Right Minded Online

Back in 1997, I wrote a short novel (or a long short story) — perhaps 20,000 words — about a Roman man who hides a family of Jews (the Levi family, pronounced LEH-vee) in his cellar during the Nazi occupation of World War II. I wrestled around for years to come up with a title, and settled on This Was Not My Home. I had to read several books in order to be able to write the story with some historical accuracy, two of which were Benevolence and Betrayal: Five Italian Jewish Families Under Fascism, and The Garden of Finzi-Continis. I can’t pin down the rest. At any rate, I’ve decided to publish This Was Not My Home here on Right Minded one chapter at a time. There’s even a special category over there on the right under “Writings” where the various chapters will be filed, for the one or two of you who might actually read the thing.

The Roman Ghetto was the site where the Nazi roundup took place the morning the Levi family escaped. The heart of the Ghetto runs along a street called “Via del Portico d’Ottavia,” which I actually walked right down the middle of on one of my trips to Rome when I was stationed over there. I didn’t even realize the historical significance of where I was at the time (although I do have a photograph of the roof of the Jewish Synagogue from a distance). I could kick myself.

At the time I wrote This Was Not My Home, there wasn’t a whole lot of stuff on the Internet about such a narrow topic. Now, things are different, and I’m sure if I sat down all over again to write that book, I’d have a great deal more information to work with. But it is what it is, and I’ve sat on the manuscript for too long without sharing it.

Prologue

In the rainy darkness, a group of German SS security police surrounded several blocks of Rome’s Jewish ghetto. Some four thousand of the city’s twelve thousand Jews lived in the ghetto, adjacent to the ancient Theater of Marcellus and just across the Tiber River from Trastevere (home of another three thousand Jews). After blocking all passages into and out of the ghetto, the SS struck. It was five-thirty on the Saturday morning of October 16, 1943. Most people were still asleep.

Guards outside every building began firing randomly in order to keep residents inside. Meanwhile, two or three guards entered each building and began pounding on doors. Upon entering apartments, they immediately cut any existing telephone lines, then ordered inhabitants into the streets. Groggy with sleep and many still in their nightclothes, the residents had no alternative than to obey. Despite the darkness and confusion, few were able to escape. The victims were then marched to the ruins of the Theater of Marcellus, where they stood and waited in the rain and cold.

Meanwhile, in a third floor tenement above Via del Portico d’Ottavia, the Levi family had scarcely sufficient time to react. Having been awakened by the commotion and firing in the streets, the family of four managed to barricade the door with a heavy marble table and crouch behind it. There they waited in silent terror as the SS tried to break into their home. Convinced that no one was at home, the guards left, and the Levis were safe.

Yet they continued to wait. They waited for hours that morning. They waited until trucks had carried off the last of the groups from the Theater of Marcellus, until the deserted streets were silent. Then they fled.

Chapter 1, “The Jews of Rome and Italy”

Rome’s Jewish community is the oldest in Europe. Jews are known to have inhabited Rome since before Christ. They were living in Rome long before Roman emperor Titus destroyed the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 AD, long before the descendants of St. Peter proclaimed Rome the holy city of Christendom. The synagogue therefore preceded the Vatican by many years.

Jews were first brought to Rome as slaves by Pompey the Great during the first century BC. They subsequently settled along the banks of the Tiber River. The historian Josephus Flavius, a smart military man who eventually betrayed his own people, estimated at least eight thousand Jews living there in 4 BC, although the actual number may have been much greater.

In 70 AD, Titus brought thousands of Jewish slaves to Rome to march in the triumph held by Vespasian for his son’s conquest of Israel. The Portico d’Ottavia was the sight of this triumph. Titus dragged the slaves behind his chariot and carried with him the spoils of the Temple of Solomon. (Ironically, the Roman Empire came to appreciate the Jews for their financial and medical skills.)

During the imperial period, Jews continued to arrive in Rome, peaking at around fifty thousand.

During the sixteenth century, the Catholic Church countered the Protestant Reformation by lashing out against religious heterodoxy in all forms. As the circle against them tightened, some Jews, out of fear, fled to other lands. They were chastised by their brethren, who argued that things which happened to Jews elsewhere, such as Spain (the center of the Inquisition), could never happen in Italy. By the 1550’s, many of the Jews who remained were burned alive, or suffered similar fates.

Jews in cities across Europe came to be confined in their neighborhoods. The existence of these neighborhoods gave birth to the term “ghetto.” The ghetto originated in Venice’s Cannareggio district, where Jews were first confined, then quickly developed in other cities, including Rome. In 1555, Pope Paul IV established the Portico d’Ottavia as the Jewish ghetto in Rome. (By the mid-sixteenth century, and perhaps much earlier, the Portico d’Ottavia had become a predominantly Jewish area.) This period of confinement lasted more than two centuries.

Life in the ghetto was harsh and degrading. As late as the second half of the nineteenth century, some of the most oppressive Jewish ghettos in the world existed in Italy. Jews were even forced to wear yellow badges on their clothes as identification. In many cities, Jews could work only as street peddlers, hawkers, rag-pickers, dealers in second-hand merchandise, and pawnbrokers. Women were not allowed to make and sell new clothes, so they mended old clothes for the men to sell. Poverty was widespread. The housing was wretched. The stench was appalling. Because the population continued to grow within the limited space of the ghetto, buildings were continually built upward, often collapsing.

Streets along the ghetto were therefore dark and narrow. German historian Ferdinand Gregorovius, writing in 1853, described the Roman ghetto as “the dreariest quarter in Rome, a corner of filth and poverty….” Ghetto houses stand in a row, tower-like masses of bizarre design, with numerous flowerpots in the windows and countless household utensils hanging on the wall. The rows ascend from the river’s edge, and the Tiber’s dismal billows wash against the walls…. Squeezed into a dismal and depressing corner of the city of Rome, across the Tiber from Trastevere, Rome’s Jewry lives as it has from antiquity, virtually shut off from humanity.

Whereas many of the ghetto laws in the Italian city-states had been applied with a certain leniency, in Rome they were enforced with increasing vigor. Italian Jews paid extremely high taxes with, obviously, no hope of appeal. Police could enter their homes and confiscate their property at will.

Jews often dealt with their isolation and despair by educating themselves. Illiteracy in northern ghettos was surprisingly rare at a time when it was otherwise the rule in cities. (During the coming years of assimilation, these Jews would become highly cosmopolitan and distant from Jewish orthodoxy, whereas the Jews of Rome would remain hardly literate, deeply religious, and strongly linked to the life and traditions of their community.)

Permanent emancipation from the ghetto did not occur in Italy until unification. The process began around the middle of the nineteenth century. The Roman ghetto was the last to be emancipated, in 1870, following the defeat of Vatican forces and Italian unification.

Afterward, Jews began almost immediately to appear in positions of prominence and distinction (suggesting both the capabilities of the Jews and that the general Italian population had not shared the prejudices of its rulers). Jewish assimilation into the Italian mainstream extended well into the years of fascism. (Still, a census taken in 1938 by the Fascist government showed that more than half of Rome’s 12,000 Jews remained in the ghetto, or just across the Tiber River in the working-class neighborhood of Trastevere.)

Around 1900, as part of an urban renewal plan aimed at improving hygiene and sanitation, the Roman ghetto was demolished and rebuilt. Old tenement buildings were leveled. Narrow, crooked streets and courtyards were replaced by broader, straighter, and fewer streets. The Tiber River, once the cause of frequent flooding within the ghetto, was channeled between tall embankments to prevent flooding. Finally, of the old ghetto, only Via del Portico d’Ottavia and a few buildings remained. Via del Portico d’Ottavia became the boundary between the old and the new, for along one side stood medieval buildings, on the other side stood the contemporary. As part of the urban renewal plan, the great synagogue, bearing a distinctive square dome, was constructed.

Meanwhile, Benito Mussolini’s rise to power in 1922 brought not the slightest change to Italy’s treatment of Jews. In fact, many Jews became loyal Fascists from the party’s inception. This suggests two things: that Jews had been thoroughly integrated into Italian society, and that Mussolini’s movement was originally as free of anti-Semitism as any other political party in the country. (In fact, Mussolini’s mistress and influential associate for many years, Margherita Sarfatti, was Jewish.)

Fascism in Italy triumphed during the decade of the 1920’s and most of the 1930’s. As well, most Jews during this era were middle-class professionals and had lived in Italy for many generations. They also tended to be very patriotic. Yet as early as 1934, events occurring in Italy foreshadowed the persecution of Jews which would ensue the following decade.

In 1934, Mussolini still regarded Austria within his own realm of influence, and he intended to resist German desires of expansion there. Yet Mussolini was reluctant to alienate the German dictator Adolf Hitler. It was this reluctance which would eventually lead to the Duce’s reversal in policy toward Italy’s Jews. One method Mussolini discovered of appeasing Hitler, while still resisting him, was to implement his own anti-Semitic campaign in Italy.

In 1936, Mussolini appointed his pro-German son-in-law, Galeazzo Ciano, as foreign minister. Soon Mussolini aligned himself undeniably with Hitler.

Anti-Semitism was clearly growing in Italy (and independently of the Nazis).

Many media attacks began to center on foreign Jews, citing them as the cause of housing shortages, high rent, high prices, food scarcities, high unemployment, low wages, crowded schools, crime, and many other social and economic ills. In Manifesto of the Racial Scientists, a group of “scientists” attempted to justify the coming racial laws. The manifesto claimed that “…the population and civilization of Italy today is of Aryan origin…,” that “…there exists a pure Italian race…,” and that “…Jews do not belong to the Italian race….” (Interestingly, during the German occupation of Rome a few years later, the Germans would be unable to recognize the Italian Jews on sight. Because they had lived in Rome for more than two thousand years, they were pure Italians.)

Finally, on November 17, 1938, Fascism became officially anti-Semitic. On this day, the bulk of what would be known simply as “the racial laws” became effective. These laws greatly limited the rights of Italy’s Jews. In short, the racial laws decreed that marriage between Jews and non-Jews was illegal, that Jews were prohibited from owning or managing companies involved in military production, or factories which employed more than one hundred people or exceeded a certain value. Jews could not own land more than a certain value, serve in the armed forces, employ non-Jewish Italian domestics, or belong to the Fascist party. Jews were also forbidden from working in banks, insurance companies, and the government. The laws also attempted to resolve the question of precisely who was Jewish. Since the Jews of Rome had been assimilating into the general Italian populace for sixty-eight years, inter-marriage and conversion had become common. The result, obviously, was confusion.

Following the racial laws of 1938, many Jews either emigrated or converted. By July, 1943, at least twelve thousand Italian Jews (about twenty-one percent of Italy’s total Jewish population) had done so.

Among those Italian Jews who remained, the racial laws abruptly terminated most jobs and education. Some two hundred teachers, four hundred government employees, five hundred private employees, one hundred and fifty military personnel, and twenty-five hundred professionals lost their jobs. Two hundred university students, one thousand students in secondary schools, and four thousand four hundred in elementary schools were also affected.

In 1939, a series of subsequent decrees further degraded Italian Jews. They had become victims of senseless harassment. Jews could no longer own radios, place advertisements or death notices in newspapers, publish books, hold public conferences, list their names and numbers in telephone directories, or visit popular vacation areas. (This last act was initiated during the summer, when many were already vacationing. They had to return home.)

In June, 1940, the government (for reasons of “national security”) revoked the vending licenses of Jewish street peddlers, thus depriving ghetto Jews of even meager livelihoods.

Yet at a time when the Jewish population should have been demoralized, a new sense of Judaism began to appear. The Jewish schools and the laws themselves helped to instill an awakening of Judaism into a population that had been highly assimilated and previously indifferent to its Jewishness, a group that had for many decades considered itself Italian and in no way different than any Italian Catholic. This new awareness helped the Jews to appreciate their heritage. Without the racial laws, most would never have made such examinations.

