Zuhaib H. Badami: Eid/Hajj Reflections - Stoning the “Devil” at Mina
View of al-Jamaraat at sunrise on our final day.
Hajj is, undoubtedly, one of the most surreal experiences most Muslims will have in their lifetime. The sense of connection with a global Ummah, combined with a simultaneous sense of aloneness before Allah is a juxtaposition that likely cannot be experienced anywhere else. For me, a post-graduation Hajj was the perfect way to begin the rest of my life as a “real adult.” From each of the rituals performed, perhaps most meaningful to me was Ramy al-Jamaraat, or the Stoning at the Three Pillars.
For those who don’t know, ramy al-jamaraat is the fourth stage of Hajj, with the first three being umrah at-tamatu’, staying at Arafah from Dhuhr prayer time until Maghrib prayer time, and spending the night under the open sky at Muzdalifah. These are followed by ramy al-jamaraat, which refers to throwing stones at three pillars in Mina, done across a period of days during which various other Hajj rituals are also performed. Each of these pillars represents a time the devil tried to dissuade Prophet Ibrahim (peace be upon him) from trying to sacrifice his son Prophet Isma’il (pbuh). As we throw stones at each of these pillars, we reflect on overcoming the devils we face in our own lives.
This symbolism begins with the very first steps toward this stage of Hajj. A few days before our stay at Mina, the Hajj group I went with stopped for us to collect stones for throwing at al-Jamaraat. In the heat of the mountains of Makkah, often reaching upwards of 40 °C (104 °F), this is no small task - the simple endeavour of collecting stones is complicated by the desert conditions and the need for a specific type of rock. Yet more important than this is the meaning one can find behind the task itself. For myself and many others, each stone represented a sin we were guilty of committing. The stones themselves were all shapes and sizes; small ones a reminder of the daily things we overlook and the larger ones a symbol of the greater regrets we have before Allah SWT. Our bags were heavy once all 49 stones were collected - 7 for the first day, 21 for the second, and 21 for the third.
Heavier than the bags were our hearts. The weight of the stones may have pained our bodies, but the thought of all the sins we have under our names - far more than a mere 49 - was harrowing. If 49 small stones are a struggle for us on earth, one can only wonder how we will feel on the Day of Judgement when our backs are broken by the weight of our endless transgressions.
Yet there are lessons to be learnt from this beyond “do not sin.” For one, each person carried these stones differently. Some walked with pride at having the biggest ones, or the greatest in number; others walked humbly, ashamed of the burden. We carried extra bags for these stones. We changed our behaviour. Within all this is a reminder of how we treat ourselves when we sin - do we walk with pride, enjoying the praise of those who might have us do things we know are wrong? Or do we walk humbly, ever conscious of the way our sins have an effect on the state of our heart, of our mental and physical health, and on our interactions with other people? For me, this was a stark reminder that the effects of a deed remain long after the deed has passed, either in the way the deed affects others or in the habits and thought patterns it forms within ourselves.
Walking to the Jamarat truly felt like walking to hell, and being saved by Allah’s mercy at the last minute. We rose at Muzdalifah shortly after Fajr prayer, at the break of dawn, standing side by side in our ihram waiting for the sun to come up so we could progress onwards to Mina. This moment alone was one that caused shivers due to the way it reminded me of the Day of Judgement. The ihram itself, being two plain, unsewn white cloths for men, is similar to the funeral shroud we will eventually be buried in. For all of us to gather between mountains at dawn, in the clothes of death, seemed to be a fearfully humbling simulation of being brought to account before Allah on yawm al-qiyama.
As the day progressed, so did the temperature, and so did the crowd. As one Ummah, we walked the roughly 6.5 kilometres (4 miles) from Muzdalifah to Mina. To see scores of people, of all ages and ethnicities, walking in white shrouds to meet Allah SWT was extraordinary, but the sweltering heat made it a different experience altogether. I could not help but compare the heat of this walk to the pillars of Shaitan to the heat of the fire of Jahannam.
Yet the doors of Allah’s mercy and forgiveness are always open to the sincere. At the end of this walk lies Jamarat al-Aqaba til-Kubra (the largest obstacle/pillar). The scene around it was chaos. Hordes of people, wearing their kaffan, were pushing and shoving for a chance to throw stones at the pillar. For me, this evoked two images. Pilgrims shoving and pushing for Allah’s rahma upheld the ongoing theme of the akhirah, reminding me of the desperation we are to experience on a day when “every mother will forget her nursling” (Quran 22:2). As people almost climbed over each other to throw stones, I wondered if this would be the scene on yawm al-qiyamah, with people ignoring their own kin for a chance at Allah’s mercy.
