IN LOVING MEMORY OF HAFEZ ADAM YUSUF SABAT RAHMATULLAH‘ ALAYH (MAY THE MERCY OF GOD BE UPON HIM)

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IN LOVING MEMORY OF
HAFEZ ADAM YUSUF SABAT
RAHMATULLAH ‘ALAYH
(MAY THE MERCY OF GOD BE UPON HIM)
INNA LILLAHI WA INNA ILAYHI RAJI’UN
INDEED, WE BELONG TO ALLAH (SWT),
AND INDEED TO HIM WE SHALL RETURN.

BY: SULEMAN NAGDI
(FRIEND, COLLEAGUE, BROTHER)

The 24th of June 2026 is a date I will not forget. Some days pass through our
lives quietly, and others leave a mark so deep that time itself seems to pause.
That day was one of those days. It was the day Hafez Adam Sabat returned to
Allah (the Exalted). In Leicester, the city he had made his home and the city
that came to know his worth. Born in Burma, with Indian roots and a heart that
belonged wherever service was needed, Adam became one of those rare
people whose presence made a place feel safer, gentler, and more guided.
When the news came, it did not feel like the passing of one man alone; it felt
as though a lamp had been lifted from our community, leaving all of us
standing in the quiet glow of what he had given us.

Hafez Adam was not a man who needed to announce his goodness. It could
be felt before it was spoken about. There was a softness in the way he dealt
with people, especially those who were broken by grief. He could enter a room
where a family was overwhelmed and, without making himself the centre of
anything, bring calm to it. His words were measured, his advice was sincere,
and his actions always seemed to say: I am here, and I will not leave you to
carry this alone. That was his gift. He did not serve people from a distance. He
stood beside them, shoulder to shoulder, often at the hardest and most
painful moment of their lives.

What made Hafez Adam so special to me was not only what he did, but the
way he made people feel when they were with him. He had a gentleness
about him that could not be taught, and a sincerity that came through in the
smallest of gestures. He listened properly. He gave his time without making
you feel like a burden. He carried himself with humility, never wanting
attention, never speaking of his own sacrifices, yet always present when
someone needed him. I saw this in him again and again over the years, and it
is those personal memories that remain closest to my heart. He was the kind
of person whose goodness was not loud, but it was constant; not performed
for others but rooted deeply in faith. To know him was to feel that you had
been blessed with the company of someone who truly lived what he believed.

The grief we feel is not light. It sits heavily in the heart because men like Adam
do not pass through life unnoticed. They become part of the way we
understand kindness, patience, faith, and responsibility. Yet even through our
tears, we hold firmly to what our faith teaches us: that death is not the end, but
a return. We ask Allah (the Exalted) to receive him with mercy, to widen and
illuminate his grave, to forgive his shortcomings, to multiply his good deeds,
and to place him among the righteous in Jannah. If our sorrow is deep, it is
only because our love and respect for him were deeper still.

But remembrance must do more than make us cry. It must make us think. It
must ask something of us. Adam’s life asks us a simple but difficult question:
What are we doing with the time Allah has given us? Are we using it to serve,
to forgive, to teach, to comfort, to leave something good behind? His life was
not built on speeches or display. It was built on small, sincere acts repeated
over many years until they became a legacy. If we truly love him, then we
must not only remember him; we must learn from him. We must carry forward
even a little of his patience, his humility, his steadiness, and his willingness to
be there for others.

When he became ill and was admitted to the hospital, his family honoured me
by allowing me to sit with my dear friend during those difficult days. Those
hours will remain with me for the rest of my life. Illness strips away pretence. It
brings a person close to the reality we all speak about but rarely prepare for.
Yet Adam met that reality with a calmness that humbled me. He told me, with
quiet acceptance, that he did not believe he would return home and that he
was prepared for what Allah had written for him. He spoke not with fear, but
with faith. He shared his wishes with me: that his body be washed and
shrouded with care, and that Shaykh-ul-Hadith Maulana Saleem Dhorat
Sahib. Lead his Janaza prayers. He also asked me to thank his beloved wife for
being the rock of his life, and to remind his son and two daughters that they
were the joy and love of his life. Hafez Adam spoke of them with tenderness
and a love that words can barely hold. Some of what he shared must remain
an Amanah, kept safely in confidence, because certain memories are too
sacred to be placed on paper.

