Abraham the Pilgrim: An Islamic Perspective

A look at the figure of Abraham the Patriarch in the Islamic tradition, with the help of manuscripts from the National Library of Israel's Islam and Middle East Collection

A prophetic and heroic genealogy including an illustration of Abraham, from a Turkish translation of the 13th century cosmological text, the "ʿAcāʾib ül-maḫlūḳāt ü ġarāʾib ül-mevcūdāt", the National Library of Israel collections

Everyone thinks they know the story of Abraham, the biblical patriarch. The first monotheist, he left his father’s house and followed God’s command to go to the Promised Land. His wife Sarah was barren and he had a child, Ishmael, with his handmaiden Hagar; Sarah later forced the mother and son into exile. God revealed to him that he would be the forefather to a great nation, and Sarah gave birth to Isaac. God then asked the father to sacrifice his son, a ritual killing only narrowly averted by last-minute angelic intervention.

For Jewish and Christian readers of the book of Genesis—and later commentaries on those stories—Abraham is one of the best-known biblical figures. However, Abraham and his stories also have another life. In the Quran, where he is mentioned in some 245 verses, and the vast commentary literature on the pre-Islamic prophets, known as “stories of the prophets” (qissas al-anbiya), Abraham plays a central role as founding monotheist, forefather, and forerunner to the Prophet Muhammad.

The Quran calls Abraham khalil Allah, the friend of God (and the source of the Arabic name al-Khalil for the city of Hebron) and hanif, a term that distinguishes Abraham from the idol-worshipping polytheism into which he was born; Muhammad is called by the same term. Like the Bible, the Quran also relates the accounts of Abraham’s setting out for a new land, his covenant with God, the announcement of the birth of Isaac in his old age, and his attempted sacrifice of his son—though in the Quranic story it is unclear which son is the sacrifice, and later commentators disagree whether the story refers to Isaac or to Ishmael.

A folio from a 1601 Indian manuscript of the Quran showing Surat al-Baqarah, verse 257, which mentions Abraham, the National Library of Israel collections

But there is a twist: the Quran also includes tales that do not appear in the biblical tradition at all. Many of those stories are woven into one of the most important Islamic rituals: the annual pilgrimage to Mecca, known as the hajj.

Every year, the hajj brings millions of Muslims from across the globe to the sacred sites in Mecca, the city of the Prophet Muhammad’s birth where he received his first revelations. The order of the rituals – known as manasik and celebrated during the pilgrimage – was fixed by the prophet himself. When believers today circle the Ka‘ba, the “House of God” that is the holiest site in Islam and which Muslims face in their prayers, they are following the example of the prophet when he took part in his first and only hajj in 630 CE, just before his death.

But they are also following in the footsteps of Abraham. While stories about Abraham’s role in the hajj actually predate Islam, and were part of the pilgrimage to the Ka‘ba, an ancient site of worship, long before the Prophet Muhammad, the Quranic revelation canonized those tales as part of the new religion.

Illustration of the Grand Mosque in Mecca, including the Ka’ba and the Maqam Ibrahim, from the 1643 Turkish poem on pilgrimage rituals, the menāsik ül- ḥacc, the National Library of Israel collections

The Quran tells us that Abraham and Ishmael built the Ka‘ba and purified it. As Quran 2:125 states:

 

And [remember] when We made the House a place of visitation for mankind, and a sanctuary. “Take the station of Abraham as a place of prayer.” And We made a covenant with Abraham and Ishmael, “Purify My House for those who circumambulate, those who make retreat, and those who bow and prostrate.

 

The station or place of Abraham (maqam Ibrahim) mentioned in the verse is located inside the Grand Mosque in Mecca near the Ka‘ba. The spot, where pilgrims pray as one of the hajj rituals, is marked with a stone that tradition states bears Abraham’s footprint. Commentators have relayed a number of versions of how Abraham’s footprint became embedded in the stone: that he stood on the stone when building the upper walls of the Ka‘ba, or that he stood there when calling on all humanity to perform the pilgrimage, or that Abraham himself prayed on the stone. Some commentators, like the historian of Mecca Al-Azraqi (d. 834), say that Abraham and Ishmael did not just build the Ka‘ba but performed all the hajj rituals, just as they are done today.

The story of Hagar and Ishmael, one of the most plaintive in the Bible, is closely connected to the hajj as well. According to the eminent medieval historian al-Tabari (839-923), after Sarah forced out Hagar and Ishmael, the angel Gabriel directed Abraham to lead them to the future site of the Ka‘ba, which was then a barren hill of clay.