Meanwhile, the morning following Mussolini’s declaration of war on the Allies, Italian police began arresting foreign Jews in Italy. In the beginning, they seized only men between the ages of 18 and 60. Many of these Jews were held in internment camps in the north, although a secondary system of detainment was maintained, known as enforced residence, in which entire families were often held under surveillance in their homes, usually in small villages. By September, 1939, about six thousand five hundred of Italy’s ten thousand foreign and denationalized Jews had left the country.

While Italian Jews under Fascism were in no danger of deportation, and while their conditions were more favorable than those in other European countries, life remained difficult. Arrests, the internment camps, and enforced residence were not limited to foreign Jews. About two hundred Italian Jews were arrested during the early days of the war, and by 1943, their number had increased to over one thousand.

Because the racial laws prevented Jews from serving in the Italian military, resentment among non-Jews was great, despite the preference of many Jews to serve. In order to mollify this resentment, a decree issued on May 6, 1942 required all Italian Jews between the ages of 18 and 55, without exception, to register for labor service. In August, 1942, with Italy losing the war, and amid increasing resentment, all able-bodied Jewish men were ordered to perform manual labor for virtually no money. Whereas in many Italian cities this order was mostly ignored, in Rome it was widely enforced.

Meanwhile, at around 10:45 on the night of July 25, 1943, a clear, hot night, cries of “Evviva Badoglio!” were heard in the streets of Rome. The people were happy. Mussolini had been removed. (After 1938, Mussolini’s popularity had declined steadily.) Marshal Pietro Badoglio was the new prime minister of Italy. Fascist leaders were in hiding. (It was now they, ironically, who were being hunted.) Although Badoglio announced the war would continue, no one seemed to notice, for all of Italy was in celebration.

For all Italians, including the Jews, Badoglio’s forty-five days in power provided hope, despite the desperate reality. Six German divisions consisting of about 130,000 men were stationed in Italy that July. By September, the six divisions had multiplied to eighteen. During that span, the seven Italian divisions in place never increased.

Also, Badoglio took virtually no measures to protect Jews from the Germans. Indeed, Badoglio took measures to protect no one, less himself and the king, Vittorio Emmanuele III. This neglect would prove most disastrous, of course, for the Jews. Despite protests by Jewish leaders on behalf of their people, the Badoglio government refused to destroy the many lists in its possession containing the names and addresses of Jews. (Predictably, nearly all of these lists would soon be recovered by the Germans.)

Finally, a core of bitter, unemployed, and ignored Fascists went largely unnoticed. These Fascists were becoming much more fanatical than when their party was in power. Looking for someone to blame for their plight, they became increasingly anti-Semitic, and patiently waited for their time to come.

Since Badoglio failed to provide a defense for Italy, the Allies, alarmed by the massive accumulation of German troops on Italian soil, announced an armistice on September 8, 1943. Badoglio announced the signing of the armistice. Then he and the king fled Rome, leaving no instructions for the Italian army. American and British forces, meanwhile, launched a major landing on the Italian peninsula.

At the time, Rome appeared to be safe. Six divisions of Italian soldiers were stationed in or around the city. On the night of September 8, Rome was deserted and peaceful. Families celebrated quietly in their homes.

But the next day, German troops appeared everywhere. Tanks, armored cars, and machine guns were located at every street corner. It was announced on radio that it was forbidden for Italians to carry arms. Any Italian with a gun would be sent to jail, and the penalty for firing at a German soldier was death. It was forbidden to ride a bicycle, walk along certain sidewalks or cross certain streets, forbidden to telegraph or telephone outside the city, spend the night at friends’ houses. It was dangerous for one to carry packages under his arm, walk rapidly, have a beard grown too recently or wear dark glasses. To hide a fugitive or to listen to the Allied radio broadcasts from Bari or Palermo were to risk one’s life.

Within two days, the Nazis had taken control of most of Italy and captured entire divisions of well-armed Italian troops. Indeed, the occupation of Rome had begun.

Chapter 2, “The Occupation”

Four days after the occupation began on September 8, Mussolini was freed from an Italian prison by Nazi SS commandos. He had become a Nazi tool. But Mussolini, even up to the German occupation, had never released even one Jew for deportation. The Jews hoped he would continue to protect them. However, the condition of the Jews of Rome would deteriorate rapidly.

During September, the Germans took time to establish their authority, restore order, resist the anticipated Allied invasion, and deal with the thousands of confused Italian soldiers. The SS also took time to piece together lists of residents in the Jewish community without stirring apprehension. By the end of September, the task had been completed.

Meanwhile, during the middle of September, the new Italian Social Republic was announced. The new republic was denied a capital with most of the government offices scattered about the northern province of Verona, an area located conveniently (for the Germans) along the rail line leading to the Brenner Pass.

Called the Republic of Salo, the Foreign Ministry and Minister of Popular Culture were located in that small town located along the western side of Lake Garda. More important offices were located in Maderno, just north of Salo.

On September 25, 1943, SS Major Herbert Kappler, chief of the German security police in Rome, received the following message from SS Chief Heinrich Himmler:

All Jews, regardless of nationality, age, sex, and personal conditions, must be transferred to Germany and liquidated…. The success of this undertaking will have to be ensured by a surprise action, and for that reason it is strictly necessary to suspend the application of any anti-Jewish measures of an individual nature, likely to stir up among the population suspicion of an imminent action.

Therefore, Kappler devised a scheme he thought would rest the fears of Rome’s Jews, a plan which would largely achieve its goal, but would also prove to be nothing more than cruel extortion.

On September 26, Kappler sent the following message to two Jewish leaders, Almansi and Foa:

It is not your lives nor those of your children we will take, if you fulfill our demand. It is your gold we want to provide new arms for our nation. Within thirty-six hours you must bring me fifty kilograms of gold. If you do so, nothing bad will happen to you. If you do not, 200 of you will be taken and deported to Germany….

By four o’clock on the afternoon of Tuesday, September 28, fifty kilograms of gold had been delivered to Gestapo headquarters in Via Tasso, carefully weighed, and accepted. Foa later recalled that the people “deprived themselves of every dear remembrance, every precious jewel to avoid the gigantic massacre.”

The Holy See, having learned of the extortion, reported immediately to Foa that if it was not possible for the Jewish community to collect the fifty kilograms of gold within the thirty-six hours, the Pope would pay the balance. The gold, of course, could be paid back later when it was possible for the Jewish community to do so.

(After the war, the fifty kilograms of gold were found in a box in the office of Ernst Kaltenbrunner, chief of the Reich Security Main Office. The box had never been opened.)

A few days before the Rome roundup, Kappler’s security police surrounded the main synagogue, which also housed the Jewish community’s administrative offices. The Nazis claimed to be searching for compromising documents and correspondence with enemy agents. They found none, but instead seized two million lire from the safe as well as a vast archive of paraphernalia, including documents, registers, minutes of meetings, and records of contributors. Entire file cabinets were carried away intact. Everything was loaded onto railroad cars which had been rolled along streetcar tracks and parked in front of the synagogue. Within a few hours, the two thousand year history of the Jews of Rome had been removed.

Finally, on the morning of October 16, the event many Jews figured to be inconceivable occurred. For in the city of Rome, in fact, one mile from the Pope’s residence, the final horror began. Rome became like many other European cities. Its Jews were rounded up like cattle. Law-abiding Italian citizens were taken from their homes and sent unknowingly to their deaths. The Italian government did not object. Rarely has Italy known a sadder day.

Chapter 3, “The Sanctuary”

The Levis, having dressed in several layers of clothing and taking only what valuables would fit inconspicuously in their pockets, took the rear exit from their building. Instead of walking into Via del Portico d’Ottavia, they exited near the Church of Sant’Angelo in Pescheria. Someone had told them to use this exit because there was no one there.

The Levi family then walked virtually unnoticed from their home to Via Santa Maria dell’Anima, a narrow, quiet alley only one block from the busy Piazza Navona. It was there, at number fourteen, resided Gianni Farnese, a man with whom Giancarlo Levi had worked at the Bank of Italy as an accountant until the racial laws of 1938 had forced him from his profession. The two men had remained friends during the long years since. The Levi family had nowhere else to go.

After a short knock, Gianni Farnese opened his door with noticeable apprehension. Seeing four desperate faces staring at him from the entrance, he knew something grave had just befallen Rome.

Giancarlo greeted Gianni first, his voice no louder than a whisper.

“Gianni, there has been a roundup in our neighborhood. We have escaped. We have nowhere else to go.”

Gianni allowed the family into his tenement, a small living quarters, really, with a cellar ten feet by ten feet below the kitchen floor. After the four were safely inside his home, Gianni made inconspicuous glances both directions along his street. Seeing nothing, he quickly closed and bolted the door.

Giancarlo made a quick account of what had happened that morning. Gianni looked at the four faces surrounding him, their eyes ablaze with desperate fear.

Giancarlo, like Gianni, was thirty-four year old, but looked ten years older. He was a lean man of average height, short, graying hair, thin lips, an intelligent forehead. His wife, Renata, two years his junior, her hair unkempt, her cheeks red from the cold, was, from her appearance, an unremarkable woman. But Gianni knew otherwise of her. She was an iron woman, steeled by five years of hardship.

Their eldest child, daughter Anna, was twelve years old, plain, yet intelligent-looking, quiet, and simple. Giovanni, their son, was ten years old. He had grown half a foot since that last time Gianni had seen him, and looked more like his mother with round face and large eyes.

After some coffee and bread, Gianni and Giancarlo decided that only one course of action was feasible. The Levis would have to hide in the cellar directly below the kitchen floor. The door, roughly two feet square, lay beneath and completely concealed by an old worn rug. It was unusual for such quarters to contain a cellar, and that Gianni’s did so prevented the Levis from having to seek sanctuary in a monastery or convent (and at considerably more risk).

Gianni Farnese knew he could not turn the family from his home. He hated Fascism. He despised Nazis. He was a devout Catholic who had never understood the Jewish faith, but he had known Giancarlo and his family for ten years, respected them, actually felt love toward them. Although he would risk his freedom and his life in concealing them, it was a risk he did not question.

It was decided the Levis would remain in his cellar until a more promising option could be found. But everyone knew, even the children, that no other option would be as safe and reliable as sanctuary in the cellar. There they would eat, sleep, wash, talk, read, and worship until the world outside was again safe. Better days were far distant. How Gianni would feed this family of four presented an obvious problem. There would be a way, although Gianni knew none now. Help would have to come from several sources, he was sure.

The cellar itself, at least physically, was hardly a sanctuary. It maintained a constant temperature of fifty-five degrees, was damp, lit by single light bulb attached to a bare wire hanging from the ceiling. Although the floor was earthen, it was covered by a few ragged wooden boards so the dirt was not visible. Two of the walls were lined with shelves. The distance between floor and ceiling was about seven feet.

Soon, Gianni brought down several blankets, two pails of water (one for drinking, one for washing), some soap and towels, and a newspaper. He promised dinner in a few hours, but nevertheless brought some bread for the Levis to eat. After a few words of encouragement he knew were empty, he ascended the wooden steps to the kitchen, and closed the door. The Levis could hear the rug slide into place.

Gianni looked around upstairs. There was now no hint that anyone other than he lived here. Despite his own fear and trepidation, he felt no emotion other than sadness the remainder of the afternoon. His sadness was easily justified.

Unbeknownst to him, indeed to the remainder of the world, Gianni’s beloved city of Rome had just entered the realm of perhaps the greatest horror ever to befall mankind, the Holocaust.

Gianni Farnese’s ancestors had lived in Rome for more than five centuries, since the beginning of the Italian Renaissance. He, like most Italians, was infinitely proud of his heritage, his city, and his nation. Now, as he sat in his armchair while the afternoon gave way to darkness, he realized that his nation had betrayed him, his countrymen, and especially the Jews. He could not understand the motives leading to the roundup that day, nor what precisely made the Jews different, other than religion. The Jews, he knew, had been in Italy, in Rome, for two millennia. They were as Italian as he, as Mussolini, as the Pope, as Giuseppe Verdi and Marco Polo and Michelangelo. Why a government would purge any of its citizens, especially in the Holy City itself, he could not understand.