There is a painful lesson in grief that we often learn too late. We spend our
lives rushing, worrying, planning, and postponing, while the people who matter
most continue quietly beside us. We assume there will be more time to say
what should be said. More time to thank them. More time to tell them that their
presence has meant something. Then Allah takes them back, and suddenly all
the words we kept for later rise painfully in the throat. Adam’s passing reminds
me, and should remind all of us, that love should not be delayed, and
gratitude should not be saved for funerals. The great Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib
(may Allah be pleased with him) is reported to have said: “The value of a man
is what he does well.” Adam did so well, and he did it quietly, without wanting
praise. That is why his absence now speaks so loudly.

The Prophet (PBUH) reminded us: “When a person dies, their deeds come to an
end except for three: a continuing charity, knowledge that benefits others, or a
righteous child who prays for them.” When I think of Adam, this Hadith feels
less like a quotation and more like a description of his life. His knowledge did
not stay with him; it spread into the hands and hearts of those he taught. His
service did not end with one family; it continued through every person he
trained and every system he helped build. His children and family, whom he
loved so deeply, remain part of his ongoing mercy, praying for him and
carrying his name with honour. Death may close the chapter of a person’s
worldly actions, but for a servant like Adam, the reward continues to flow.

For me personally, this is not simply the loss of a colleague or a respected
community figure. It is the loss of a friend of more than forty-five years. A
friend who walked with me through decades of community work, difficult
decisions, long discussions, shared concerns, and shared hopes. Some
friendships remain on the surface, pleasant but not life-changing. Then some
friendships become part of who you are. Adam was that kind of friend. He had
a way of steadying me, of reminding me what mattered, of bringing me back
to sincerity when the work became heavy. To lose him is to lose a witness to so
many years of my own life. It is to look back and realise that some of the most
important parts of the journey were shared with him.

We often speak beautifully about people when they leave us, but Adam’s life
asks us to do better than that. It asks us to live differently while we still have
breath. It teaches us that a good life is not measured by how much noise we
make, how many titles we hold, or how often people praise us. A good life is
measured by how much ease we bring to others, how faithfully we fulfil our
duties, how gently we treat those in pain, and how sincerely we stand before
Allah when no one else is watching. Adam did not need a stage to make an
impact. He needed only a sincere heart, and with that heart, he touched
countless lives.

To his colleagues, Adam was a steady hand and a calming voice. He was the
person you wanted beside you when emotions were high and the situation
was delicate. He did not panic. He did not make grief harder than it already
was. He carried responsibility with dignity, and those of us who worked
alongside him knew that if Adam was involved, things would be handled
properly and with care. His absence will be felt in meetings, in phone calls, in
moments of uncertainty, and in those quiet pauses when we instinctively think,
“Let me ask Adam,” before remembering that he is no longer here to answer.
That is the loneliness of losing someone who was not just present but relied
upon.

To the wider community and to the hundreds of bereaved families he served,
Adam was a mercy at the moment they needed mercy most. He entered
people’s lives at the threshold of death, when hearts were raw, minds were
confused, and families were struggling to make sense of loss. He helped them
not only with procedures but with presence. He knew that bereavement work
is not paperwork alone; it is holding people through one of the most painful
human experiences. He honoured the deceased with Islamic dignity, and he
honoured the living with compassion. Many families may not remember every
form that was completed or every arrangement that was made, but they will
remember how he made them feel: supported, respected, and not alone.

He understood the sacredness of preparing a Muslim for burial. The ghusl and
the kafan were never just tasks to him. They were acts of love, trust, and
worship. He approached the deceased with reverence, as though each person
before him was someone’s whole world, because they were. He taught others
that this work must be done with clean hands, a focused heart, and a deep
awareness that we are serving a soul that has already begun its journey back
to Allah. In teaching people how to wash and shroud the deceased, he was
teaching more than a method. He was teaching adab, humility, tenderness,
and the reality that one day each of us will be in need of the same final care.

Rumi, that great poet of the soul, wrote: “Goodbyes are only for those who love
with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul, there is no
such thing as separation.” Adam Sabat will not truly leave us. He lives in every
person he trained, in every family he guided, in every colleague he steadied,
and in the quiet corners of our hearts where the best of our memories reside.
His voice, his counsel, his gentle insistence on doing things properly and doing
them with care — these things do not simply disappear because he is no
longer physically among us.

