CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Sandro

5 September 1938

Rosa!” Sandro looked up from his notebook, happy to see his older sister entering the apartment. She had moved into her own place with some roommates and didn’t come home that often. She crossed into the dining room, setting down her purse, and embraced him. She had on her fashionable tan suit, with her hair pulled into its twist, and he caught a fading whiff of her floral perfume.

“I heard what happened at school, Sandro. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. It happened at La Sapienza, too. Levi-Civita left. I was too late to say goodbye.”

“Oh no. You must be so sad.”

“I’m trying not to be.” Sandro spoke from the heart. “I’m trying to stay on track.”

“You can’t stay on track when your own government is derailing you.” Rosa frowned sympathetically. “Mussolini has turned against us. The manifesto and the Race Laws show he doesn’t want Jews in Italy any longer. He’s going to make life so hard for us that we leave.”

“But why, do you think? Why now, after all this time?”

“It’s what David and I have been worried about. Mussolini is choosing to side with Hitler, and if Hitler is against the Jews, so is Mussolini.” Rosa touched his arm tenderly. “I know you love Papa, and so do I, but he’s missing what I see at the embassy.”

Sandro felt torn. “But he knows people in the party and he reads the papers.”

“He reads only the Fascist papers, and all of his closest friends are Fascists. They go with Mussolini, no matter what.” Rosa squeezed his arm. “Anyway, just because Papa thinks something doesn’t mean you have to. Fascism is now our enemy. Jews should leave the party, after today. The Race Laws are the last straw. They threw you out of school. It’s outrageous!”

“Papa says it will be temporary.”

“He’s wrong. Sandro, you have to think for yourself.”

“Rosa!” His mother entered the room and kissed Rosa on both cheeks, followed by his father.

“What a nice surprise!” His father held out his arms to embrace Rosa, but Sandro detected the effort in his parents’ smiles. All evening, they had been talking privately in his father’s study.

Rosa kissed them both. “What a terrible day. I’m horrified.”

“As are we,” his mother said, her tone controlled. “But your father is already working on solutions. You’ll stay and eat, won’t you?”

Sandro interjected, “It’s my consolation dinner, Rosa. Cornelia promised me something fried.”

Rosa chuckled, a happy sound amid the tension. “I’d love to stay.”

“Good, sit down, and I’ll get another place setting.” His mother turned and left for the kitchen.

“Yes, sit down, both of you.” His father crossed to the table, picked up his wineglass, poured some, and offered it to Rosa. “How have you been?”

“Fine, until today.” Rosa accepted the wine and sat down. “Papa, what about the Race Laws? What is Mamma talking about, solutions?”

“We have to keep our wits and go forward. There is a provision for Jewish schools to be established with government funding.”

“But what do you think of the party now? You, of all people, who are so loyal, must have been shocked. It’s an about-face, is it not?”

“As I told Sandro, I am shocked by the promulgation of the Race Laws. However, since then, I’ve had some time to study the law, confer with members of the Board, and make some calls.”

Rosa frowned. “It’s horrifying, nothing can change that, Papa.”

“The Board is already exploring renting a space in which to hold classes, and members of the Community are volunteering to teach. We certainly have plenty of teachers and professionals who can help us.”

“But—” Rosa started to say, but his father raised a hand.

“Jewish teachers who were displaced today have been calling the synagogue, looking for work, and we are making a list to see how many we can hire. I have suggested we take Professoressa Longhi, Sandro’s math teacher. Sandro can help teach arithmatic to the younger students. He’s always wanted to teach, so perhaps we can look on this as an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” Rosa repeated, her disapproval undisguised. His mother reentered the room with the place setting, set a dish and silverware in front of Rosa, then sat down.

“Yes,” his father answered firmly. “Obviously, this is a bad situation, but we must make the best of it. There’s no reason for Sandro and the others to lose time, as they will still be eligible to take the state examination at the end of the year. If they pass, they will graduate.”

“So that’s been provided for?”

“Yes. What matters most is that the academic needs of the students are met.” His father patted him on the shoulder. “Obviously, this is not a problem only for Sandro’s liceo. There are early estimates that about six thousand Jewish students are affected, one hundred and seventy secondary school teachers, and a hundred university professors. So we’ll adapt and go on. After all, survival is what we Jews do best.”

“Well put, dear,” his mother said, as Cornelia entered the dining room with a dish of carciofi alla giudia, fried artichokes, a Jewish specialty.

Sandro’s eyes lit up. “Bravissima, Cornelia.”

“Just for you.” Cornelia smiled as she set down the platter, and the fried artichokes looked delicious. The light breading glistened with olive oil and lemon, and was dotted with coarse flakes of sea salt. His father said a prayer over the food, and Sandro plucked a spear of artichoke, taking a bite.

“Mmm, I’m officially consoled.”

“Good.” Cornelia patted his shoulder and went back to the kitchen.

Rosa cleared her throat. “I have something to tell everyone, even though this night is already a difficult one. I might as well come out with it. My job at an international relief agency has come through, and everything is in place. I am going to emigrate with David, and it’s all set up. I’m sorry to have to tell you tonight, but I’m leaving at the end of the week.”

Sandro felt stunned and sad. He had never believed she would go through with it. He didn’t know what to say. It felt like a blow, but he would keep that to himself.

