Crossing Cultures

What do you get when a three generation French family, two Palestinians, and an American student sit down to dinner together?

It’s not a bad joke, the answer is a 3 to 4 hour meal of good food and wine, conversations in multiple languages, and a wonderful time had by all.

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Last weekend, one of my host family’s former students came to visit. When my host mother told me that Dahlia was coming with her husband and daughter, my first thought was there’s gonna be a lot of people in the house. And there were—10 in total, including two 2-year-old children. But to my surprise, it didn’t feel cramped; instead it was cozy. The house was alive with people. And I realized that Dahlia wasn’t just an old student who came to visit often, she was family. And by the end of the weekend, I felt like a part of the family too.

Dahlia and her husband Gabriel grew up in Bethlehem, Palestine, went to college in the United States and now live in Boston. They’ve lived and traveled all over the place, and are the type of friendly, worldly travelers you’d hope to bump into on the road. They both speak English, French and Arabic fluently, and their 2-year-old daughter can already understand and speak a little of all three.

The arrival of this little family marked an unexpected turning-point in my time here. With almost exactly one month left in Strasbourg, I’d been focusing more on what was exciting about leaving, rather than what I still had left to enjoy. Seeing Dahlia come into the house, full of joy and appreciation for these people and their culture after so many years, gave me pause to think and reexamine what it was that I was excited to leave behind. And I found there was a lot to appreciate.

Dahlia and Gabriel proved to be a sort of bridge between my host family and I, over a gap I hadn’t even realized was there. As Dahlia explained many of the little things my host mother does and all the reasons behind the way they live—things I might have noticed before but never really picked up on or fully understood—, I began to truly appreciate what a unique cultural experience I am having.

My family still lives a very traditional Alsacian lifestyle, and their house has not changed one bit in the 15 years since Dahlia was a student there. My host parents spend most of the day working in their garden, which provides many of the vegetables we eat, they watch the same dubbed American soap opera every day which they’ve been watching for at least the last 15 years, they can still speak the dying Alsacian language, and my host mother prepares traditional Alsacian meals all the time (trust me, it’s quite different from normal french food). Their house has no internet, and their TV’s are several decades old at least, but it all just adds to the charm of their lifestyle.

I realized that I am really lucky to be living where I am. Most of the host families in Strasbourg today are totally modernized, and the traditional culture is disappearing. The experience of living with them is a modern European one, rather than a traditional uniquely regional one. But with my host family, it’s almost like time is at a standstill, lost somewhere in Alsace between the 1960’s and 90’s. I may live further away than most people, and have less internet access than everyone else on my program, but I’m getting a very authentic experience with an incredibly nice family. But it took the arrival of Dahlia and her family for me to fully realize that.

Having them here put things in perspective and shifted my view of my family, even how I interacted with them. With Dahlia and Gabriel at the table, conversations were more lively, and when I didn’t know how to say something, they could serve as translator. Even when we were speaking in English, it was mostly about other cultures, be they French, Palestinian, Japanese or whatever.

What amazed me most was how easily everything meshed. It just worked. Dahlia and Gabriel really are family to them. Every night there was a big dinner with everyone and my host family would pull out all the stops, because there’s only five days a year they get to spend with Dahlia and Gabriel, which means every dinner must be celebrated. One night after we’d finished eating, Dahlia explained to me that it had taken her 10 years to earn the right to help do the dishes after dinner, and my host mother still won’t let Gabriel help with anything. 

In fact, the only time I’ve ever heard her raise her voice was at him. After pretty much every meal, Gabriel would get up and try to start taking dishes into the kitchen, but as soon as my host mother noticed what he was doing, she would yell at him in French, saying “No! You are in my house, therefore you will do nothing!” to which Gabriel responded with a smile and a hapless gesture, retreating back to his chair until after the next course, when he would diligently try again.

There was lots of joking, of course too much eating, and plenty of scenes just like that between various family members. It was during all this that it dawned on me that family really is the same across cultures. You talk, you joke, you yell, you eat, you get told by the mother in charge to eat more, you enjoy each other’s’ company, and you have a good time. 

It might have been one of the stranger combinations for a family gathering, but in this house, where you come from doesn’t matter, only that you become a part of the family. I think it says something that with a Jewish American college student, a Palestinian couple, and a large French family all gathered around the same table, the biggest conflicts weren’t cultural, but over who would get the slice of tart with the most cinnamon on it and who was allowed to help with the dishes.

Around the table from left to right: Rene (my host father), Suzanne (my host mother), Philippe (their son), Valerie (Philippe's wife), Marilyn (their daughter), Gabriel, and Dahlia