My Hajj Experience

Ten Hajj Life Lessons

By Dilshad D. Ali

I can't believe it was five years ago that I visited Mecca and the surrounding lands in Saudi Arabia and performed the rites of the Hajj pilgrimage. It was my first time performing the Hajj, and all my preparation and anticipation still had not primed me for what was, literally, the most wondrous experience of my life. I returned home irrevocably changed, yet at times frustratingly still the same person I had always been. And it’s that dueling nature that spurs me to remember that feelings I had while performing my Hajj pilgrimage and remember the lessons I learned as I move forward in my life.

The Hajj pilgrimage is one of the holiest rites in Islam, a series of complicated rituals performed during the last month of the Islamic calendar. During the Hajj pilgrims flock to Mecca and its surrounding lands to perform a pilgrimage that ends in the sacrifice of an animal to remember the story of Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham). Each Muslim’s Hajj experience and the path that brought them there is unique and special. And retaining the personal lessons of Hajj is a challenge for us. As I continue to face spiritual and worldly challenges in my life, I try to reflect on the following universal lessons of humanity imparted on me during my Hajj pilgrimage to keep me walking towards God.

Life is Full of Sacrifice

Hajj begins and ends with an emphasis on sacrifice. The pilgrimage recalls the story of the Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham), who was called to sacrifice his son Ishaq (Isaac) to show his obedience to God. And then God, at the last minute, rewarded Ibrahim by telling him to sacrifice a sheep instead. Thus, when a Muslim makes the niyaat (intention) to do their Hajj, it starts with sacrifice: Take the time off, prepare physically and mentally, and then go and perform the rites of the Hajj, which takes place in a small geographic area with more than two million other Muslims. Suffice to say, unless you shell out big bucks for a luxe Hajj package (which many Muslims argue goes against the very essence of Hajj being a sacrifice to the will of God and a dialing back of materialistic obligations), you will sacrifice your comforts for the journey.

During my three-week Hajj pilgrimage with my husband, I let go of personal space, I shared a tent in Mina with 20 ladies (other pilgrims put out mats on the busy streets to sleep on). We stood in lines for the bathrooms being used by hundreds of pilgrims constantly. We were jostled as we circumambulated the Ka’ba. I was definitely out of my comfort zone. A five hour packed bus ride from Madinah to Mecca took 16 hours because of traffic and red tape. But I did it happily for God. And in the years since, when I’m faced with physically or mentally uncomfortable situations, I pray to God to give me the strength to bend, to sacrifice—because inshallah (God-willing), I will be rewarded.

Live a Life of Moderation

Many Muslims embark on the Hajj with the hopes of coming back permanently affected by the spirituality that may be felt during the pilgrimage. Prior to my Hajj in 2005, I spent a lot of time preparing by wondering how I would be upon my return. Would I be much better about praying my five daily prayers on time instead of occasionally missing them? Would I wear the hijab? Would I give up listening to music? Would I forgo worldly pleasures (my time-wasting interest in pop culture, love of television and reading of novels) for a life lived purely Islamically with only thoughts of Allah? Ok, I knew the latter was a reach.

I had been taught that Allah wants Muslims to live with deen and dunia—meaning a life of religion and worldly (albeit halal or permissible) pursuits. So I thought to myself, let’s tackle the basics first. I returned from my pilgrimage with a promise to pray my five daily prayers without fail and try to be on time. I decided to wear the hijab. And I decided I wouldn’t deny myself of those things I enjoyed, but I wouldn’t let my pleasures come between my devotion to Allah. Live a life of moderation. It’s a lesson I hold fast in my heart and one that serves me well.

Tolerance is the Way of Life

For anyone who's thought that Islam is an intolerant religion, I would invite them to go for Hajj or at least witness the pilgrimage (which I admit would be difficult since only Muslims are allowed to perform the Hajj). I learned fast during my pilgrimage that the only way to absorb the experience was to have tolerance for the vast and varying ways the people around me were performing the Hajj. Prior to leaving, I studied up on how to perform the rites and received lots of advice about what we should do and how we should be. But at the Hajj, where more than two million Muslims were performing the same rites, I saw that people had different interpretations on what was allowed and what wasn't and how they treated each other. I could only pray that Allah would accept mine and everyone's Hajj since we were all trying to do it correctly with the interpretations we had been taught.

It was a brutal and necessary lesson in tolerance. And as I live my life now and come into contact with Muslims who practice their faith a bit differently than me, let alone people of other faiths, I remind myself that there are many paths to God. I do believe Islam is the best way, but everyone must choose their own path.

Hope Springs Eternal

When my husband and I decided to go for Hajj, we had to make it absolute in our hearts that this pilgrimage was to fulfill an obligation to God—not as something that would fix our problems. Let me backtrack. A year and a half prior to our Hajj, we learned our beloved eldest son was autistic. And the path his disability put us on was excruciatingly difficult for everyone involved. We went through an awful time, and as I threw myself into researching therapies and treatment options for him, my faith despaired. So when it became clear to me the following year that the time was right for me to do my Hajj, I had accept the fact that I was not going to the Ka'ba for my son. I was going for God. But during my pilgrimage, as my connection to Allah grew strong again, as I wrestled my demons and asked for His forgiveness and beseeched him for His blessings, hope for the future of my family grew.

In the ensuing years, that hopefulness has waxed and waned as we continue to face difficulties with our son (and other problems). When I am in the thick of a down cycle, my hope fails me. But I try and remember the up cycles, the progress, the good times, and the feeling of hope that was born in me on the plains of Arafat.