“So soon?” His mother’s hand flew to her mouth.

His father’s lined face fell. “This is sudden, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Rosa answered, her tone softer. “I’ve been waiting for it to come through. I don’t want to go without you all, but I’m afraid to stay. I’m afraid for you if you stay.”

“We’ll be fine,” her father said quietly. “We live here. We work here.”

“We have to stay, Rosa,” her mother added, and Sandro looked down at his plate, stricken. He agreed with his parents, and he certainly didn’t want to leave Rome, or Elisabetta. But the turn of events had shaken his confidence in his position.

“Listen to me, one last time.” Rosa leaned over. “What worries me is that at some point, you will not be permitted to emigrate. I hear things at the embassy, and I know you’ll say that’s not official, but it’s reliable. Jews all over Europe are fleeing the Nazis. And I know you say Jews are coming to Italy, and you’re right, but they’ll be in the same terrible position. Those who act quickly have a chance to go. If you delay, it will be only more difficult and more dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” His father scoffed.

“Yes, Papa.” Rosa pursed her lips. “Other countries are already moving to block refugees. The United States has quotas on Jews and it’s raising more restrictions. Their State Department procedures are fraught with delay. Even if you can get a visa, there are regulations about how much money you can leave Italy with, and if it’s not enough to support you, nobody will admit you.”

His father frowned, and his mother arched an eyebrow, but Rosa wouldn’t let them get a word in.

“Nobody wants to take Jews, and even the British are asking applicants to pay thousands of pounds to get a visa to Palestine. If I didn’t work at the embassy, it would’ve been much harder for me. Please come with me to London. This is your last chance.”

“No, thank you,” his father said, shaking his head. “We’ve already told you.”

“I’m sorry,” his mother added.

Sandro felt heartsick, but he could see that his sister was on the verge of tears. He loved her, so he knew what he had to say. “Rosa, I understand why you want to go. You should do what you have to do.”

“Thank you.” Rosa smiled shakily at him, then returned her attention to their parents. “And there’s one more thing you have to know. I got married to David in London last week, so now I’m his wife.”

“What?” His father’s mouth dropped open. “You’re married?”

“Rosa?” His mother’s eyes rounded behind her glasses. “My goodness! Why didn’t you tell us?”

Sandro looked over, astonished, but Rosa was taking their mother’s hand.

“Mamma, I didn’t tell you because I know how you and Papa felt about me marrying somebody who wasn’t Italian. And doesn’t that objection seem beside the point, after all that’s happened? According to the manifesto, we’re no longer Italian because we’re Jews. Papa, do you see the absurdity?”

“No.” His father folded his arms. “The manifesto is still not the law. No one can deny history. We’re Italian Jews. We’re Roman.”

His mother shook her head, stunned. “You could’ve told us, Rosa. You could have let us know. We weren’t even at your wedding!”

Rosa looked stricken. “I knew you would have tried to talk me out of it, and I didn’t want to give you the chance. We had to get married there to improve my chances for immigration.”

Sandro understood, though he was sad he hadn’t gotten to see her get married, either. He felt happy for Rosa, but remained heartbroken that she was leaving the country. His emotions roiled within him. Everything was going wrong. His father was angry, his mother was reeling, and he couldn’t wait until this awful day ended.

His father shook his head. “Rosa, he’s not Italian. How could you?”

“We love each other, that’s how.” Rosa frowned. “He’s a wonderful man, and we were married in a Jewish ceremony, with his parents and brother there.”

“That doesn’t make him Italian!” His father threw up his hands. “We wanted Italian grandchildren.”

All of a sudden, Sandro felt the emotions he’d kept inside explode. “Papa, does it matter? First you say I can’t see Elisabetta because she’s not Jewish. Then you say Rosa can’t marry David because he’s not Italian.”

His father turned to him, wounded. “Your mother and I have wishes for both of you, and we are entitled to that. Where is your respect, son?”

“I respect you, of course.” Sandro realized that he had to think for himself, as Rosa had said, so he did. “But can’t I disagree with you? Doesn’t what happened today demonstrate the fallacy in your logic? People aren’t categories, and it’s morally wrong to throw me out of my school because I’m Jewish. It hurts people, to no end. It’s just plain wrong. The government is discriminating against us, so we can’t discriminate in return, can we? It’s unprincipled.”

His mother rose, clutching her napkin, uncharacteristically shaken. Her eyebrows sloped down, and her lower lip trembled. “I hate this fussing. I wanted to see my daughter get married. Now, I can’t, and I never will.” She held her napkin to her nose as she began to cry, then she turned and hurried from the room, with Rosa at her heels.

It left Sandro and his father alone at the table, and they fell silent, neither speaking to fill the void. Sandro looked down at his plate, trying to sort his emotions. He had to acknowledge a diminishment of respect for his father, whose views simply didn’t stand to reason. Sandro never used to have such cross words with him, except for the last conversation about Elisabetta.

Sandro wished they could resolve the issue, so he looked up, but was surprised to find his father sitting stiffly upright in his chair. His father’s eyes had filmed behind his glasses, and Sandro experienced a wave of regret. Never before had he seen his father cry.

“Papa?” he said, rising, but his father waved him to stay in his seat.

“When you have children of your own, you’ll understand.”