Thank you so much for sharing this information! Posts like this, highlighting major holidays celebrated in other countries, offer valuable cultural insight and encourage readers to reflect on their own traditions in comparison.
As an Arab American raised in the U.S., I’ve observed holidays here that aren’t recognized in my country—and vice versa. For example, I was surprised to learn (just this year, in 2025!) about Teacher Appreciation Week. Even though I went through the American school system, I had never heard of it before. Similarly, I recently discovered there’s a day specifically dedicated to children—something I didn’t grow up celebrating or hearing about!
One point in your post that particularly stood out to me was the celebration of Mother’s Day. In my country, as in many parts of the Middle East, Mother’s Day is celebrated on March 21st each year, marking the first day of spring.
What I found especially interesting is the topic of Father’s Day. In my country, it’s not celebrated at all. While some Middle Eastern countries like Egypt, Lebanon, and the UAE do recognize it, in my experience, many men in my culture see the idea as conflicting with traditional notions of masculinity. There’s a belief that since women tend to take on most—if not all—child-rearing responsibilities, celebrating fathers might somehow diminish their image. It may sound strange, but in some ways, Arab men—especially from my country—are raised with a very different cultural lens.
I’ve even seen these cultural differences reflected in personal experiences—like the blind dates arranged by my mother and sister! For example, I personally found Lebanese men a bit too soft for my taste, and Iraqi men just weren’t quite right for me either.
Interestingly, through my husband’s family, I’ve learned that there has been some recent change. Since around 2020, some families have started to acknowledge father figures, although the idea still struggles against deeply rooted beliefs about masculinity. That said, I’ve noticed society gradually shifting—just not universally quite yet.
Thanks again for sparking such a meaningful reflection!
Thank you so much for this beautiful and thought-provoking comment! I’m truly grateful you took the time to share your reflections—and I learned so much from your perspective as well.
I had no idea that Mother’s Day is celebrated on March 21 in many Middle Eastern countries to mark the beginning of spring—what a poetic and meaningful choice. And your point about the cultural dynamics around Father’s Day is incredibly powerful. It’s such a reminder of how deeply ideas about gender, parenting, and celebration are shaped by social norms—and how those norms can vary not only between cultures but even within a region.
I especially appreciate how you captured both the traditional views and the subtle but real changes happening in recent years. It mirrors some of the generational tensions and shifts I see in Korea as well.
Thank you again for engaging so thoughtfully. Comments like yours truly enrich the conversation—and remind me why I love writing about cultural intersections in the first place. 💐
To be completely honest, we need more writing that explores cultural intersections. Many people remain unaware of other countries and cultures unless they happen to meet someone from those places. The Middle East, in particular, is often misunderstood or overlooked. There’s so much richness and complexity that people are unaware of—when they finally learn about it, they’re often surprised.
In general, many children grow up without exposure to other cultures, and this lack of understanding can create divisions between them and students from different backgrounds. Growing up in an environment like that, my siblings and I often hesitated to share where we were from. We felt ashamed and distanced ourselves from our heritage, which led to a sense of resentment.
In elementary school, some of my siblings even refused to speak our native language. They made fun of our writing, calling it “chicken scratch.”
As adults, our experiences have varied. My second-eldest sister, for example, barely speaks our language now. She married a Hispanic man—something our relatives looked down on—and she chose not to teach Arabic to her children, saying they don’t need it.
In contrast, my eldest sister and I both married within our culture. We’ve preserved our language and passed it down to our children.
Our younger siblings—a brother and a sister—know only a little Arabic. My brother, in particular, grew up surrounded by Hispanic friends and felt the need to hide his identity. Now, in his early 20s, he’s trying to relearn the language and reconnect with his roots.
If more people took the time to learn about different countries and cultures, individuals would feel prouder of where they come from. This kind of cultural understanding would reduce the distance between people and foster greater empathy and connection.
Unfortunately, many still see Arabs as intimidating—but that perception isn’t accurate. It’s true that our men can come across as strong and assertive in their words and behavior, especially when compared to those from other cultures. But that doesn’t make them scary or unkind.
At the same time, we as Arabs also carry our own biases. Sometimes we judge others for being different, and that’s something we need to work on too. As a Jordanian woman, I’ve seen how both men and women in our community sometimes view men from other cultures as weak. But the truth is, we need to understand the context and experiences that shape people. Only then can we truly appreciate the strength and value in our differences.
