In an age where news travels at the speed of light and time feels more compressed than ever, Muslims around the world face a question that is both spiritual and symbolic: When should we commemorate Eid al-Adha? For those living outside of Makkah, the answer is often caught between two positions. On one hand, there's the view that we should align our celebration with the Saudi declaration, observing the Day of 'Arafah and Eid al-Adha in sync with the events of Hajj. On the other hand, there is the deeply rooted tradition of following local moon sightings, a practice that has defined the Muslim world for more than fourteen centuries.
At the heart of this dilemma is not simply a matter of dates. It is about our relationship to time itself, our understanding of unity, and the depth of our obedience to divine instruction.
The Prophetic Blueprint: A Localised Approach to Sacred Time
The foundational guidance from Prophet Muhammad ﷺ on this matter is remarkably clear: "Fast when you see it and break your fast when you see it. If it is cloudy, then complete thirty days." (Bukhari and Muslim). This hadith, in its straightforward language, entrusts the start and end of Islamic months to the actual sighting of the moon, a physical, observable event tied to one's locality. It does not point to a centralised authority or a single global reference point. It does not instruct Muslims in Medina to follow the sighting in Damascus, or those in Andalusia to conform to what is seen in Makkah.
This directive was not incidental. It reflects a profound wisdom that binds the human act of worship to the divine rhythm of the cosmos. The moon, unlike the abstract grid of time zones and calendar dates, is a shared creation that appears differently across horizons. Its visibility varies depending on geography and atmospheric conditions. The instruction to act based on local observation is both practical and spiritually significant. It engages the worshipper with the signs of Allah in the sky.
Time: A Divine Reality, Not a Man-Made Illusion
In Surah Al-A'raaf (7:54), Allah says: "Indeed, your Lord is Allah, Who created the heavens and the earth in six days…" This verse, like many others, affirms that time is part of Allah’s creation. It is not merely a neutral backdrop to our actions; it is part of the test of life. The alternation of night and day, the lunar phases, and the seasons are signs (ayat) through which the believer reflects on divine order.
In contrast, the way humans organise time, into hours, minutes, time zones, and fiscal years, is based on convenience and functionality. These constructs help us coordinate activities, hold meetings, or set deadlines, but they carry no intrinsic sacredness. They are artificial frameworks imposed on a reality that Allah has already measured with precision.
In Islamic law, this distinction is essential. Our acts of worship, fasting, prayer, Hajj, and Eid, are not pegged to human scheduling. They are bound to celestial events: the movement of the sun for daily prayers, and the phases of the moon for monthly acts. As such, the idea of synchronising Eid globally based on a political or institutional declaration risks substituting divine markers with human systems.
Prayer Times as a Model: Universality Through Locality
Take the example of prayer times. Muslims around the world pray Fajr, Dhuhr, ‘Asr, Maghrib, and ‘Isha at different clock times. No one insists that all Muslims pray Maghrib at 6:30 p.m. Mecca time. Instead, we accept that the sun sets at different times across the globe, and we follow its position in our own locality. This is not seen as fragmentation; it is seen as fidelity to the divine command.
So why do we view the moon any differently? If the visibility of the crescent moon varies just as the sun’s position does, why do we expect all Muslims to start Dhul-Hijjah on the same Gregorian day? This inconsistency reveals a modern tendency to prefer uniformity over submission, an urge to systematise the sacred into neat boxes, even when the divine instruction demands nuance.
The Argument for Global Uniformity, and Its Limits
Advocates for aligning with Saudi Arabia often raise the symbolism of unity. Eid al-Adha, they argue, is inherently tied to the Hajj pilgrimage. Since the pilgrims stand on Arafah on the 9th of Dhul-Hijjah, Muslims worldwide should fast on that same day and celebrate Eid the day after.
On the surface, this position evokes a powerful image: a unified Ummah, all remembering the sacrifice of Ibrahim ﷺ in one shared moment. But dig a little deeper, and complications emerge.
Time zones do not allow for one uniform day. If Makkah announces the 9th of Dhul-Hijjah on a Thursday, it may already be Friday in some countries or still Wednesday in others. Communities in the Far East could end up fasting on their local 10th of Dhul-Hijjah, which, according to all four Sunni madhhabs, is prohibited. Fasting on Eid is haram.