Gianni Farnese had never entered the army. At fourteen, his right leg had been crushed in an automobile accident, and had never properly healed. He was still often forced to walk with a cane, even now, twenty years later. He had instead gone to the university and studied accounting. At twenty-two, he began working for the Bank of Italy, first as a teller, then, two years later, he was moved to the accounting department, where he met Giancarlo Levi. There they worked together for five years before the racial laws. They had remained friends.

Gianni knew the Levis barely managed a living, with Giancarlo working at odd jobs and Renata as a seamstress. The work was sporadic, but the family always seemed to have just enough to subsist. The days when they had both worked together now seemed another life, for times had changed so dramatically.

Meanwhile, that morning, along with the roundup in the ghetto, SS police, armed with lists of names and addresses of Jews living outside the ghetto, began around 5:30 to visit individual apartments. That day, 365 German SS police arrested 1,259 persons before the roundup ended nine hours later. Of these, 896 were women and children. They had all been transported to a temporary detention center in the Italian Military College, a mere six hundred feet from the Vatican. The next day, 252 non-Jews would be released. (At least seven Jews are known to have slipped into this group.) The remaining 1,007 would be shipped to Auschwitz. It was obvious that this roundup was the final warning for the Jews. Those who managed to avoid it quickly left their homes.

Says one Jew after the war, “From Radio London we had learned about the existence of concentration camps and the provisions against the Jews but, to tell the truth, we did not believe much. We thought all these stories were matters of Allied propaganda against the Germans.”

The fears of Rome’s Jews were placated by the presence of the Pope and the Vatican City. Although Pope Pius XII did not openly defend the Jews, and had not opposed the racial laws, his presence, thought most Roman Jews, would be enough to deter the Germans from persecuting them.

To add to their faith in their Duce, the Pope, and their leaders, Roman Jews added another dimension to their apparent passivity which was common to all European Jews. Survivors constantly repeated the phrase, “We thought it could never happen here. We had done nothing wrong. We were always loyal citizens.”

The Jews of Italy, who were as Italian as their Christian neighbors, and had experienced so little anti-Semitism during the past, thought it could happen anywhere but in civilized Italy. They had always been loyal citizens and could not conceive unprovoked punishment.

Chapter 4, “Benevolence”

The next day, Sunday, following morning mass, Gianni visited his brother, Lodovico, who lived with his wife and daughter a few blocks away, on Via dei Baullari. While there, the brothers alone, Gianni explained in as few words as possible his predicament. Lodovico, himself a passionate but quiet anti-Fascist, and even more passionate anti-Nazi, took immediate interest. Because Lodovico was popular in his neighborhood, and rather well-connected, whereas Gianni was more reserved and less known, he was able to give immediate advice.

“You must go to Father Benedetto,” replied Lodovico, “at Chiesa di Sant’Angelo,” referring to a nearby church, “and tell him you have four Jews in your cellar.”

“What will he do?”

“Help you keep them alive.”

“How do you know I can trust him?”

Lodovico gave a smirk, the type he had always given to those who had questioned his trust. Gianni knew and asked no more.

“Now, do you know how to get food on the black market?”

“What kind of food?”

“Bread, vegetables, some meats, occasionally some cheese.”

“How do I get it?” asked Gianni, realizing that with his ration card he could scarcely keep the Levi’s alive.

“Go to the morgue.”

“The morgue? What have we become? Cannibals?”

“Gianni, do you want to starve, or do you want to eat?”

“Can I get food there?”

“Yes, you can get food there. Go there, preferably in the afternoon. Do not go to the front. There is an alley that runs along the back of the morgue. It is much darker there, especially in the afternoon. It is more difficult to be seen. There you can get food. It is not cheap, but if you want to keep from starving…,” Lodovico shrugged.

On Sunday afternoon, Gianni walked the short distance to Chiesa di Sant’Angelo. Seeing only a few people at the altar, he knelt to pray, keeping one eye open. Soon, an elderly priest knelt beside Gianni. After a few moments of silence, Gianni leaned toward the priest and asked, “Are you Father Benedetto?”

The elderly priest simply pointed discreetly toward a confession booth which stood in a corner of the sanctuary. Gianni noticed the curtains were open. Without wishing to further interrupt the priest, he decided not to thank him, then walked nervously toward the booth.

After closing the curtain behind him, Gianni spoke softly to the priest whom he could not see.

“Father Benedetto?”

“Yes.”

“I was sent to you by my brother because I am hiding four Jews in my cellar.”

“I understand.”

Gianni licked his lips nervously, fearful that this was some trap, fearful that the man he could not see was a Fascist, or worse, a Nazi. And yet, as quickly as his fear had risen, it was quelled by a sublime sense of peace and comfort, and he felt a surprising faith in this unseen man. He even smiled slightly.

“We can help provide you with means for a little extra food and much blessing,” the priest replied and slipped an unused ration card through a slit in the screen between them. “Come back to me next month, once you have used up the ration card.”

“Thank you, father.”

That evening, Gianni faithfully prepared dinner for the Levi’s. Except for a small lunch of raw tomatoes and a little bread, they had not eaten, and Gianni now realized the enormity of the endeavor in sustaining them. His rationed food supply, though now doubled, would still fall woefully short of feeding the five of them. Although he did not eat large meals, there was still very little left of this supply. Not only would he be forced to eat less, but he would also have to rely heavily on the black market as a source of food.

Gianni had never been forced to eke out a day-to-day subsistence. He usually went shopping when his food supply started to run low, but until the war, he had never seen an empty cupboard, never had to ignore hunger pains, and was never so preoccupied with fulfilling basic needs. Fear overwhelmed him, for not only was he responsible for feeding five, but Gianni was risking his life in providing them sanctuary. He tried vainly to wish the situation away, but he realized there was no alternative. He could not denounce the Levi’s. He could not dismiss them, for he could not imagine where they would go.

Gianni never questioned their Jewishness. Theirs was faith with which he did not agree, yet strangely, he thought of them not as Jews, not as fellow Romans, nor fellow countrymen. It was true that Giancarlo had been a friend and colleague, but it had been almost five years since the racial laws had forced him from the bank. Gianni did not think of them necessarily as friends, even though they had maintained contact during the long years since. No, the Levi family, a husband and wife who deeply cared about their children and each other, a son and daughter trapped in childhoods that were no longer innocent, were simply fellow human beings who were in need. Gianni, acting solely on his faith, was to be their caretaker.

On this day following the Rome roundup, no newspaper carried the story. No Italian government official is known to have protested publicly this German act against legal Italian citizens. There was also no mention made in official newspapers of the train which made its way northward toward the Brenner Pass, filled with these citizens.

Chapter 5, “Survival”

An entry in the Auschwitz log for October 23, 1943, one week following the Roman roundup, reads as follows:

RSHA-Transport, Jews from Rome. After the selection, 148 men registered with numbers 158451-158639 and 47 women registered with numbers 66172-66218 have been admitted to the detention camp. The rest have been gassed.

Of the 148 remaining men, about half went to work at the coal mines of Jawiszowice. Eleven would survive. Forty-two went to recover bricks from the ruins of the Warsaw ghetto. Three would survive. The remainder stayed at Auschwitz to work there. None of these would survive. And only one of the forty-seven women who entered the labor camp would survive.

The final numbers are grim. Of the 1,007 Jews who were rounded up that October 16 and eventually deported to Auschwitz, 812 were immediately gassed. Of the remaining 195, only fifteen would survive.

Gianni, meanwhile, waited a week before visiting the nearby morgue. He knew it stood as a means for survival. His brother said he could get food there. Following Lodovico’s direction, he found the dark alley which led to the back entrance of the morgue. Once there, he nervously knocked on the door. He tried to appear routine. Finally, the door was opened a crack. Someone inside looked at him and asked what business he had. Gianni answered that he had come to buy some food. He did not tell them he was hiding Jews.

“Do you have someone in need?” the man asked him.

“Yes.”

Gianni was allowed inside. Unaware of the massive operation taking place inside the building, Gianni asked for some bread and eggs. The gentleman who had let him inside walked into another room and returned a few moments later with a half-loaf of day-old bread and five eggs, for which Gianni was grateful. He paid the gentleman for the goods, thanked him, and left.

The morgue served as a distribution center for food inside Rome. While it was difficult to obtain food from the outside, those who managed the distribution relied on contributions from ordinary people for their means. A baker might bake an extra loaf or two of bread and quietly send the goods to the morgue, or someone might have accumulated a cellar full of canned vegetables during the years, and he or she might give a can or two a week. Others maintained rooftop gardens in which they grew tomatoes and zucchini during the spring, summer, and early fall, and they might also contribute. This collection of food was delivered clandestinely to collection points across the city, and the food was then placed in body bags and delivered by ambulance to the morgue every afternoon.

However, the collection fell woefully short of the amount needed to adequately feed those in hiding, but for many, it was the difference between living and dying. The operation at the morgue was simply another means in the mass struggle for survival.

But the food shortage was becoming severe, nonetheless. The ration cards proved insufficient in allowing adequate sustenance. One might wait in line at the baker’s, and when he got to the front, find there was no more bread. Getting potatoes and cheese was nearly impossible. Nearly everyone worked clandestinely to buy food on the black market. But despite their endeavor, hunger was widespread across the city. And the Germans were settling in for a long occupation.

It seemed to Gianni Farnese, as it must have seemed to many Romans, that the harder he worked to acquire food, the hungrier he and the Levi’s became. Realistically, two ration cards and a few extra items purchased on the black market every few days were hardly sufficient in satisfying the appetites of five people. Even though the Levis were all relatively small of stature and now sedentary, thereby requiring little food for sustenance, they still found themselves hungry. Although, for their gratefulness, they never complained. They understood Gianni was risking his life in acquiring what food he could. Their situation, they knew, could have been far worse.

Gianni never understood the Nazis. Few did. For all of the good they were going to bring the world, why did widespread death and hunger follow them across Europe? Why must everyone live in fear? Why must everyone suffer? What good was there to be found? It was all, Gianni concluded, more than a struggle for survival, although survival was the most basic endeavor. Good must win over evil. It always had.

Chapter 6, “The Levis”

For the Levis – Giancarlo, Renata, Anna, and Giovanni – living in a tiny, cool, damp cellar was obviously difficult. Besides having to combat hunger, their lives were filled with endless hours of boredom and constant fear. Although Giancarlo worked exhaustively to conquer the boredom, the Levis still endured hours of it daily. Sleeping ten and often twelve hours a day, Giancarlo and Renata took ample advantage to tutor their children in their own makeshift school during the hours they were awake. Giancarlo taught language and religion, Renata taught history and mathematics. Together, they worked well. But even the enormous endeavor of educating their children left many hours of each day unfilled. Never had they known such an existence.

In the mornings, Gianni delivered his newspaper to Giancarlo, although the news was highly censored. Giancarlo skimmed the paper every day. Despite his boredom, he often found the contents absurd. He, like, all Romans, craved the truth. Sometimes at night, Gianni would listen to a few minutes of the Allied radio broadcasts from Bari and Palermo. He would always scribble a few notes to Giancarlo regarding what he had heard.

After rising around seven to the sounds of Gianni’s footsteps above them, the Levis washed themselves using the bucket of water Gianni delivered daily. Renata and Anna would wash first while Giancarlo and Giovanni sat in a corner of the cellar and talked. Then the men would wash while the women sat in the corner.

Around seven-thirty, Gianni came down briefly to deliver fresh water, some coffee, a little milk, bread (when it was available), and the newspaper. The Levis ate while Giancarlo talked about the contents of the newspaper.

After Gianni departed, usually between eight and eight-thirty, the Levis began their daily tutoring. Giancarlo read several passages from the Torah while the family huddled. They always huddled. After the reading, the family said a long prayer together, with every member taking his turn, Giancarlo, Giovanni, Anna, then Renata.