In Islam, we are reminded again and again that this world is temporary. We
say it often, but Adam lived in a way that showed he understood it. He did not
chase recognition. He did not build his life around applause. He gave his time
to the work that follows a person into the grave: service, knowledge, sincerity,
and care for others. His life was a reminder that we are all travellers. Some of
us are distracted by the scenery, some by the struggle, some by the comforts
along the way. Adam seemed to understand that the purpose of the journey
was not to collect as much as possible, but to arrive with something worthy in
our hands.

And yet, knowing all this does not remove the ache. Faith gives meaning to
grief, but it does not make us stone. We miss him. We miss his voice, his
presence, his quiet assurance, his way of making difficult things feel
manageable. We pray that Allah (the exalted) grants Hafez Adam Sabat the
highest station in Jannah, fills his grave with light and spaciousness, receives
him with honour, and allows every family he served, every person he trained,
every student he taught, and every good deed he inspired to become a
sadaqah jariyah (charity) that continues to reach him until the Day of
Judgement.

May Allah (the exalted) Grant him Jannatul Firdaus. May He comfort his
beloved wife, his children, his family, his friends, his colleagues, his students,
and all who mourn him. May He give us the wisdom to honour people while
they are still with us, the courage to serve without being asked, the humility to
do good without seeking praise, and the sincerity to live in a way that benefits
others long after we are gone. Ameen.

His Greatest Legacy — A Founding Pillar of MBCOL
To understand Adam’s life properly, one must understand the work to which
he gave so much of himself. The Muslim Burial Council of Leicestershire, known
to many as MBCOL, was not simply an organisation to him. It was a trust, a
responsibility, and a means of serving Allah by serving people at their most
vulnerable.

MBCOL was born out of pain, need, and determination. It came from the
realisation that Muslim families deserved dignity, speed, clarity, and respect
when burying their loved ones according to the teachings of Islam. From the
earliest days, Adam was there. Not as someone looking for a position, but as
someone ready to work. He was the kind of person every community project
needs, and few communities are blessed to have a reliable, sincere, patient,
and willing person to do the difficult work without asking who would notice.

In those early days, Adam supported me closely in establishing MBCOL. I
remember the journeys, the meetings, the conversations, and the uncertainty
of trying to build something that did not yet exist in the form we knew was
needed. For many years, he would accompany me to meet various Islamic
scholars whose advice and encouragement strengthened us. At the time, it
was not just an administrative request. It was a struggle for religious dignity,
for families in grief, and for the right of Muslims to bury their loved ones
without unnecessary delay.

Through MBCOL’s determined negotiations with Leicester City Council, a
historic agreement was reached permitting Muslim burials seven days a week,
including weekends and bank holidays. It was a breakthrough that would go
on to influence practice far beyond Leicester. But behind every agreement,
every meeting, and every policy change were people who cared enough to
persevere.

Yet I know that for Adam, the greatest achievement was never the agreement
itself. It was always the family in front of him. The mother who had lost a child.
The husband who could barely speak. The children were trying to understand
what had happened. He understood that bereavement work is sacred
because it stands between grief and chaos. He helped with documents,
registrations, hospitals, authorities, and all the practical matters that can feel
impossible when the heart is broken. He lifted burdens from families who had
no strength left to carry them. And he did it with such calmness that people
felt safe in his hands.

Perhaps one of his greatest contributions was that he did not keep knowledge
to himself. Some people become important by making others dependent on
them. Adam was the opposite. He wanted the community to be strong,
capable, and prepared. He trained others in the Islamic rituals of washing and
shrouding the deceased, teaching the ghusl and the kafan with patience and
seriousness. He understood that this knowledge had to live beyond one
person. In doing so, he gave the community a gift that will outlast us all:
people who can continue this sacred work with correctness, reverence, and
love.

MBCOL’s founding purposes include serving the religious needs of the Muslim
community in relation to burial procedures and educating others about
Islamic burial practices. Adam did not merely agree with those purposes; he
lived them. He served entirely as a volunteer, asking for no payment and
expecting no reward from people. His reward was with Allah. His motivation
was faith. His satisfaction came from knowing that a family had been helped,
a duty had been fulfilled, and a deceased Muslim had been honoured as they
should be.

