of adultery, again based on a weak hadith. Remember the case of the Nigerian woman Amina Lawal, charged with conceiving a child while single? A Nigerian Sharia court declared in 2002 that for her crime of adultery, she was to be stoned to death. (The court couldn’t be bothered about the man who was her “partner in crime.” He was nowhere to be found in the Katsina district in Northern Nigeria where the Sharia court held sway and was also absent from any theological discussion!)

The Quran mentions stoning five times - 11:91, 18:20, 19:46, 26:116 and 36:18 - but it is directed against prophets Shuaib, People of the Cave, Prophet Ibrahim, Prophet Noah, and Companions of the City, respectively. When these prophets and the righteous servants of God began preaching monotheism, people used to polytheism threatened them with stoning. That is as far as the Quran goes.

International outrage across religious boundaries forced the Nigerian court to spare Lawal’s life in 2003.

Hopefully, killing for apostasy and stoning to death (only women need apply) for adultery will soon be a thing of the past as absolutist clerics realize that their hold over Muslim minds and hearts is rapidly dissipating. In the Age of the Internet, ideas travel with the speed of light and millions of Muslims are taking advantage of it to deepen their understanding of Islam and mobilize support for progressive and humane causes. Many new avenues of thought are opening up. One example is the complex nature of the relationship between mosque and state, as opposed to the reflexive and traditional view that the two must be conflated in Islam. Even in conservative societies, Muslims are beginning to recognize that faith is a matter of personal responsibility and not a consequence of authoritarian decree. The days of any religious leader thundering “I am right, you are dead” will soon, let us pray, be over once and for all.

Feb. 7, '06

Crazy over Cartoons

A privately owned Danish newspaper with a circulation of 150,000 published 12 crude cartoons depicting Prophet Muhammad in an unflattering light, most notoriously as a turbaned terrorist. That was in September 2005. Hardly anyone beyond Denmark noticed them. Then suddenly European newspapers in Germany, France, Norway, Italy, the Netherlands, Spain, and Switzerland decided that the cartoons were a litmus test for freedom of press and began reprinting them. The right to blaspheme, one German newspaper declared, is a fundamental freedom of democracy. A French newspaper wrote that democratic and secular societies must not be awed or intimidated by any religious dogma and that even God must remain fair game for caricature.

True, but does gratuitous assault on religious sensibilities serve any purpose, other than inflaming religious passions and forcing a bogus showdown between what some pundits pompously call “Islam versus the West?” Where is the journalists’ responsibility? If the media want to start a debate between the conflicting demands of the secular and the sacred, between self-censorship and the right to speak or write one’s mind – and it is an important debate – certainly it can be done more intelligently than by mocking religious icons. As Eugene Robinson of the Washington Post wrote, caricatures of Prophet Muhammad might not be the best starting point for a constructive dialogue.

But if European newspapers displayed errors of judgment or engaged in deliberate provocations, the violent Muslim reaction in the West Bank and Gaza, Syria, Iran, Lebanon, Indonesia and other Muslim countries was worse. Peaceful street demonstrations, recalling ambassadors, cutting off trade ties and pulling products off grocery shelves are legitimate ways of showing displeasure but issuing bomb threats against diplomatic personnel, sacking offices and setting foreign embassies ablaze are utterly unjustifiable, unacceptable and most tellingly, un-Islamic. Peaceful disagreement is a tenet of any civilized society and in that sense Muslim mobs have blown it, however difficult it may be for us to acknowledge. We must wean ourselves from the romance of violence, or the radicals will continue to bury any progress made by the moderates.
To their credit, imams in Lebanon, Jordan, Indonesia and other countries as well Muslim leaders in Denmark and France have condemned the violence and warned Muslims not to allow the radicals and the misguided in their midst to distort the image of Islam.

The most important question Muslims can ask in this context is: What would the Prophet have done? Numerous instances from his life show that the Prophet would never have approved of the Muslim violence spawned by the cartoons. The Quran makes this clear when it asks the Prophet to “show forgiveness, speak for justice and avoid the ignorant.” (7:199) President Hamid Karzai of Afghanistan, where eight protestors have already died, echoed this Quranic teaching when he asked the Afghan people to forgive those responsible for the cartoons. "We must have as Muslims the courage to forgive and not make it an issue of dispute between religions or cultures," he said.