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Morocco World
18 hours ago
- Business
- Morocco World
Eid Al Adha Sacrifice Cancelled in Morocco: What It Really Means, And What You Can Do Instead
Marrakech – This year, Eid Al Adha will look a bit different in Morocco. In February, King Mohammed VI made a heartfelt move to suspend the obligatory Eid al-Adha sacrifice for 2025, in response to deepening economic hardship and ongoing droughts that have affected livestock supply across the country. At the heart of Eid al-Adha is not just the act of sacrificing a sheep. It's the story of Prophet Ibrahim's devotion, his willingness to give up what he held most dear for the sake of God. In other words, the intention (niyya) behind the sacrifice matters far more than the act itself. 'It is neither their meat nor their blood that reaches Allah, but it is your piety that reaches Him.' This verse comes from Surah Al-Hajj (The Pilgrimage), verse 37, and it's about the ritual of animal sacrifice during Eid al-Adha and Hajj. Muslims believe that Allah is saying He doesn't need the physical act of sacrifice, as the meat or blood doesn't benefit Him. What matters to instead is one's 'taqwa' (piety, God-consciousness, sincerity). The King's message emphasized this spiritual understanding, urging citizens to remember that Islam allows leniency in difficult times. When hardship makes certain acts burdensome, the religion makes room for mercy. A pressing need Severe drought has significantly reduced Morocco's livestock supply (a 38% drop since 2016), and soaring prices have made it nearly impossible for many families to afford sacrificial animals. Inflation and economic hardship have stretched household budgets thinner than ever. According to a study by Morocco's Center for Economic and Social Studies, the cancellation could save Moroccan families over 20 billion dirhams (around $2 billion USD). So, what can we do instead? Even without the sacrifice, Eid Al Adha is still very much alive. Here are meaningful ways to honour it this year: Redirect the money you would have spent toward supporting those in need. Organizations like Jood, Inssaane, and Bank Al Taam are running food and aid drives. Celebrate with couscous, dates, or a vegetarian tajine — what matters most is being together, not what's on the plate. Eid is a time of compassion. Visit a neighbor, help a single mother, or call someone elderly who may feel alone. Eid prayer Use this unique year to teach young people that obedience, generosity, and trust in God are the true pillars of this celebration. Let go of a grudge. Forgive someone. Give up a bad habit. Spiritual sacrifices can be more powerful than physical ones. What do Islamic scholars say? Moroccan Islamic scholars have emphasized that the sacrifice is not 'fard' (obligatory) but Sunnah Mu'akkadah — a confirmed Sunnah that can be suspended in times of hardship. In a world full of visible hardship, maybe the most meaningful sacrifices are the ones no one sees: patience, prayer, kindness, restraint. So while the streets may be quieter this Eid, our hearts can still be full. Tags: "Feast of the Sacrificeeid al adha 2025morocco eid al adha
Telegraph
15-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Helen Lederer: I was a bit of a sloth before my 300km hike
Growing up as a plump, asthmatic child who hated sport, I never thought one day I'd be doing a 300km pilgrimage for 12 days, through the Austrian and Swiss Alps. In front of the cameras! Before the BBC invited me to take part in The Pilgrimage. I was what is known as a 'sitter'. In fact my motto would always be: 'Why walk when you can walk to the car from here?' When I went to Austria on holidays with my parents, I would dread the family walks up hill and down dale, or even around a lake on the flat, and loiter at the back. Only the promise of an Apfelsaft (apple juice) and Sacher-Torte (chocolate cake) got me moving. At drama school, I became more limber. And doing stand-up with Rik Mayall, John Hegley, Tony Slattery and Ben Elton burned off the calories. But then in 1992 I was cast as Catriona in Absolutely Fabulous with Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley. I had no idea the series would be part of my life for the next 20 years. Jane Horrocks and I still joke about filming our own TV wine show. But then I've long been known as someone who can pack away the booze. I won't lie, I'm a party person. And my unwavering belief there will always be a taxi somewhere meant I didn't even walk to the bus stop. So when the BBC invited me to hike 10-16km a day, often at high altitude, from Innsbruck on the Austrian Camino and finishing near Lake Zurich in Switzerland, with no smartphone and all my worldly possessions in a rucksack, it was terrifying. What persuaded me? Apart from the money! Well, I was intrigued