Palestinian you should know: Lubna (Lulu) Abura
The following was originally published in Palestine in America’s print Food Edition. Please consider subscribing or purchasing individual individual print and or digital copies.
Lubna Lulu Abura is unapologetically Palestinian, but it hasn’t always been that way, especially when her family first arrived in New York from Brazil, where she grew up.
The mother of twins, Abura developed a new love for baking, which doubled as therapy. She calls it a type of meditation. She was also looking for a less messy way to feed her kids zayt (olive oil) and za’atar sandwiches. Her intention wasn't to start a business, but the reception she received from parents at the park and people who followed along on her Snapchat feed provided the inspiration to do exactly that.
The founder of Lulu’s Gourmet Crackers joined the Palestine in America podcast to discuss her Palestinian and Brazilian identity, starting her online business, and why she focuses on baking Palestinian goods.
Palestine in America (PiA): Where in Palestine are you from?
Lubna Abura (LA): My parents hail from different parts of Palestine. My father’s side traces his roots to Mizra’ Gharbyeh, about 15 minutes away from Birzeit. As for my mom, she’s originally from Al-Lydd.
PiA: Explain your family's history. Were they exiled? Where did your parents/grandparents grow up?
LA: My father’s side of the family split up. Some went to Jordan and settled in Mukhaym Hussein. And my grandfather — after a few short-lived months in Amman — decided to follow his eldest son to São Paulo, Brazil. Brazil was one of the few countries welcoming refugees at that time. We are so thankful for his trajectory to Brazil. As for my mom's side, they settled in the Mukhaym Hussein upon exile.
PiA: When were you acutely aware of your Palestinian identity?
LA: I can recollect more than one occasion, but here are a few remarkable ones. My first memory of being Palestinian traces back to kindergarten when I brought a za’atar sandwich to lunch and had green “stuff’ in my teeth and face. I remember my classmates murmuring, "O que é isso nos seus dentes" "Whats that in your teeth?" Next, I decided that was too much and asked to bring stuffed grape leaves and corn on a cob to lunch. Needless to say I was ridiculed. I still ate my lunch, though, because it was delicious.I remember when we were little, in a small southern town in Brazil, there was no internet and very few households with an actual telephone. Our best bet in finding out what was going on back in Palestine was through an elder that was traveling to or from Palestine, or it’d be someone going to São Paulo (a bigger city) or mail correspondence. I was probably 3 or 4, and I remember my mom playing this cassette over and over — “Fida'i فدائي" — and tears would just roll down her face. We would ask her why she was crying so much, and she would say it was because it would bring back memories of the atrocities she had seen as a child when her family was forced to exile. Years later, we found out that the real reason was because she was mourning the assassination of her younger brother during the Jordanian-Palestinian conflict in the ‘70s [Editor’s note: “Fida'i فدائي” is the Palestinian national anthem].
I was about 8 or 9 when my aunt Mariam came to São Borja, my home town, to visit us. She was a full-blown falaha wearing her vibrant colored thobes up and down in the main square — Praça 15 de Novembro — and a golden tooth to match it. My siblings and I were in charge of chaperoning her around town because she didn't speak Portuguese. We'd purposely walk super-fast in front of her because we didn’t want to be associated; we were mortified of walking next to an “antiquated lady” fully covered in the hot damp tropical heat of Brazilian summers. Secretly, her chaf, kal, and kulna ways of speech intrigued me way more than my madani mother’s speech of 2al and 2ulna. Today, I'm so thankful and honored to have been exposed to two different worlds of being Palestinian at an early age: the madani and falahi. Most of my online posts reflect these moments and cultural richness.
PiA: Did you ever feel you had to hide your identity? Why or why not?
LA: A few times. When we first arrived in the U.S. right during the first Intifada, I remember being a freshman in high school knowing very little English. It was the summer of 1990. In math class, Mr. Silver, his blue-piercing eyes zoomed in [on] the stickers I had all over my binder … paused the class and came to my desk asking if I hated him. I was confused, mainly because of not being able to understand the language, so a classmate translated into Spanish. Why would he think I hated him if I just stepped off the boat? It turned out he was Jewish, and he thought I hated all of them. Me? I was so perplexed, my face turned tomato red. I just wanted to go home at this point. He kept asking over and over until he pointed to the stickers on my binder. Wow, now I got why he thought I hated him. I had "FREE PALESTINE" "PLO" "INTIFIDA" and other drawings of the Palestinian flag all over it. From that moment on, I started to hide my binder. That led me to start omitting my Palestinian heritage and just say I was Brazilian. I'd start hanging out only with Brazilian friends to avoid being associated with being Palestinian and to omit any extra attention in the classroom.
PiA: Why do you think food is so important for our cultural preservation?