After a short break during which everyone poured from the bucket of drinking water, Renata began her history lesson. Before the racial laws, Renata had been a teacher of history in a public school, but had been forced to take up sewing in order to earn a little extra money for the family after she lost her job. She usually taught from memory, but had borrowed a few books from Gianni to use for reference. The children were never tested, but listened to their mother talk, occasionally asking questions, but usually only listening.

Following another break between ten and eleven o’clock, Giancarlo began his language lesson. He normally spent one hour teaching Yiddish, training his two children to read from the Torah, the only book in the traditional Jewish language the Levis owned.

Around noon, following another short break, Renata began her mathematics lesson. Although Giancarlo had been an accountant, and therefore an expert mathematician, it was always Renata who taught this lesson. It was she who had taught professionally and not Giancarlo, who knew his wife was more patient and therefore better suited. This lesson, too, lasted around an hour. Although Anna was two years Giovanni’s senior, her brother kept up well with his elder sister, especially in mathematics. Anna, an intelligent child, was not equal to her brother’s capacity to learn. It was easiest to tutor them together, anyway.

By one o’clock, the day’s schooling complete, the boredom began to overwhelm the family. The Levis, who were accustomed to eating their midday meal around this time, endeavored to ignore their hunger, always unsuccessfully. They knew dinner was a full six hours away. The temptation to nap was strong, but each knew that if he napped during the afternoon, he would not be able to sleep come night. The worst fate they could suffer, other than being discovered by Nazis, was a sleepless night. For then the boredom became as omnipotent as the darkness.

During the first couple of days, Renata devised a word game, mainly for the children, but after a few days even this novelty had become routine, an extension of the already pervasive boredom. Sometimes, Giancarlo read from the Torah during this stretch of the day, but even this held the interest of all for only a few minutes. Sometimes they prayed. Sometimes they simply chatted. Often they sat together in silence and contemplated, reluctantly dwelling on the horrors they would face should they ever be discovered.

Around five o’clock, the muffled sound of the front door of Gianni’s tenement opening and closing was a source of rejuvenation. Knowing he was home comforted the Levis. Of course, there was always the possibility the footsteps above them did not belong to Gianni, but the Levis never really considered this.

They listened intently to every sound that came from above. It was always easy to guess Gianni’s actions, the closet door in his bedroom opening, Gianni hanging his overcoat on a hangar, the closing of the closet door. The sound of running water meant he was washing his hands. The sliding sound of a drawer opening meant he was retrieving his apron. The sound of clattering pots meant dinner. This sound always evoked silent rejoicing from the Levis, for it meant there would be food to eat. Although Gianni managed to provide some sustenance every day, the Levis were always reassured when it became obvious there would indeed be food to eat. On rare occasions when the sound of sizzling penetrated the cellar, there was utter celebration, for that meant there would be meat. Although the Levi’s knew the portions would be small, meat was always sacred.

Around seven in the evening, Gianni delivered dinner to the Levis. He brought four plates of carefully portioned food. The Levis placed the plates in their laps, and, despite their oppressive hunger, always ate slowly. There was typically just enough food to subdue their hunger until morning. Regardless of the size of the portions, the Levis were always grateful for whatever was brought. A half-hour later, Gianni collected the empty plates. The Levis thanked him. Gianni acknowledged the thanks, then walked slowly upstairs, never looking back. Placing the dishes in the sink, he walked back to the cellar door, replaced it, and with the door just inches from resuming its place in the floor, Gianni whispered “Good night!”

The Levis washed their hands and faces, brushed their teeth, said a prayer together, then, with nothing left to do that day, Giancarlo turned out the light so they could go to bed. In the darkness there was silence as one-by-one the Levis drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 7, “The Savior becomes a Servant”

On November 14, 1943, the Jews of Italy were declared enemy aliens by their government. On this date, Fascist party officials gathered at Verona to approve the Carta di Verona. Article VII of this, the political manifesto of the new Italian Social Republic, declared that “All those belonging to the Jewish race are foreigners. During this war they belong to an enemy nationality.”

During the evening of November 30, 1943, police order number five was broadcast over the radio. On December 1, Minister of the Interior, Guido Buffarini Guidi sent this order to his prefects, who, in turn, passed it along to their police chiefs. The order declared that all Jews presently residing in Italy, even if they had been granted certain exemptions under earlier racial laws, were to be arrested and interned in concentration camps within Italy. Their property and possessions were to be confiscated. Teams of Jew hunters were sent to Italy. They were assisted by thousands of Fascists eager to help.

Meanwhile, the military and police units of the Republic of Salo acted with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The police were perhaps the least zealous. Occasionally, a fanatical “questore” (police chief) or “capo di provincia” (provincial prefect) demanded increased action from a police department. But most often, the police either gave low priority to the arrest of Jews or completely ignored the policy. A chronology of arrests suggests that Italian police were slow to react to the order, and may have even deliberately balked.

While most arrests of Jews before December can be attributed to Nazis and other like-minded groups, many afterwards were performed by the dangerous Guardia Nazionale Repubblicana (GNR), or National Republican Guard.

Even more threatening to the Jews were the Brigate Nere (Black Brigade). Although not created until June, 1944, the members of the Brigade, with little military discipline, became a source of terror, robbing, raping, and murdering civilians at will. They were merciless toward Jews.

The final Italian force to be feared was the Italian SS, which would number twenty thousand men during the occupation. They swore allegiance to Hitler, and were regarded as traitors.

Gianni Farnese, meanwhile, never regarded himself as a savior. He had never asked to provide sanctuary to a fleeing family. He had never thought himself an important person.

But something happened to Gianni during the first couple of months following the roundup. Life for him and the Levis had become quite regimented. At some time – Gianni never knew precisely when – he experienced a renewal in his faith. He had never truly lost his faith, but the deteriorating conditions which had plagued Europe during the last several years had taxed his faith in humanity, indeed, even in his religion. As accounts of terror flowed from sources across the continent, Gianni, like perhaps many Christians, began to ask the perplexing question “Where is God?”

Perhaps because he had been able to overcome these difficult circumstances, or perhaps because of the massive underground network established in Rome to provide for those in need, Gianni experienced his renewal. Surely, Gianni concluded, in every city across Italy, and perhaps in all of Europe, there must be networks established on behalf of those who had been forced into hiding.

That there were so many individuals working toward this common cause, and risking their lives in the process, could only be the result of the hand of God. That they were quite successful when the city was so infiltrated by Nazis and their allies was an even further testament to God’s presence. For many years, Gianni had resigned himself to the assumption that evil forces were winning over the righteous, but now he realized the righteous and their cause were succeeding. Yes, Gianni now realized, the good were winning.

These realizations gradually led Gianni to conclude he was not a savior. He never had been. He was simply a medium, carrying out the work of his Lord. And through this work, Gianni had become a servant to his Lord, to the Levis, and to all of humanity. Indeed, Gianni was no savior. For through his efforts alone, he would have saved no one, perhaps not even himself. But through the work of many thousands of servants and their camaraderie, the outcome designed of the one, true Savior was inevitable. After this revelation, Gianni realized he would not fail. As a savior, the burden was his. But now, as a servant, he no longer bore a burden, for the burden had never been his. It had always been the Lord’s. Although Gianni continued to experience moments of tension and anxiety, the fear he had once felt was gone.

Ironically, as the war against the Jews escalated, and as those who waged this war became more numerous, the greater Gianni’s faith grew, and the more determined became his efforts. For Gianni now knew through personal experience and testimony that he could indeed do all things through God who strengthened him.

Chapter 8, “The Oranges”

The last Saturday in November, Gianni woke shortly after seven o’clock – not an unusual time, even though he did not have to work at the bank that day. Following a meager breakfast, Gianni dressed and put on his overcoat for a walk to the market.

The day was cool, but nevertheless sunny. It was a rather typical day for that time of year. Some of the shops were starting to open. He wondered how many of the shops managed stay afloat, given that commerce had been curtailed so dramatically, especially since the occupation.

On a normal Saturday, he would have taken a caffe latte or hot chocolate, perhaps with a pastry, in his favorite bar in Piazza Navona. He then would have walked the periphery of that great square two or three times for exercise, but also to browse through the wares the vendors would have set up that morning. Perhaps he would have bought flowers for the kitchen, but one had to arrive quite early to find the freshest flowers.

He would have likely seen a friend or two wandering across the square, and this would have given him occasion to fraternize. He might have taken a bus to Villa Borghese to walk among the shade trees there, or he might have gone to the market, as he was doing now, but with less intensity and determination.

Today, there would be no frills or fraternizing. He was quite serious, and far more stern with vendors than he would have been under different circumstances. Gianni had become suspicious of others, and endeavored to acquire as much food as possible without stirring suspicion of himself. He never wanted to appear to be feeding more than one person, so Gianni limited his purchases at each market trip, preferring instead to visit the market more frequently and buy in smaller amounts, rather than buy in bulk.

He bought some pasta and a little oil in one shop. At the butcher shop, he purchased a whole chicken and a small portion of bacon. At the bakery, he bought some bread, but not too much. His greatest thrill had come when visiting a produce stand. Most of the vegetables had been picked over, but he did find two artichokes worth selecting. Although fruit was mostly out of season, he did find exactly four oranges, and he watched as the fruit vendor wrapped each one carefully in paper before placing them with even greater care into a paper bag. Gianni paid his money and walked home, grateful that he had found fresh oranges for the Levis. Had be been buying only for himself, he would never have paid as much as he did, but treats for the Levis were rare, and he knew they would enjoy the oranges.

Walking back to his tenement, Gianni debated whether to serve a large lunch, or a large dinner. Impatience was usually not a quality he exhibited, but he was so anxious to present the oranges to the Levis that he decided he would serve a small lunch, easily prepared, then bring down the oranges afterward.

After re-entering the tenement, he removed his overcoat, then carried the goods into the kitchen. He would save the pasta and chicken for dinner. The bacon would go with that. He would serve the bread for lunch. There was some cheese left from his visit to a different, more distance market three days prior, and he would add this to the lunch menu.

After a few chores, and some time spent reading, Gianni began the short lunch preparation. He heated a skillet with some oil and garlic, and fried the artichokes until they were tender. He set some aside for himself, with the bread and cheese, then carefully portioned the rest into fourths to be carried downstairs. He delivered lunch to the Levi=s shortly after one o’clock.

After allowing them about fifteen minutes, he carried the paper bag with the oranges downstairs. The Levi=s assumed he had come merely for the dishes. He had, of course, but he first knelt beside them, and removed one of the oranges, unwrapped it, and handed it to Anna. The sight and scent of that first orange brought instant smiles. The second orange went to Giovanni, the third to Renata, the last to Giancarlo.

Renata had received what appeared to be the largest of the oranges, but only slightly. She tried to exchange with Giovanni, but he, Anna, and Giancarlo insisted she keep the largest orange, and Gianni carried the dishes upstairs, pleased that he had brought some measure of joy to the Levis that day.

That evening, long after the sun had set, Gianni began to prepare the dinner. It would be a larger dinner than usual. He cut the chicken into eight pieces, and began to fry it in the skillet. He chopped the bacon and added it, then some garlic, rosemary, and pepper. He then finished assembling the dish with some canned tomatoes and a little wine, then relaxed as the aroma began to fill the tenement. About thirty minutes later, after the mixture in the skillet had coalesced, he began to boil some water for the pasta. He added some oil to the water so the pasta wouldn’t stick, then added the pasta once the water had started to boil.

Once the chicken had cooked to his satisfaction, he drained the pasta and portioned it. He then took two of the smaller pieces of chicken for himself, two pieces each for Anna and Giovanni, and the two breasts for Giancarlo and Renata. He then divided the sauce among the five portions, and served the meal to the Levis.

Afterwards, when he had come to collect the empty plates and wish the Levis a pleasant night, Giancarlo spoke for the family.

