WAYLAND — The atmosphere in the meeting hall was festive Saturday night, as hundreds gathered to break the first fast of Ramadan with dates and water.
The diverse group of congregants met at the Islamic Center of Boston at a time of upheaval in the United States and abroad to celebrate the holiest month of their religious calendar, which began after sunset Feb. 28 and will run until March 29.
Even as men and women embraced each other, with greetings and jokes in English, Arabic, and half a dozen other languages, some were painfully aware how fortunate they were to be able to celebrate together.
“There are people all over the world who are not enjoying the kind of Ramadan that we are talking about [here],’’ said Faisal Khan, the center’s imam and director of religious affairs. “It’s an existential risk to their life at times.’’
Saturday marked the first iftar, or breaking of the fast, in Ramadan. This year, the holiday comes amid uncertainty around the world, with a fragile cease-fire in Gaza and heightened anti-immigrant and anti-Muslim rhetoric at home.
For many congregants, the sense of community that Ramadan fosters, with fellow Muslims here and abroad, is central to their perception of their faith.
“The first day, there’s this kind of feeling of spiritual connection between people all over, all Muslims,’’ Khan said. “People want to be hospitable, they want to be generous, they want to be open. And they want that communal spirit.’’
The congregation at the Wayland center, which hosts community iftars several times a week during Ramadan, is over 300 strong, though it can swell to many more during the holy month.
In keeping with zakat, meaning charity, one of the five pillars of Islam, the center regularly collects donations for various causes — among them, humanitarian relief in Gaza.
Khan also noted that this Ramadan is the first in Gaza since the cease-fire between Israel and Hamas took hold. Far from the spacious suburban meeting hall, many Gazan families are celebrating outdoors, since their homes and mosques had been reduced to rubble during the war there, he said.
And yet, the predominant atmosphere on Saturday was one of warmth and gaiety. Despite the intense spiritual discipline that practicing Muslims work toward, many said it’s a time that friends and family look forward to.
“People will say, ‘Well, geez, you’re not eating and drinking all day, you’ve got to be miserable,‘’’ said Kashif Ahmed, a 52-year-old wealth management specialist from North Andover. “But for me, it becomes just like a party, almost, every day for 30 days.’’
The Wayland center prides itself on its welcoming atmosphere. All sorts of nationalities and ethnic backgrounds are represented, from the Arab world to the Indian subcontinent to eastern Europe. Some congregants wore traditional dress and tunics, others Henley sweaters and Burberry coats.
“Just climb up on a chair, look down on this entire hall, and this is America, right here,’’ Ahmed said.
The Wayland center is relatively progressive. It has a female president, and it frequently engages in charity and other social causes; placards reminded congregants to place discarded food in the compost bin. The center also participates in regular interfaith discussions with a Jewish temple across the road.
That decades-long relationship has been tested by the conflict in the Middle East. So far, it has withstood the tension.
“There have been some difficult conversations about where we stand,’’ Khan said. “But the work is going on. And we feel like we need to have those conversations.’’
Khan described the spirit of Ramadan as one of self-reflection and of “gaining a closeness to the consciousness of God.’’ But rather than looking inward, he said, that should encourage Muslims to look outward, asking themselves, “How you can serve the world and serve other people?’’
Afsan Bhadelia, who visited the center with her parents from Brookline, said the spirit of Ramadan has translated to her work in public health: It encourages looking beyond oneself and toward the shared values of humanity, for Muslims and non-Muslims alike.
“Whether it’s a sense of justice, whether it’s equity or compassion and kindness, right, which is really powerful,’’ she said. “It takes a lot of courage to reach out to people you know, who may be different than you, and to find common ground.’’
Firdosh Pathan, a 68-year-old pharmacist at Massachusetts General Hospital, expressed a similar sentiment.
“We’re all part of the human race,’’ he said. “Our blood is the same red color. A Muslim kidney would be working for a Christian kidney. … It’s one world we have to share.’’
Bhadelia said she remembers growing up in the aftermath of 9/11, when Islamophobia was rampant. Since then, she said it’s been “really beautiful’’ to see Islamic centers like Wayland’s focus on community dialogue.
“No matter what’s happening around the world or in the country … you get to see how people deserve and practice things differently, and always find that common thread,’’ she continued.
Khan suggested that all of the “noise’’ around the community had the effect of strengthening it, especially during difficult times like these.
“You can use it to motivate you,’’ he said. “It does make you feel sometimes that, you know, ‘I know that I am American and I belong in America. My leadership at the moment may not be reflecting my views, but you know what, I’m determined to continue to work to make things better.‘’’
After a few minutes of conversation, the worshipers make their way to the prayer hall for the Maghrib, the first prayer after sunset.
Once the prayer is finished, a hefty spread of food was laid out in the basement. The food was plentiful — rice, chicken, kebab patties, and fufu, a cassava-based dish that one Nigerian volunteer had to explain to curious diners. And for the children, there were boxes of pizza.
The food is a welcome reward for the worshippers after their daily fast. But it is also a reminder of those less fortunate.
“People know that the act of fasting is the only act of worship that cannot be witnessed,’’ said Asif Razvi, 79. “Everything else you do can be witnessed — praying, giving charity, doing anything else. But the act of worship of fasting is strictly between you and God, because if you went in a corner and had some water, nobody’s gonna know. That’s why it’s very special.’’
Camilo Fonseca can be reached at camilo.fonseca@globe.com. Follow him on X @fonseca_esq and on Instagram @camilo_fonseca.reports.
