In some countries like Pakistan, Yemen, and Afghanistan, celebrants will head to bustling outdoor markets to buy a choice animal—usually a sheep, but people also sacrifice goats, cows, and even camels—directly from the farmer who raised it, and have it slaughtered on the spot. But elsewhere in the Muslim world, the supply chain isn’t so straightforward. Many countries in the Middle East import the majority of their Eid livestock from places like Somalia, India, Romania, and as far as Australia. Some 12,500 Syrian sheep will even be airlifted from Lebanon to Qatar, owing to an ongoing political standoff between Qatar and several Gulf countries led by Saudi Arabia, which has shut down the only roads into Qatar.
Outside the Eid rush, al-Mawashi will even deliver to your door. In a 30-second ad spot for the service, a portly kid tumbles down the stairs in an ostentatious, gold-trimmed home, imploring his mother to cook him some meat. Busy on the phone, she sends him to the kitchen to ask the South Asian cook, who declares that there’s no meat at all. He calls for his father, who sends him to Raju, the Indian driver, who tells him to buzz off. Down at the soccer field, he’s struck with inspiration when he sees an al-Mawashi delivery truck. Moments later, a delivery man hands his mother a box of meat at the door. “Who ordered this?” she wonders aloud, until the kid bounds up with a sly smile. The whole transaction is a far cry from Abraham’s sacrifice in the desert.
An app for reserving a sacrificial animal for Eid isn’t out of place in the sea of programs that have sprouted up to help the smartphone-toting Muslim go about his or her religious duties. Apps abound that calculate prayer times and send push notifications when they’re about to start, like a modern call to prayer. Many include a compass that points toward Mecca, to show Muslims which way to face as they pray. (Even Google got into the qibla-finding game this summer.) An app called Zabihah is like a Yelp for Halal food—except its desktop version has been around six years longer than Yelp itself. And hundreds of Koran apps help users memorize the holy book with translations, audio recordings, and games.
These innumerable “new media” fatwas, which touch on topics large and small, have garnered some pushback from the religious old guard, some of whom see them as a threat to their authority. The proliferation of new technology also poses ethical conundrums for Muslims, who debate how it should and shouldn’t be allowed to impact their lifestyle and religion.