LA: In my opinion, we are our food. [It’s] without a doubt the pivotal factor of our cultural preservation. As a Palestinian, 75 percent, if not 99.9 percent, of our time is in the kitchen. About three years ago, I recorded my mom making kishek, the Liddawi way. My father didn’t grow up eating it, but [my] mom did, and she had so many memories while explaining the process and when and why they’d eat it that way. One day, as I was baking za’atar crackers, my father came to the kitchen and said, “Yah bayeh! The smell of za’atar woke me up and it reminded me of my childhood.” Till today, that was the most profound sound my ears have heard. I teared up when I heard him say that. I can only imagine the recollections my twins will have when they’ll smell za’atar as adults. So, our food is directly connected to our existence, our essence…deeply intertwined with our Palestinian souls. Every dish has a meaning and a story behind it and when we generally eat it. Take maklouba, for example. We all eat it on a Friday, because that's the day the family gathers. Even our most jeweled pantry staple, za’atar, has a proverb my dad shared with me: "كل زعتر وزيت تنطح الحيط," which in a loose translation means if you eat zayt and za’atar, you'll have super powers to demolish a wall.
PiA When did you begin to cook, and why did you decide to focus on Palestinian food vs. just Middle Eastern or Arab?
LA: My twins were babies at the time when I started baking. I was in a very dark place as my world was collapsing due to personal predicaments. Baking made me feel purposeful at nighttime when my twins would be asleep. It'd make me forget my troubles, so from the beginning of this journey, baking has been my sort of meditation. I was also looking for a more practical less messy way of feeding my twins zayt and za’atar sandwiches. I didn't think it'd be a business right away, although the success was immediate positive feedback from parents in the park, and from posts I'd share on my Snapchat. I can say Snapchat started my business. It wasn't always smooth with my family at first. My mom was supportive from the get-go. My father on the other hand, not so much. He felt it was a waste of time and that no Arabs would be interested in something small like a cracker. Well fast forward to today; my number one fan is my father!
I grew up eating Palestinian & Brazilian dishes. I didn't know any other culinary world. And the one thing I always loved the most, and had the most remarkable memories of, was a’atar. The smell, the taste — so many vivid emotions that comes forth from the heart to the mind. In this venture, I looked around for inspiration and realized there was no one doing what I was tapping into, or at least I wasn't aware of, which is a space in the snack world. I started to study and understand the importance of representation. This journey isn't just about food; it's about being part of our future seeds of life. I dream of chats where our kids will say they grew up eating my crackers as their favorite snack.
PiA: What challenges have you faced in your career as a Palestinian chef?
LA: I’d not say challenges just yet, because I’m just getting started. I’d say more of a disappointment. Sadly, I came to realize that just because someone else is also Palestinian, they will not necessarily support your vision or your business. A lot of times, it all stems from jealousy, which is a disease of the heart. I see it differently; we should all support each other because I truly believe together, we are stronger and more beautiful. I must say that I've met wonderful kind souls that have been so supportive from the beginning when I had zero clue of what I was doing. I'm thankful for those that showed compassion and I have so much respect for them. I prefer to focus on the good our people have to offer.
PiA: What is your favorite Palestinian dish, and why?
LA: My favorite dish has got to be maklouba, second msakhan. And of course, I’ll never ever say no to stuffed grape leaves. Rumanyeh is right up there, too!
PiA: What is your favorite dish from your line, and why?
LA: My current favorite cracker flavor is shatta. Perfect balanced heat.
PiA: What has been the best reaction from customers to your food?
LA: All praise is to Allah — nothing but 100 percent customer satisfaction from day one! Yes, my product has evolved throughout the years for better because now my hands have taken its mastery in this craft of baking. The best compliment is from parents when they tell me how picky their child is and that the only thing they love is Lulu's Crackers in za’atar flavor. I often think: When did we hear our parents snacking on za’atar crackers, or msakhan? Or on shatta? But our children will have those memories and eat all the flavors in a free Palestine, inshallah.
PiA: Food as a form of resistance: explain your thoughts on this concept.
LA: The other day I attended a Palestinian event organized by Al-Awada in New York as a vendor. My product doesn't need much selling because it sells on its own, alhamdulillah. However, I do say this product is a form of resistance. We seeds never died. We morphed into stronger, even more versatile versions of our ancestors. We suffered their pain firsthand through generational trauma, but we are also so exposed to tools to better ourselves and to think outside the box. So, if you look around, you'll see so many creative avant-garde forms of expressing our version of Palestine. Of resisting and existing. You have me for example, taking the most cherished Palestinian dish in our culinary world and transforming it into a snack. May I present you msakhan flavor cracker! Pardon me, but I'll toot my own horn. So many talented and young Palestinian friends are making great products: t-shirts, cakes, knafeh, candles...amazing! I'm so proud and honored to witness all this magic. Mashallah.
PiA: What advice do you have for someone looking to launch a Palestinian food business?
LA: My advice to anyone looking to launch a Palestinian business is do it for the culture without exploitation. I feel there's a thin line when we put out a product to honor our ancestors and our love for Palestine, and to simply make money out of it. Whatever you do, do it with love and be original, especially food, because people taste what comes from the heart and they'll be loyal clients for as long as your business is alive. Another important [piece of] advice is that one won't lose anything by being nice and supportive. The table is wide and there's enough room for all of us to shine and celebrate and be celebrated.
PIA: What's your most controversial food take?
LA: Hummus: Leave it alone! If [it] doesn’t have chickpeas, it is not hummus.
