I went to services this morning for Yom Kippur (Iom Kipur as it’s spelled in Spanish) at a synagogue right on my way to school – the same one I went to last week for Rosh Hashanah. It’s small and that’s why Ada, Enrique and the girls go there, as it feels like being among family. No tickets are necessary, one only needs to show ID and have their purse, or in my case, backpack inspected. The men sit downstairs and conduct the services while upstairs the women pray and observe the happenings below. I grew up in a reform synagogue where a woman could be involved in any part of the service, so this has been quite a different experience for me.
Last night for the evening service I went to Bet-El, Mexico City’s conservative synagogue – most are orthodox. This synagogue does require tickets to enter the High Holiday services, they need to be assured there are enough seats as still half have to go to another location in the Colonia Santa Fe. It was a lot of work for Jane to get a ticket for me but it was definitely worth it. Last Saturday I dropped off a passport photo of myself that she took on Tuesday to the synagogue to see if as a member she could get a ticket for me. It made it a little easier that another seat wasn’t needed, just an exchange since her son Eli was not coming. (He’s in Houston and given that he was just in town when he fled the hurricane, he couldn’t come back for the holidays too.) It took Jane an hour and a half just to get to the synagogue, there was a wicked electrical storm and the social security union has been protesting and blocking the street Tlalpan, backing traffic up across the city. All of Jane’s efforts paid off though and I arrived at her house last night to enjoy a fantastic meal – gefilte fish, chicken soup, vegetables, chicken and rice. Then Jane, Moishe and I headed for the synagogue on the street Masaryk (that has the most expensive stores in Mexico) in Polanco, one of the nicest, richest areas in Mexico City. The synagogue fits right in – it has an enormous Jewish star and menorah above the building and I’m sure it’s the biggest synagogue I’ve ever been in.
We entered the sanctuary and it was filled with chairs beyond the permanent ones, probably taking up the space of a football field (American or otherwise). Each seat had a sticker on it that said the person’s name, aisle and seat number – I sat in Eli’s, in between Jane and her sister, whose husband was next to her and Moishe sat next to Jane. As usual I’m reminded of the common roots that Jews share as I was awestruck at how the Jewish community here looks just like the one I’m a part of in the States. In fact, if you looked at each congregation, I think you’d be hard pressed to pick which was from which country.
I really enjoyed the lively service, even as it started a bit strangely, for me at least. The “notables” (the ones who had donated the most money) were called up and each was given a torah to hold. Quite the scene on the stage - or bimah - as twenty something men (even at this conservative synagogue women hardly participate but do sit with the men) stood across holding torahs that were dressed to the 9s – or whites for the High Holidays. Then those men paraded down the center aisle, still carrying a torah each. The congregants gathered towards the aisle, reaching to kiss each torah. I love Moishe and Jane’s sense of humor as she went back towards her seat after about ten had passed by and he asked sarcastically if she had had enough and she responded that yes, she was full.
I was in good spirits throughout the service, even though I missed my own temple and its traditions: Entering with my mom, dad and sister and sitting in our “usual” seats, in the middle of the section second to the left, then whispering with my sister, reading the temple bulletin, watching my Aunt Pearl sleep throughout the service, turning to the left to see if my uncle, aunt and cousin had come in yet, and then the predictable nod off by my mom and uncle as the sermon reaches its height. It’s an awesome feeling though knowing that as I sat in my service in Mexico City, my family was doing the same in Chicago and my extended family in St. Louis and Canada and all Jews throughout the world.
I enjoyed reading the Spanish translation of the service that was mostly conducted in Hebrew. The Rabbi’s sermon was enlightening, which he began by referring to Kafka’s Metamorphosis. As this is the time of the Jewish year to ask for forgiveness, he spoke of looking inwards, examining yourself if you want something to change something. My day came full circle at that point: On Tuesday, when I was despondent and didn’t want to nor know how I would face another day at school, I realized that I needed to do something to change the situation. I called in reinforcements, and Karina came to school on Wednesday. First thing on Wednesday I spoke with the principal and let him know exactly what I needed to make this experience more successful for everyone involved. Then I sat in the principal’s office, telling Robby and Cristian that their situation was not any teacher’s fault, but instead it was up to them to change and decide how they want to conduct themselves so that they don’t face the same fate with which Marco Antonio had been confronted.
