The Jewish Revival in Mexico City’s Condesa

On the ground floor of a two-story building on Mexico City’s vibrant Avenida Amsterdam lies Merkava: Hummus and Jerusalem Kitchen. The sign above the blue-and-white facade features a flowing script reminiscent of Hebrew letters; inside, the rear wall of the restaurant showcases golden Jerusalem stone.

For many locals in Condesa, the trendy neighborhood housing Merkava, the restaurant’s aesthetic — along with its offerings of Jewish staples like chicken fried in its own fat and chopped liver with egg — might not mean much; a few may recognize the global rise of modern Jewish delis and upscale Israeli cuisine. However, for those in the know, Merkava’s distinctly Jewish character evokes a bygone era in Condesa’s history.

In the past twenty years, Condesa has transformed into the go-to area for tourists, young entrepreneurs, and nightlife enthusiasts in Mexico City. Yet, it wasn’t always this way. Until the mid-1980s, when a significant earthquake shook the area, Condesa was a modest working-class neighborhood and the center of Mexico’s Ashkenazi Jewish community. “During the 1950s and ’60s, nearly all Ashkenazi Jewish life in Mexico centered around Condesa,” recalls historian Jiene Torenberg, who teaches at Iberoamericana and Anahuac universities in Mexico City. At its height, Torenberg estimates that about 5,000 Jews lived within the less than three-square-mile area of Condesa, which once had three synagogues and numerous other Jewish institutions. “You could always hear mothers speaking Yiddish in Parque Mexico,” Torenberg reminisces.

However, by the late ’60s and early ’70s, the Jewish community began swapping city apartments for homes in the western suburbs, gradually stepping out of the public eye. “Condesa became your grandparents’ neighborhood,” Torenberg noted, and as families moved away, so did nearly all remnants of Jewish life from the area. For the few families that stayed, the 1985 earthquake served as the final catalyst. Many of the damaged properties were purchased and redeveloped by upscale developers, marking the start of a rapid gentrification process and a significant shift in Condesa’s socioeconomic landscape. As the neighborhood evolved and nightlife venues took the place of local bodegas, many communities that contributed to its development — including the Jewish community — departed, whether by choice or due to rising costs.

Today, with establishments like Merkava and a few other Jewish-inspired Mytouries emerging, glimpses of the neighborhood’s history are resurfacing. “A Jewish revival is underway,” says Fabian Navas, standing outside his new sandwich shop in Condesa. In February, just weeks before the COVID-19 pandemic brought most businesses in Mexico City to a halt, Navas, 28, and his friends, Ilan Steiner, 27, and Moisés Levy, 27, launched Bodegga Deli on the ground floor of an apartment building that was once predominantly Jewish. The Bodegga menu features creative deli classics such as a “Loxenstein” lox and bagel sandwich, a Reuben dubbed the R.K.R, and a vegan shawarma made with cauliflower.

“Defining Jewish food is quite a challenge,” states Daniel Ovadía, 37, the chef-owner of Merkava and a prominent figure in the Jewish culinary scene in Mexico today. “It encompasses a range of ingredients that have always been mixed and adapted to their local environment, all while adhering to kosher guidelines.” The menu at Merkava showcases this fusion: Sephardic elements like honey, roses, and dates adorn many of the salatim, or small sharing plates, while the main courses are more Ashkenazi in nature, featuring dishes like chicken fried in schmaltz, chopped chicken liver with egg, and fluffy bourekas.

Since Merkava opened five years ago, three Jewish-inspired restaurants have emerged along the famous Avenida Amsterdam in Condesa, including Bodegga. However, until now, “no one really knew about Jewish cuisine in Mexico except for the Jewish community,” notes Navas. Ovadía concurs and is determined to change that perception. “You can trace a clear connection from Basque-style codfish stew, made by Jews in Morocco and brought to Spain, to pescado a la Veracruzana. Veracruz is where Jews first settled in Mexico, and the two dishes are virtually identical.” Ovadía emphasizes that the cabrito al pastor is undoubtedly the most significant dish adapted by Mexican Jews. Many of the moros who fled to Mexico from Spain in the 1500s continued to practice Judaism secretly, eventually substituting goat meat for pork. Today, in the northern states of Coahuila and Nuevo Leon, locals enjoy cabrito al pastor with guacamole and flour tortillas, often unaware of its historical origins.

At Merkava, Ovadía is dedicated to bridging those connections, introducing Jewish cuisine to the Mexican public with offerings like corned beef and lox sandwiches enhanced with Oaxaca cheese, avocado, and pico de gallo. However, the standout favorite at Merkava is undoubtedly the Reuben sandwich: “There’s at least one Reuben at every single table,” Ovadía proudly declares.

Classic deli sandwiches are also a staple at Schmaltzy Bros Delicatessen, a family-operated pastrami delivery service based in Condesa, led by 25-year-old Jonathan Weintraub, his parents Sergio, 60, and Jackie, 50, along with his 15-year-old brother Gabriel. When the pandemic hit Mexico City in April, Weintraub, whose family has run a kosher catering business for over 40 years, started making homemade pastrami to satisfy cravings during quarantine.

“We’ve always loved delis like Katz’s,” says Weintraub, referencing the famous Manhattan establishment. He, along with his father and brother, envisioned a blend of traditional and modern. “We wanted a product that’s truly clean, well-packaged, and tailored,” he explains. Besides pastrami, they’ve gradually started adding more Jewish dishes to their menu; just last month, they introduced matzo ball soup.

Around the same time the Schmaltzy brothers began delivering pastrami across Mexico City, Ovadía launched his second restaurant in Condesa, Nosh: Tel Aviv Kitchen. Nestled within a beautiful Art Deco building adorned with intricate molding around its pentagonal entrance, the building retains its original name, Edificio Tehuacan, etched into its front. Nosh, as its Yiddish name implies, leans more into Ovadía’s Ashkenazi heritage than his previous establishment, featuring detailed descriptions of dishes on the menu, such as varenikes labeled as “traditional Ukrainian-Jewish ravioli,” and bialys described as “a traditional Jewish bread from Bialystok.”

“People often ask, why not open in Bosques?” Ovadía responds, referencing one of the city's more heavily Jewish western suburbs. “[I] always felt I would be up against everyone’s grandmothers if I opened a restaurant there. ... Condesa is where the Jewish community began to flourish in Mexico City. It’s where I was born, where my grandparents lived until their passing, and where Jewish schools thrived, and synagogues multiplied.”

Yet, like many challenges facing restaurants today, opening a Jewish Mytoury in a predominantly non-Jewish Condesa adds the responsibility of educating a public that may be unfamiliar with the cuisine. However, Bodegga’s Navas believes this could actually enhance the restaurant's appeal. “These are young people eager to explore new flavors,” he explains. “Residents of Condesa are among the most open-minded in the city. We’ve been warmly welcomed here, and I believe we would have struggled to survive anywhere else during COVID-19.”

Weintraub embraces the challenge as well. During one delivery to the southern part of the city, a customer asked him how to eat the herring while standing in the doorway. “I just laughed,” Weintraub recalls. “‘Don’t worry, you’re going to love it.’”

Nili Blanck is a Mexican-American writer whose work has appeared in GARAGE, Remezcla, and T Magazine. She resides in Mexico City with her dog, Claudio.