Eid al-Adha: The Sacrifice That Was Never About the Animal
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By Abidali Mohamedali
"It is not their flesh or blood that reaches Allah;
rather, it is your piety that reaches Him."
لَن يَنَالَ ٱللَّهَ لُحُومُهَا وَلَا دِمَآؤُهَا وَلَـٰكِن يَنَالُهُ ٱلتَّقْوَىٰ مِنكُمْ ۚ
— Qur'an, Sūrat al-Ḥajj 22:37
(al-islam.org)
Eid al-Aḍḥā falls this year on approximately 27 May 2026 (10 Dhul Ḥijjah 1447 AH). Across the world, Muslims will offer prayers, exchange greetings, and sacrifice an animal in memory of Prophet Ibrāhīm (ʿa). But what exactly are we remembering — and why does it matter?
The story is deceptively simple. Allah commanded Ibrāhīm to sacrifice his son Ismāʿīl. Father and son both submitted. At the last moment, a ram appeared as a ransom, and Ismāʿīl was spared. Every year we re-enact the ending — the animal — and risk forgetting the point, which was never the animal at all.
Ali Shariati, in his landmark work Hajj: The Pilgrimage, paints the scene with searing honesty. Ibrāhīm received the command in a dream — not once, but on three consecutive nights. Each time, Shayṭān whispered doubts. "How do you know the word 'sacrifice' isn't figurative? How do you know it means now? How do you know it's even addressed to you?"
These weren't foolish questions. They were sophisticated rationalisations — the kind any intelligent person uses when the truth clashes with comfort. Shariati calls them "the evil explanation": using wisdom and religion as shield and sword to avoid what God is actually asking of you.
Each day, Ibrāhīm refused the whisper. Each refusal is commemorated in the stoning of the Jamarāt at Minā — three pillars, three days, three victories over the self.
And then came the moment itself. The Qur'an records the exchange between father and son with breathtaking brevity:
"O my son, I have seen in a dream that I should sacrifice you; consider then what you see."
He said: "O my father, do what you are commanded. If Allah wills, you will find me among the patient."
— Qur'an, 37:102 (al-islam.org)
Ismāʿīl didn't resist. He didn't bargain. He told his father to tie his hands so he wouldn't struggle, and to blindfold himself so he wouldn't have to watch his own son suffer. What kind of child says that? A child who understood that submission to Allah is not passive — it is the most courageous act a human being can perform.
Ibrāhīm placed the knife to his son's throat. It would not cut. And then, the voice came: "O Ibrāhīm, you have fulfilled the vision." A ram appeared. Ismāʿīl stood at his side, unharmed.
The Qur'an calls what replaced Ismāʿīl a dhibḥin ʿaẓīm — a "great sacrifice" (37:107). In Shia tradition, this phrase carries a profound second meaning. The great sacrifice is not the ram. It is the martyrdom of Imam al-Ḥusayn (ʿa) at Karbala.
Imam ʿAlī al-Riḍā (ʿa) narrates that when Ibrāhīm was told the slaughter had been averted, he felt regret — not relief. He wished he had been allowed to go through with it, so he could have earned the reward of a father's ultimate grief. Allah then asked him: "Who is more beloved to you — your son, or the son of Muḥammad?" Ibrāhīm replied that the Prophet's son was dearer. Allah then showed him a vision of a group from Muḥammad's nation who would slaughter his grandson unjustly, like a ram. Ibrāhīm wept. And Allah said: "The grief you would have suffered by slaughtering Ismāʿīl — We have ransomed it with the grief you now feel for Ḥusayn."
— Narrated by Faḍl from Imam al-Riḍā (ʿa), cited in Bihār al-Anwār; discussed at length in Sayyid Saeed Akhtar Rizvi, Understanding Karbala (al-islam.org)
This is why the Prophet (ṣ) used to say: "Ḥusayn is from me, and I am from Ḥusayn." The line from Ibrāhīm to Ismāʿīl to Muḥammad to Ḥusayn is not just genealogical — it is a single continuous act of sacrifice, running through history like a thread of light.
Shariati puts the question directly to every pilgrim — and to every Muslim standing at home on Eid morning:
"Like Ibrāhīm, you should select and bring your Ismāʿīl to Minā. Who is your Ismāʿīl? You should know; there is no need for others to know. Maybe your wife, job, talent, power, rank, position … whatever is so dear as Ismāʿīl was to Ibrāhīm. Whatever takes away your freedom and stops you from performing your duties."
And he adds a warning that cuts to the bone:
"To offer a sheep instead of Ismāʿīl is a sacrifice. But to sacrifice a sheep just for the sake of sacrifice is butchery."
— Ali Shariati, Hajj: The Pilgrimage (al-islam.org)
The Qur'an confirms this with total clarity: "It is not their flesh or blood that reaches Allah; rather, it is your piety that reaches Him" (22:37). The animal is a symbol. The real offering is something inside you — an attachment, a comfort, an ego — that stands between you and Allah. Eid al-Aḍḥā is the day you name it and let it go.
If this Eid you want to go beyond the ritual and sit with the meaning, here are titles from our shelves that will take you there:
Before you sit down to your Eid meal, take a quiet moment. Ask yourself: what is the one thing I cling to that keeps me from being fully present before Allah? Maybe it's an opinion, a grudge, a habit, a fear, a comfort. You don't have to announce it to anyone. Just name it. And then — like Ibrāhīm — take the knife to it, trusting that Allah will replace it with something greater.
Eid Mubārak from all of us at Shia Books Australia.
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