“Gianni, that was a wonderful dinner. Thank you. Even my wife is impressed with your cooking. But Gianni, thank you most especially for the oranges. We smelled the oranges all afternoon. Thank you for bringing us the oranges.”

Chapter 9, “The Darkness”

It was the end of 1943. On a Thursday night in late December, Gianni sat in the darkness at his kitchen table. Since the occupation, no street lamps were lit in the city, so Rome literally became an ocean of darkness, a pervading darkness seeping into even the tiniest crevices. On starry nights, Gianni retreated to the small balcony off his back door, but even the lights of the moon and stars hardly penetrated the blackness on these dark nights.

But on this night there were no stars or moon. A light mist hung over the city and the chill was penetrating. Gianni sat wrapped in a blanket and drank a cup of coffee. It was around ten-thirty, but Gianni could not sleep. Although the fear he had once felt had subsided, he was still sometimes overcome by anxiety. He often wondered if the Allies would ever reach Rome, and if they did not, what would happen to him and the Levis. It was a possibility he considered often. He knew he could persist for many more months, and probably the Levis, too, although he never spoke much with them. It was best not to make noise by fraternizing with the Levis.

Gianni’s family had lived in Rome for half a millennium. The city itself had been founded more than two thousand seven hundred years before. The streets of Rome had seen more historic events and more historic people than any city in the world. The Popes had lived here, Paul had preached here. The Caesars, the emperors, both good and evil, artists, and composers had lived here, had walked the same streets he walked today. Some of the world’s most impressive churches, museums, and architecture stood in Rome. But for the moment, Rome was nothing of its past greatness. True, those things remained, but Gianni’s home was now the sight of fear, intimidation, and death. Indeed, Gianni more than once had muttered to himself “This is not my home.”

As Gianni sat, he heard the voice of a female singing. The noise didn’t startle, but surprised him, for he thought the Levis had long since been asleep. Gianni thought at first the voice belonged to Renata, but as he listened more carefully, he realized it was not. The sweet sound he heard came from daughter Anna.

Gianni first assumed that perhaps the Levis had been unable to sleep. But then he knew differently. They were celebrating. It was Hanukkah. Gianni thought of joining them out of curiosity, but then thought better of it. He was content to sit and listen. Trying to understand the song, he realized he knew not a word. Anna was singing in Yiddish. Although Gianni did not understand, the sound of the young girl’s voice moved him deeply. Despite the Levis’ precarious situation, the song was a hopeful one, almost happy. Yes, the Levis felt hope and faith just as he, Gianni, had learned to feel hope and faith in the midst of this ordeal. The human spirit, when it rested on faith, was truly unbeatable.

Yet Gianni still felt sadness, not for himself, nor specifically for the Levis, but for all the persecuted across Europe. Gianni did not realize the extent of the monolithic operation (known in German as “Judenaktion”) waged by the Germans to purge Europe of its Jews – nor would the outside world for many months. But Gianni was aware of widespread and unprovoked death. He was sad for those who died so needlessly, and that even in losing an ordinary person such as one of the Levis, the world might be losing a gifted singer, a great thinker, a thoughtful professor, a child with dreams, a man with a young family. To have the opportunity to listen to a child such as Anna Levi sing and then declare her inhuman was unthinkable. Yet it was happening.

After several minutes, the singing ceased, and the world was quiet again. The muffled clicking of marching boots emanated from the street, passed in front of Gianni’s door, then continued. Sometimes Gianni woke around eleven o’clock to this sound. At first, it had provoked fear, for he knew the sound belonged to the SS patrol, but he now no longer feared. He listened as the clicking boots passed along the opposite end of his street, then turn the corner toward Piazza Navona. Gianni went to bed.

Chapter 10, “Dead Jew”

The deliveries were coming in slowly this morning. It had been three days since Mario Gelmi had sent a shipment to the morgue, and today the ambulance would be by to take another. He had around 70 kilograms of food hidden in his storeroom, a good delivery, although he would have preferred a little more.

Mario was an orderly at a small Roman hospital. Since the occupation he had taken on the responsibility of gathering food and packaging it for transport to the morgue. There were several morgues across Rome used for food distribution via the black market. The morgue he helped supply was the one used by Gianni Farnese.

Although several people delivered food to Mario daily, he never knew their names, nor did he know how the contributors had obtained the food. He never asked, only thanked. He never exchanged money.

A local baker happened to bake two extra loaves of bread that morning. Each day he took a smattering of flour from his daily allotment and hid it. When he had collected enough, he used it make extra bread. One loaf he kept for his family, the other loaf he sent to Mario Gelmi at the hospital wrapped and disguised as medical supplies.

The grocer, when unpacking boxes, confiscated a can or two of food here and there, not enough to ever be noticed, but when collected for several days, the extra food made for a nice donation to the hospital. Surely, considering the amount of goods which passed through his store, a few cans would never be missed, no matter how elaborate the accounting system devised to keep people like him “honest.”

The housewife, when going to visit her mother in the hospital, concealed a jar of preserved tomatoes from her basement inside her bulky purse. This she gave to Mario as she passed the storeroom on her way to her mother’s bed. Each year she grew tomatoes in a little garden on the roof of her building, and each year she preserved dozens of jars of them. They had proved most useful this winter.

A young man who had somehow obtained an extra ration card went to the grocer and bought extra provisions. Some of these he took to the hospital, the rest he sneaked to a local convent where food was needed to feed Jews who were hiding there. He did this once a week.

That morning, after a few more donations bolstered his supply, Mario carefully packed the items together on a bed sheet, shaping the stash to roughly that of a human body. He wrapped the food in three bed sheets and tied the ends together. He then placed the “corpse,” weighing as much as a grown man, into a body bag and waited for the ambulance to arrive.

There were several such centers which sent supplies to this morgue. The morgue was a convenient place to distribute food to the general populace. Hospitals were often too heavily watched for such operations to take place. Most guards never bothered much with morgues, though. And the transportation of large quantities of food, because of the method used, was quite safe. Fortunately, no one was caught in this surprisingly widespread operation.

The ambulance arrived around noon. The food was brought out in a stretcher, then placed in the ambulance. The vehicle was then driven casually to the morgue several blocks away. It had been a good day, for two corpses had preceded this one, and at least one more was expected. Some days only one corpse was received. But there always seemed to be just enough food for distribution. The workers at the morgue had never been forced to turn away a hungry soul. Sometimes they even gave food away, but if the person could pay, he always did, even at the unusually high black market prices used pay the bribes which kept such operations functioning.

As the corpse was being carried from the ambulance on a stretcher, a German soldier with a rifle approached the two men who were bearing the stretcher. The men stopped as the soldier began to taunt them. Tapping the corpse with the tip of his rifle, he joked, “Got a dead Jew in there?”

The two men did not answer. They were obviously much too nervous for words.

“I asked if you’ve got a dead Jew in there?”

Finally one of the men spoke.

“No, I think this one’s a Catholic.”

“I think it’s a dead Jew,” the soldier continued. Then, pointing his rifle at the body bag, he took aim. “Let’s make sure that Jew’s dead,” he said.

As he was about to squeeze the trigger, a soldier across the street caught the rifleman’s attention. He dropped his piece, then answered the other soldier. The two stretcher bearers stood motionless. The taunting soldier quickly walked away and crossed the street. The men quickly carried the “dead Jew” inside to safety. It was their closest encounter yet, and one they would not soon forget.

Chapter 11, “Deception”

On January 22, 1944, national police chief Tullio Tamburini instructed all provincial prefects to establish “suitable arrangements with local German authorities,” and, if necessary, to arrest and intern “all Jews even if hitherto exempt or privileged.”

Anna Levi was ill. Her parents had feared this for sometime, since she normally became ill during the damp, cold environment of Rome’s winters, but the Levis had lived in such an environment since October. That she would take ill was inevitable. Her coughing began around the middle of January. Within a week, it was obvious she had bronchitis. She would not recuperate while she remained in the cellar. A day later, Gianni was notified. Although Anna had managed to keep her coughing quiet enough so she could not be heard above, Gianni could see during his rare visits to the cellar that she was not in good health. Giancarlo and Renata asked timidly if something could be done. Gianni had an idea almost immediately, but did not share it, simply assuring them that on the following day he would get help.

The next morning, a Saturday, Gianni walked to his brother’s home a few blocks away. The January day was typical: cold, foggy, misty, and with winter’s perpetual low, gray clouds. Gianni dressed in an overcoat and hat and, taking his walking cane, walked to his brother’s. Gianni’s right leg was particularly bothersome this day, due mainly to the adverse weather. Winters were always harsh on him. Fortunately his brother was home.

“We must talk,” Gianni stated gravely following a brief greeting.

Lodovico had immediately detected a sense of urgency in Gianni’s manner. He led his brother to a quiet corner of the kitchen.

“Lodovico,” Gianni began, toying nervously with the brim of his hat, “I need to borrow Grazia today,” he stated, referring to Lodovico’s only daughter.

“What do you need with Grazia?”

“Anna Levi is ill. I must take her to a doctor today. The cellar has not been good for her.”

“How does Grazia fit into this?”

“Have you ever seen Anna Levi?”

“No.”

“They could have been twins.”

“How old is Anna?”

“Twelve.”

“Grazia is fourteen.”

“I know. The resemblance is still remarkable.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take Grazia home with me. We go inside for a while, then I have Anna and Grazia exchange clothing. They switch places. Grazia goes to the cellar. Anna goes to the doctor. If Anna has Grazia’s papers, she passes easily for your daughter. So I take Anna to the doctor. When we get back, I switch the girls again. After a little while, I bring Grazia back home.”

Lodovico gnawed nervously on a cigar. He obviously did not favor the idea. Yet he knew, too, that if Anna were indeed ill, she needed to see a doctor.

“What if Grazia gets caught with the Levis?”

“They have been in my cellar more than three months. There has been no suspicion.”

“There was no suspicion before October 16!”

“Brother, please. I love Grazia. Yes, she is your daughter and my niece. Yes, there is risk. But consider the cause.”

True, Lodovico hated Nazis. He favored anything meant to undermine them.

“Why Grazia?”

“What are my options?” asked Gianni humbly. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No.”

“Then it will be only a few hours.”

“Maria will not like this.”

“Surely Maria will understand.”

“It is not that easy.”

“Do you think I like this?”

“No. I know you don’t.”

“Please, brother.”

Gianni was greeted by silence.

“Would you like me to talk to Maria?”

“She is at the market.”

“I will wait.”

“You had better go now. You and Grazia.”

“Dear brother.”

“I will deal with Maria.”

“You know I will guard her life as I would my own.”

“I know you will, brother.”

Gianni and his niece began the walk back to Gianni’s tenement. Grazia was well bundled, and for more than one reason. The walk, albeit a short one, was torturous for Gianni, as his leg and hip were stiffened by the cold and moisture. Yet he did not complain. He would still have to take Anna to the doctor, then Grazia back to her father’s.

Grazia did not speak to Gianni much during their walk. She knew her duty, and was neither bitter, nor afraid. She did her best to hide her face behind a scarf, her head covered by a toboggan. Soon they reached Gianni’s tenement.

After a short wait, Gianni exchanged the two girls, then led Anna outside. He did not wish to arouse suspicion. Shortly before noon, more than an hour after he and Grazia had arrived, Gianni and Anna embarked for the closest medical clinic. After she concealed herself behind the scarf and under the toboggan, Gianni could find no distinction between Anna and Grazia. He hoped no one else could.

The nun who helped attend to Anna brought the girl to Gianni after she and the doctor had completed their examination.

“The girl has bronchitis.”

“Yes, I figured-”

“The girl is also malnourished,” the nun declared, scowling at Gianni.

Gianni said nothing.

“Is she your daughter?”

“No, she is my brother’s.”

“Then tell your brother the girl needs to eat, especially in her condition. She will never get well if she has nothing to eat.”

“Yes, I-”

“I know times are hard. I know we are rationed. But it’s no excuse. There is enough food in Rome.”

