By: Ustadh Ubaydullah EvansResident Scholar, ALIM In contradistinction to Madinah, the renown of Makkah predates the Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ). In fact, the prominence of Makkah predates the name Makkah itself. In the chapter of the Qur’an entitled The Family of Imran, God says, “Indeed, the first house of worship established for humanity was at Bakkah–a blessed sanctuary and a guide for all people.” [3:96]. Bakkah, an ancient name for Makkah used in the Quran, denotes the preeminent status of Makkah since time immemorial. I presume that no other city has been written about as passionately or as frequently as Makkah al-Mukarramah (the Ennobled). So what am I doing here? Amir Sulaiman, a dear friend and poet par excellence, might have put it best when he said: “Me seeking to praise my beloved is to throw a handful of dust into the desert to increase its vastness. It is to spit into the sea to increase its volume. It is to light a candle to support the sun.” And yet, I feel compelled to say something of our experience even if there is no hope of originality. A Personal Reflection on the Holy City At the end of 2025, The American Learning Institute for Muslims (ALIM) led a group of American pilgrims to Makkah. My wife, Hadiyah, two younger children, Najashi and Makeda, and I were among the delegation. It was a great blessing. We were the honored guests of God and His hospitality was unfailingly gracious. In what follows, I would like to offer a series of personal thoughts about our time in the Holy City. Tawaf and Sa’iTawaf (circumambulation of the Ka’aba) and Sa’i (running between the hills of Safa and Marwa) are kinetic, ecstatic acts of worship. The movement, chanting, bodily closeness, and spontaneous expressions of joy and emotion which mark these pilgrimage rites are unique in our devotional lives. In fact, for some, Islamic religious practice represents the ne plus ultra of soberness, quietude, discipline, conscientious gender segregation, etc. Prior to making the pilgrimage, if someone would’ve asked me to close my eyes and envision a moment of sincere communion with God, I probably would’ve pictured a solitary man in a cave or cloister quietly reciting scripture or litanies. The last thing I would’ve imagined is a woman of 70+ with tears of joy streaming down her face holding her own while effectively jostling with young, athletic men for the honor of kissing the Blackstone. And yet, this is what I witnessed. What does that mean? Have we, in an effort to regulate the messy stuff of human emotion, expunged Islamic devotion of feeling? Must we wait until we are within the Sacred Precincts to chant, to move, to weep? The informed opinions of Islamic legal scholars concerning the permissibility of such practices as loud-voiced dhikr in congregation, dancing, hadara (a devotional act performed by certain religious orders which involves reciting the Names of God while rhythmically moving in sequence) etc. are well documented. There are differences of opinion on these matters. However, my question isn’t about the legitimacy of particular practices. Here, I’m musing about the emotional states induced by such practices. Should these be given greater priority in our devotional lives? Religious TourismIt’s been no secret that not everyone has appreciated the attitudes of the Saudi Mutawwa’ and other security forces. They were seen as the preservers of an order that valued a certain kind of austerity. However, there is much change underway in Saudi Arabian society. There appears to be an endorsement of new cultural energies which hew more closely to an ideal of facilitating “religious tourism.” On this trip, I felt that I was observing an intentional shift toward providing an experience which combines worship and family-friendly, immersive experiences built around religious themes. At the Cave of Hira Cultural District there is now a lighted path and gondolas to take pilgrims to the place the Prophet (upon him be peace) initially received revelation. Once a place that passersby would merely point to and the particularly devoted would make unofficial hikes to, it is now a shopping center replete with gift shops, cafes, ice cream parlors, toy stores and pizzerias. There are no longer carping religious authorities hanging around to tell those who wish to pray or visit the cave they are engaged in bid’ah (unsanctioned religious practice without precedent) and everyone is free to make their videos or take selfies. For me, I’ve always appreciated the immense challenge the Saudi Arabian government and its infrastructure endures as Custodians of the Haramayn. Organizing millions of people from throughout the world which hail from every background imaginable to come together for pilgrimage must be incredibly difficult. And for all of our griping about the things we don’t like about how they’ve done it, we must at least commend them for doing it. That being said, some of my reluctance to celebrate cultural changes that might commercialize or cheapen a devotional experience can be sensed through the tone of my writing–even if I too appreciate the more relaxed, less restrictive atmosphere. But I wouldn’t be so arrogant as to suggest that Saudi Arabians must deny themselves or their society developmental or cultural change to satisfy my desire for authenticity or nostalgia. Allah will protect His House. However, as someone who loves Makkah and is acutely aware of the potentially corrosive effects of a Western-styled, hyper-consumerist culture (because I’m fully immersed in it everyday), my prayer would be that the Custodians of the Haramayn exercise caution. I don’t presume that caution would be expressed in completely halting developments that coincide with plans to diversify their economy and open their society. Rather, the question which confronts development is always ‘Who’s development?’ Indeed, it is the most ironic thing that a people would be denied the empowerment necessary to organically develop their society through the creation of their own cultural and commercial institutions. The predictable result, unfortunately, is that cultural development is subsequently outsourced. Firms and individuals that don’t share our outlook or devotional focus are tasked with curating an experience of our sacred spaces. This warrants our attention if only because we are protective of Makkah and its hallowed precincts. ABOUT THE AUTHORUstadh Ubaydullah Evans is ALIM’s first Scholar-in-Residence. He converted to Islam while in high school. Upon conversion, Ustadh Ubaydullah began studying some of the foundational books of Islam under the private tutelage of local scholars while simultaneously pursuing a degree in journalism from Columbia. Since then, he has studied at Chicagoland’s Institute of Islamic Education (IIE), in Tarim, Yemen, and Al-Azhar University in Cairo, Egypt, where he is the first African-American to graduate from its Shari’a program. Ustadh Ubaydullah also instructs with the Ta’leef Collective and the Inner-City Muslim Action Network (IMAN) at times. As the ALIM Scholar-in-Residence, Ustadh Ubaydullah is a core instructor at the ALIM Summer Program. He teaches History of Islamic Law, Shama'il, and Aphorisims of Ibn Ata'illah along with other courses.
1 Comment
Mahmood Abdul Hai
2/12/2026 07:26:22 am
Thank you Ustadh Ubaydullah.
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