Moreover, from a legal standpoint, there is no text from the Prophet ﷺ or the early generations mandating that non-pilgrims tie their observance of Eid to the Hajj schedule. On the contrary, classical scholars across the Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi‘i, and Hanbali schools endorsed local moon sighting as the normative practice. There was no expectation that people in Andalusia or India would know the exact day of ‘Arafah in Makkah and align their worship accordingly. They followed what they saw, and their ‘Arafah fast was valid, even if it did not coincide with the pilgrims' standing.
The Wisdom of Staggered Commemoration
Here is where the divine wisdom truly shines. When communities follow their local moonsightings, the Day of ‘Arafah and Eid al-Adha ripple through time zones in a majestic sequence. Starting in the Pacific islands and stretching westward, each region experiences its own sacred moment.
Rather than being a cacophony of dates, this creates a global wave of worship, a layered and continuous celebration that lasts over nearly 48 hours. While some communities are fasting, others are sacrificing. While some are chanting the Takbir in the early hours of Eid, others are preparing for the fast of ‘Arafah. This continuity is not disjointed; it is a magnificent unfolding of obedience across time.
In this way, the ummah’s diversity of timing becomes a source of beauty, not division. The act of sacrifice is multiplied through time, extending the remembrance of Ibrahim’s devotion and the mercy of Allah over the entire globe.
Time as a Spiritual Challenge
Time is one of the great tests Allah has given His creation. It is mentioned often in the Qur’an: "By Time, indeed mankind is in loss, except those who believe and do righteous deeds…" (Surah Al-‘Asr).
We are constantly challenged by time, its limitations, its illusions, its pressure. In our rush to streamline, we sometimes forget that the divine way is not always efficient, but it is always wise. Obeying Allah’s instruction to look for the moon teaches patience. Accepting that others may see it before or after us teaches humility. Standing firm in our local observance despite global noise teaches conviction.
The test is not to make time conform to us. The test is to conform ourselves to the time that Allah has ordained.
Unity Through Obedience, Not Synchronisation
Unity in Islam is not about homogeneity. It is about a shared submission. The Prophet ﷺ did not command that everyone in the world fast at the same hour or pray in unison. He commanded each community to follow the signs of Allah in their own sky.
This is why the hadith about moonsighting speaks to “you”, the local observer. The Qur’an repeatedly commands: “So whoever among you sights (the new moon), let him fast…” (2:185). Not “whoever hears from Makkah.”
When each community follows its local moonsighting, it is not asserting independence, it is fulfilling a divine command. And when each community does so with sincerity and consultation, that is unity. It is the unity of method, not the unity of the clock.
We must also be cautious about creating unnecessary division within local communities. If your masjid, your local scholars, and your community leadership follow a particular method, whether local moonsighting or the Saudi announcement, then for the sake of harmony, join them. The disunity that harms is not a day’s difference in Eid, but disobedience, ego, and public discord.
Returning to the Sky
In an era dominated by data and algorithms, it is countercultural to look up at the sky and base our actions on what we see. Yet this is precisely what the Prophet ﷺ commanded. It is a profound act of trust, humility, and submission.
When we return to the sky to mark our sacred times, we are not being archaic. We are being faithful. We are aligning ourselves with a rhythm set by the Creator, not by clocks, not by bureaucracies, and not by popular sentiment.
Let us revive this act of worship. Let us educate our communities on its meaning. Let us defend the legitimacy of observing the sacred based on local moonsightings, even if it means differing from Saudi Arabia. Let us understand that we are not being disunited; we are being obedient.
Conclusion: A Call to Reflect
Eid al-Adha is not just a festival. It is a moment of spiritual alignment. A moment where our personal obedience meets a global remembrance. It is a day that echoes a profound narrative, one where Prophet Ibrahim , despite every natural instinct of a father and every cultural norm of his time, was willing to sacrifice his beloved son Ismail. This was not a tale of senseless ritual, but of complete submission to a divine command that defied human expectation. It was counterintuitive, even unsettling, yet it illuminated the very essence of Islam: surrender to the will of Allah.
When we allow each community to mark this sacred occasion based on what they witness in their own sky, we honour that same spirit of obedience. We honour the Prophet's words. We acknowledge the diversity of the ummah. And we bear witness to the signs that Allah has placed in the heavens.
Let the crescent appear, not just in the sky, but in our hearts. Let obedience rise before unity is demanded. And let our celebration be not a performance of conformity, but a sincere echo of Ibrahim’s trust.
From every horizon, let the Takbir rise.
That is unity. That is beauty. That is Islam.
Farhad Omar writes at the intersection of Islamic tradition, modern life, and personal reflection. He believes that in an era of speed, submission to divine rhythm is an act of resistance.