CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sandro
5 September 1938
Sandro slid his bicycle into the crowded rack in the schoolyard. It was the first day of school, and all of the students were outside, standing in groups. Usually they’d be chattering, laughing, and fooling around, but they were quiet and seemed unusually subdued. Elisabetta was uppermost in his thoughts. He scanned the crowd for her, but she wasn’t here yet.
He spotted his classmates Carlo, Ezio, and Vittorio standing in a circle looking at a piece of paper, and approached them. “Ciao!” he said, happy to see them. “How were your summers?”
The three looked up from the sheet of paper, their expressions stunned, and none of them offered a response.
“What’s the matter?” Sandro asked, puzzled.
Carlo frowned. “The government passed some ‘Race Laws,’ whatever that’s supposed to be.”
“Race Laws?” Sandro asked, puzzled. “What does that mean?”
“We don’t understand.” Ezio pursed his lips. “It’s horrible. It means that the Jews are kicked out of school. The Jewish teachers and the Jewish students, both.”
“Are you joking?” Sandro didn’t understand. It wasn’t funny.
“No, it’s not a joke. Preside Livorno is going to speak about it any minute. They gave us all a notice. Here, take a look.” Vittorio handed him a sheet of paper. “The first part is about the teachers.”
Sandro accepted the paper, and its title was “Measures for the Defense of Race in Fascist Schools.” He read the first paragraph:
Article 1.
The position of teacher in state or state-controlled schools of any order or degree and in the nonstate schools, of which the studies are legally recognized, cannot be granted to people of the Jewish race, even if they won the position through a competitive state examination prior to the present degree; nor can they be granted positions as university assistants, nor can they obtain a university teaching qualification.
Sandro looked up, stricken. “There can’t be Jewish teachers anymore? That’s crazy! What happens to them?”
Carlo shook his head. “We think they’re fired.”
Ezio’s face fell. “Professoressa Longhi is crying. All the teachers are upset. None of us know what’s going on or why.”
“Oh no!” Sandro kept reading, horrified:
Article 2.
Students of the Jewish race cannot be enrolled in schools of any type or level of which the studies are legally recognized.
Sandro gasped, incredulous. He read the sentence twice. If he hadn’t seen it printed in black and white, he never would have believed it was possible. “I don’t understand. I’m already enrolled in school. Is this real? This is a law now? I’m not allowed to go?”
“I think so,” Carlo muttered. “I don’t know why they’re doing this. It was never this way. It’s wrong to single out the Jews, for no reason.”
“This can’t be true!” Sandro had a million thoughts at once. “I’m Jewish, so I can’t go to school anymore? What do I do? This is my school! I go here! I’m graduating this year! Does this mean I don’t graduate? I’m kicked out of my own school?”
“We don’t know, either.” Vittorio frowned. “I’m so sorry, Sandro. Maybe Preside Livorno will explain. It doesn’t make any sense to us.”
“My God!” Sandro couldn’t believe it was happening. He wanted to go to La Sapienza for undergraduate and graduate degrees in mathematics. He wanted to learn all he could, then teach and publish papers. He wanted to contribute, like Professor Levi-Civita. He had goals, but he couldn’t achieve a single one if he couldn’t graduate from high school. All of a sudden, he had no future at all.
He glanced around in disbelief. His anguished gaze sought out the other Jewish students, though he had to pause before he remembered who was Jewish and who wasn’t. It had simply never mattered to him or anyone else at school. He had no idea why it mattered now. He spotted Giulia and Carlotta, whom he knew from synagogue, and tears stained their cheeks as they read the sheet of paper.
He returned his attention to the sheet, trying to collect his thoughts. Ezio and Carlo fell silent, and Sandro read Article 3, which said that Jewish teachers were suspended, and then Article 4, which stated:
Article 4.
Those members of scientific, literary, and artistic academies, institutes, and associations who are of the Jewish race will cease to be part of said institutions beginning on October 16, 1938, XVI.
Sandro’s mind reeled. Professor Levi-Civita was Jewish, and if Jewish professors could no longer teach, that meant that the professor was suspended, too. It was unthinkable. It was insane. Sandro was supposed to go to La Sapienza after school today. He didn’t know if Professor Levi-Civita or if any of the other Jewish professors would be there, or the Jewish students.
