بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ
الَّذِينَ قَالَ لَهُمُ النَّاسُ إِنَّ النَّاسَ قَدْ جَمَعُوا لَكُمْ فَاخْشَوْهُمْ فَزَادَهُمْ إِيمَانًا وَقَالُوا حَسْبُنَا اللَّهُ وَنِعْمَ الْوَكِيلُ
Those to whom hypocrites said, “Indeed, the people have gathered against you, so fear them.” But it [merely] increased them in faith, and they said, “Sufficient for us is Allah, and [He is] the best Disposer of affairs.”
In the wake of a bitter defeat, what kind of person answers the call to fight again? Not just any battle-hardened warrior, but the wounded—the limping, the bandaged, those for whom every step is a sharp reminder of the previous day’s failures. It is they alone who rise to confront an enemy swollen with confidence, their faith the only armor left intact.
Such was the scene after the Battle of Uhud, a day of devastation for the Muslims. Their fallen were many, their spirits battered. But the following morning, news came: Abu Sufyan, regretting his failure to annihilate Muhammad’sﷺ followers completely, was regrouping for a final strike. The Prophet ﷺ, despite his own injuries, rallied the faithful. But he issued a stark condition: Only those who fought yesterday may fight today.
This wasn’t an invitation to the untested or those seeking redemption. It was a call to the injured and the steadfast, a test of endurance for those who had endured enough already. Those who fled Uhud were not welcome here. The seventy who answered carried their wounds like badges of honor, their faith unshaken even by the sting of defeat.
The odds were grim. The enemy had grown stronger, its numbers swelled by reinforcements, its morale buoyed by victory. In contrast, the Muslims marched out from Madinah diminished in number, bloodied, and weary. But they had something their opponents did not: an unyielding belief that the cause they fought for transcended the battlefield.
When they reached Hamra’ al-Asad, they set their camp ablaze—not with fury but with literal fire. Five hundred flames lit the night sky, creating the illusion of a vast and fearsome army. The rumor spread: Prophet Muhammad’s forces had regrouped, stronger and more determined than ever. Fear crept into the hearts of the Quraysh, and their resolve faltered. Abu Sufyan, hearing exaggerated reports of the Muslim numbers and ferocity, decided to retreat.
Victory wasn’t claimed by swords or strategies that day. It was secured by conviction, by the power of belief in the face of despair. The wounded Muslims stood firm, proving that faith—unshakable, unrelenting faith—is a force mightier than any army.
The Moral
The Battle of Hamra’ al-Asad reminds us that true strength lies not in numbers or the absence of pain but in the resilience to rise again after defeat. It teaches that even when outmatched, faith and determination can triumph over the odds. There is a striking resemblance to the battle unfolding in West Asia today. We have faced many losses, carried our wounds, and buried our martyrs. Yet our faith will not falter—and that is why, in the end, we will win.