“I understand.”

“See that you do. Here are a few pills. It is all I can give you,” the nun stated, handing Gianni a few tablets in a small bottle. “The best you can do is feed her well and keep her out of the wet and cold.”

“Thank you,” was all Gianni could say.

That Anna was malnourished was no great surprise to Gianni. By now, Gianni assumed, they were all malnourished, including him. But for some reason, Gianni was still overcome by feelings of inadequacy. He knew he had done his best to feed the Levis, but perhaps he could do more. Perhaps he could work harder to gather more food. Or perhaps he could try to find a source of ration cards in addition to Father Benedetto.

Somehow, Anna sensed Gianni’s self-pity, for as they walked along the alley that led to Gianni’s tenement, she spoke to him.

“Signor Farnese, father says you are saving our lives.”

Gianni could barely understand her quiet words, muffled by the scarf. She coughed several times before continuing.

Looking at him, she declared, “Father says you are selfless and humble, like your Francis of Assisi.”

The words of encouragement were welcome.

They entered the tenement. Gianni walked immediately to the kitchen and opened the cellar door. Four eager faces looked at him. His act of deception had worked.

Gianni remained at home three days with Anna, using his aching leg and hip as the excuse for his absence from work. He could not allow Anna back into the cellar until she had recovered. Although he feared no suspicion, he could not leave her alone upstairs. Fortunately, during the days following their visit to the clinic, the clouds dissipated and the outside air became much warmer. On the third day, Gianni even opened his windows. Anna made quick progress. After the nun’s reprimand regarding Anna’s malnourishment, Gianni made sure to find extra food for Anna. On the evening of the third day, Gianni returned her to her family, not completely recovered, but with enough medication to last four more days.

Chapter 12, “The Circle Tightens”

On February 8, 1944, the German SS took over Fossoli, the primary Italian internment camp, located near Modena. Now under the leadership of Friedreich Bosshammer, deportations from Fossoli began almost immediately. Following is a record of Jewish arrests in Rome following the October 16 roundup: October, 3; November, 28; December, 31; January, 29; February, 141; March, 163; April, 201; May, 98.

The sudden increase in the number of arrests beginning in February indeed corresponds with the arrival of Bosshammer at German SS security police headquarters in Verona.

Roman Jews were caught in many different ways. One was the employment of individual informers, attracted by rewards of five thousand lire for men (a rather large sum during this time), around twenty-five hundred for women and children. These informers tracked down former friends and neighbors and reported them. Without the help of informers, though, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find Jews well-hidden by sympathizers.

Gianni Farnese was not normally a very perceptive man, but during these cold February days, and despite the limited news, he was aware of an even greater tension he had not previously known. Arrests were increasing, and this instilled new apprehensions. But Gianni remained faithful. After all, the only ones who knew of the family in his cellar, other than the Levis, were he and his brother’s family. Any betrayal of the Levis seemed impossible. Sure, there was Father Benedetto and the people at the morgue, but they, too, were risking their lives for the same cause. He had never seen Father Benedetto, only received extra ration cards inside the confession booth, where they were concealed, even from each other. Those at the morgue didn’t actually know of the Levis, only that Gianni bought extra food occasionally. They didn’t even know Gianni by name. They never exchanged names. Nevertheless, despite the apparent impossibility of betrayal, Gianni Farnese was still apprehensive. He could feel the circle tighten around him and the Levis. Furthermore, there was no news of Allied progress in the south of Italy.

To have become disheartened would have been easy. Yet because of the faith Gianni and the Levis had realized, they were not discouraged. Indeed, he and the Levis had adapted. They had become accustomed to the limited diet, the lack of substantive news, the cold and darkness. That they had survived thus far, and in such relatively high spirit, was a testament to their faith, and the perseverance they had developed through that faith.

As he was walking home from work one day, Gianni passed a young German soldier of perhaps twenty or twenty-two. Since the occupation, Gianni had often seen this young man, always in the same vicinity. Odd, Gianni thought, that in a city where food was supposedly so scarce, this soldier had gained perhaps twenty pounds or more during the past five months. Gianni wondered what had made him notice this young man. With the Germans present in such great numbers, why had Gianni recognized this man? Perhaps it had been his young, smooth-shaven appearance, or his stature, medium height and muscular build, although now his face was rounder, his waistline a few inches wider. Regardless, Gianni passed him as he walked toward his home.

Several paces farther, Gianni watched as a young woman approached a young man from behind. She tapped his shoulder and spoke to him as though they were close friends. Gianni thought it peculiar that the man pretended not to know her, turned, and walked quickly away, then disappeared into an alley. Gianni was startled as the young German soldier he had just passed, accompanied by another soldier, darted past him, following the same path as the young man. A few moments later, as Gianni passed the same alley, he watched briefly as the Germans caught the young man, beat him with their rifle butts, then arrested him. Gianni would never inform the Levis of the scene he had witnessed that afternoon.

Sadly, many of the informers who betrayed Jews were Jews themselves. They had been bought by the Nazis. One young woman, known throughout the Jewish community as the Black Panther, was responsible for some fifty such arrests. These informers would introduce themselves to other Jews in the streets in order to identify them to watching Germans. Those identified in such manner were subsequently apprehended and arrested.

“Mama,” Giovanni inquired, “what do you want to do after we are free again?”

Renata was startled by the question. She had never considered this, nor did she want to now. The Levis had just finished dinner that evening and were preparing for bed.

“Giovanni,” she answered meekly. “I don’t know, son. I don’t know. I guess find work. Why do you ask?”

Giovanni shrugged. “I just thought it might be fun to talk about what we want to do after we are free again.”

“What do you want to do, son?” Giancarlo asked.

“I want to visit Mr. Di Carlo’s pizzeria and play soccer in the square all day.”

“I want to eat an ice cream cone and window shop with Maria along Via Condotti,” added Anna.

“I think it would be fun if we all took the train to Ostia and had a picnic on the beach and swam some Sunday afternoon in the summer,” Giancarlo stated. “That would be a fun thing to do,” he added with a smile.

“Come on mama,” Giovanni urged, “you can think of something besides finding work.”

“Children, it is time for bed,” she uttered indifferently.

“Renata,” Giancarlo interrupted, “answer them, please.”

“It’s not the time to be talking such nonsense.”

“Hardly. There must be something you think about doing.”

Renata was silent.

“What do you think about, mom?” Anna implored.

“Oh, kids, what I think about isn’t important. I just want us all to be free.”

“It is important, dear,” Giancarlo reprimanded.

“Fine,” answered Renata, sounding frustrated. “It would be nice to go to market, buy as many potatoes and as much cheese as I could carry, make a platter full of gnocchi, and dine on our balcony some warm spring evening as the sun was setting. Children would be playing in the street, Mrs. Campo would be sitting outside knitting, the men in the trattoria across the street would be playing cards and laughing, Mr. Foa would be playing his phonograph records next door, your father could go to the cafe after dinner and drink cappuccino and eat biscotti with Mr. Di Veroli and not have to worry about being hunted like some animal, and there would be no war. There would be none of this hiding and starving. There would be no fear. We could go where we wanted to go, eat what we wanted to eat, work where we wanted to work. You children would be in school with all the other children of Trastevere. That’s what I think about every night. No war, no Nazis, no Fascism, just kids being kids, wives being wives, and husbands being husbands. Just like before the war when we were all still Romans and Italians.”

Chapter 13, “Desolation”

One dreary, misty Saturday morning early in March, Gianni decided to take a walk. He had awakened feeling energetic that morning and had decided to expel some of that energy in the out-of-doors. Although the pain in his knee had been plaguing him recently, he decided to brave the cold and the pain. He had not been outside at his leisure since before the occupation, and although to roam the streets, whether or not at leisure, still presented a danger, he knew he would feel better after a good walk.

After breakfast, he dressed in his overcoat, donned a comfortable hat, and walked into the street. He did not notice many stragglers. They had remained scarce since the occupation. Saturday mornings in his neighborhood had before been a time of busy activity in the streets. Even a year ago, it would not have been uncommon to see several makeshift markets in the squares, boys playing soccer, and Piazza Navona filled with street vendors, artisans, and groups of young friends making light-hearted conversation and laughing. Now the streets and squares of Rome were desolate.

Some of those boys, those who were Jewish, who had been playing soccer only last summer, were now either in hiding, like Giovanni Levi, or, worse, interned or imprisoned in concentration camps, or, still worse, buried anonymously in some mass grave in the frozen German soil. And those groups of friends, the young women he used to see, the Jewish women, had probably met the same fate. Indeed, those who were not in hiding were probably buried with the boys. Last summer they had been walking these streets laughing and singing and talking joyously, and now those carefree times were eons away; for many, they were gone forever, and for those still alive, such innocence would be impossible to recapture.

Gianni had not intended sliding into depression during his morning walk. But for the low, gray clouds, the mist, the colorless streets and buildings, the bare trees, and the emptiness and quiet, depression was inevitable. Indeed, Gianni could go nowhere in Rome and not be reminded of the terror the cruel hand of Nazism had dealt. It was as though everyone in the city were dead and he was the only man alive. Death, not the weather, had made the city so cold. It was a cold that Gianni could not escape. It hid everywhere. It seeped into every crack, every hole, every niche, every crevice. It seeped between the threads of his overcoat, into the pores of his skin and through his body until it gripped his heart. Not even the hunger was as omnipotent as the cold. And at night, regardless how many layers of undergarments he wore, regardless of the number of blankets he piled atop his bed, he was always cold.

Gianni walked curiously, slowly, but not suspiciously, to the Jewish ghetto, following much the same path, but in reverse, the Levis had followed the morning of October 16, the last day they had seen anything but the walls of his tiny cellar. They had been there four and one-half months, almost one hundred and forty days. How those days must have seemed interminable to the Levis. Gianni had passed the time well, for he still went to work every day and could occupy his time quite suitably. But for the Levis, every day must surely be a battle, a day of hunger, cold, darkness, fear. Every day must seem like a week or a month or a year. But at least they had each other. They could share their warmth, their thoughts and wishes, and their fears, too.

As he walked along Via del Portico d’Ottavia – the street the Levis had frequented every day during the last several years, whether going to market or work or school or synagogue – Gianni was struck by an even greater sense of loneliness. For here the world had never seemed more colorless or empty. There was no red nor blue, no green nor yellow, no orange nor purple. There was only gray. The buildings were gray, the sky was gray, the trees were gray, the streets were gray. The buildings of his own neighborhood were inhabited, even if the streets had been empty, but here even the buildings were empty. True, there were several hints of recent human occupation, curtains in windows, suits of clothes hanging in the window of a tailor’s shop, clean tablecloths upon the tables of a pizzeria, a child’s bicycle leaning against the wall of a tenement building. But the only sound to be heard in this small neighborhood, where several thousand had lived only a few months ago, was the echo of Gianni’s footsteps on the damp cobblestones as he walked toward the Tiber River.

With St. Peter’s Basilica in view far down the street, the cold drizzle began to fall a little harder, and the raindrops now clung to Gianni’s face. He bowed his head into the north wind, and, despite the throbbing of his leg, walked a little faster. He had not visited the Vatican since the occupation. Instead, he frequented a small chapel at one end of his street where a few dozen in his neighborhood attended. He had previously attended mass once a week at St. Peter’s, but now the walk, because of the risk of even being outside, was simply too far. Now he wondered about the supposed risks. He had seen numerous German police wandering about the city, but he had not been challenged, nor even acknowledged.

A few persons lingered in St. Peter’s Square, but they were carrying umbrellas. Gianni wanted simply to get inside, away from the cold and the rain. Of course, the inside of the basilica, because of its large size and marble construction, was not much warmer than outside, but at least the wind and the rain were absent. Gianni found a mass about to commence in one of the chapels to the side of the central nave. He removed his hat and brushed his matted hair with his wet hand. His footsteps, gentle as they were, squeaked with such volume that he was embarrassed and thought for a moment to stand fast. But no one seemed to notice him, or if they did, ignored him, so he strode noisily toward the small chapel where he found an empty space on one of the kneeling rails toward the back. There he took his place after having dropped his coat on the floor behind him.