The Prophet (PBUH) is reported to have said: “The best of people are those
who are most beneficial to others.” If we use that as our measure, then Hafez
Adam Sabat’s life becomes a lesson for us all. Be useful. Be sincere. Be
present. Help without waiting to be asked. Serve without needing applause.
Leave behind people who are better because you lived.

His Support for the National Burial Council
If MBCOL was the root of burial service in Leicester, then the National Burial
Council represented the widening of that work across the country. He
understood why it mattered because he had lived the reality on the ground.
He had seen families struggle. He had seen the importance of clear guidance,
strong representation, and proper standards. So, when the work grew
nationally, Adam supported it in the same way he supported everything good:
quietly, sincerely, and without hesitation.

The National Burial Council was established in 2014 as a national organisation
representing the needs of Muslim bereavement services across the UK,
dedicated to promoting transparency, consumer choice, and the
development of bereavement services. Born from the same spirit that had
driven the founding of MBCOL, but now with a national reach and a national
voice, the NBC set about building something lasting and consequential. It
aimed to ensure that the requirements of Muslim bereavement service
providers and bereaved families were well represented and embedded at
every level, working collaboratively with key local and national government
and statutory services, including Public Health England, the Cabinet Office, the
Chief Coroner’s Office, and the National Medical Examiner.

Adam understood instinctively what the NBC was trying to achieve, because
he had spent his life doing the same work in human form: bringing dignity,
order, and Islamic care into moments of grief. The NBC sought to represent
Muslim bereavement services at a national level, working with government,
statutory bodies, and service providers so that bereaved families would be
better understood and better served. To Adam, these were not policy words.
They were real families, real tears, real Janazas, real delays, and real
responsibilities before Allah.

At the heart of NBC membership is a commitment to high standards,
confidentiality, respect for families, and a genuine effort to facilitate quick
burials wherever possible. These principles describe Adam’s own way of
working. He did not need a written code to remind him to protect a family’s
dignity. He did not need a policy to teach him confidentiality. He carried those
values within him. They were part of his character, and that is why people
trusted him.

The NBC’s mission to improve bereavement support, strengthen governance,
and raise standards now continues without one of its most sincere supporters.
But what Adam gave to that work remains. His example reminds us that
systems matter, but the heart behind the system matters even more. A form
can be processed coldly or compassionately. A service can be delivered as a
duty or as an act of worship. Adam showed us the difference.

Service to the Federation of Muslim Organisations
Adam’s contribution to the community was not limited to burial work. He was,
in the truest sense, a community man. His service to the Federation of Muslim
Organisations as an office bearer and member of the Executive Committee
showed his wider concern for the welfare, unity, and future of Muslims in
Leicestershire.

Since 1983, the Federation of Muslim Organisations has played an important
role in supporting the diverse Muslim community across Leicestershire. For
much of that time, Adam was among those who gave it their time, advice, and
commitment. Serving on such a body requires patience, judgment, and a
willingness to think beyond one’s own circle. Adam had that quality. He cared
about the whole community, not just the part of it that was visible to him.

The FMO’s work in community welfare, education, empowerment, health
initiatives, local support, and cooperation between organisations reflected
values Adam believed in deeply. He understood that a community does not
stay strong by accident. It needs people who attend meetings, listen carefully,
offer wise counsel, resolve difficulties, and give their time when no one is
clapping. Adam was one of those people. He did not watch from the side. He
involved himself in the hard, patient work of building and maintaining
community life.

The FMO is recognised by key stakeholders, including central government,
Leicester City Council, Leicestershire County Council, and Leicestershire Police.
For Adam to serve within such an organisation speaks to the trust placed in
him and the seriousness with which he took communal responsibility. He
understood that representation is not about status; it is about carrying
people’s concerns with honesty and care.

The FMO’s work in promoting racial and religious harmony also reflected
something close to Adam’s heart. He believed in Leicester as a place where
different communities could live together with respect, understanding, and
peace. He knew that harmony is not just a slogan. It is built through
relationships, through trust, through turning up, and through treating people
with dignity. In his own gentle way, Adam helped strengthen that fabric.

He served not because he wanted influence, but because he understood that
if good people step away from responsibility, something valuable is lost. So, he
stayed. He contributed. He carried his share. And he did so with the same quiet
faithfulness that marked every part of his life.

