The candles are lit. The room smells faintly of incense. The priest stands at the altar, clothed in a white robe. An intricate purple-patterned tapestry is strung across the altar behind him.

He speaks in 'Gez'--an ancient Ethiopian language--his voice rising and falling in harmony with the congregation. The men sit on one side of the church, the women on the other. At the back of the church, a few adolescent boys huddle together, whispering--the service has been two and a half hours long and they are restless.

Just 20 minutes away, there's a Catholic service being held. The priest stands at the altar, speaking Portuguese to his congregation. They respond to the priest's questions with Portuguese prayers memorized years ago.

When the service is over, they will linger for a bit. The old people will talk to each other in Portuguese, before heading home, perhaps stopping at the Portuguese butcher for sausage or the fishmonger for fish imported from Portugal.

The Portuguese service at St. Anthony's Catholic Church in East Cambridge have become a tradition over two decades. The Ethiopian service, held at St. Peter's Episcopal Church in Central Square, struggles to build its new congregation.

For both communities, the services stand as landmarks to their immigrant identity. And the city which received hordes of Irish and Italian immigrants at the turn of the century still holds its doors open to all nationalities trying to make a new start.

In an increased cycle of upward mobility, the largest influx of new immigrants, Haitians and Ethiopians, struggle to get by before they migrate to the suburbs in search of a better life--and cheaper housing.

But Cambridge's more traditional groups can only claim enclaves, from the tiny Irish "Kerry's Corner" on Surrey Street near Dunster House to the long-entrenched Portuguese community in Inman Square. They worry their children are leaving old traditions--and their native language--behind as their culture becomes assimilated.