The true interpretation, however, was not lost on me. In addition to pilgrims shoving, the floor was covered with rocks of failed throws, lost shoes, and the skeletons of umbrellas used to hide from the heat. Put simply, it was dangerous. One false step and you would be sure to break a bone at the very least. Yet this was a stark reminder of perhaps a more accurate context of this action: throwing stones at the devil, saying no to him, standing for what is right - these actions can be risky, painful, and difficult. Much like the stand of Imam Hussein (pbuh) at Karbala, doing the right thing can mean the loss of our health, our wealth, and our family. For most of us in the Western world, this manifests on a daily basis in a fear of how others around us may perceive us as Muslims. One can only imagine the fortitude and faith Prophet Ibrahim (pbuh) had in Allah, because at the end of the day, Shaitan was offering him a life with his son in it. For a parent, there are likely few things more important than having their children in their lives. Yet he managed to resist the devil thrice and put his own son under the knife for the sake of God. How difficult do our own challenges seem compared to this? What small things do our devils offer us in exchange for our misdeeds?
Pilgrims collecting stones to use at al-Jamaraat.
After all is said and done, we undertake the struggle to stone the jamaraat and resist our daily devils because of what comes after - because of our love for Allah SWT, and because of the forgiveness we seek. And it is indeed an incredible feeling to imagine those sins being washed away, and to feel that you may start afresh before Allah SWT.
After stoning the jamaraat, first-time male pilgrims do halq, a complete shaving of the hair on one’s head (all others do taqseer, cutting a small piece of hair). Imam al-Sajjad (pbuh) once said “When shaving your head, have you made the intention to clean yourself of the filth of sins, and leave all sins like the day you were born to your mother?” Imam al-Sadiq (pbuh), similarly said “By shaving your hair, shave all of your apparent and hidden faults.”
The feeling of shaving your head with this intention, having sought forgiveness at Arafah and having stoned the devils at Mina, is in itself liberating on many levels. For the vast majority of us (myself included) who have not yet reached a spiritual level where we dissociate our sense of self from our physical appearance, our hair ends up forming a part of our identities, whether we realise it or not. It’s part of how we look, which in turn is usually part of who we see ourselves as. Losing it, therefore, feels like losing a part of your identity - part of an appearance one may be proud of. It’s the same reason many people change their appearance after a bad break-up or a major life event; it feels like starting afresh.
It’s also somewhat shocking. While getting a haircut or shaving has always felt a little freeing, seeing a significant part of my appearance fall onto my lap certainly felt like losing a part of myself, the parts I most sought to change for the sake of Allah. Feeling the cool breeze on my skin almost felt like the coolness of forgiveness.
Halq changed my behaviour, too. After showering, when I reached up to dry my hair as I’ve been doing for my whole life, it wasn’t there. When I tried to run my hands through my hair, it wasn’t there. And when I did wudhu, masa’ was much easier because I could directly touch my scalp. These might sound like trivial changes that are experienced by any random person who might shave their heads, but there is a greater point here. As we shed our past sins and shave our hair, we must also change our habits moving forward to make sure we don’t repeat those sins in the future: “Allah has forgiven what is past, but whosoever returns to it, Allah will take retribution from him. And Allah is Almighty, All-able of retribution” (Quran 5:95).
The Prophet (pbuh) is said to have stated, “God boasts to the angels about the people of Arafah, (saying): ‘Look at My servants, they have come to Me in the morning in a desolate state, with dusty hair, having crossed every deep valley. I call you to witness that I have forgiven them.’” This feeling of forgiveness, of pure mercy, at Arafah and indeed across Hajj is an incredible one. When your sins weigh heavy, and your heart constantly aches with past wrongdoings, there is no feeling more peaceful than to have this burden lifted and feel your innumerable sins fall away like the tears on your cheeks or the hair falling from your head.
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This “penitent sinner” approach may seem despondent to some. It is certainly only one out of the many facets of Hajj, and is undoubtedly shaped by my own life experiences and perspectives. Hajj, in itself, includes moments of incredible spiritual connection, community, and hope. The point of these reflections, however, still stands: eradicating our past sins requires effort, and preventing their repetition requires difficult habit changes, but nearness of Allah SWT makes these struggles worth it. At the end of the day, the doors of Allah’s forgiveness are always open, and in this regard, these reflections are not so much penitent as they are hopeful for Allah’s infinite mercy.
For more information on the symbolism of Hajj rituals, see this article by the Yaqeen Institute.
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Zuhaib H. Badami is a Pakistani-Australian alum from the Class of 2019. At Penn, he studied in the Huntsman Program with the Middle East as his target region and Healthcare Management as his Wharton concentration. Zuhaib also served as the MSA President for the 2017 calendar year. He currently works as an Associate for Strategy& (formerly Booz & Company) in Dubai, UAE, and serves on the Steering Committee for Muslim Life at Penn.
Outside work and school, Zuhaib has interests in Arabic calligraphy and Islamic geometric design and architecture. On weekends, you will usually find him searching for his next adrenaline fix or cooking up a feast for his friends.