UK to India
From hundreds of miles away, he found ways to reach those in need — and he
did so without fuss, without expectation, and without ever drawing attention to
himself. Through quiet encouragement, generous support, and a personal
involvement that never wavered, he helped nurture charitable, educational,
religious, and community efforts that changed lives. There were people in Diva
India who lived better, learned more, and were held more securely because of
what he gave. That is a remarkable thing. That is the mark of a man who
understood that true service asks for nothing in return.

He never sought credit. He never tallied what he had given. He simply saw a
need and answered it — with his time, with his resources, and always with the
full weight of his gentle, steadfast care. For Adam, giving was not an
occasional act of generosity. It was a way of being.
The Diva UK Welfare Trust knew this man well, and their words about him ring
with the unmistakable truth of those who witnessed his character at close
hand. They saw in him exactly what we saw here in Leicester — a soul whose
only currency was sincerity, and whose only ambition was the pleasure of
Allah (the Exalted) and the well-being of those around him. His dream for Diva
was the same dream he carried wherever he went: that communities should
stand united, that the vulnerable should never be left to struggle alone, that
children should be given every chance to flourish, and that each generation
should leave the world a little better than they found it. He believed that
quietly and completely. And he lived it, every single day.

Adam Sabat’s legacy did not stop at the borders of the United Kingdom. His
service reached across continents, touching lives internationally with the
same grace and humility. Whether in India or elsewhere, his care knew no
bounds, reminding us that compassion is a language understood by the
whole world.

A Teacher of the Quran — His Most Sacred Calling
Of all the chapters in Adam’s life, this one carries a special light. Before any
committee, any organisation, any role, or any public service, he carried a title
that is honoured in this world and, we pray, honoured even more in the next:
he was a Hafez of the Holy Quran. He was not only someone who had
memorised the Book of Allah; he was someone who taught it, protected it, and
helped place it into the hearts of others.

He was an active and cherished member of Masjid Al-Falah, supporting its
Madrasa and contributing to the life of that community with the same quiet
commitment he brought everywhere else. At Masjid Umar, he sat with
students and guided them through the memorisation of the Quran. Anyone
who has seen Hifz up close knows it is not easy. It requires patience from the
student and even greater patience from the teacher. It requires repetition,
correction, encouragement, discipline, and love. Adam gave all of that. Every
student who completed their Hifz through his teaching carries a part of his
legacy in their chest.

To someone looking from the outside, this may seem like teaching in a
classroom. But anyone who understands Islam knows it is far more than that.
The Prophet (PBUH) said: “The best among you is those who learn the Quran
and teach it.” (Sahih al-Bukhari). This Hadith gives honour to both the student
and the teacher, and it places the teaching of the Quran among the noblest
works a Muslim can do. Adam was blessed to be part of that chain.

To be a Hafez is to preserve something that does not belong to this world
alone. The word Hafez means one who guards and preserves. Adam carried
the words of Allah in his heart. He guarded them, recited them, taught them,
and helped others guard them, too. In a world where so much is forgotten, he
devoted himself to the preservation of what must never be lost. That alone
would be enough to make his life remarkable.

And the rewards that await him — rewards that our limited human
imagination can barely begin to comprehend — are spoken of with
extraordinary richness in the traditions of our beloved Prophet (PBUH). The
Prophet (PBUH) said: “The one who memorises the Quran will come on the Day
of Resurrection, and the Quran will say, ‘O Lord, decorate him.’ So, he will be
given a crown of honour to wear. Then it will say, ‘O Lord, give him more.’ So, he
will be given a garment of honour.” A crown. A garment. Bestowed not by any
earthly authority, but presented before the Lord of all creation, on the Day
when crowns and garments of this world count for nothing.

In another narration, the Prophet (PBUH) said: “Verily, the Quran will meet its
companion on the Day of Resurrection, when his grave is cleaved open, as a
pale man, saying: Do you recognise me? He will say: I do not recognise you.
The pale man will say: I am your companion, the Quran, who made you thirsty
in the midday heat and sleepless at night. He will be given dominion in his
right hand and eternal life in his left hand, and a crown of dignity will be
placed upon his head.” Subhan ’Allah. The Quran itself — the very words that
Hafez Adam memorised, recited, and taught — will rise to meet him and speak
on his behalf. What a meeting that will be.

