The following is a guest post by my friend <\/i>Aamer Jamali<\/b>.<\/i><\/p>\n
Having recently returned from Hajj, I am bombarded by that well meaning Aamer H. Jamali, MD, FACC is a cardiologist in Los Angeles.<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The following is a guest post by my friend Aamer Jamali. Having recently returned from Hajj, I am bombarded by that well meaning question by all of my friends and loved ones… “How was it?” Unfortunately, all I can answer is an inadequate “fine”, or even “great”. Why? Words can’t really describe the experience, especially…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":165,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[40,24],"class_list":["post-207","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-pillars-of-faith","tag-hajj","tag-islam"],"yoast_head":"\n
\nquestion by all of my friends and loved ones… “How was it?”
\nUnfortunately, all I can answer is an inadequate “fine”, or even
\n“great”. Why? Words can’t really describe the experience, especially
\nhastily chosen words in a usually hurried conversation.
How was
\nHajj? Was it awesome? Was it a life changing experience? Was it
\nspiritually fulfilling? Was it physically rigorous? Yes. All that for
\nsure… But even that seems to leave something out. Not in the level
\nof superlative, but in the level of quality<\/em>.
To me, Hajj was best described as a journey through death and back. How would you describe that? You simply can’t.
The
\nfirst thing you learn, even before you leave, is that your Hajj is your
\nown, and no one else’s. Your experiences, your hardships, your
\nprayers, your choices are all unique to you alone. So it makes sense
\nthat this interpretation of Hajj is mine alone, and <\/em>may not be
\nthe experience of others. It may not even be ‘correct’ in the
\nsense that I have not gleaned it (to the best of my knowledge) from any
\nsabaq <\/em>or sanctioned text. Yet to me, it is as plain as day.
Hajj,
\nin many ways like death, is a pinnacle, a climax of a Muslim’s life.
\nSomething to be looked at with equal parts excitement, respect, and
\ntrepidation, mixed with a healthy dose of downright fear. And yet you
\nrealize that though you may fear it, your life is marching inevitably
\ntowards it as a farz<\/em> (required) act. For me, I felt a call,
\nso clear it was almost physical, that this was my year to go. And when
\nthat hit, there really was no choice but for me to make the trek this
\nyear.
The first true act of Hajj is putting on Ehram clothes.
\nFor men, two simple pieces of unsewn, unadorned cloth, wrapped around
\nyour body in much the same way as a traditional burial shroud. You
\nshed every accoutrement and accessory of this world. Everyone looks
\nthe same. The cardiologist from Los Angeles was sitting next to the
\nstreet sweeper from Bangladesh (really!), and nobody could tell one
\nfrom the other. This was a powerful moment, saying goodbye to the
\nworldly station you have worked so hard to achieve.
The trip to Arafat is the climax of the act of Hajj. You stand before the sun and pray. Much like Muslim beliefs of qiyamat <\/em>(the
\nday of judgement), you stand before Allah and you pray. You pray with
\nan intensity you have never before experienced. The most fitting
\ndescription I have read (but cannot take credit for) is that you stand
\nbefore your God naked. Stripped naked of every crutch or protection
\nyou have come to rely on. There are no worldly accessories. It
\ndoesn’t matter how much you make, or what you own. It doesn’t matter
\nwho your dad is, or your mom. You may stand next to your spouse, but
\nyou are utterly and completely alone. Standing there in your burial
\nshroud, praying before God, with only your Iman <\/em>(faith) and your Amal <\/em>(works)
\nto speak on your behalf, stripped of every conceivable comfort or
\nconnection of the world. This is an accurate description of Arafat
\nday, but it is also an accurate description of what Muslims are taught
\nwill happen to each of us when we are called to account after death.
Arafat
\nday is the most exhausting of Hajj. Though it is not the most rigorous
\nday, the trip down from the mountain of Arafat is a mixture of feeble
\njubilation with intense spiritual, psychological, and emotional
\nfatigue. Your trip through death is over. Your accounts have been
\nsettled. You have been cleansed of sin. But you have been left with
\nnothing in this world, you sleep under the stars, exposed to the
\nelements. It is time for rebirth.
On your return, you shave your head, just as we do for newly born babies. You begin your new life with a tawaaf <\/em>(a trip to the kaabah<\/em>),
\nhopefully beginning things on the right foot. What better way to start
\noff your new life than with an act of total obedience and submission to
\nGod’s will? You return home, and remove your (by now dusty and dirty) Ehram <\/em>clothes to begin your life anew.
When
\nI finished, my number one feeling was one of traversing the plains of
\ndeath, facing its trials and tribulations, and returning reborn.
How
\ndo you sum that up in a hallway when a colleague asks “How was your
\ntrip?” There’s only one realistic answer. “Fine, thanks”.<\/p>\n