After all, we are all related we come from the same parents-Adam and Eve- which makes us all siblings! We need to stop forgetting that🤣
By the way, I hope you don’t mind—I went ahead and shared your Substack with the students in my master’s class! I did try to reach out to ask for your permission, but I couldn’t get through, so I decided to go ahead and share it.
We were introducing ourselves and talking about our interests, and I mentioned my passion for learning about different cultures. That sparked a big discussion 😅—we talked about Korea, and one thing led to another, and I ended up mentioning and sharing the link to your Substack!
Apparently, Russia’s culture sparks more interest! (I think I, myself may start looking into that!)
Wow—thank you so much for sharing this deeply personal and beautifully honest reflection. Your story moved me in so many ways.
The vulnerability and insight you bring to the conversation are exactly why I feel so strongly about writing on cultural intersections. What you described—the childhood shame, language loss, and now the journey back to reclaiming your roots—is such a powerful and relatable experience for so many diasporic families. And yet, it’s one we don’t talk about nearly enough.
I especially appreciated your honest take on both external and internal biases. It’s rare to see someone speak so openly not only about how their community is perceived, but also how it may sometimes perceive others. That kind of self-awareness and nuance is what builds real bridges between cultures—and your comment was full of it.
And thank you so much for sharing my Substack with your master’s class! I’m honored (and honestly a little speechless 😅). It means the world to know that these posts are sparking conversations beyond the screen—and maybe even inspiring others to explore and embrace cultural stories, whether Korean, Arab, Russian, or otherwise 😊
What if I felt compelled to write about Arabs—especially Arab Christians, as one of them myself? Where would I begin? What themes or aspects should such a work explore?
If you feel compelled to write about Arab Christians, especially as someone who carries that identity, I’d say: start with what feels most personal and unresolved. What have you rarely seen reflected in media or literature? What misunderstandings do you wish you could clear up with just one powerful story?
Don’t underestimate the power of starting small—maybe it’s a short essay, a poem, a scene from your life. You’re not writing “about” Arab Christians in the abstract—you’re writing as one of them, and that’s where the richness lies.
Dr. Yoon,
Thank you so much for sharing this information! Posts like this, highlighting major holidays celebrated in other countries, offer valuable cultural insight and encourage readers to reflect on their own traditions in comparison.
As an Arab American raised in the U.S., I’ve observed holidays here that aren’t recognized in my country—and vice versa. For example, I was surprised to learn (just this year, in 2025!) about Teacher Appreciation Week. Even though I went through the American school system, I had never heard of it before. Similarly, I recently discovered there’s a day specifically dedicated to children—something I didn’t grow up celebrating or hearing about!
One point in your post that particularly stood out to me was the celebration of Mother’s Day. In my country, as in many parts of the Middle East, Mother’s Day is celebrated on March 21st each year, marking the first day of spring.
What I found especially interesting is the topic of Father’s Day. In my country, it’s not celebrated at all. While some Middle Eastern countries like Egypt, Lebanon, and the UAE do recognize it, in my experience, many men in my culture see the idea as conflicting with traditional notions of masculinity. There’s a belief that since women tend to take on most—if not all—child-rearing responsibilities, celebrating fathers might somehow diminish their image. It may sound strange, but in some ways, Arab men—especially from my country—are raised with a very different cultural lens.
I’ve even seen these cultural differences reflected in personal experiences—like the blind dates arranged by my mother and sister! For example, I personally found Lebanese men a bit too soft for my taste, and Iraqi men just weren’t quite right for me either.
Interestingly, through my husband’s family, I’ve learned that there has been some recent change. Since around 2020, some families have started to acknowledge father figures, although the idea still struggles against deeply rooted beliefs about masculinity. That said, I’ve noticed society gradually shifting—just not universally quite yet.
Thanks again for sparking such a meaningful reflection!
Dear Neiven,
Thank you so much for this beautiful and thought-provoking comment! I’m truly grateful you took the time to share your reflections—and I learned so much from your perspective as well.
I had no idea that Mother’s Day is celebrated on March 21 in many Middle Eastern countries to mark the beginning of spring—what a poetic and meaningful choice. And your point about the cultural dynamics around Father’s Day is incredibly powerful. It’s such a reminder of how deeply ideas about gender, parenting, and celebration are shaped by social norms—and how those norms can vary not only between cultures but even within a region.
