At Le Sajj in Bay Ridge, a Smoky and Joyous Tribute to Lebanon Dave Sanders for The New York Times Le Sajj in Bay Ridge offers Lebanese food and, on Saturday nights, live music and dabke, a traditional Levantine line dance. Here, Bassil Touma, top center, sings popular Arabic love ballads. IN Brooklyn folklore, Bay Ridge remains the home of Tony Manero, the white-suited disco sensation played by John Travolta in "Saturday Night Fever." But that was 1977. Today, the neighborhood is as visibly Arab-American as it was Brooklyn Italian back then. And on Saturday nights these days, the Lebanese restaurant Le Sajj is transformed into one of the best places in the city to see dabke, a traditional Levantine line dance. On one such night this month, men and women held hands in the dimly lighted sliver of a restaurant, beating their feet in sync against the tile floor as popular love ballads from the Arab world reverberated around them. Fingers snapped in the air above heads or reached out to neighboring tables, enlisting a group of curious spectators - visiting as part of a dabke dance festival - as joyous participants. "When you dabke, it's very emotional," said Alice Farhat, 32, an immigrant who moved to Bay Ridge from the Lebanese city Byblos. You hold hands. It reminds you of your roots. Waiters hustled through the tight space, bumping against the excited dancers, carrying trays of mezze appetizers: hummus, tabbouleh, falafel and kibbe, ground-lamb meatballs stuffed with pine nuts. Some brought out shisha water pipes, long glass stems topped by foil-wrapped apples or oranges, charcoal squares smoldering red above them, sweetly scenting the air. Diners sipped strong, milky-white arak liquor over ice and wines from the Bekaa Valley of Lebanon. Before the dancing began, the eager crowd of 60 or 70 watched a trio of musicians setting up in a faux-brick niche. They had been scheduled to start at 10 p.m., but were still arguing in Arabic as speakers, microphones and instruments slid into place. When the singer finally began belting out the anthem "Zay El Hawa," or "Like the Wind," by the beloved Egyptian singer Abdel Halim Hafez, nothing could keep the patrons in their seats. One musician broke free from the rest, his oversize tabla drum strapped over his shoulders, the crowd encircling him. He ferociously pounded away, twirling in the opposite direction of the dancers. Dollar bills showered on the band, falling onto the floor uncollected, pointy men's dress shoes and women's high heels kicking them back up into the air. That evening, the music continued past 3 a.m., with a belly dancer joining in for a set. Other weekends, one guest said, the musicians have stayed even later. Marwan Dagher, 46, opened Le Sajj in 2006 after years in the restaurant industry. He came to the United States to study computer science in 1984, one of hundreds of thousands who fled the Lebanese civil war from 1975 and 1990. "I always wanted to have my own place," he said. This night, he added, his chef was on vacation and he was stuck in the kitchen: "People think you can dress up, have a drink, socialize with friends and just make money." One bearded Beirut-born bear of a man towered above all the others, Haitham Al-Khaled, 33, who moved to Bay Ridge in 1997. Now on Long Island, he returns every other Saturday. "When I step into here, I feel like I went back to Lebanon," he said. The food is authentic, the shisha. I even bring friends who visit from Lebanon, and they don't believe a place like this exists. Nourhan Khaled, 21, his niece, glamorous with black tresses and sparkling Linda Carter blue eyes, looked fresh from a Lebanese pop music video but said in a Brooklyn accent: "I have never been to Lebanon. This gives me a taste of what I am missing. "When you're at an American club," she continued, referring to discos that she visits with her Brooklyn College friends, "people are to themselves. They don't reach out and embrace you. It's different at a Middle East club. When you're at an Arab place, you're with family.