Illustration of the hills of Safa (top) and Marwa (bottom), from the 1643 Turkish poem on pilgrimage rituals, the menāsik ül- ḥacc, the National Library of Israel collections

After Abraham left the mother and infant son behind, Ishmael became thirsty, but there was no water to be found. Desperate, Hagar thought she heard the sound of running water on the nearby hill of Safa, but found nothing; she thought she heard a sound on the hill of Marwa, too, but found nothing. After running back and forth between the hills, located just a few hundred meters from the Ka‘ba, she came back to Ishmael and found him sitting in water that had miraculously burst forth from an underground spring.

This story, told in other versions as well, is meant to explain the hajj rituals of sa‘y, “running” back and forth seven times between the two hills—a ritual now conducted in a covered corridor with designated lanes for forward and back—and drinking the waters of the Zamzam spring.

Rooting the hajj rituals in the life of Abraham connects Muslims—historically and today—in an unbroken chain to the purest, most authentic, and ancient monotheistic traditions. That is part of the reason why the experience of the hajj is so powerful for those who take part in it. Muslim children around the world grow up with these stories, “internalizing their geography as a personal landscape whose contours and history define who they are,” as contemporary thinker Ziauddin Sardar has written (Mecca: The Sacred City, London: Bloomsbury, 2014). During the hajj the geography of those narratives transcendently comes to life.

 

This article is part of the Maktoub digital Islamic manuscripts project at the National Library of Israel.  Supported by the Arcadia Fund, Maktoub will provide free, global access to more than 2,500 rare Arabic, Persian, and Turkish manuscripts and books preserved at the Library, and to the stories behind their creation.

 

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The Hejaz Railway: The Train That Connected an Empire

These rare photos offer a glimpse of a monumental Ottoman project, designed to transport "hajj" pilgrims and unite a vast Islamic realm

Construction on the Hejaz Railway, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel

One black and white photograph shows train cars crossing a low, arched brick bridge in the midst of a desert, passing from nowhere to nowhere between sand and sky. In another, a line of workmen stand next to just-laid tracks. A third picture has been taken from inside the moving train, its shadow falling on the ground. Rails curve into the distance under the hulking presence of a massive desert rock.

These enigmatic photos are part of a one-of-a-kind album housed in the archives of the National Library of Israel. The album includes sixty-eight photographs taken in 1907 by Karl Lorenz Auler, with accompanying handwritten captions, of the famed Hejaz Railway. Stretching between Damascus and the Hejaz region of the Arabian Peninsula, the site of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, and with a branch line to Haifa, the railway was built by the Ottoman Empire between 1900 and 1908 to connect these far-flung regions of its realm. Auler’s photos are important evidence of the construction in progress.

 

A railway bridge on the Hejaz Railway line, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

But what was Auler, a decorated Prussian military general, doing inspecting the Hejaz Railway for the Ottoman sultan? And how did the album end up here at the National Library?

The annual pilgrimage to Mecca, known as the hajj, is one of the most important rituals in Islam, a transformative and transcendental spiritual journey that every able-bodied and financially sound Muslim is obligated to perform at least once during his or her life. When the Prophet Muhammad made his first and only hajj in 630 CE, a few years before his death, he traveled by caravan and on foot across the desert from the first Islamic capital in the city of Medina, just over 400 kilometers away. But as the Islamic empire rapidly expanded over the next century, such journeys became longer and more dangerous. Disease and exhaustion were commonplace and bandits would regularly attack as pilgrims made their way through the desert.

Fortifications and a cistern at El-Mu’assem, near the Hejaz Railway line, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

In order to minimize these dangers, during the Middle Ages most pilgrims joined organized camel caravans that traveled on set routes. The caravans from the southern Iraqi city of Kufa, from Cairo, and from Damascus were the most important of these. The introduction of the steamship in the mid-nineteenth century eased the rigors of the journey, especially for pilgrims traveling from India, then under British colonial rule, and points east. However, this greater mobility directly contributed to the rise of a global pandemic. Cholera, native to India, was carried to Mecca by a hajj pilgrim in 1863, and from there spread worldwide. In alarm, European colonial powers imposed strict quarantine regimes on those arriving in and, especially, leaving Mecca.

