The Journey of Umrah
We departed in Sheikh Abdullah Al-Toum’s car towards Jeddah, bidding farewell to Makkah, the city that never truly leaves the hearts of believers, even if their bodies depart. This ancient city is not merely a place where bodies reside for a few days before moving on; it is a secret that intertwines with the heart. Even when the place is out of sight, its impact remains, and when the gaze is averted, the vision lingers in the conscience. Makkah is adorned with such beauty and splendor that it defies description; to the believer, it is something between heaven and earth, not a city to be seen, but a meaning to be lived, a light that floods the soul with a reverence that cannot be resisted.
The Umrah we performed was a clear manifestation of the gifts of the Lord of the Worlds; we witnessed countless acts of Allah’s kindness and boundless mercy. Indeed, all blessings upon us are from Allah alone, yet due to human limitations, we often pass by these blessings without noticing them, and the mercies descend upon us uncounted, as if veiled by heedlessness and habits. We seek forgiveness from the Most Merciful for any sins or shortcomings, and we ask Him to make what we witnessed a light that never extinguishes in our hearts.
Outside Makkah, we enjoyed karak tea, which tasted different in that place, as if its flavor mingled with the desert breeze and the farewell to the Haram, becoming more a drink of memory than of milk and tea. We spent an hour with some individuals dedicated to knowledge and preaching, men marked by tranquility, their faces bearing the signs of those guided by the Book of Allah. We prayed Dhuhr and Asr combined and shortened, then engaged in discussions about the Holy Qur’an, its translations into various languages, and this great message that emerged from the tongue of the Arabs to address all of humanity, without distinction of race or nation, inviting them all to a common word.
We arrived at Jeddah International Airport at 2:30 PM, and after completing the procedures, we boarded the Saudi flight to London at 3:45 PM. Sheikh Abdullah Al-Toum, one of our loyal friends, stayed with us until the very last point at the airport, assisting and comforting us, as if he wished to prolong the farewell companionship as much as possible. Loyal friends are rare in an age where nobility has become scarce, and connections between people are more transient than enduring.
On the plane, Zaid and I discussed knowledge and religion, the state of Muslims worldwide, and the turmoil that fills the earth with noise but not with guidance. The West has long chanted alluring slogans, dazzling in words, deceptive in meaning, leading many to believe them to be the unquestionable truth; yet they are mere words that, when tested by experience, prove hollow and devoid of spiritual nourishment. They claim justice in the West; in reality, it is a deviation from truth and righteousness, for civilization, when severed from the heavens, remains incomplete, troubled, tainted with inadequacy and anxiety, no matter its material achievements. Humanity’s delusion lies in its attachment to worldly pleasures and its false sense of permanence, as if eternity is written for it on this earth.
True religion is nothing but viewing life from the stance of death; for death is the greatest truth that cannot be disputed, the scale by which things change in value, ambitions diminish, the allure of adornments fades, and what life’s noise concealed is revealed. When a person contemplates death, they see it not just as an end, but as a beginning for true understanding, where values and weights shift, and what was once deemed great may be trivial, and what was overlooked may be the enduring truth.
The plane landed at Heathrow Airport in London at 8:30 PM, and the city was awash in cold lights, unlike the lights of Makkah, carrying none of its warmth. There, in that vast airport, I felt like a traveler whose body returned home, but whose soul had not; something of me remained clinging to the curtains of the Kaaba, circling the courtyard of the Haram, listening to those humble voices mingling tears with hope.
I returned home after midnight, greeted by my wife and daughter Aisha at the bus stop. I opened the door to the quiet, sleeping city and entered my home as a stranger enters a familiar yet unfamiliar place. I set my bags aside and sat alone for a moment, reflecting on the journey that had passed, realizing that the days spent between Makkah, Madinah, and Jeddah seemed like a brief, beautiful vision, fleeting through the heart yet leaving an indelible mark.
Thus, our journey ended, but its meanings did not; for some travels conclude when the road ends, while others begin when they end. This journey is of the latter kind: we returned to our homes, but it established within us another journey, a journey to the self and beyond, where one stands between their weakness and hope, between their need for Allah and Allah’s independence from them. How true it is what travels teach people: the path to places may end, but the path to truth never does.