Gianni paid little attention to the prayer the priest was reciting. He found the words bland and unassuring. Instead, Gianni began to say a silent prayer, words which reflected his own burden, not some general, abstract prayer. He prayed, of course, for the Levis, as he had every day during the last four and one-half months. He prayed for all the Jews who had suffered persecution. He prayed for the Christian people of Rome who were risking their lives to help the persecuted. Gianni thought again of the ghosts of those soccer-playing boys and jovial young women, the owner of the abandoned bicycle, indeed, every conceivable sorrow and concern he carried on his burdened heart. Soon, warm tears fell upon the kneeling rail, but his were not alone. The tears that fell across Rome, across Italy, and throughout Europe must surely have been as numerous as the raindrops outside that miserable day.

Following mass, Gianni walked the length of the monolithic sanctuary as he had so many times before, seeing the same statues and paintings he had seen since his early childhood. They had not changed. He walked slowly toward the crypt of St. Peter. Looking down into the vault where the remains of that great man now supposedly lay, he was reminded of the suffering of others. It had been St. Peter, follower of Jesus, first pope, and founder of the Catholic Church who had been crucified inverted. Another saint, who had lived in Rome for a time, Paul, had been chained, shackled, imprisoned, and executed. Indeed, the faith of those two men had been tested, and their faith had won. Sad, Gianni surmised, that a city that had known so much greatness during its lengthy existence had been reduced to a great field of terror by an army of cruel, faithless invaders who knew nothing of Jesus Christ. How dare they trespass upon the soil of this, the city and the center of Christendom.

But then Gianni posed a different thought, one which brought an imperceptible smile to his face. As he had reminded himself before, the invasion of the Germans had brought out the best of the Christians who lived in Rome. Yes, despite the silence of the Pope, and despite those who had betrayed their Jewish neighbors in exchange for money, faith was very much alive. It was faith that had led so many of the brothers and sisters in Rome to risk their lives to save the Jews who had gone into hiding. It was faith that led the non-Jews to sacrifice so much of themselves to be able to provide what little they could to sustain the many thousands of Jews in hiding. It was faith that allowed the Jews, for once, to not be regarded as Jews, but simply as fellow human beings, as fellow brothers and sisters. It was faith that was alive in this city, that persevered during such difficult times. Faith was the only true weapon against the ruthless Nazis and their guns. It was faith that, in the end, would stand as victor. Yes, Gianni concluded, this seat of Christianity was indeed alive and earning its status as the home of Christendom.

That night Gianni cooked a rare delicacy he had obtained at the morgue, a full head of cabbage. It had turned slightly brown, but was still ripe enough to boil. This served with a little stale bread and a few lentil beans and onions would make for the best meal he had served in some time. It was the first time any of them, Gianni and the Levis, could recall actually being full. Normally, each meal brought with it the want for just a little more, but tonight there had been enough for all of them. Gianni lingered for a few moments on the steps of the cellar to look at the Levis. They still remained surprisingly well-kept. They looked healthy, although the weight loss they had all experienced was noticeable, especially with Renata. Gianni gave silent thanks for their health.

After the lights had been turned out, Gianni went into his living room and tuned his radio to the Allied broadcast from Palermo. Although it was illegal to listen to the Allied broadcasts, Gianni figured it was an impossible measure to enforce. He turned the volume only loud enough for him to hear faintly, and this while sitting directly in front of the radio, only an arm’s reach from the dial, should anyone enter abruptly. This he did several times a week. He sometimes informed the Levis of the news he heard, although rarely was the news promising. The stalemate between the Allies and Germans to the south of Rome had lasted another day. Gianni wondered if, in fact, the Germans were beatable. Surely some day they would succumb. They could not maintain control over so much territory forever. Discouraged by the news, Gianni turned the radio off and sat quietly in his chair. At eleven o’clock, he heard the familiar footsteps of a German security officer pass his front door. The smell of boiled cabbage still hung throughout the tenement. Gianni walked into the kitchen to put on a little coffee. He was not tired.

Chapter 14, “Massacre”

On March 23, 1944, a bomb set by partisans exploded on Via Rasella in Rome as a convoy of German SS police was passing. Thirty-three Germans were killed. Ironically, these Germans were new recruits from South Tyrol, formerly a part of Italy, but annexed by the Third Reich only the year before.

It was declared by the Germans that in retaliation, ten Italians would be killed for each German life lost. The next day, March 24, three hundred and thirty-five male Italians were taken from prison (an extra five for good measure) to the Ardeatine Caves, a series of manmade caves which were part of the Christian catacombs along the Appian Way. The three hundred and thirty-five prisoners included seventy-seven non-political Jewish prisoners.

The prisoners were led single-file into the caves, made to kneel together, and shot in the back of the head. The process took several hours. After the killings, the Germans exploded dynamite at the cave entrance in order to seal the cave and hide the evidence of their crime. Although no one knew all the names of those killed, it was discovered that one of the Jews murdered was Aldo Finzi, former undersecretary of the interior and member of the first Fascist Grand Council.

The rumor which circulated through Rome was horrific. Of course, there was no official news of the event, and nobody knew for sure who had been murdered. But this latest massacre, should the rumor prove true, represented an unimaginable evil, unimaginable even for the Germans.

Gianni believed at once the rumor. He, like most, thought the worst of the German SS. To him, there was never any doubt of the validity of the rumor. Every rumor regarding the Germans had proven true thus far. He knew such a heinous act was not beyond the Nazis. The massacre infuriated him, but, like all his fellow Romans, he was helpless.

Gianni did not inform the Levis of this latest rumor. Of course, there was no mention in the newspapers. There was no danger of the Levis discovering what had happened. Gianni was convinced there had been acquaintances of the Levis killed in the caves. Surely, as tightly bound as those of the Jewish ghetto had been, especially during the last several years, there had been at least one acquaintance of the Levis, and likely more, killed in the caves. Gianni did not wish to heap more distress upon the Levis. One day, when the Levis were free again, they would learn the truths of what had happened in their city and nation.

As for the families of the victims, they would not know the true fate of their loved ones until after the war, when those buried in the caves would be exhumed. Then the corpses of husbands, fathers, and sons would be painfully discovered.

Meanwhile, the first hint of spring had occurred a few weeks earlier, and now the days were growing warmer and the winter rains were waning. That the days were becoming longer was a blessing, too, for with the blackouts each night, the darkness was not quite as pervading. During a couple of the warmer days, Gianni had opened his windows so his tenement would smell fresher. Indeed, the spring brought bits of optimism, although Gianni did not talk about the weather with the Levis. To them, the weather never changed.

At night, Gianni listened to the Allied broadcasts from Palermo, now something of a ritual. Perched beside the whispering radio Gianni listened with hope that something great that day had occurred, but the stalemate to the south of Rome continued. Would there ever be reprieve? Discouraged, Gianni quietly turned the radio off and climb into bed. Tomorrow would be another day.

Chapter 15, “Hope”

The coming springtime and the warmth of April meant an end to the persistent winter rain. Gianni often thought living at the North Pole, where there was darkness for six consecutive months during winter, could not be much different. Spring always brought with it such optimism. Even the presence of the Nazis could not whither Gianni’s optimism, although his feelings this year were more subdued than in years past.

During April, Gianni planted several tomato plants in pots and set them on his rear balcony. He always grew tomatoes during summer. This year, though, they might be a little more valuable than before. During this month he also resumed one of his favorite pastimes: sitting outside and listening to his phonograph records. How he wished the Levis could join him, even if they did not like the opera, they would still delight in the freshness of springtime.

Gianni did not see many people around the small courtyard behind his tenement building. A few people stood on balconies. Usually the commotion during spring and summer could be heard even inside his tenement and well into the evening. But tonight, as on all nights, there was only silence. A few candles burning on window sills did little to combat the coming darkness. Indeed, Gianni admitted, it was much better when the nights were not so dark.

But there was a renewed of optimism even Gianni could not attribute to the coming of spring. He realized these feelings everywhere, at home, in church, at work. When he went to the morgue, he seemed to come away with a little more food than last time. When he went to mass, he came away with a little more hope than before. When he was at work, he felt better than before, the hours passed faster, the work seemed more meaningful. His leg did not hurt as badly, although this he attributed to the warmer weather. A strange feeling suggested the occupation was soon to be ended, that some reprieve was near. True, Gianni did not give in to emotion, and so remained as reserved as always, but secretly he wished something would happen to end the plight he and his countrymen suffered.

Tonight he listened to Vivaldi. The music had never sounded quite as clear as tonight. As the last strands of daylight disappeared into darkness, he reflected on the past few months, the strength and courage he had for the first time discovered. He now understood the meaning of the words perseverance, patience, gratitude, and faith as he had never understood them. He now understood many things he had never before realized. When his priest spoke of the Scriptures, Gianni realized how truly great was the Lord and how every act of goodness he had performed was really not his action at all, but the Lord’s. His faith had helped him pass the winter. His spirit had never felt stronger.

Chapter 16, “Liberation”

On the evening of May 20, 1944, Gianni Farnese found himself sitting beside his radio listening to the Allied broadcast from Palermo. News of the day’s events was exciting. On this day, the Allies had broken the stalemate at Cassino, between Naples and Rome. Unbeknown to Gianni and the remainder of the world at the time, this event marked the beginning of the final offensive that would result in the liberation of Rome. (The day after Cassino fell, however, the Germans loaded 281 more Jews onto a train marked for Fossoli.)

By the first days of June, the Allies were fighting the Germans in the Alban Hills near Rome. The city was full of anticipation. On June 3, planes fought above Rome. German armored cars and jeeps moved quickly through the streets. Yet nobody was certain whether the Germans were retreating or preparing a last stand. On the morning of the following day, June 4, Rome came to a standstill. Telephones were dead, electricity was shut off, there were no newspapers, and bus and tram service halted. The Allied planes that flew overhead showered the city with leaflets. This “Special Message to the City of Rome” from British Field Marshal Harold Alexander informed the populace that “the Allied Armies are nearing Rome. The liberation of the city will take place soon. The citizens of Rome must stand shoulder to shoulder to protect the city from destruction and to defeat our common enemies: the Germans and the Fascists.”

Gianni Farnese’s initial reaction was to inform the Levis, but he then thought better of it. He, like many amid such uncertainty, was hesitant to act hastily. Indeed, he was filled with a tremendous sense of anxiety. When this liberation might occur, and what acts of vindicism the Germans might incur before that time left many, including Gianni, apprehensive of what the next few hours and days might bring.

Later that day, Allied planes began dive-bombing the departing German troops. The city shook with tremendous explosions as the Germans detonated supplies of arms and gasoline they could not transport. The Germans also destroyed a Fiat factory where armored cars and trucks were repaired. News began to spread that the Allies were now at the outskirts of the city. But in the center, all remained quiet.

That evening, most people, including Gianni, were at home in time for normal curfew. The city remained blacked out. But many sat at their windows in the mild June air, looking for signs of an Allied arrival. At about ten o’clock, Rome suddenly exploded in light.

Indeed, the electric light which had been cut off was turned on abruptly and windows flashed out brightly. It was the signal of liberation. Suddenly, from the direction of Porta Pia came an outburst of wild cheering. The Allies had at last entered Rome. The sound of cheering followed the line of Via Venti Settembre as far as Piazza Venezia, relatively close to the home of Gianni Farnese. The entire city soon came back to life. There was once again talk and laughter in all the streets, both wide and narrow. Cheering and applause could be heard everywhere. This was the spectacle of a city transformed. Allied troops were everywhere. The city which had been so grim during the occupation was now alive with flowers, banners, and cheering crowds.

Gianni walked toward the cellar and, hands trembling with excitement, lifted the door slowly, waking the Levis. He reached for a light switch, then looked into the sleep-filled eyes of the startled family. Gianni then said in a voice that reflected his excitement, “Rome has been liberated. The Nazis are gone.”

