As he sat down with us, I brought Mohammad a non-alcoholic specialty that Vanessa and I made for our holiday occasion. Sparkling bubbles rose up through pomegranate juice and seeds, and a slice of citrus, as I amiably offered him a goblet. A few friends started asking questions with smiles and open-eyed curiosity. As appreciative as was for their sweet and open-minded intentions to greet Mohammad and know him better, inevitable discomforts arose as I watched our different universes slowly colliding. Normal social intros take on different meaning in such circumstances.

“How long have you been in Athens, Mohammad?” “Just two months already.” “Oh, two months, and where did you come from?”  “I’m from Syria.” A short silent pause. Yes, they expected the answer, but the response still carries its share of untold stories of war and limitless hardship underneath, and in this case, as recent as September. “And where in Syria do you come from?”  Another politely habitual question… “Aleppo.”  Another short silent pause. Again, it’s a typical response as there are thousands of Syrians from Aleppo, like Mohammad, living in Athens. Nonetheless, images of white concrete rubble extending for miles and miles flutter in and out of our consciousness as we continue to converse.

Here we were, enjoying a typical holiday meal, ready to share our deepest gratitudes, in an air of lightness, ease, and joy, as our guests of honor join us from different worlds. How do we hold our two worlds together? How to bridge the oceanic gaps between us? Perhaps we already were.

I serve Mohammad some of my and Vanessa’s favorite vegan Thanksgiving dishes: a plate of homemade mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy, coconut curry squash stew with roasted chickpeas, and beets in balsamic and orange zest sauce. Vanessa humorously explains our search for cranberry sauce, which was nonexistent in Athens. Mohammad smiles at me warmly as I serve him, and I see that there is peace and gratitude in his eyes. The conversation continued.

Mohammad carried an air of respect, ease, and a subtle confidence built of trust while sitting and conversing with us throughout the evening. He was displaced from his homeland, but I could sense his deep rootedness and strength as he conversed. His english was imperfect, but his voice and intentions were heard clearly; he showed little or no embarrassment or shyness when asking for clarity or explaining that he could not understand our thick accented Irish brothers. In one sense, he was a stranger among us; but in another, we were the strangers in this new land, and learning deeply about his world.

The conversation naturally grew lighter, as he and Dermot joked about what American shows he watched to learn English while growing up in Syria. Our friends gradually learned that Muhammad was a young doctor, having just finished med school training, merely months before fleeing Aleppo and arriving in Athens. He was from a well to do family in Syria who provided him with excellent values and education throughout his life. But virtually no one, especially from Aleppo was able to escape the devastation. His family had lost nearly everything except their lives as they fled to Turkey. His 18 year old brother escaped to Germany two years ago and Mohammad had been trying to arrive there with him as well, but that road had been blocked multiple times and he was struggling to find another way through. Even a young and talented doctor, fully educated, versed in multiple languages, bright, handsome, of wealthy background, and of upright bearing – even one this blessed was searching to find a path forward in the aftermath.

We were thrilled that Mohammad could celebrate Thanksgiving with us, and revelled in all its novelties, including his first taste of apple pie, which he had also only previously known from the movies. While Mohammad was clearly enjoying his pie quietly, I watched him pause for a few moments in reflection. Then with an almost giddy smile, he shared something with us. “This is the first time I have been with non-Arabic people.” We all looked at him, as our eyes lit up, our mouths opened wide in awe. “Wows” and “Ahas” erupted among us, as our hands went in the air in celebratory exclamation. I had expected for this to be Mohammad’s first Thanksgiving ever, but I had never considered that it might be his first gathering with non-arabic people. That is, his first meal with white people. “What an honor for us to have you here, Mohammad! We get to share this special moment with you, and what a privilege!”  Hearing this news greatly increased how special the evening felt for all of us.

A lively and joyful conversation ensued for some time, and would have easily lasted the entire evening as well if we had wanted. But we really wished to bring out the very best of our tradition, so I invited a bell and transitioned us ahead. “It’s a custom for many of us and our families back home in the States, that on this special holiday, we take time to share our gratitudes for this life: our precious friendships, nourishing and delicious food, our health and family, the gorgeous blue sky, our beloved community, and so on. We have so much to be thankful for. Sharing such blessings with each other makes them feel more real in our lives, and even increases their abundance. Tonight, this evening is made even more special as we have the presence of two special guests of honor: Bara and Mohammad. Thank you for being here dear brothers, for receiving the specialness of our holiday, and blessing our evening with your presence.”