Suddenly the students erupted in chatter, turning to face the entrance to the school, and Preside Livorno appeared, with the faculty grouped behind him. His bright white hair blew in the breeze, and his gaze was solemn behind his glasses. He was stooped in his three-piece suit. All of the teachers were distraught, clinging to each other, and many had puffy eyes as if they had been weeping.
“Students!” Preside Livorno motioned. “Please, I need your attention!”
Sandro felt someone touching his arm. He looked over to see Elisabetta. Without a word, she took his hand, looking heartbroken for him.
Preside Livorno gave the Fascist salute, which everyone returned, then he began to speak. “Students, you have already received a copy of this new law, Regio Decreto Number 1390. It is a royal decree. I am very sorry to say that according to this law, Jewish students are no longer permitted to attend school here. In addition, Jewish teachers are no longer permitted to teach here.”
“Preside Livorno, this is wrong!” Sandro called out, angering. “This law is wrong! You can’t do this!”
Other students shouted, “This is unfair!” “Yes, this is wrong!” “Can they do that?” “Why are they doing this?” “This is my school!” “You should refuse to do it, Preside Livorno!”
“Please, settle down.” Preside Livorno motioned for silence again. “We were instructed to give no opinion regarding this law, so we will not. We were instructed to see to its enforcement, so we must. We have been informed that Jewish students will be permitted to form their own schools, which they may attend with other Jewish students.”
Sandro called out again, “You mean, make our own schools? How do we do that, Preside Livorno? This is unjust!”
Preside Livorno’s lined face fell. “Sandro, we were told there may be funding to the Jewish community, in that regard. Again, we are very sorry.”
“But how do I graduate?” Sandro shot back.
Other students chimed in to echo Sandro’s concern.
Preside Livorno’s eyes filmed behind his glasses. “My deepest apologies. I’m afraid I can say no more. I have no choice in this matter, under this law.”
The bell sounded, signaling that classes were to begin, but no one moved. Sandro froze, unsure whether to stay or go. It was his school, and he had been so excited about the school year. His final one before graduation. His time with Elisabetta.
Preside Livorno called out, “Students, come in, the school day must commence. To all of our Jewish students, we wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. Everyone else, please enter the building with dispatch.”
Sandro glanced over as Carlo, Ezio, Vittorio, and his other classmates headed into the building.
Elisabetta embraced him. “Sandro, I’m so sorry.”
“They can’t do this, can they?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
Sandro released her. “Go,” he said softly. “You have to go inside.”
“No, I want to stay with you.”
“Please, go.”
“I’m staying with you.” Elisabetta took his hand, but Sandro touched her shoulder, easing her off.
“Listen, I’ll see you later.”
The final bell rang, and Preside Livorno turned to the students. “For those permitted, please come in. We were instructed to keep classes on schedule. We mustn’t start later than necessary.”
Sandro tried to absorb the shock. “Really, go inside. I want to go to La Sapienza and see what’s happening with the professor.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you when I can.”
“Of course.”
Sandro watched Elisabetta turn reluctantly away, walk to the entrance with the other Gentile students, then glance back at him. He could see how much she was hurting for him, so he put on a brave face and waved goodbye. She climbed the steps into school amid the throng, and the schoolyard emptied of everyone except the Jewish students, Carlotta, Malka, Giulia, and others whose names he didn’t know, teary and confused.
The doors to the school closed, and Sandro stood in mute astonishment on the outside, among the other Jewish students. Noise and chatter emanated from the school’s open windows, and he knew that everyone would be filing into the classrooms, about to sing “Giovinezza.” He had sung it every day, too, but today, Fascism had excluded him from his school and everyone he knew, including the girl he loved.
“What do we do now?” Giulia approached, wiping her eyes.
“I don’t know, but I have to go.” Sandro hurried for his bicycle.