Obedience to God

Anytime one chooses to turn to faith, they must then become obedient to the tenets of that faith. As a Muslim, I must pray, fast, believe in the oneness of Allah and accept the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) as his messenger, give zakat, and go for the Hajj pilgrimage, The Hajj itself is an exercise in obedience, in following precisely the rites of the pilgrimage to the best of our abilities as prescribed by Allah (and interpreted by the religious leaders who lead our Hajj groups). While I was in Mecca and its surrounding areas amidst so many people and so much organized chaos, I learned quickly that being obedient to the intricacies of the rites and how our leader advised we should do them was the only way to get through it. I often questioned the whys and hows of things, but I was obedient and trusted in God's will

I certainly have my own thoughts and opinions on how to live my life and guide the lives of my family. But I choose to be obedient to a parameter of God-given rules and guidelines within which I make my choices. I figure, if I want my children to be obedient (to a certain extent) and follow my rules, I must show them that I am obedient as well to a higher authority.

Thankfulness, Even When Times are Bad

To be thankful to what Allah has given us, especially when times are tough, is a true test of a Muslim's character. I certainly am thankful when things are great. But when things are not, it is exceedingly difficult to find the blessings of Allah in my life and thank Him for it. During my Hajj, with my autistic son and toddler daughter left back at home in the care of my in-laws, I realized that my children were a gift to me. That for some reason my husband and I had been chosen to care for them. That old adage that many had told me, that God gives special children to special parents, began to make sense rather than being a cliché I had previously hated hearing. I saw a family during the Hajj, the husband pushing his father in wheelchair, who held his autistic grandson in his arms as they circled the Ka'ba. And I gave thanks for my son.

Even now, when we are in the throes of difficult times with our son, I look at him and think, “That is a Jannati (heaven-bound) boy. That is a boy who is above worldly temptations. He is God's child lent to me.” And I give thanks for the progress he has made and for the blessing of having him and my other two wonderful children.

Striving to be Better

I knew going into my Hajj pilgrimage that I was a flawed human being. I worried incessantly whether or not my Hajj would be accepted by Allah. Would I be forgiven for the mistakes of my past? Would I come back from Hajj with a clean slate (because we are taught that if one's Hajj is accepted by God, all his prior sins are forgiven and he begins anew like a new-born baby)? But being there in Mecca, Arafat and the surrounding lands convinced me of God's love and unending forgiveness for my errors—provided that I committed to bettering myself and trying hard not to make those mistakes again. Because what was the point of forgiveness, of having my slate wiped clean if I would come home to make the same mistakes again?

I remind myself of this pledge as much as I can, when the time grows late and I am on the verge of missing one of my five daily prayers. Or when I grow impatient with people around me. I need to be better. I need to try harder. Sure, I back pedal often, and then again I vow to do better. We are humans, after all. And we do best when we strive.

Trust in His Will

Trusting in the will of Allah is no easy task. It's one of the hardest things for me to do—to believe in Allah's will, to put implicit trust in His plan for me and my family. I sure try hard to plan things, and more often than not, things don't go according to my plans at all. When I was planning for Hajj, the journey was fraught with doubts. My husband wasn't sure if it was the right time for us. Challenges with our children made me wonder if I could really leave them. When we finally tried to purchase a Hajj travel package with a reputable group, for a week we were told all the spots had been taken. A few days before we left, I was uncertain who I would find to drive my son to his extra therapies after school. But it all came together: My husband made his intention, my in-laws and parents assured us that our kids would be well cared for, a few spots opened up in the travel group, and two days before we left, a college student in the neighborhood agreed to drive my son to therapy.

It all came together despite my doubts. And I knew then that I had to have trust in Allah's will. Since then, sometimes things have worked out the way I've wanted, and other times they have not. I many not understand or like the way things happen, but I trust that Allah knows what is best for me and my family.

Acceptance of Allah's Plan

Hajj had taught me to be thankful for what I had and to put my trust in Allah. But peacefully accepting His plan for me was a difficult lesson for me to learn. The key was peaceful acceptance. I had accepted what my life was before I went for my Hajj. But I wasn't at peace with it. But during the most important day of Hajj, when I was standing on the plains of Arafat, uttering my prayers, staring at the sky, I had one of those "aha!" moments. I remarked to my husband that finally I was ok with everything: the autism, the uncertainty of our son's future, the way our life would have to revolve around it, the challenges we would have raising all our children. I trusted Allah, and I peacefully accepted how He has shaped our lives.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not always happy with the way things are. I get very upset with Allah, especially when things get rough at home. But I willingly accept what is. There's a line from the Qur'an that reads, "Verily with difficulty comes relief." I get infinite comfort from that line and from finally being able to accept that life is what Allah wants it to be.

Finding Joy and Happiness

Joy and happiness can be an elusive thing. You wouldn't think it, but often we have to really work hard, be in active pursuit of joy. Before we had left for our Hajj, a number of friends and family members, knowing how stressed my husband and I were about the upheaval in our home, told us that we had to work to be happy. We had to make time for joy. Yes, we understand, we'd say. But it was too easy to ride the rollercoaster of ups and downs. During the days of the Hajj, I saw people wrestling with a gamut of emotions. What struck me the most were those who just overjoyed with the whole experience, with being there in Mecca, in Madinah, in Muzdalifa, in Mina, and in Arafat. The sounds of Subhanallah! and Alhamdulillah! and Mashallah! rang out from their mouths. Witnessing that joy had a profound impact on me.

That lessons holds strong today. In the faces of my kids, in the love of my family, in the friendships I am blessed with, I find joy and happiness. The hard times are still there. I have not just bad days, but bad weeks. But alhumdullilah I always return to joy. I remind myself to always seek happiness. Thank God for that.