The Prophet (PBUH) further said: “It will be said to the companion of the Quran:
Recite and ascend in ranks, as you used to recite when you were in the world.
Your rank will be at the last verse you recite.” Every verse that Hafez Adam ever
memorised, every verse he taught a student to perfect, every night he spent in
the company of the Quran — all of it becomes a step, ascending, ascending,
ascending towards the highest stations of Jannah.

But what makes his legacy even more beautiful is that he was not only a Hafez
himself; he helped others become Huffaz. Every student who recites because
of him, every prayer led by someone he taught, every verse revised, corrected,
and passed on to another generation may continue to bring him reward. This
is the kind of legacy most people cannot see with their eyes, but the heavens
know it well. It is a river of reward that continues to flow long after a person
has left this world.

If the honour promised to the one who memorises the Quran is beyond our
imagination, then what can we say of the one who teaches others to
memorise it? Only Allah knows the full measure of that reward. But we can say
this with certainty: Adam invested in the Hereafter. He planted the Quran in the
hearts of students, and those hearts will continue to beat with verses he
helped them learn. That is not a small legacy. That is a legacy of light.
May the Quran he carried in his heart be his companion in the grave, his
intercessor on the Day of Judgement, and his guide to the highest ranks of
Jannatul Firdaus. May every student he taught, every correction he made,
every hour he gave, and every verse he helped preserve stand as a witness for
him before Allah (the exalted).
Ameen.

The funeral took place that very day at 6:15 pm. It was a day of intense June
heat, the kind of heat that makes even ordinary movement difficult. Yet
hundreds came. They came because Adam had meant something to them.
They came because respect for him was not forced; it was earned over years
of quiet service. Standing there among the mourners, one could feel the
weight of a life that had touched many people in ways no single tribute could
fully capture.

I could write so much more about Hafez Adam. There are memories,
conversations, moments of laughter, moments of difficulty, and moments of
quiet faith that will remain with me privately. But the purpose of these words is
not only to remember him. It is to ask what his life should now teach us. He
showed us that a good life is not complicated, though it is not always easy. Be
sincere. Serve others. Honour your family. Carry the Quran. Support your
community. Comfort the grieving. Share knowledge. Do not delay goodness.
Do not wait to become important before you become useful. If even one
person reads about his life and decides to live with more humility, more
service, and more consciousness of Allah, then Insha’Allah these words may
become a sadaqah jariyah for him.

May Allah (the exalted) grant Hafez Adam Sabat Jannatul Firdaus, the highest
place in Paradise. May He forgive him completely, raise his rank among the
righteous, make his grave a garden from the gardens of Paradise, and
surround him with mercy and light. May every prayer he led, every verse of the
Quran he recited, every student he taught, every family he guided, everybody
he helped prepare with dignity, and every act of kindness he performed rise
as a testimony in his favour. May Allah comfort his wife, his children, his family,
and all who loved him.

I pray, and I ask others to join me, that Allah (the exalted) reunites me with my
beloved friend and colleague in the eternal gardens of Paradise. In this world,
we shared precious moments of companionship, brotherhood, and trust, and
my heart aches now as I feel the void of his absence. May our bond, so pure
and dear in this life, be renewed in the Hereafter, where no farewells or
separations will ever break it again.

I struggle to find words worthy of his noble character, for my attempts feel so
small compared to the greatness of his life and the kindness he showed to all
who knew him. I pray that Allah accepts these humble sentiments and that
this reflection encourages others to seek the beautiful qualities he embodied:
patience, sincerity, and devotion. I beg forgiveness for any failings in capturing
the light he shared in this world.

With trembling lips and tear-filled eyes, I whisper a silent and fervent prayer: O
Allah, wrap my dear brother in the boundless mercy of Your eternal grace,
grant him peace, and allow our hearts to meet again where joy never ends.
Ameen.

Your brother, friend, colleague — and everything in between that we never
needed words for.

Suleman Nagdi

By FMO On 11.07.2026 In Local, National, News, Uncategorized.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF HAFEZ ADAM YUSUF SABAT RAHMATULLAH‘ ALAYH (MAY THE MERCY OF GOD BE UPON HIM)

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