The Night Lentils Taught Me About Connection

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Note: Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those in this story.

Sitting at my desk in my dorm room while studying abroad, I was trying to focus on an assignment. I had decided to sign up for multiple courses at BGU in Be’er Sheva on the Middle East and was at the beginning of my semester.

The words on the screen blurred as my mind wandered to how much I missed the familiar comforts of home. My soft bed and even words at the grocery store I could recognize seemed like luxuries.

The hard surfaces of my housing mirrored how difficult this place was. Not being able to speak the language made everything obstinate.

An Unexpected Invitation

Lately, the silence in my dorm had been deafening. That is, until tonight.

I heard the loud voices of a group of people in my dorm’s kitchen. Their voices echoed off all the hard surfaces as this was, after all, student housing. Their voices became louder as someone made a joke, and they all started laughing.

Their laughter grew louder, pulling me from my thoughts. For a moment, I hesitated—was it rude to intrude? Would they think I was awkward or out of place? But my curiosity was piqued. I closed my laptop, smoothed my shirt, and peeked out the door.

Meeting New Friends

I found five women in my kitchen, all international students and friends of my roommate. The kitchen was covered with food preparation dishes. A cutting board lay on my table with cut vegetables, and a bowl of orange bean things was next to it.

“Hi, everyone,” I said. A woman with shiny black hair and a round face smiled at me. “Oh, hey,” she said.

“So what’s going on here?” I asked. The woman answered, “I’m making dal.” I thought she had dropped the last part of the word as the word dal had not existed in my vocabulary before this interaction.

“Oh”, I said. “Good.” I had no idea what dish this woman was making. I decided to take the watch-and-observe approach.

A Lesson in Cooking

“Can I help with anything?” I did not want to seem unhelpful or betray my ignorance.

“Yes, can you soak the lentils?”

Those orange things, I thought.

“Yes, I can do that.”

“Be sure to rinse them until the water runs clear,” she said, looking directly at me and handing me the bowl of orange lentils.

“Okay”, I said. I was going to make the water rinsed through those lentils as clear as mountain glacier water, I thought to myself.

I nodded confidently, though I had no idea how clear “clear” was. As the water clouded with each rinse, I couldn’t help but think, “These orange things are funny-looking.”

She confidently and graciously strolled over to check my work. I accomplished my task.

“Thanks”, she said.

Sharing Stories

“What program are you in?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m in the international studies program.

“Did you enroll through a school?” I asked as most of the people I knew in my program in Be’er Sheva were coming through a US university exchange program.

“No, I found out you can enroll directly.”

“Nice, me too. Directly, that is”

“Nice”

“What’s your name?”

“Sam, and yours?”

“Sandra”

A Revelatory Meal

I watched Sam cut up onions, garlic, ginger, and potatoes. She was cooking without a recipe, something she knew by heart. She looked like she could do this in her sleep. She threw spices into the pan, which I did not recognize.

Incredible smells wafted through the kitchen.

I couldn’t help but think of the different dinners I had growing up.

Where I grew up, legumes or beans were covered in a sugary smoky syrup and eaten as a side at cookouts or mixed with other beans and covered in a vinegar dressing and served cold. (Whoever came up with “three bean salad” owes compensation to those who had to grow up eating it.)

Growing up, lentils were a foreign concept and not a regular occurrence at dinner.

In this meal, legumes were the star, but instead of being sickly sweet or cold and overly tangy, they were warm and spiced, making it a comforting meal with potatoes.

A World Beyond Beans

The dal finished cooking. We all sat down with the dal and an assortment of sides.

As I took my first bite, the warmth of the dal spread through me, a mix of spices and comfort I couldn’t name. This was alive. Nourishing. Full of possibilities. Eating the dal felt like a warm hug.

I didn’t just taste the dish; I felt my assumptions unravel with every spoonful.

As we ate, Sam shared stories of her time in Nepal—trekking through mountains and learning to cook dal from her friends. Now and then, she would interject with a detail about a place with a name I couldn’t pronounce.

She spoke about how almost every meal contained some lentil or bean and how food was a labor of love. Nepali meals generally don’t contain a whole lot of processed food. The time to make the meal wasn’t a consideration. Making nutritious meals from fresh ingredients was just the way of life in Nepal.

I couldn’t help but think about how this contrasted with American food culture, where time to prep is a consideration, premade items are valued, and food might result from a mega-corporation. I found this whole-food approach to be refreshing.

I listened intently, realizing how small my world had been. For her, this dish wasn’t just food; it was a piece of a journey, a memory of a place far from where we sat.

A New Perspective

That night, as I returned to my room, the smell of spices still clinging to my hair, I felt something shift. This wasn’t just about lentils or dal—it was about discovery. I realized that a simple dish, shared across cultures, could challenge everything I thought I knew about food, connection, and the world.

Dal wasn’t just a meal that night; it was an invitation—to see beyond the familiar, embrace what was new, and let curiosity guide me to places I hadn’t imagined.

I didn’t know it then, but this meal would be a step in breaking down the narrow walls I’d grown up in.

Sam’s stories and the warmth of the shared table stayed with me for the following days. Each time I thought back to that night, it felt as though the walls of my world stretched a little wider, opening up with every bite, every word, and every laugh.

Sometimes, all it takes is a bowl of lentils to remind us that the world is so much bigger than we think—and that stepping into it can start with something as simple as saying “yes.”

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Author Bio: Sandy Page is a lifelong adventurer. She reads and consumes copious amounts of hot beverages in her free time.