Railroad cars traveling on the Hejaz Railway line, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

Bypassing these quarantines, and confronting European colonialism more generally, was a major impetus behind the construction of the Hejaz Railway. In the decades leading up to Emperor Abdulhamid II’s announcement, on May 1, 1900, of his intention to build the line, the Ottomans had lost almost all of their formerly extensive territories in southern Europe. French, British, and Russian interests were vying to break up the empire further, and to expand their rule into its heartland in the Middle East. At the same time, the Ottoman State was deeply indebted to European financiers, and had to rely on European creditors to fund their infrastructure and modernization efforts, including the construction of other railways to connect the vast empire.

Inauguration of the al-‘Ula Station, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge
Camel unit parade at the al-‘Ula Station inauguration, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

On all these counts, the Hejaz Railway was to be different. While the line had little economic benefit—indeed, it only functioned regularly during the hajj season—it had numerous political and religious goals. The project was financed entirely by Muslims, and donations for the “sacred line” were collected around the world. This widely-publicized fact, as well as the construction itself, burnished Abdulhamid II’s power and his pan-Islamic image as the sole independent Muslim ruler confronting European interests. In addition to easing the rigors of the hajj itself, the line would also ensure that the Ottoman military could swiftly deploy troops and supplies to protect shipping in the Red Sea and to defend against colonial expansion and moves towards autonomy by local leaders, especially in Mecca.

Poor pilgrims on their way to Mecca, beg for permission to take the train, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

 

Local Bedouin and a railway worker at Wadi al-‘Ula, near the Hejaz Railway line, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

 

A Bedouin man offers an ostrich for sale next to the newly laid Hejaz Railway, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

While the railway was designed to showcase Ottoman leadership, German engineers and advisors were crucially involved in the railway’s planning and construction. This role built on a decades-long relationship of military and economic cooperation; for a host of reasons, Abdulhamid saw Germany as the empire’s preferred European partner.

It was in this context that Karl Auler became connected to the project. Auler, born in 1854, was a Prussian infantry general who, like many other officers, served as a military adviser to the Ottomans between 1901 and 1908. Appointed to the rank of major general by Abdulhamid, “Auler Pascha,” as he was known, was sent in 1904 to survey the progress on the railroad, and to study local geography and ethnography. Auler focused on two stretches of the line: between Damascus and Ma’an in southern Jordan, including the branch line to Haifa, and from Ma’an to Al-‘Ula in Arabia, 300 kilometers north of Medina. Auler’s reports, which remain among the most important sources on the Hejaz Railway, discuss the topography of the route; the local flora and fauna, including the termites who would eat away at the track’s wooden sleepers; the challenges in providing sufficient water and fuel; and the (possibly stereotyped) reaction of locals to the railway’s construction (in Peter Christiansen’s translation):

 

“The vividness with which they expressed their joy will remain unforgettable to me. As the men incessantly repeated a salutation in unanimous chorus, ‘May God give victory to our Sultan!’ there was an accompaniment of rhythmic clapping of hands while the women, with their characteristic high trills, produced strong pigeon-like cooing sounds in the highest treble.”

 

Auler’s reports, published in 1906 and 1908 in the influential journal Petermanns Geographische Mitteilungen, were illustrated with photographs that he himself took along the route. The album in the National Library collection, it seems, contains prints from a later, 1907 journey which, for whatever reason, he deemed unsuitable for publication. While the subjects of the two sets of photos largely overlap, the album includes more portraits—of local Bedouin, workers, officials, and others—providing fascinating glimpses of individuals and daily life.

View from the train of Wadi Abu Taka on the new Hejaz Railway, 1907. Photo: Karl Lorenz Auler; from the  Pritzker Family National Photography Collection at the National Library of Israel. Click image to enlarge

How did the photographs get to the National Library of Israel? While we do not know what Auler did with the photographs after returning to Germany in 1908—he served in the First World War and then retired to the city of Ulm—somehow they made their way to Gotthold Weil (1882-1960), a noted German-Jewish scholar of Islam, especially Turkish and Arabic, and a former director of the National Library of Israel. Weil taught in Berlin and Frankfurt before immigrating to Palestine in 1934, and though Auler does not seem to be mentioned in Weil’s personal archive, now housed at the library, the two German Turkophiles would have had much in common. The one-of-a-kind album may even have been given by Auler to Weil as a personal gift. He donated it to the library’s collection in 1936.

 

You can view the rest of the photographs from this historic photo album, here.

This article is part of the Maktoub digital Islamic manuscripts project at the National Library of Israel.  Supported by the Arcadia Fund, Maktoub will provide free, global access to more than 2,500 rare Arabic, Persian, and Turkish manuscripts and books preserved at the Library, and to the stories behind their creation.

 

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