by the idea of investigating my own attitude to faith on a pilgrimage with six strangers. I believe in God but I'm not sure what God is. I'm from a culturally Jewish background and fervently didn't believe in anything remotely religious, but my Protestant mother came from the Isle of Wight and I'm told I was christened. Would this pared-back existence give me greater clarity about my own beliefs? The idea of switching off in nature to check in with myself also appealed after the madness of a six-month-long book tour. My memoir Not That I'm Bitter was published last year (lots more dangerous sitting). So an adventure that might prove life-changing, particularly for my body, appealed. But I couldn't just throw myself at the mercy of the Alps. I needed to train. So three months before the trip, I invested in a home Pilates teacher, did workouts at the gym, built up my steps. Increasing my steps gradually I bought a Fitbit which was life-changing (I now understand why people feel the need to announce how many steps they've done that day, even before saying 'hello') and started doing 1,000 steps a day, walking from my house to the Horniman Museum, south London (the gardens have the perfect upward gradient, where you ascend a hill, then walk back down). At first I only did a sedate 30 minutes – I didn't want to put myself off. But I walked most days, including up a hill in Spain when my husband Chris and I went away for five days. I plugged my headphones in and listened to YouTube history programmes about the Second World War (for a comedy drama I'm writing) then sweated it out in the midday sun. I knew I had to do this, or I'd be the last one up the mountain. Also a friend looked extremely doubtful when I told her I was doing it which made me more determined. By the time I flew to Innsbruck, I was averaging 10,000 steps a day. Chris, a semi-retired GP, recommended trekking poles. They reduce the strain on your hip, knee and ankle joints, propel you up hill and keep you upright in mud. You have to walk, then drag your sticks (not easy) before placing them on the ground and 'pushing off'. Quite a lot for someone who'd only just managed the art of remaining upright on a pogo stick aged 10 before giving up. But after a few goes I started to get in my flow. And my God, where would we have been without those sticks? I had no idea who my fellow pilgrims would be – there's always great secrecy surrounding the first meet-and-greet scene on camera. I fretted I'd be the oldest. But then I talked to Lesley Joseph, who did the series in 2019 aged 73; she said she'd 'do it again in a heartbeat' and that was reassuring. My fellow pilgrims included Jay McGuiness, 34, singer from boy band The Wanted (I had no idea who they were, but now I love them of course!), and Harry Clark, 24, winner of The Traitors; and a former Paralympian sprinter, the brilliant Stef Reid, 40. I was scared of being slower than the young people, or being unable to finish. But I found a good technique to get me up a steep gradient was to grunt – the exhalation seemed to propel the rest of me upwards. Even though the guttural sounds amused the lovely boys, I kept at it. It was grunt or risk being last! Bunk beds and a fridge full of chickens On the show you sleep in shared dormitories or bunk beds in convent and pilgrim hostels (a potential nightmare at my age). It's a good idea to buy simple soft earplugs and mouldable silicone ones. But I was usually so knackered from walking and, after a glass of wine, I slept like a pilgrim. You switch off from caring about privacy. You just locate your bed, and think: 'That's where I've got to put all my equipment.' People carry strange luggage however. One night, I discovered a domestic fridge full of dead chickens near my sleeping section in the pilgrim hostel. It's not all chocolate box-y views and blue skies. One day it was pissing down and getting my waterproof trousers on was hellish. But you have to say: 'OK, we're going to a special place at the top. And we've got to get to the top, both metaphorically and physically. I can't go back. And stopping is unthinkable.' And when we got to the top of this very big hill, there was a little Hansel and Gretel-style shrine, and we were given apple cake and a hot drink. And you just feel so good about yourself and each other. I worried I'd be cancelled I was apprehensive about airing my family background, particularly in the climate of pain we see on a daily basis – I can't avoid the reason my grandfather brought his family to England from Austria in the late 1930s was because they were Jews. I worried I'd be cancelled but thought it might be helpful for other people from a 'mixed heritage' background to talk about it. I hadn't banked on crying. But being reminded of a past I hadn't got in touch with was surprisingly affecting. On the one