There is a saying–in Farsi, I think–that one tells their dearest friends. It means, “May I be sacrificed for you.” I think it is why, when his father asked him if he would die, Isma’il said yes. To God, he said. May I be sacrificed for you.

This, like any act of love, was misconstrued.

He knew his mother, Eve, after all, had lain awake with Adam’s hand at her waist, beneath a new-formed evening alit with stars. Adam must have been asleep, you see, or he would have never allowed it. (Ibrahim, tearful, accepts his son’s response. His sobs are unrecorded. Isma’il, grasping the blade, trembles at the chin.) When God said gently before the sleeping Adam and the waking Eve that surely their children would find one of them to blame until the end of time, the Prophetess replied at once, “Me. Let it be me.” And there, before Adam, she crumbled to dust. May I be sacrificed for you. Love, may I be sacrificed for you.

Adam woke and found slander on the mouths of his children.

This, like any act of love, was misconstrued.

Do you speak the language of Love? Is there only one? (There is Only. Love.) Remember that for this day, Ibrahim sacrificed his patriarchal power over his son by asking Isma’il’s consent. Remember that for this day, Ibrahim sacrificed his patriarchal power over the love of his son. Over the Love of his son.

Only Love. In Love there is no Other.