The tears of the shaykh

“Then when you pour down from Arafat, celebrate the praises of Allah at the Sacred Monument, and celebrate His praises as He has directed you, even though, before this, you were astray.” Al-Baqarah 2:198.

As I walked through the courtyard and towards Masjid al-Haram in the serenity and stillness of the last third of the night, a time when according to Rasulallah (peace be upon him) our Lord descends to the lowest heaven and inquires ‘Who will call on Me so that I may respond to him?’, those verses from Surah Baqarah flooded my mind as they had almost two years ago in this very same blessed place.

This was my first visit back to the Haram since 3/11. Six months before 9/11, March 11th, 2001 still resonates more strongly and deeply in my mind than any other day that has followed, for it marked my return back from home after the physical and spiritual journey of Hajj. At the time of Hajj, those verses in al-Baqarah were often recited, not only in a mood of reflection but in a mood of excitement, in anticipation of a unique and glorious opportunity, the opportunity for spiritual purification, guidance and seeking Allah’s forgiveness on the day of Arafah.

Since that day, and in the twenty months that have followed, those same verses have haunted me, and are recited and heard in a mood of fear. One week earlier, back at home, standing in Taraweeh behind a shaykh who had performed Hajj that same year, the shaykh struggled to recite this very verse due to his weeping, and this weeping was greater than any I had ever heard from him.

All of us should weep upon hearing this verse, but perhaps the Hajji, the one who has completed his or her pilgrimage, can really truly understand, and understand with feeling, why the shaykh may have wept.

Those who leave Makkah after Hajj often leave in sadness, sadness from having to leave the most blessed of places in the universe, where their hearts and souls are enveloped in the security and warmth of the remembrance and glorification of Allah. And when they return to their homes and their regular lives, they live in fear, in fear that their Hajj, the pinnacle of their religious and devotional life, was not accepted. Time does not pass without thinking of it and praying to Allah that He accept our Hajj. So whether the physical performance of Hajj was two, ten or thirty years ago, the pilgrim feels a desire to ask Allah for it to be accepted. For if it is, then it suffices to be your only achievement in this world of any merit, and it will be greater than gaining the entire world on the Day of Judgement. Conversely, if it was not accepted, it is as if you had greater than the entire world sitting in the palm of your hand for a split second before dropping and losing it forever.

I continued to walk towards Masjid-al-Haram, no longer looking at the night sky, or the minarets of the Masjid, or the Muslims around me. I simply watched my feet as they shuffled towards the Haram, as that verse in al-Baqarah, particularly its end, continued to echo in my mind.

“and celebrate His praises as He has directed you, even though, before this, you were astray.”

Several days prior, back at home, I had discussed my upcoming journey to the Haram with a colleague. At this time, when he learned that I had already performed the Hajj and after I had told him to expedite his own pilgrimage as soon as possible, he stated his preference to wait until he was much older, as is customarily done in many parts of the world. I explained to him that this is a cultural phenomenon, to which he agreed, but he added that once one performs Hajj, one shouldn’t be sinning or disobeying Allah anymore when they return. That was too much responsibility and pressure for him in his opinion at his young age. The verse haunted me again.

“before this, you were astray”

Some of the commentators on this verse have stated that this being astray is the condition prior to the guidance of the Qur’an and Messenger. One may be astray before the guidance, before the Hajj. Can one be astray after the Hajj? There is no way of knowing if your Hajj is accepted until the Day of Judgement, but some of the shuyookh have mentioned signs of an accepted Hajj, and alternatively, a rejected Hajj. And indeed, amongst them is that, if your Hajj was accepted, one’s behavior and religious devotion is improved and consistently better upon returning. Not just immediately after the Hajj, but years afterward for the remainder of a lifetime.

Perhaps it is this idea that caused the shaykh to weep, and for other Hajjis to be haunted and fearful as I have been since 3/11. For when the Hajjis examine their faith and their character, what do they find? Are all those deficiencies we find within ourselves signs of our being astray, are they signs that our Hajj was not accepted? Has what is greater than the entire universe slipped out of our hands like water seeping through a clenched fist?

Hajj is a discovery. A discovery by definition uncovers that which was covered. Hajj opens up the heart and leads one to a state of the heart which is in turn externalized into behavior that one was incapable of before. And those who have stood on the plain of Arafah on the 9th of Dhul Hijjah have sought to maintain and nourish those states ever since that day.

Ramadan is a means of such nourishment, a consistent opportunity given to the Muslims throughout their lifetime to purify the heart. If Hajj is a discovery, then Ramadan may be a rediscovery for the Hajji. An Umrah in Ramadan, according to Rasulallah (peace be upon him), if it is accepted, has the same reward as a Hajj. And an Umrah at any time can erase the mistakes since the previous one.

That is why I found myself, like many others, walking towards Masjid al-Haram, the most blessed of places in the universe, during the most blessed of times in the universe, the nights of Ramadan. If our Hajj truly was a discovery then our visitation to the Haram now, years later, was in hope for a rediscovery of the Hajj, and a reopening of the heart.