We went around the table, each of us reflecting on our deepest gratitudes at this period of our lives. It was so moving to hear everyone share, but it was our guests of honor who really captured our deepest attention and awe.

After a few moments of silence between us and the glowing candles glowing between us, Bara jumped in, speaking bravely before the rest of us. Offering his respect and enthusiasm, Bara stood up while beginning to share. “Thank you for welcoming me so beautifully with you tonight. The food is really so good, wow, yes so delicious. And now I asked Leonie about maybe becoming a vegetarian.” Everyone laughed out loud with him while also hearing his sincerity, knowing his strong preferences for non-vegetarian dishes. Bara continued English, while filling in gaps in French, his more fluent tongue next to native Senegalese dialect. “But seriously, I really appreciate this beautiful time with all of you. I have not felt such lightness and ease and peace in my heart as I feel tonight in some many years.” We all dropped into a deep listening silence as he spoke. “The silence and energy here and your presence is very healing for me. And I feel you are all my brothers and sisters. Yes, truly. Because in our world, it really means something when we see past colors, and it’s not just about being black and white…”  Bara’s words quickly became emotional and he stopped speaking in mid sentence. “I’m sorry, I need to go outside now. Please excuse me”. We encouraged Bara to take his time and enjoy the fresh air as he stepped outside.

Although we didn’t understand completely what arose for Bara, we felt the pain in his heart that was able to spontaneously emerge from the depths of his gratitude. This pain was able to surface safely amidst the presence of our deep listening, and his uplifting words of gratitude. Being in the presence of a group of white friends, we represented all the wealthy European and North American countries which over decades, forbade him and his native brothers from entering our lands and working alongside us. While sensitive to his pain, we were comforted by his words that healing and peace was taking place within him, in the midst of our fellowship. One by one, throughout the rest of the evening, Bara conveyed his heartfelt gratitude and joy to each of us, illustrating with his big smile and intimate eyes how dearly he enjoyed the evening. With childish enthusiasm, he promised that soon enough, he would be treating us all to a proper Senegalese feast as well.

Again, silence returned amidst flickering candlelight around white blossoms and bold persimmons, as we waited for the next person to share. “Okay, I’ll go.”  Following the form that he had seen, Mohammed put his hands together in front of his chest and bent his chest in a slight bow forward. As if to remove anything blocking his throat, he projected his voice firmly and clearly.

“The war destroyed everything for us.” He paused, half nodding to affirm his reality, as our ears lit up to receive his powerful sharing. “Yes, we lost everything.  During that whole time and since I have come here to Greece, I have never felt such peace as I feel here with you.” I felt both startled by the power of his statement, as well as moved for his depth of his gratitude in this moment. The directness of his eyes and openness of his words towards each us held nothing back. “It’s so nice to be here with you. The food has been delicious, and your hospitality is remarkable. I want to thank all of you for inviting me and being so warm and open. It is very special for me to know all of you.” Then he stopped and paused for a moment before continuing. “If it weren’t for the war, then I would never have been able to be here tonight and know all of you.” Mohammad looked like he was full of emotion, as if he hadn’t even conceived that that would come out. We all just sat there in pure silence, half-amazed, and half-processing the power and meaning of his words. Hearing him speak about both the war in his country and his gratitude for our friendship was like watching a jasmine flower rise from a sea of fire.

Who knew? Who of us knew that sharing sharing a simple yet heartfelt holiday dinner from our homeland in a spirit of brotherhood and sisterhood, filled with moments of silence, and in an atmosphere of acceptance and gratitude… who knew that such simple gifts could offer such radical happiness and healing for each other? It’s so simple. And yet, so powerful. If we have a community that can do this together, then we are beyond lucky. A community that is able to offer warmth, friendliness, the peace of shared silence, simple nourishing foods, deep listening, and an openness to gratitude – these are the precious gifts that so many of us have been waiting for in our lives. If we have such gifts, then we can embrace many people, including others, and heal wounds that may be buried in our hearts for many years.

Now, we are already planning out our Christmas and New Year’s gatherings – new occasions to embrace and celebrate each other with more friends.