There, in a barren valley with neither rivers nor trees, Abraham (peace be upon him) made a prayer that was preserved in the heavens before the earth even heard it:
“So make hearts among the people incline toward them.”
Indeed, it was not only feet that moved—hearts were drawn to that desolate place, rich with spirituality and divine presence.
Where trees do not bear fruit, souls blossom.
Where there is no water for the earth, the mercy of the Almighty comes to quench the thirst of hearts.

Here comes the Day of Arafah: a scene where man appears stripped of titles, ranks, and labels—wrapped in two white garments, as if emerging from his ego into his essence.
Millions gather to respond to an eternal call that has dwelled within the soul since time immemorial: “Labbayk!”
From the depths of fitrah, the call of oneness erupts like a cleansing torrent, washing away impurities.

Voices unify, hearts harmonize, and tears converge.
The race toward freedom begins—not political liberation, but liberation from the burdens of self and the illusion of control.

They walk atop the rocks of Arafat not to claim ownership, but to surrender.
Not to raise banners, but to cast away the weights of the world in the Valley of Mercy.

There, emotions blend, illusions shatter.
Man’s delusion that he is the center of existence breaks apart.
He returns to the moment of origin: he is a servant, and God is the Lord.
All are moving toward the sanctuary of the Most Loving—with tears and with prostration.

This scene, in its philosophical dimension, rewrites the human experience: from a scattered individual consciousness to a unified, collective awareness—uplifted by the chants of:
“Labbayka Allahumma Labbayk. Labbayka la sharika laka Labbayk. Inna al-hamda laka wa al-mulk, la sharika lak.”

At Arafah, nearness is not measured by distance but by the tear.
Favor is not counted by the number of prostrations but by sincerity and humble devotion.

This is Hajj:
A journey away from the world, and a return to it with a purified soul, a humbled spirit, and a heart cleansed of arrogance.

From here, the Muslim is reborn—to begin his life anew.