A Visit to a Synagogue in Mexico

by Steve Migden

Earlier this year, while on a visit to Mexico with my fellow JIAAC member Janet Mueller, and her husband, we joined a Shabbat morning service at an Orthodox synagogue in Mexico City, one of a few Jewish houses of worship in the Mexican capital.

The synagogue is located in an older but substantial three-story building that, probably reflecting the unfortunate realities of many Jewish facilities in these days of resurgent Jew-hatred, was locked up tight when we arrived. The only signs identifying it as being a house of worship were a set of four Mogen David, one on each of the four metal, largely windowless front doors. There was no way to see inside, and there was no answer when we knocked on the door.  We even wondered if the building might be empty. However, after some more vigorous knocking (actually, banging) on the doors, a small portal on the leftmost door, at about chest level, was finally opened. Then, the door itself was slowly opened, and we were greeted by a not very imposing middle-aged woman, the hired guard, who asked who we were. She was, understandably and unfortunately, reluctant to let us enter, even after we explained ourselves and showed identification. However, thanks to the entreaties of Janet and her husband, the Rabbi eventually joined the guard at the doorway and, following some more questions and renewed demonstration of our ID’s, were we allowed entrance. The Rabbi, a very pleasant but businesslike middle-aged man who spoke Spanish, English and Hebrew, seemed pleased to welcome us in.

The inside of the building was serviceable but not greatly adorned.  Most of the first floor held a social hall that was directly across from the main doorway to the building. The room was abustle with kids and parents, mainly women. On the door of the meeting room was a handwritten sign (in Spanish) announcing that ball games were not allowed in this area. I inferred immediately that this was not likely to be the prayer sanctuary – and, of course, it wasn’t.

One flight up the stairway was a lovely sanctuary, and in it were what must have been about 50-60 people, men in the front section and, behind a low drape that served as a Mechitzah, women in the back section. The Bimah, where the Rabbi and a young Chazen led the service, was in the center of the sanctuary and, of course, the Ark was at the front.  Not unexpectedly, there were many other familiar sights – the Ner Tamid above the Ark, the pew seating for the men, the many Siddurim at the pews, the bronze Yizkor plaques on the wall. Tall windows at the front, one set of windows to each side of the room, provided plenty of light. Each of the men wore a Tallit and a Kippah, but they otherwise varied greatly in appearance: some teens, some young adults, many middle age, some older adults; some in dark suits, some in more casual dress; a few of the young adults seemed “hipsterish” to me (one young man in a pew at the front who had shoulder length hair stands out in my memory); most did not have beards, and only a couple (two teens, as I recall) had Payot. It was, to my mind, a comfortable gathering.

Following the service, we all went back downstairs to the social hall, which was now set up with long tables along three sides of the room, for what turned out to be a surprisingly hearty Kiddush. On the walk back to the first floor and the social hall, I couldn’t help but notice the Israeli flags on many of the walls, including a display of Israeli flags at the front of the social hall.  “Apparently the Jews of Mexico, like those of the United States, do not subscribe to the anti-Zionist rag that Israel is not important to Jewish identity,” I sarcastically thought to myself.

In the social hall, I could see, more clearly than even in the sanctuary, the wonderful variety within this Jewish community.  Like so many other Jewish communities throughout the world, this one reflected the unique culture of the home country as well as the more universal culture of the Jewish people. In terms of physical characteristics, many of the people looked like the Ashkenazi Jews of my own background, though many others had the Mizrahi and Sephardi features of Jewish people from the Mediterranean area. These differences were subtle. Only slightly less subtle were the few people who seemed to have Indigenous American features. Another sarcastic though very dismaying thought that crossed my mind: “Were the angry anti-Zionists on some college campuses who had recently shouted for their Jewish fellow students to “go back to Poland” even minutely aware of the wonderful and wide-ranging ethnic and cultural backgrounds of the Jewish people? Have they any idea that we most decidedly do not all come from East Central Europe?”

The food, which was more abundant than I was used to for a Shabbat Kiddush, was a mix of dishes familiar and not so familiar to an Ashkenazi Jew from the US: Cholent, Challah, Matzah, club soda and red wine were on the table, as were more distinctly Spanish American and Caribbean fare, such as mangoes and pineapple, rum and mezcal, and a piquant sauce whose brand name was, I think, Mexico Lindo. (Personal aside: although I’d grown up eating and continue to eat many traditional Ashkenazi dishes, for some reason this Kiddush in Mexico City was my first opportunity to eat Cholent. It was delicious.)

Our visit was not a lengthy one, but I and my two friends agreed it was an enjoyable and meaningful one. We briefly connected with members of our larger Jewish community some 2500 miles from our homes. In doing so, we were reminded of the vibrancy and resilience of the Jewish people, their capacity to maintain their beliefs and traditions across both thousands of years and thousands of miles, and often, even in less than hospitable conditions.