Pasta, wine and Jews: My trip to Italy

I don’t know what you like to do on holidays, but you can probably guess my priorities: to eat, to walk, to seek out iconic food experiences. I often try to find a Jewish connection wherever I go – the food of the Lower East Side in NYC, the “Shanghai Ghetto” in China, the Museum of Jewish History in Girona, Spain. 

I’ve just returned from Italy. The Italy I love so much: the people, the food, the culture, the art, the streets, the vibe. Did I mention the food?

I started this trip feeling more sensitive than usual. More sensitive as a Jew, more sensitive as an out and proud Zionist. I wore my ‘I’m that Jew’ cap, my ‘bring them home’ dog tag, and my yellow hostage pin pretty much everywhere I went.

I vigilantly looked for signs of virulent anti-Zionists or keffiyeh-wearing pro-Palestinian protestors; those who seem to care nothing for the Palestinians but hold everything against Israelis and Jews. I was hyper-aware at the airports, on the planes, on the ferries, everywhere I went. It’s an odd way to be, on a holiday.

First stop, Rome. A little bit excited about exceptional tonnarelli (a hand made fresh pasta) cacio e pepe (cheese and pepper), bolognese suppli (giant fried stuffed risotto ball) and my favourite, sfogliatelle (a shell-shaped pastry that resembles stacked leaves with custard).

On this particular trip I found myself drawn to different things. I felt compelled to re-visit the Arch of Titus. This is no ordinary ancient arch. It celebrates the Romans’ conquest of Judea and destruction of the Second (Jewish) Temple in 70 CE. Scenes from the conquest are easy to depict, including the booty taken from Jerusalem with the candelabra from the Temple and the procession of the defeated Jews. 

I wanted to see the arch, to prove to those anti-Israel haters that the Jewish people did indeed live in Israel in 70 CE. To prove to those haters that any ‘nations’ who have crossed the Jewish people are no longer in existence. To feel validated, strolling through the ruins of the Roman Empire and the ruins of its existence.

I visited the Jewish ghetto – as I always do – to feel the presence of generations long gone and to revel in the flavours of history and heritage. To eat carciofi alla Giudia and pizza Ebraica. To eat crisp-edged, golden fried artichokes and a piece of that strangely delicious, slightly burnt, dried fruit and nut, biscuity-cake thing from that even stranger little kosher bakery. (Sadly, the bakery has been closed on my last two visits). 

Pope Paul IV, as part of his broader quest to enforce Catholic orthodoxy, ordered the construction of this ghetto in 1555 which forced the Jews to live in a confined, walled section of the city. It is a perpetual reminder of the hardships suffered by Jewish communities in the diaspora for centuries before now, and a perpetual reminder of our continued survival.

When I visit such sites and look back at ghetto life, it has almost become an acceptable concept as it is such a repeated part of our narrative. Perhaps it’s the same way I think of armed guards at our children's school and our synagogues. Just what we’ve always done.

Walking the streets, we saw many bronze ‘stumbling stones’ (stolpersteine) embedded in the footpaths. The project, launched by German artist Gunter Demnig in 1992, remembers the victims of the Nazi deportation. There are 75,000 over Europe, mostly for Jews, placed outside the last known place of someone deported and/or murdered. Reminders everywhere of antisemitism, reminders from every era, reminders of what can happen if it is left unchecked.

On the way to our next stop, the craggy, volcanic island of Capri, a green Keffiyeh-clad man was next to me on the ferry. I stood there for a few minutes wondering if the green colour meant it was a fashion item or yet another modern day swastika. I grabbed my ‘I’m that Jew’ cap and put it on, just in case.

I really love the glorious, rocky, Aperol-spritz-soaked island of Capri. I’m here for some R&R, and for the Caprese – the ripest red tomatoes, creamy buffalo mozzarella and fragrant basil. It was like visiting a parallel universe. No one talks about Gaza or Palestine or Israel. What war? No flags, no posters, no graffiti. Quite a relief. Truth be told, I wanted to stay there forever and pretend the world was all good.

In hindsight, it seems I was constantly on the lookout for friends. By friends I mean Zionists, people on our team. I can’t believe there are actually teams. Every time I went poolside, before I sat down, I made sure to do an ‘I’m that Jew’ lap with my cap firmly on my head. Now, it seems, we are always searching for those on our team.

Next stop, Venice. It’s the biennale, and heartbreakingly, this year, the Israeli pavilion is closed. Israeli artist Ruth Patir has taped this to the door: ‘The artist and curators of the Israeli pavilion will open the exhibition when a ceasefire and hostage release agreement is reached’. Another stark reminder of the situation in which we – as a people – find ourselves. (More on that next month.)

In between art, paccheri alla sorrentina (large short tubes, local tomatoes, mozzarella, basil), the softest triangular white-bread tramezzini tuna sandwiches and fresh peach bellinis, we visited the Jewish quarter Venetian ghetto. This was the first of its kind, built in 1516 by royal decree. Marking the beginning of the formal segregation of Jews in Europe in walled enclaves with limitations on all aspects of life, it was to become a common part of the Jewish story. I felt a need to walk through those streets, reconnect with our history and – unsurprisingly – pick up a piece of apple strudel from the kosher bakery.

I didn’t see them this time, but you can also find 'stumbling stones' in the ghetto and surrounding areas. Another reminder, everywhere we look, of more recent history.

There is a heartwarming connection between the Arch of Titus in Rome and the Venice ghetto. The arch was always a painful reminder of the Jews’ historical defeat and exile. Jewish tradition held that Jews should not walk under the arch, in a refusal to acknowledge the Roman victory. In 1948, when the State of Israel was established, a group from Venice symbolically reversed this ancient rule. They marched under the arch in a celebration of Jewish resilience, survival and renewal and the re-establishment of Jewish sovereignty and independence, linking the two historical sites – the Venetian ghetto and the arch – in a centuries-spanning narrative of resilience.

I have come back from Italy with my expected restaurant and art lists, but also with a connection to our people all the way back to 70 CE in Jerusalem.

My explorations have strengthened my conviction to keep standing up for our people in the diaspora and in Israel, and to keep sharing our story. My trip has strengthened my conviction that – no matter what – we will survive.

I am also committed to sharing our story through food so, when artichokes come into season here, I’ll be trying to recreate carciofi alla giudia at home, and of course, I will share the recipe.