Rome’s Jewish ghetto

Rome’s Jewish ghetto came into being when Pope Paul IV ordered its construction in 1555. All the Jews living in Rome had to relocate to this small area – hemmed in between the River Tiber and Piazza Venezia - which was very prone to flooding. The ghetto was walled-in and accessed through two gates that were locked at night. The gates were eventually increased to eight and, at one point during the 16th century, 3500 people were crammed into the ghetto’s labyrinth of narrow streets and squalid buildings. Following the unification of Italy, all Jews were granted Italian citizenship and the requirement for them to live in the ghetto came to an end in 1870. The walls of the ghetto were demolished in 1888, together with a large number of crowded, unsanitary buildings. The Synagogue of Rome and elegant apartment buildings were built instead.

Although no longer compelled to live in the former ghetto, the area remained a thriving Jewish community well into the 20th century. But at dawn on October 16, 1943 the Nazis surrounded the neighbourhood and carried away 1023 inhabitants to Auschwitz. Only 16 survived.

Maybe it’s because we visited during Passover week that the ghetto was so quiet and deserted. A handful of tourists roamed the streets, guidebooks in hand, but we were spared the din and tumult of the crowds at the major attractions. There were no self-absorbed teenagers taking selfies here; no pouting duck lips and impossible poses. It was possible to wander around the shaded, narrow, cobble-stoned streets and secret courtyards without interruption. It felt like we could get lost but somehow still find our way.

And because of all that happened here; because of its recent history, it’s impossible not to feel moved, not to feel emotional as you stumble across reminders of people who once lived here; who were forcibly taken – never to return. It is heart-breaking to imagine that 75 years ago, a two-year old child was seen as such a threat that she was sent to the death camps simply because she was Jewish. So yes, for a while my heart was filled with sadness and my eyes filled with tears but I continue to hold on to the hope that Europe has learnt its lesson and the horrors of war will never return.

But aside from these poignant reminders of a world gone mad so many decades ago, it is impossible to forget that you’re in Rome and, sooner rather than later, you will be reminded of the fact. Which is why it is no surprise to end up in a piazza adorned by Bernini’s small but exquisite Fontana delle Tartarughe and the soothing sound of trickling, tinkling water.

In the main thoroughfare, Via del Portico d’Ottavia, remnants of Imperial Rome are grafted onto medieval buildings that are painted in all the imaginable shades of ochre, amber and gold.

Here, the late Anthony Bourdain, ate fried carciofi alla giudia at Il Giardino Romano. Other restaurants line this street, rubbing shoulders with Jewish kosher bakeries displaying their wares from pastel-coloured shop fronts. There is no better place from where you can sample traditional Roman-Jewish desserts such as ricotta and wild cherry cake or pizza ebraica than Pasticceria Boccione – which is easy to miss since not a single sign proclaims its presence. But it’s the arched shop on the corner in the picture below.

The Jewish ghetto is one of those Roman idiosyncrasies, almost like a small village within the city, with its own particular customs, eateries and even its own dialect known as Giudeo-romanesco (Judeo-Roman). You can see most of the ghetto in about half an hour. Or you can linger, as we did, and explore its back streets and quaint shops without ever forgetting the rich and tragic history of this corner of Rome.