By: Sharon Abercia
I always felt I was born of two mothers. My Amercian mother, who tended to my heart and my Lebanese mother, who tended to my soul.
My whole life I had heard so many stories of Lebanon, the food, the people, the country. It was my identity but I had never been. The longing to see the land of my heritage burned in my soul. I finally met my “Lebanese mother” after many years of waiting only a few weeks ago.
As our plane landed I prayed for no expectations of this “mother”, for I knew that disappointment would surely devastate me. Landing in Beirut I felt an instinctual connection, but then was surprised at every turn.
The country was magnificent, the Mediterranean Sea on one side and mountains upon mountains on the other. As we climbed the peaks we found that the summits never ended. As we got to one valley and climbed to the top, we thought this is it. But no, another mountain and valley was now in front of us. At the top of the next peak was yet another and another and another. We climbed forever, and then, atop the last summit, viewed the historic and futile Bakka valley. I cried.
The food was so plentiful. I have never seen such beautiful dishes, the rich color of the produce, the presentation, the quantity — plate after plate of delicious and healthy food, and that was only the first course.
We were told not to go to so many places. It’s too dangerous, we were told. We went everywhere. We went to Bal back, Tripoli, Khoura, Deedeh, Jeita, Beirut, Byblos, Manssourieh. I was saddened when we arrived in Baalback — sad for these monumental ruins and for the families who live on tourism. We were one of very few people there. This impressive, fully intact complex of temples, which rivals the forum of Rome, stands alone with no one to see it because of radical ideologies just across the border. I continue to ask myself, “Why can’t we live in peace? Why can’t we respect each other’s differences and learn from them. And not be afraid of them. Our differences are not a threat to each other; one doesn’t have to be right and the other wrong.
What I loved the most were the people. I don’t think there is a more hospitable group in the world than the Lebanese people. They are my soul. They were so intensely helpful, kind, loving and gracious. Not to mention beautiful.
One evening, and after much researching we picked up the phone and dialed the number of a man named Saba Koborsie, in Meena Tripoli. He didn’t know us and we were hoping he wouldn’t hang up the phone. We told him that we might be related and asked him a few questions about his family. One question led to another and we soon realized we were related. He immediately shouted “Come Over!
His granddaughter sent me a picture of him that night and I was pleased to see he looked just like one of my uncles. Perfect.
As I reflect on the hospitality and genuineness we found in Lebanon, I realize that the Lebanese are the same all over the world. For when I traveled this great land for the Southern Federation, I would call members and say I’d be passing thru their city. I would here on the line, “Come Over, Come now to my home for coffee.”
We are a generous hospitable people with a spirit like no other. I am grateful to my parents for keeping this spirit alive and I am grateful to my sweet husband for taking me to a country he knew I longed for. I loved Lebanon. It is a rare gem of loving people with a spirit for life no matter what is thrown before them.
