I grew up in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood on Chicago's South Side. In fact, many Arabs I knew grew up in predominantly Jewish neighborhoods, because Arabs and Jews actually have much in common. My own mother didn't suffer as loudly as some, but coming from a poor village, she was incredibly frugal. When my friends sported ducktail haircuts, my hair was cut in a kitchen by Mom. And when I outgrew my shoes, Mom took a knife and cut the leather from the front so that my wool-socked toes would stick out.
Arab mothers are great cooks, and Mom was no exception.
The food was hot and spicy, and there was always enough of it for 20 people. Everything was stuffed, from green peppers to zucchini. No vegetable got wrapped in a napkin or shoved behind a refrigerator faster than okra. Arabs put it in their rice, stews, salads, and dips. Although my mom always denied it, I'm convinced she used to sneak it into our milk shakes.