hand, I'm confused about the shame of not talking about my background more, but on the other, I don't want to over-claim falsely. I'm conscious not to be a spokesperson for anyone. But after the pilgrimage I felt strangely at peace with it. Walking without a smartphone proved a revelation (the butterfly brain is arrested). It's a really profound thing to do for your mental health. You forget about any discomfort because you're in nature, and the rhythm of walking releases feel-good endorphins in the brain. Total strangers become close companions. And because people are on their own individual journeys, you're more open. When Jay invited me to talk with him about his bandmate Tom [Parker] dying of cancer, it was a moment of real trust. I thought: 'Woah, got to get this right and be there for him.' We cried and it felt like a layer had been peeled off. Jay said it was the most poignant conversation of the trip for him. When I got back, people commented: 'You're moving faster and look completely different.' To my amazement, I only had to use my inhaler on the hike once and the new walking regimen and the picnic lunches led to me losing half a stone. Obviously I was a bit of a sloth before, but I still walk for sanity post-pilgrimage. I've realised I desperately need to be outside to see the trees and the sky. But I've had to divert to nearby Dulwich Park which is very flat because the gardens at the Horniman Museum are being renovated. And when I'm talking at book festivals, I'm determined to do an author's walk. Last night I walked down to the new wine bar which would have been unthinkable in the past. Pilgrimage: The Road Through the Alps airs at 9pm on BBC Two on Sunday 20, Monday 21 and Tuesday 22 April
New York Times
11-02-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Book Review: ‘The Pilgrimage,' by John Broderick
THE PILGRIMAGE, by John Broderick In her 'Spiritual Autobiography,' the great small-c catholic thinker Simone Weil wrote: 'It sometimes seems to me that when I am treated in so merciful a way, every sin on my part must be a mortal sin.' The greater the world's kindnesses, the more at fault she felt. The inverse is true for Julia Glynn, the stony-eyed, capital-C Catholic protagonist of John Broderick's 'The Pilgrimage,' a 1961 novel banned by the Irish censorship board upon its publication and freshly reissued by McNally Editions with an introduction by Colm Tóibín. Perhaps because this novel has little mercy to spare, Julia doesn't seem to worry much about the state of her mortal soul, no matter how passionately she might flout the Ten Commandments. Julia is married to an older, upstanding, deeply Catholic and closeted man named Michael, who is bedridden with rheumatism. Michael's sexuality has never been an issue, because Julia married him for a life of status and security, and is happy to keep up any facade necessary to maintain it. Now, from his room that 'smelt of misery and whiskey,' Michael plans a last-resort pilgrimage to the healing waters of Lourdes, France, together with Julia, his nephew Jim — who just so happens to be sleeping with Julia — and the parish priest. But the titular trip remains beyond our purview; this is a novel, instead, of plans and preparation. As they get ready to go, Jim abruptly ends things with Julia, as he follows in her footsteps and finds his own rich and pious fiancée, and Julia finds herself both suddenly drawn to and repelled by their servant Stephen, who takes care of Michael and whose own desires — and sexuality — remain mysterious to her. Around the same time, vicious letters begin to arrive for Julia and Michael from an anonymous sender, describing her affair with Jim in graphic detail. All at once, Julia's life of ease, boredom and comfort turns into one of suspicion and manipulative games. In the letters, 'there was no threat, no demand for money,' Broderick writes, the tone 'as detached as an invitation to a party.' The same could be said of his own narration, so straightforward in its handling of the once-taboo subjects of midcentury Irish queerness, sex and false piety it borders on blasé. 'We're born, we make love, and we die,' Julia thinks. 'Why make such a song and dance about it?' That Broderick writes with the studied coolness of an autopsy report does not detract from the novel's pleasure; it only reinforces the thematic obsessions with sex and death, life's great banalities that yet inspire so much passion. The premise of the novel could sound raunchy and playful — a romp toward Lourdes! a sexy servant! a bumbling priest! — but there's nothing very fun about Julia and Michael's deceits or desires at all. Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times. Thank you for your patience while we verify access. Already a subscriber? Log in. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
