The Farca Lunas are a Mexican family I met at a party in Toronto through members of the Spanish Conversation Club. When they invited me to dinner at Abuela Sara's apartment on Friday, I happily accepted, but felt a twinge of guilt for making plans to do something so secular on Erev Rosh Hashanah. However, things have a funny way of working out! When I entered the Polanco apartment and met Tios Moises y Abraham, who were wearing kipahs, I was happily surprised. It turns out that Jose, the father of the family, was born Jewish. And although he married a Catholic and doesn't practice Judaism, coincidentally, the meal I'd been invited to was, indeed, a New Year's celebration!

How's that for fate, eh? I mean, what are the chances that, in a predominantly Catholic society, I happen to find myself invited to exactly the sort of Rosh Hashanah I would have requested, with other equally non-religious Jews? The delicious Yom Tov meal included pomegranates, sugar-baked apples and honey, two veggie quiche-type dishes, and an amazing plate of fresh avocado, tomato, and cheese just for me (the only vegetarian). There were some twists to familiar rituals, like passing a glass of grape juice (presumably symbolising wine) around the table twice, first to all the men, then to the women, each taking a sip in turn. Luckily, I was obviously not the only one lost at times. In fact I think I probably read Hebrew better than the majority of attendees!

After la cena, I left with the younger generation. This was my first personal experience with the, um, more relaxed attitudes towards motor vehicle safety in Mexico. All 7 of us (Jose, Mercedes, Sara, Isaac, Teresa, her novio Mauricio, and me) piled into their little 5-seater car, and off we headed to their home in _________, which took over an hour to get to. They live in the south east end of the city, right beside a little shanty town/illegal squat sort of deal in a not-so-good neighbourhood. Quite the change from ritzy Condesa, where I'd been staying until this point.

They made me feel totally at home in the three bedroom apartment in which the five of them (six including Abud, their older brother who's at school in Toronto but coming back for the holidays) live. Apparently, they inhabit their cosy space more harmoniously than most Canadian families I know, who generally who have many times the space and fewer people. I slept on the bottom bunk in the room the girls share (their door plastered with images of Bob Marley, Che Guevara, and Frida Kahlo), while Tere (20) and Sara (18) slept on top. If it's fair to judge by this one, Mexican families are heart-warmingly close. (Even the comfort with expressing affection physically outside the family context is amazing, with kissing and touching as normal parts of greetings and being, even in the office.) It felt really good to be invited into this atmosphere of love and unadulterated positive vibes and good intentions. I slept well, despite the movements of the over-burdened bed.