“Where are you from?” is a complicated question for author Leila Boukarim. Though she was born in Lebanon, she moved frequently as a child, living in Saudi Arabia, Dubai, the United States, and Montreal. The subject of her new picture-book biography, Mariam al-Shaar, has grappled with that question as well, though in vastly different ways. Al-Shaar was born in Bourj al-Barajneh, a Lebanese refugee camp, to Palestinian parents who were forced to leave their country in 1948. The path to citizenship is difficult for refugees, and job prospects are scarce, but al-Shaar was determined to empower her fellow refugees. In 2013, she started the catering company Soufra; she and her co-workers found renewed purpose in sharing food from their cultures, including Palestinian, Syrian, and Iraqi cuisine.

Al-Shaar came to international attention with the release of the 2018 documentary Soufra, which chronicles her ultimately successful attempt to expand the business into a food truck. Watching the film with friends while living in Singapore, Boukarim was struck by al-Shaar’s dedication. Obtaining government licenses for the food truck—simple enough for Lebanese citizens—was a long and arduous process for al-Shaar due to her refugee status.

“We were all in tears, and when I left the theater that night, I knew that I needed to tell the story to a young audience,” Boukarim tells Kirkus via Zoom from her home in Berlin. Mission accomplished: Her book Mariam’s Dream: The Story of Mariam al-Shaar and Her Food Truck of Hope (Chronicle Books, April 1), illustrated by Sona Avedikian, is a stirring account of al-Shaar’s resolve and creativity. The following conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

What challenges did you encounter in trying to reach a younger audience with this story?

Picture books tend to be very short, and the challenge lies in telling a complete and honest story—and a compelling story—with a word limit under 1,000 words. And this woman is so incredible. How do you distill all of that into a 32-page format?

The other challenge was the nature of the story. A lot of bureaucracy was involved, and no child wants to hear about that. Very few grown-ups want to hear about that.

You went to Lebanon to interview Mariam in 2018. What struck you about her? How did meeting her shape your narrative?

How calm, quiet, and composed she is all the time and at the same time how fierce. While I was sitting there with her, we were interrupted so many times, because anytime there was someone at the door or somebody called, they came to Mariam. It was clear that she was central to Soufra. [But] she expressed how uncomfortable she was with having been chosen to be the star of the documentary. To her, every member of Soufra was [just] as important, and she couldn’t have done this without them.

So many people wanted to meet her. One person [from Japan] told me that she’d come in for one day to meet Mariam. That was unbelievable to me, to see how one person in one refugee camp could have such an impact, not only on her community, but on people all around the world.

I kept thinking about how Mariam would feel about how I portrayed her. I was really worried about disappointing her. So she was always there [in my mind] when I was writing, revising, at every stage. And I was so relieved the first time I shared something [from the book] with her, and she was happy. I hope that I can hand deliver copies of the book to her in Lebanon soon.

This is an especially relevant book now, given the xenophobic rhetoric in the United States and the situation in Gaza. What do you hope young people take from Mariam’s story?

I think children already know what the takeaway is, so I’m not trying to open their eyes. They understand that hate and walls and fear don’t make us safer. What I really hope is that the grown-ups who are reading this book to children will be moved by this woman and will carry that with them in their daily interactions. [I hope] that the next time they see someone who looks like Mariam, they can look past the labels and the narratives that they’ve been fed and see a person who is much more like them than they think.

What misconceptions do you see your book dismantling?

Mariam talked to me about this when I met her. She said that so many people tend to assume that refugees are helpless. Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s crucial that people in positions to help understand: Refugees know best. They know what they need, and they know how to serve their communities.

You’ve published several books centering on people who have complex relationships with the places they’re from. Why does that theme speak to you?

I grew up as a third culture kid. I moved a lot throughout my childhood, not just from country to country, but from school to school. I was always the new kid. I never felt like I belonged anywhere. I spent a big chunk of my childhood in Montreal. When I was in Canada, I never felt Canadian enough. When I went back to Lebanon to visit, I never felt Lebanese enough. I’ve really struggled to understand where I fit in, and I can see my kids struggling in the same way. So the themes of identity and roots and belonging are things that I think about often.

Food comes up often in your books, too.

Breaking bread is very important in Arab culture and Lebanese culture. Food is what brings people together. And there’s one thing that I love about Levantine culture specifically, and that’s the soufra culture. “Soufra” literally means “a table full of food.” On the weekends, families will spend hours preparing for a meal, and then they’ll sit down for lunch, which will last well into the night. For hours on end, they are there at the table together, talking, reciting poetry, bonding over food and stories. I think that’s beautiful.

Why is it important that young people be exposed to international literature?

I think it’s crucial that everybody, no matter where they are, read widely, because the world is so small and we’re all so connected. I find that staying focused on your own world can be dangerous. And something I’ve heard said by adults, of course, in the last few months, is “Why should I care about what’s going on in that part of the world? I’ve got enough on my plate and enough problems over here.” It kills me to hear this. We should be able to empathize with people, and books help us do just that.

I have faith that young people will do better than we’ve done, just like we’ve done better than our parents did. I believe that the more diverse stories we put in their hands, the more open they’ll be to the world and the more they’ll be able to empathize with people. A person who can empathize is a person who can be moved to action when it’s most important.

Mahnaz Dar is a young readers’ editor.