I especially appreciate how you captured both the traditional views and the subtle but real changes happening in recent years. It mirrors some of the generational tensions and shifts I see in Korea as well.
Thank you again for engaging so thoughtfully. Comments like yours truly enrich the conversation—and remind me why I love writing about cultural intersections in the first place. 💐
To be completely honest, we need more writing that explores cultural intersections. Many people remain unaware of other countries and cultures unless they happen to meet someone from those places. The Middle East, in particular, is often misunderstood or overlooked. There’s so much richness and complexity that people are unaware of—when they finally learn about it, they’re often surprised.
In general, many children grow up without exposure to other cultures, and this lack of understanding can create divisions between them and students from different backgrounds. Growing up in an environment like that, my siblings and I often hesitated to share where we were from. We felt ashamed and distanced ourselves from our heritage, which led to a sense of resentment.
In elementary school, some of my siblings even refused to speak our native language. They made fun of our writing, calling it “chicken scratch.”
As adults, our experiences have varied. My second-eldest sister, for example, barely speaks our language now. She married a Hispanic man—something our relatives looked down on—and she chose not to teach Arabic to her children, saying they don’t need it.
In contrast, my eldest sister and I both married within our culture. We’ve preserved our language and passed it down to our children.
Our younger siblings—a brother and a sister—know only a little Arabic. My brother, in particular, grew up surrounded by Hispanic friends and felt the need to hide his identity. Now, in his early 20s, he’s trying to relearn the language and reconnect with his roots.
If more people took the time to learn about different countries and cultures, individuals would feel prouder of where they come from. This kind of cultural understanding would reduce the distance between people and foster greater empathy and connection.
Unfortunately, many still see Arabs as intimidating—but that perception isn’t accurate. It’s true that our men can come across as strong and assertive in their words and behavior, especially when compared to those from other cultures. But that doesn’t make them scary or unkind.
At the same time, we as Arabs also carry our own biases. Sometimes we judge others for being different, and that’s something we need to work on too. As a Jordanian woman, I’ve seen how both men and women in our community sometimes view men from other cultures as weak. But the truth is, we need to understand the context and experiences that shape people. Only then can we truly appreciate the strength and value in our differences.
After all, we are all related we come from the same parents-Adam and Eve- which makes us all siblings! We need to stop forgetting that🤣
And as siblings; we all don’t look the same!
By the way, I hope you don’t mind—I went ahead and shared your Substack with the students in my master’s class! I did try to reach out to ask for your permission, but I couldn’t get through, so I decided to go ahead and share it.
We were introducing ourselves and talking about our interests, and I mentioned my passion for learning about different cultures. That sparked a big discussion 😅—we talked about Korea, and one thing led to another, and I ended up mentioning and sharing the link to your Substack!
Apparently, Russia’s culture sparks more interest! (I think I, myself may start looking into that!)
Wow—thank you so much for sharing this deeply personal and beautifully honest reflection. Your story moved me in so many ways.
The vulnerability and insight you bring to the conversation are exactly why I feel so strongly about writing on cultural intersections. What you described—the childhood shame, language loss, and now the journey back to reclaiming your roots—is such a powerful and relatable experience for so many diasporic families. And yet, it’s one we don’t talk about nearly enough.
I especially appreciated your honest take on both external and internal biases. It’s rare to see someone speak so openly not only about how their community is perceived, but also how it may sometimes perceive others. That kind of self-awareness and nuance is what builds real bridges between cultures—and your comment was full of it.
And thank you so much for sharing my Substack with your master’s class! I’m honored (and honestly a little speechless 😅). It means the world to know that these posts are sparking conversations beyond the screen—and maybe even inspiring others to explore and embrace cultural stories, whether Korean, Arab, Russian, or otherwise 😊
What if I felt compelled to write about Arabs—especially Arab Christians, as one of them myself? Where would I begin? What themes or aspects should such a work explore?
Absolutely—what a meaningful calling to feel.
If you feel compelled to write about Arab Christians, especially as someone who carries that identity, I’d say: start with what feels most personal and unresolved. What have you rarely seen reflected in media or literature? What misunderstandings do you wish you could clear up with just one powerful story?
Don’t underestimate the power of starting small—maybe it’s a short essay, a poem, a scene from your life. You’re not writing “about” Arab Christians in the abstract—you’re writing as one of them, and that’s where the richness lies.