As the sacred month of Dhul-Hijjah approaches its zenith, the global Muslim community turns its gaze to the holy city of Makkah, where millions gather to perform the Hajj pilgrimage. For those unable to attend, the days of Eidul Azha are marked by remembrance, devotion, and sacrifice. Yet, in the midst of festivity and ritual, there is a pressing need to revisit the true essence of what sacrifice means — and why it still matters. The story at the heart of Eidul Azha is powerful in its simplicity: the willingness of Prophet Ibrahim (AS) to sacrifice his beloved son in obedience to God’s command, and the son’s own calm submission to the divine will. This moment of ultimate surrender is not just about an act–it is about the depth of faith, the strength of trust, and the profound readiness to give up what one holds dearest for the sake of principle. Today, however, the act of sacrifice has for many been reduced to a formality. The purchase and slaughter of animals–often shared proudly on social media–can sometimes seem more like a display of affluence than an exercise in devotion. In the rush to meet religious obligation, we risk losing sight of the moral and spiritual lessons this occasion teaches. True sacrifice goes far beyond the act of slaughter. It is about letting go of one’s ego, one’s comforts, and one’s attachments when they stand in the way of truth and righteousness. It is about generosity that is quiet and sincere, and about obedience to God even when it contradicts personal desire or societal norms. These are unparalleled signs of sacrifice–the ones that often go unnoticed, but are most valued in the eyes of the Divine. Hajj itself is a testament to this spirit. The rituals–from the circumambulation of the Kaaba to the symbolic stoning of the devil–are profound metaphors for life’s journey. They represent submission, struggle, patience, and spiritual renewal. Yet, without mindfulness, these too can become mechanical. The sheer physical effort of Hajj, particularly in our age of crowds and hardship, is itself a reminder that submission is not meant to be easy, but transformative. In Pakistan, where economic disparities are stark and basic needs remain unmet for many, the message of sacrifice is especially relevant. Are our offerings truly reaching the poor, or are they lost in excess and inefficiency? Are we willing to give up some of our comfort so others can live with dignity? These questions should define our Eid, far more than the size of the animal we purchase or the number of guests we entertain. There are still countless quiet acts of sacrifice echoing the legacy of Ibrahim (AS). The parents who deny themselves for their children’s future. The worker who gives up rest to provide for their family. The student who forgoes leisure in pursuit of learning. The volunteer who serves flood victims or feeds the hungry in anonymity. These people embody the spirit of Eidul Azha every day. The Holy Qur’an reminds us, “It is neither their meat nor their blood that reaches Allah, but your piety” (22:37). These few words carry a powerful critique of ritualism. It is not the outward act, but the inward sincerity. Let this Eid not be another routine. Let it be a return to the values of compassion, obedience, and selflessness. Let it be a time when we ask ourselves what we are truly willing to give up for the greater good. Whether it is wealth, pride, comfort, or control, true sacrifice is what elevates the soul. In a time marked by consumption and superficiality, the unparalleled signs of sacrifice deserve to be remembered, honored, and practiced.