Italian Holocaust survivor describes his wartime life in hiding
By Janna Brancolini
As a toddler, Umberto di Gioacchino was hidden first in a monastery and then a farmhouse
In October of 1943, a family friend took 2-year-old Umberto di Gioacchino to the Santa Marta monastery in the hills outside Florence. Gioacchino was among the youngest of Florence’s 2,300 Jews, born three years after Italy enacted its racial laws in 1938 stripping Jews of their rights to higher education, political participation and commercial activity. His birth certificate was stamped in red ink, “Of the Jewish race.”
Many Italian Jews lived in a sort of purgatory until 1943, when Mussolini was overthrown and the Germans invaded the northern and central parts of the peninsula. The Nazis then began rounding up and deporting the country’s 40,000 Jewish residents. Here, Gioacchino recounts to Kheiro — in his own words — how he and his immediate family survived the war. His story has been lightly edited for clarity.
When I was 2 years old, I was saved by the nuns of the Benedictine Monastery of Saint Martha.* In October 1943, Catholic friends took 13 of my family members to the countryside near Lucca, and a friend took me to the monastery. In March 1944, the same friend came and got me, and I joined my family in the farmhouse. I don’t know how it was all arranged; my parents never told me anything about the war.
My memories of the time are just flashes. It was a strange period for a child; I don’t have bad memories per se. I thought the bombings were fireworks. I also remember that a German commander lived in the house next to us. He was actually nice to me — he gave me jam.
Florence was liberated in August 1944, but we stayed until October. Houses had been confiscated or destroyed; people didn’t have anywhere to return to. Before the war we had a store in the Piazza Duomo that my family “sold” to friends who kept it for them and gave it back after the war. We were fortunate from that point of view — that we had people we could trust. All of our friends more or less were partisans. Years later my father was invited a demonstration for former partisans. I asked, “Why? Were you a partisan?” He said, “Yes.” That’s it; nothing else.
In Florence there were 2,300 Jews before the war. As soon as the racial laws were enacted, about 3,000 Jews left Italy, including about 200 from Florence. The rabbi — who was my uncle — closed the Synagogue immediately. That helped a lot of people survive. Italy isn’t Germany; there wasn’t such a strict culture of following the rules. But eventually my uncle was deported to the concentration camps, where he died. His children were adopted by friends in Israel.
After the war ended we didn’t go to Israel because my family wasn’t very religious. We had relatives who left, though, because they didn’t want to stay among people who until yesterday wanted them dead. One family had “friends” who promised to take them to Switzerland but then as soon as they arrived at the border handed them over to the Italian police. At the time they offered the equivalent of 6 months’ salary if you turned people in. People were starving.
But lots of help came from the most humble people. Farmers in the country with barely anything to eat helped. They especially saved young people — in the country there was a culture of helping young people.
Today Gioacchino still lives in Florence, where he is an archivist for the Great Synagogue of Florence. Thanks to local Jewish historian Giovanna Bossi Rosenfeld for her help with this piece.
*Editors’ note: The nuns of the Benedictine Monastery of Saint Martha hid about 100 Jewish children from 1943 to 1944. That spring, the children were moved elsewhere due to concerns the site was no longer secure. About 20 people were hidden in the farmhouse where Gioacchino stayed near Lucca: five Jews, plus a group of partisans and other young men ages 18 to 24.
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