Abraham.

It occurred to me tonight, as I basked in the warm (partially alcohol induced) glow of a Christmas party with old friends--all in the name of preparation for the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ--that I neglected to blog about the Biblical figure that got this whole Prophetic ball rolling.

In the beginning, there was Abraham. (In the end, there were Arab-Israeli clashes in Bethlehem and fistfights in the holiest church in Jerusalem--but anyway, politics are for another day.) The story goes that Abraham lived somewhere out in the desert, possibly in Iraq. He was minding his own business until God came to him and told him to pack up and start traveling, no destination or questions asked. Abraham obeyed. Then God promised him that his descendants were going to one day form a great nation. Great--Abraham was pumped. Only, the years went by, and there was no junior to carry on his name, much less spring for a DIY throne kit. Hmm. Finally, when Abraham and his wife are nearing 100 years old (give or take), his wife gives birth to a son. Ah. See, God provides, right? Only, then God commands Abraham to go up on a mountain and sacrifice his son. Hmm.

In this great story of faith, which is the cornerstone of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, Abraham reluctantly agrees to do God's will, in spite of God's promise for descendants and his own love for his son. He has the knife raised and is about to do the deed--when God stops him, says, "Well done," and gives him a sheep to sacrifice instead.

(Of course, I'm not doing this justice in the retelling. Consider checking Soren Kirekegaard's "Fear and Trembling" for much more thoughtful treatment of the story. Or, you know, the Bible for the original)

This is the monumental moment in human history to commemorate. For better or worse, Muslims commemorate it with a country-wide sheep slaughter. Beautiful in its symbolism, it is unfortunately a bit smelly in practice.

The deal is that for every family that can afford it, you need to sacrifice a cow, or a sheep, or a goat, or maybe even a camel. Then, on the big day, you go down to the butcher shop (which has been doubling as a small farm for the past few weeks, with a whole barnyard of animals tethered outside) and watch your family's animal be slaughtered.

The problem is in the math. 20 million Egyptians in Cairo = 4 million families = 4 million simultaneous ritual sacrifices. They do their best to keep it hygienic, but navigating Cairo that day required sidestepping piles of sheep heads and small pools of blood. Here's a pile for the skin, another pile for the intestines, another pile for unidentifiable white blobs (fat?), another for the feet...

I spent Eid al-Adha with my dear friend Sally and her family. Normally she meets me at the metro station, and we then take a tuktuk to her house. On a beautiful, crisp and quiet winter morning, we decided to walk. Egypt had woken up early to pray on this holy day, and now were inside with their families, or gathered around the local butcher shop for their sacrifices. Walking gave me a chance to observe this all up close. Now, in truth, the day was not as gruesome as I had been warned. I had imagined a sacrifice in front of each family's home, with blood running ankle-deep in the streets--not the case. The decision to do all the slaughters at the butcher's was a good call.

The butchers were working furiously. Slaughtering a cow (or sheep, or goat, or camel) is no easy task, either. Holding the animal down, cutting its neck, removing the skin (which starts by making a cut and then blowing into it to whoomp, force a bit of air between the skin and body to make it easier to cut off. Genius, but whoever does the blowing comes up looking like they, well, just made out with a piece of raw meat), cleaning it, cutting it--and here they were, hour after hour. Sally said they work all day, then sleep all week. I would never want to see another sheep again.

I must say, that watching pens of cute little sheep all lined up for weeks before the holiday reminded me more of live nativity scenes than a foreshadow for the ritualistic bloodbath to come. I sort of felt an urge to rescue the toddlers all dressed up in their cute little sheep costumes at my church's Christmas pageant, lest they accidently be mistaken for an Abrahamic sacrifice....no, no, Timmy, now is not a good time to be walking around in that adorable little sheep fleece...

Later that day, I watched the entire process from start to finish from Sally's window. A cow was standing in the street, complaining loudly as it got a clue about its ultimate and approaching fate. We watched the men take it down, bleed it, prepare the meat, and then distribute it to the family and the poor who were waiting for a charitable portion of their own. I think it's the first time I've watched something sentient die. Part of me wanted to keep my innocence about death ("meat comes from the grocery store, right?"), but I made myself watch the whole thing, never turning my head away. In the end, death didn't actually seem like that big of a deal. The cow was alive, but now it's meat. That's ok.

What wasn't ok was what ended up on my plate that night: little sheep hooves and beef chitlins. The worst part was that the chitlins were actually delicious, but I feel barbaric for admitting that. Even though I enjoyed them, I wouldn't let myself eat more than a few bites. Just too weird to think about. The little sheep paws were a little unnerving, too. Apparently the English word for this delicacy is: "trotters." Cute...but then, actually not really at all.

Despite some new and jarring experiences, the whole of Eid al-Adha was deeply peaceful for me. It felt very quiet and holy to take a few days of rest along with 80 million Egyptians across the entire country (much less with the 1 billion Muslims worldwide who were celebrating along with us) to commemorate a story that we both hold in common. Perhaps there is hope for a unity between these fractured faiths.

In any case, a moment to reflect upon Abraham and Muslim-Christian unity felt appropriate as part of our Christmas preparations. For well over two billion humans on the planet, Abraham and Jesus are both precious names and inspiring figures. Somehow, I feel renewed and reassured by that. Christmas blessings for us, one and all.