On the street in front of the home of Gianni Farnese stood the Levi family with the man who had made their survival possible. It had been seven and one-half months since the roundup had forced them into hiding. It had been seven and one-half months since they, except Anna, had breathed outside air, since they had seen any light except for that given by a single bulb hanging from a bare wire from the ceiling of the cellar. This sudden freedom left the Levis in amazement as the sound of cheering, the sight of Allied troops, and the feeling of celebration surrounded them. It was late, but the Levis felt no sense of time. Soon, Giancarlo turned toward Gianni and embraced him. They exchanged no words. There were no words which could express the thanks the Levis felt. Renata, crying tears and clutching her children, also embraced Gianni. The children shook his hand and offered their meek thanks. But they knew, too, even in their youth, such a gesture could not begin to compare with the compassion Gianni had shown them. Then Giancarlo and his family began the slow walk toward Via del Portico d’Ottavia. It was all they knew to do.

Gianni watched them until they disappeared from sight. He felt greatly rewarded. He needed no thanks, no return acts of gratitude, no repayment. Indeed, the reward he felt inside his soul could never be matched. He knew he was not the savior of the Levis. He had simply acted on faith. His faith, at last, had been rewarded.

Suddenly full of energy, Gianni Farnese walked toward Piazza Navona to join the celebration.

Epilogue

At least 1,842 Roman Jews are known to have been arrested between October 16, 1943, and the liberation of Rome on June 4, 1944. Eight hundred and thirty-five of these were arrested after the initial October 16 roundup. Most of the 835 were caught by Italian police, although many were betrayed by Italian informers. During the nine-month occupation of Rome, at least 1,700 of the Jews arrested in Rome were deported. Yet, because of sympathizers like Gianni Farnese, more than 10,000 Roman Jews survived. Every survivor owed his life to at least one (and most often more) heroic non-Jewish survivors. Of the 835 arrested after October 16, every one could trace his fate to at least one who had not provided support.

Sadly, of the 1,700 Roman Jews who were deported during the war, more than 250 were children. Approximately 105 of the 1,700 returned following the war. None of the children survived.

Afterthoughts

It is not difficult for the rational, reasonable human mind to conclude that the purging of Europe’s Jews during the Holocaust was not only evil and inhumane, but also completely illogical. The premises which anti-Semitists employed rested on reasoning that is purely insane.

To insinuate the Jews of Italy were not part of the Italian race (as stated in “Manifesto of the Racial Scientists”), is false, and for two reasons. First, such a statement completely denies the presence of Jews in Italy for more than two thousand years, and their thorough assimilation. Second, this reasoning implies the Jews of Italy represent not only a separate religion, but an entirely separate race. Race is biological. Religion is not. These Jews were as Italian as anyone.

In depriving Jews of their livelihood, as the racial laws attempted, the Italian government not only brought adversity to the Jews, but to the nation itself. How so? By expelling Jews from society, the government effectively nullified any contribution the Jews had to make to their own nation. By depriving them of education, they suppressed a highly able segment of the population. The Jews were not the only losers.

In his job at the Bank of Italy, Giancarlo Levi, a dedicated and very able worker, not only earned a good living for his family, he also, in his own small way, helped ensure the stability of his nation’s economy through his work. By forcibly removing him from his position, the government effectively lost that contribution.

The same can be said for Renata Levi. As a teacher, she not only earned a decent wage, she also held a vital position (in any nation) in educating the children of her society. Her removal demoralized her, the children who were now left without a teacher, and the nation that would one day rely on those children for its prosperity.

Since the income of the Levi family was so severely crippled by these racial laws, the economy of this nation, so much more vital during wartime, was weakened. The Levi’s could no longer purchase everything they needed. Nor could they pay the taxes they once had. And in hiding, they had, admittedly, become a burden to the nation they had once helped to support.

One factor that cannot be measured, but is certainly an important one, is the total loss of faith in government, not only by the Jews, but by the remainder of Italy’s citizens. A government that is not credible in the eyes of its own people is certainly not stable. And any government that does not strive to accomplish a certain level of credibility with its citizens is surely doomed, as was the regime during these few years.

Another predominant issue which must be addressed regards the role of the Pope as the Jews of Rome, Italy, and all of Europe were persecuted during the 1930’s and 1940’s.

Perhaps the most notable characteristic of Pope Pius XI, and, more importantly, the man who succeeded him in March, 1939, Pope Pius XII, was their silence and apparent indifference to the Jewish dilemma.

In his encyclical Mit Brennender Sorge of March, 1937, Pope Pius XI condemned atheistic Nazi anti-Semitism. Yet when the Italian racial laws were implemented a year-and-a-half later, he made few objections. What protests Pius XI and his successor did make concerned the treatment of only those Jews who had converted to Catholicism. The Church did strongly object to Fascist interference with the sacrament of marriage and to Fascist denials of what the Church regarded as valid conversions. Yet Pope Pius XII had not condemned occasional Catholic press articles and bishops’ speeches approving religious, if not racial discrimination.

Disturbingly, following the Rome roundup of October 16, 1943, the Vatican offered no public protest. Like many Italians, priests, monks, and nuns throughout Rome, and all of Italy, hid Jews at great risk to themselves. But from the Pope, there was only silence. (In fact, the Pope apparently learned of the pending roundup by October 9, or even earlier, yet chose not to act.)

There are several theories and arguments surrounding the Pope’s lack of action, although only the Pope himself knew fully the circumstances of his passivity. First, Pope Pius XII greatly feared Bolshevism. While remaining ignorant of German aggression in Catholic Poland, he loudly condemned Russian aggression in Finland. In Rome, he so feared a Communist invasion that on October 19, only three days following the roundup, he actually requested the Germans place more police on the streets.

Second, in Rome, more than four hundred and fifty Jews hid within the Vatican, while more than four thousand others found shelter within churches, monasteries, and convents. And many thousands more hid in religious institutions across Italy. Significant degradation of relations between the Germans and the Vatican, the Pope must have considered, could have placed those lives in jeopardy without necessarily saving others.

Third, the Pope feared a condemnation of the Holocaust might provoke Nazi aggression toward Catholics in German-occupied countries, as well as more persecution of the Jews.

And the Pope was aware that Hitler had considered establishing a rival Papacy in Germany.

Also, the Vatican was at the mercy of German troops occupying Rome, and Pius XII feared as well that any condemnation of the Holocaust would be rejected by a majority of German Catholics. Further, he feared that any attempt to excommunicate Catholics who murdered Jews or to place Nazi Germany under interdict would provoke a mass defection of German Catholics from the Church.

Yet the Pope was aware of the thousands of Jews hidden in religious institutions throughout Italy. They were there with his consent, even if not with his invitation. Pius XII neither discouraged nor encouraged the hundreds of priests and bishops who risked their lives to house and feed the Jews. Vatican officials remained quietly sympathetic.

Like so many others who faced such crippling and conflicting circumstances during the Holocaust, the Pope apparently made choices he thought most prudent. It is easy to criticize the leader of the Catholic Church for his inaction and apparent indifference, yet one must also consider the environment within highly polarized Europe. While one may criticize the Pope’s paranoia of a Bolshevik invasion of Italy, or his overwhelming concern of a defection of German Catholics (damaging to the church, yes, but hardly an additional threat to human lives), the Pope could not ignore the Nazi presence in Rome and the persistent threat they presented. Nor could the Pope ignore those Jews already in hiding, protected by members of the Church’s own clergy. The conflict he surely felt during this era must have been agonizing. The consequence of alternative actions other than he chose must have been carefully weighed. Europe was indeed a highly unpredictable place.

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction. Although the setting is based on historical events, the Levi family and Gianni Farnese are fictional. Only their struggle for survival is real, echoed in many thousands of places by many thousands of courageous people throughout Rome, Italy, and Europe during that era. Following the war, one Jewish survivor said, and quite summarily, “We poor Jews were totally at the mercy of everyone.”

Father Benedetto himself is also a fictional character, although based on the existence of a Catholic priest in Rome of the same name who became a local symbol of benevolence. Without a nation filled with many like him, the Jewish struggle for survival would have concluded with far graver results. Indeed, the Jews who did survive owed their lives to their own initiative, Christian help, and good luck. (Many Italian Holocaust survivors, when writing of priests who assisted them, often include the phrase, “…and they made no attempt to convert me.”)

The clandestine distribution of ration cards depicted in this story is based on fact. Because of deportations and emigration from Rome, the Italian government found itself with a surplus of ration cards. These they distributed to several reliable sources, priests included.

The operation at the morgue is also fictional, although there must have been similar clandestine networks operating throughout the city. How else, with as great a food shortage as Rome experienced during the occupation, could so many in hiding have survived, especially with the existing food supply so meagerly rationed?

The marble table incident described in the prologue is based on a documented action taken in an apartment inhabited only by women and children during the October 16 roundup. They, too, avoided the Nazis that terrifying morning. The escape route which the Levis used to exit their building did exist.

The massacre at the Ardeatine Caves, too, is fact. The only discrepancy involves the number of German SS killed the day before. Either thirty-two or thirty-three were killed. In this novel, the higher figure was used.

Many important historical items related to the Jewish struggle during this era have been excluded because of their irrelevance to the story. Very little mention is made of the internment camps maintained in northern Italy, as well as the many Jews from across Italy who were imprisoned there. No mention was given the concentration camp at Ferramonti, in Calabria (the southernmost region of mainland Italy). Ferramonti, which became a haven where Jews could avoid the horrors of German concentration camps, was liberated by the allies on September 14, 1943. Also, very little is said of those Italians who were deported, most of them to Auschwitz, since their awful fate is not within the intended scope of this book.

Rome was not the only Italian city housing a large number of Jews. Many cities in the north, Turin, Genoa, Milan, Venice, Florence, Trieste, Ferrara and others also had sizeable Jewish communities, and none of these cities were immune to the Holocaust. Unfortunately, German occupation in these cities lasted about twice as long as in Rome.

Regardless of location, every head of a Jewish household was forced to make crucial decisions during the occupation based on very little information. Yet these decisions were most important, for the lives in each household depended on them.

Of some 45,200 Jews living in Italy at the time of the German occupation, more than 6,800 did not survive. They had been betrayed. The 6,800 represent slightly more than one-tenth of one percent of the estimated six million Jews who perished in the Holocaust waged by Hitler and those who followed him in other countries. The eighty-five percent of Italian Jews who did survive had been forced into hiding during the occupation.

Compared to other European countries, the eighty-five percent survival rate was favorable. This rate could have been much higher, though, but widespread betrayal prevented this. Mention of the Black Panther is based on fact. Sadly, many “sellouts” existed. It was a case of Jews betraying Jews – a cruel irony.

Because Christianity is so predominant in Italy, most Italians refused to succumb to the infectious racism which spread across Europe during this era. Between 1938 and 1943, more than one thousand Fascists lost membership cards because of “pietism” – the crime of sympathizing with Jews.

The Italians’ record of benevolence during the war is indeed amazing. Specifically, the Assisi Underground issued false documents for Jews. Father Don Beccari and the people of Nonantola rescued 109 Jewish orphans. The Italian Army saved Jews in Croatia by moving them into Italy. In southern France, Italians hid Jews in hotels. Giorgio Perlasca, posing as a Spanish diplomat in Budapest, forged exit papers for more than 10,000 Jews. In Salonika, Greece, Guelfo Zamboni saved 280 Jews from deportation to Auschwitz. Many survivors, participating in 23 conferences on “The Holocaust in Southern Europe,” stated that the benevolence of the Italians emanated from a love of humanity. And many rescuers, in turn, stated that “it was just the right thing to do.”

Those who acted on behalf of the Jews were not necessarily saving the lives of friends, neighbors, or countrymen. They did not regard themselves as heroes or saviors. Most never questioned their actions. They were simply saving lives. And he who saved one life, saved the entire world.