As a Jew, I’ve definitely had my fair share of contact with affectionate families,… As a Jew, I’ve definitely had my fair share of contact with affectionate families, home-cooked food and customs that others might not understand. But for the most part, my family’s traditions are understated and personal. I don’t have one of those stereotypically loud households, with all the screaming and the yelling and the kvetching, and I definitely didn’t leave the theater after watching “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” convinced that “it described my family exactly!”

Recently, though, I received a taste of life in a different culture. No, that’s a lie. I dove in headfirst.

I followed my roommate home for a weekend.

If you’re wondering where she’s from, I’ll pause to provide you with a description of her foyer: as soon as I entered her household, my feet were greeted with the biggest welcome mat I’ve ever seen, featuring the face of a pharaoh. Yep – she’s Egyptian.

I have to admit that my original motivation for going home with her was not to broaden my horizons or immerse myself in an “exotic” culture. Basically, I needed to study. Facing three tests the following Monday, I was simply desperate for a quiet place to spread out and get my work done. Experience has taught me that I’d never make it through a weekend on campus without giving in to distraction.

But it wasn’t long before I realized that, whether I’d asked for it or not, I was in for a ride.

Our first night in her house, my roommate and I were finishing a movie in her living room long after her parents had gone to bed. Knowing she would be at work for nine hours of the following day, I asked, “What should I do about food?”

“You’ll see,” she said, laughing.

Trusting her word, I silently hoped I wouldn’t starve and turned my attention back to the screen.

The next morning, I took full advantage of the opportunity to sleep in a real bed and didn’t wake up until sometime after noon. My roommate had already left, so I found my own way downstairs and wondered if it would be weird for me to root through a stranger’s pantry.

It wasn’t a question I had to consider. As I entered the kitchen, I saw that her mother had already cooked plenty to eat – dish after dish of mouth-watering Egyptian food. She kept my plate filled until I clutched my stomach in exhaustion, thanked her immensely and retired to the bedroom to study.

No more than two hours passed before I heard a knock on the door. Her mother. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

Still sated from breakfast, I replied, “No, thank you.”

The door closed again and I reopened my textbook.

Just moments later, I heard a knock again, and again answered the door. On the other side, much to my amusement and gratefulness, stood her mother with two freshly washed apples.

And so on and so forth. There was always food being cooked, served or eaten; there was always Arabic being spoken somewhere in the house; there was always an unusual and interesting piece of art to pore over.

I was completely enamored. This is, of course, not surprising to any member of this kind family or anyone else who has ever interacted with one. All of you already know that they spend their lives striving not for cleanliness in a household, or even peace and quiet, but for caring, warmth and generosity.

True, lots of kinds of families can boast the same. Most siblings and parents strive to make each other happy. But these kinds of families get to brag about the special (and sort of cute) ways they go about the task – the loud voices and the quick tempers and the lipstick marks on your cheek every morning.

To them, hearing “I’m not hungry” and pretending you said “I’m absolutely ravenous” is a sign of thoughtfulness. So is moaning, “You! You’re always playing with your hair” while pushing strands of it every which way. So is hinting that “Susan from the bank has got the smartest son, and I bet he doesn’t have a girlfriend!”

So I left my roommate’s house on Sunday armed with a whole new definition, and some first-hand experience, of what it means to show love. I gained a very serious appreciation for Egyptian food, and I learned how to say “water” in Arabic.

But the time I spent in my Egyptian roommate’s household, even for a mere two days, also brought me something more significant than any of that.

It kind of made me wish I had a gigantic pharaoh welcome mat.

Want to buy her one? E-mail Carolyn at [email protected].