A Shabbat Under the Mango Trees

Last night, something special happened.

The Jewish community where I live in Mexico gathered for our first Shabbat together. We kept it simple—just people showing up with a dish to share, their own plates and cups, and a desire to connect. We sat at picnic tables under mango trees, the air cool and crisp, fairy lights twinkling above us. The nearest Chabad had generously donated kosher wine, challahs, and babka, adding the familiar taste of tradition to the table.

It was beautiful for so many reasons.

First, it was my partner’s second Shabbat. We’ve spent so much time in France with me learning about his food, his culture, his way of being in the world. And now, here we were—him experiencing my world, my rituals, the rhythm of a Jewish Friday night. Sharing this with him felt like a quiet kind of homecoming, like placing another brick in the foundation we’re building together.

Second, there’s something magical about Jewish gatherings abroad. We were all from different places (ok, four of us were from New Jersey, shh!), different ages and backgrounds, yet the moment the blessings began, the songs started, and the challah was passed around, we were connected. There’s an unspoken familiarity in these moments—a reminder that no matter how far we wander, we carry the same roots.

And finally, it reminded me of what Shabbat really is: a pause. A breath. A moment of reconnection—not just with tradition, but with people. With ourselves. It’s not about how fancy the table is or whether everything is done “right.” It’s about stopping long enough to share, to recharge, to remember what actually matters.

Shabbat under the mango trees wasn’t just a meal. It was a feeling. And it’s one I hope to carry with me, long after the candles burn out and the last crumbs of challah are gone.