Sandro pedaled through the streets, faster than he ever had before. The morning rush hour was in full swing, and it was all he could do to stay out of the way of cars, trams, and other bicycles. Everyone was hurrying to get to work or school, oblivious to the upheaval in the lives of Rome’s Jews. He reached La Sapienza in record time, steered onto the asphalt path that ran through the center of campus, and joined the other students riding bicycles and walking in groups. He passed the new administration building, a massive edifice that had been built under Mussolini, which Sandro was seeing with new eyes. Its monolithic design used to impress him, but today it intimidated him.
He turned onto the path leading to the round, ultra-modern building that housed the Mathematics Department, and a large crowd of students buzzed on the grass in front. He jumped off his bike just in time to see a line of students, devastated and distraught, leaving the math building carrying their belongings.
Sandro felt stricken, witnessing the scene with dismay. Next to him stood a heavyset student, who also looked upset, and Sandro turned to him. “Excuse me, is this because of the new law?”
“Yes, the Jewish students were thrown out this morning. The Jewish professors received letters of dismissal, so they’re fired. The course schedule is chaos. Nobody knows what to do. It’s shocking.”
“What about Levi-Civita? Has he left yet, do you know?”
“Levi-Civita? You have Levi-Civita?” The student’s dark eyes lit up with new regard. “I’m Franco Dutolo.”
Sandro introduced himself, shaking his hand.
“Which course do you take with Levi-Civita?”
“No course, an independent study.”
“I haven’t seen him yet, but I just got here. I’m on a waiting list for his seminar, or I was. I transferred from the University of Padua. Levi-Civita taught there for years. Everyone loved him. He takes the students on trips to the Alps.” Franco turned and eyed the scene, shaking his head. “This is disgusting. It’s bigotry. I never would’ve thought this could happen, and people are saying it will decimate the math department. Professors Volterra and Castelnuova already left. Believe it or not, some of the students were jeering.”
Sandro recoiled, appalled.
“I heard that Professor Enriques tried to get into the library, but they wouldn’t let him.” Franco’s eyes flared in outrage. “They threw him out. One of the finest mathematicians of the century.”
“This is terrible.” Sandro watched the graduate assistants walk by, some looking numb, many crying.
“Can you imagine, this is happening at universities all over the country. Padua. Bologna. Turin. Ferrara. Milan.”
“I have to go inside.”
“Don’t, they told us not to. They told us to wait outside.”
But Sandro wasn’t following the rules anymore. He rolled his bicycle to the entrance, made his way through the crowd, and hurried into the building, his heart in his throat. Chaos reigned in the noisy hallway, and students milled everywhere, chattering and crying. Staff hugged each other, and professors wiped away tears.
Sandro took a right turn, heading for Professor Levi-Civita’s office, driven to see him one last time, to say goodbye and thank you. He threaded his way through the crowd in the hallway and spotted Enzo standing outside the professor’s office.
“Enzo!” Sandro hurried over, but the professor’s door stood open and his office was empty.
Enzo’s eyes glistened. “You just missed him. I’m so sorry. I knew you would come. I was hoping you would get here in time.”
Sandro felt his throat thicken, and all of the emotions he had been suppressing caught up with him. He wanted to break down and cry, not only for himself, but for the professor and everyone else, too.
“I’m so sorry about this . . . law.” Enzo sniffled. “Obviously, it disgusts me. It’s discrimination, and it should be overturned, but I know that doesn’t help you now. You were a brilliant student. I learned from you, not the other way around.”
“Thank you,” Sandro said, swallowing hard, as the kind words brought his sadness to the fore. “How was the professor? Was he upset?”
“Yes, but he held his head high. This is a nightmare. We’re losing everybody.”
“Where did he go?” Sandro struggled to maintain his composure.
“I don’t know. Everybody’s in an uproar. No one understands this new law.” Enzo rubbed his face. “The rumor is it’s going to affect almost a hundred professors across the country. It’s so stupid and wrong, and it will only hurt Italy. We’re going to lose the best. What’s the sense in that?”
Sandro didn’t have any answers. He would have to leave La Sapienza right now, never to return. He would never get his chance to work for Levi-Civita. He would never teach here or contribute to the field of mathematics.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Does it matter?” Sandro answered matter-of-factly.