The wind had dried my lips and cracked the skin on my hands. I held onto my father’s cloak as we walked up the rocky path. My name is Sami, and I was just a servant boy then. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there on the morning when Prophet Ibrahim — known to Christians and Jews as Abraham — walked with his son Ismail toward what seemed, to me, an unbearable trial.
Ismail was not a little child by then. He had grown into a strong, respectful young man. I had watched him carry firewood, listen to his father without complaint, and wake for prayer before dawn. He was the kind of son every parent hopes for — patient, obedient, and full of faith.
That day, something in the air felt different. There was no sheep with us for sacrifice as there usually was.
We had left early from near Mecca — the sacred city where the Kaaba stands — and made our way toward the place of sacrifice. I didn’t ask questions. Servants often don’t, but I saw the look in Prophet Ibrahim’s eyes: calm, yet heavy with something unspoken.
Later, I overheard the Prophet speaking to Ismail in a quiet voice. “My son,” he said, “I have seen in a dream that I must sacrifice you. Tell me, what do you think?” I froze in place, shocked. Was this a test? A mistake?
But Ismail — may peace be upon him — didn’t hesitate. He replied softly, “O my father, do what you are commanded. You will find me, if Allah wills, of the patient.”
I had never heard anything like it. A son ready to give up his life for the sake of obeying Allah — the One God who created all things. My heart burned, not just with sorrow, but with awe. How could someone be so sure, so trusting?
When they reached the place, Ismail laid himself down. His hands were tied gently. Prophet Ibrahim lifted the knife, tears in his eyes. And then… nothing. The knife would not cut. It was as if creation itself stopped and bowed in mercy.
Then came the voice. Not from earth, but from above. Allah had called: “O Ibrahim, you have fulfilled the vision!” And a ram was sent down — a great one — to take Ismail’s place.
I remember the trembling in my own limbs. Not from fear, but from the nearness of Allah’s mercy. From the greatness of that moment. A trial that seemed too cruel had become a lesson of love and obedience.
I had thought obedience meant hardship. But that day, I saw what real obedience looked like — the kind that trusts even when you don’t understand. After that, I wasn’t just a servant walking behind a prophet. I was a believer walking in the light of Allah’s wisdom.
Story Note:
Inspired by Surah As-Saffat (37:100–113), the Qur’anic account of the sacrifice of Ismail (Ishmael), and supported by traditional Islamic sources such as the Tafsir of Ibn Kathir.
The wind had dried my lips and cracked the skin on my hands. I held onto my father’s cloak as we walked up the rocky path. My name is Sami, and I was just a servant boy then. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there on the morning when Prophet Ibrahim — known to Christians and Jews as Abraham — walked with his son Ismail toward what seemed, to me, an unbearable trial.
Ismail was not a little child by then. He had grown into a strong, respectful young man. I had watched him carry firewood, listen to his father without complaint, and wake for prayer before dawn. He was the kind of son every parent hopes for — patient, obedient, and full of faith.
That day, something in the air felt different. There was no sheep with us for sacrifice as there usually was.
We had left early from near Mecca — the sacred city where the Kaaba stands — and made our way toward the place of sacrifice. I didn’t ask questions. Servants often don’t, but I saw the look in Prophet Ibrahim’s eyes: calm, yet heavy with something unspoken.
Later, I overheard the Prophet speaking to Ismail in a quiet voice. “My son,” he said, “I have seen in a dream that I must sacrifice you. Tell me, what do you think?” I froze in place, shocked. Was this a test? A mistake?
But Ismail — may peace be upon him — didn’t hesitate. He replied softly, “O my father, do what you are commanded. You will find me, if Allah wills, of the patient.”
I had never heard anything like it. A son ready to give up his life for the sake of obeying Allah — the One God who created all things. My heart burned, not just with sorrow, but with awe. How could someone be so sure, so trusting?
When they reached the place, Ismail laid himself down. His hands were tied gently. Prophet Ibrahim lifted the knife, tears in his eyes. And then… nothing. The knife would not cut. It was as if creation itself stopped and bowed in mercy.
Then came the voice. Not from earth, but from above. Allah had called: “O Ibrahim, you have fulfilled the vision!” And a ram was sent down — a great one — to take Ismail’s place.
I remember the trembling in my own limbs. Not from fear, but from the nearness of Allah’s mercy. From the greatness of that moment. A trial that seemed too cruel had become a lesson of love and obedience.
I had thought obedience meant hardship. But that day, I saw what real obedience looked like — the kind that trusts even when you don’t understand. After that, I wasn’t just a servant walking behind a prophet. I was a believer walking in the light of Allah’s wisdom.
Story Note:
Inspired by Surah As-Saffat (37:100–113), the Qur’anic account of the sacrifice of Ismail (Ishmael), and supported by traditional Islamic sources such as the Tafsir of Ibn Kathir.
