Last Friday was Eid al-Fitr, the celebration that marks the end of Ramadan, and we spent it with Yas’s family, surrounded by biryani and pakoras and cardamom-spiced desserts, henna drying on my hand, family gathered around the table.

I’ve been wanting to write about this for a while. About what it has meant to be welcomed into these traditions as a complete outsider. A girl from Blythewood, South Carolina who grew up knowing exactly one religion and one way of moving through the world… finding echo instead of difference on the other side of a table full of people who just wanted to feed us and call us family.

It’s also about Ramadan and Lent and Passover all landing in the same weeks…and about what it means that every single one of them is asking the same questions…what are we grateful for, what are we willing to give up, how do we take care of each other.

And honestly, it’s about the two uncles who showed up at my door every week with dinner and no conditions. Just here, eat, you’re family.

That’s the whole thing, really.