These things occurred on Saturday September 21, 2024 in Naples, Italy
It was a lovely Shabbat morning, and I was intent on visiting the Comunità Ebraica de Napoli for synagogue. Aside from wanting to learn about the Naples Jewish community – which I knew very little about – it was my bat mitzvah parsha and I was compelled to be in shul for it. Amichai was particularly exhausted this morning and begged to stay in bed. Given he had passed out the previous night before any of his younger brothers I figured he could use his sleep. For the first time on our journey, we left a child alone at “home.” It was a strange feeling. Here we were in another country where the people barely spoke English, and we were leaving our eldest alone. We figured all would be fine since it was likely that he would sleep the entire time. After a moment’s pause to question our parenting choices, Chaim and I exited the apartment with the other boys.
We wound through the narrow, winding streets clinging to the sides of the buildings every few minutes as mopeds and small cars drove past. The apartment buildings were stacked on top of another blocking any views beyond, wet laundry dripped on us as we passed under it. Slowly, the narrow streets grew wider. There was more room to breathe and narrow sidewalks to escape the car traffic. The morning was hot and sunny, but the buildings provided plenty of shade.
Eventually, we found our way to the synagogue, situated in a courtyard that you can only enter after several soldiers conduct a security check. The synagogue is in one of the apartments in an 18th century building that was once a church. We climbed the marble staircase and stopped at the door. It was locked. There was a small string to pull that would ring an old bell inside. This seemed odd because Shabbat observant Jews do not typically ring bells on Shabbat. It is considered a violation of the rules. However, this was the only way to let our fellow Jews know that we had arrived. Later, we learned that this is how they have always done it here.
Comunità Ebraica de Napoli is a small and beautiful synagogue. It was purchased with funding by the Rothschild Family in the 1700s. At this time, yeshivot/schools of Jewish study only existed in southern Italy because the north had ghettos and the Talmud was banned or, worse, burned. Although some of the interior has been updated, there is much that remains from the original 19th century construction. Like most European synagogues, the women’s section is above overlooking the men’s section. The seats are wooden and make a very loud clapping sound when anyone sits down. On the shulchan/prayer service leader’s table, stands a large menorah. The decorations look exactly as one might expect a small Italian synagogue to look.
The Naples community has only 150 people. There is barely a minyan/quorum of ten men for prayer services, but they told us that it is a very active community even though it is so small. The community’s rabbi commutes from Rome every Shabbat to lead them in services and read from the Torah. I am not kidding when I say every single man there has a musical, cantorial voice. It was a joy to listen to them, though at times they might have been surreptitiously trying to out-sing one another.
We arrived during Torah reading. Eitan, Matanel, and Shai were the only children in the synagogue, which I found depressing. I found myself wondering, “How is it possible there were no other children?”, “What would become of this community?”, “How long has it been this way?” and, “Will their children ever return?” For most of the service, the boys played quietly in a room just outside the main sanctuary.
When one of the members realized we had children, he and everyone else grew very excited. They immediately asked the boys if they would like to take up one of the synagogue’s children’s traditions. Eitan and Shai agreed, Matanel watched from afar. A man gave Eitan and Shai an ornate yad/a pointer used for reading Torah so that they could lead the procession before the Torah was returned to the ark. Before I knew what was happening, my eyes welled up with tears. I got so emotional. Here is a shul, devoid of children, and our children had become links in a chain for this community. Eitan maintained a very solemn disposition throughout but sneaked a peak at me every few minutes. I knew he could tell I was tearing, so I tried to give him a big smile. It just made him look more solemn. After their job ended, Shai and Eitan went back to playing with Matanel in the other room.
Things continued with a sermon from the rabbi and regular services. Just as I thought it was over, the community stood up and began singing Hatikvah at the top of their lungs. I have sung Hatikvah in many synagogues before, including my own growing up. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. However, after almost a year since October 7, hearing this small, but mighty community singing Hatikvah so loudly and proudly gave me goosebumps and tears began flowing again. We were all links in the chain.
After a small kiddush, we were invited to listen to a twenty-minute presentation by two of the community’s historians. By historians I really mean one community member who has done some research into the community’s history and the youngest community member (at the young age of twenty) who is a fifth-generation Naples Jew. His parents are among the few Naples Jews who married within the Jewish community. Most others had interfaith marriages.
We learned that Spain ruled southern Italy. Just like what happened in Spain, Jews were expelled from southern Italy in the 1500s. According to our historian, there are many Marranos or descendants of Marranos in southern Italy who are just learning about their Jewish roots in recent years. We also learned that the Jewish community played a significant role in the reunification of Italy in the 1800s. Their main objective was to open the ghettos in the north and gain Jewish citizenship throughout Italy, leading to the opening of yeshivot and, hopefully, less persecution.
Today, many Jews are coming back to Judaism in southern Italy, but they have little knowledge about their heritage, leaving them with a lack of identity. As our historian put it, the Naples community is trying to figure out how to help these individuals “create identity, without support from home and no Jewish day school.” It was certainly something worth thinking about. I wondered about how if there were a physical Jewish chain representing the metaphorical chain, it must look pretty strange to the casual observer. A chain made of an array of links with varied shapes, colors, sizes, and even finishings. Some are clasped tightly while others are fitted loosely. What a glorious hodgepodge our people are!
Although I had only been with this lovely community for a few hours, I was sad to leave. I worried about how small they were. My fears resolved as I listened to the plethora of events they had planned for the upcoming week. With gratitude and appreciation for their warm welcome and the opportunity to become links in their chain, we bade farewell and walked back to our apartment.
When we arrived, Amichai was still asleep. I woke him up and then Chaim went straight to sleep. His back hurt terribly, which is never good. There have been a few times in the past when Chaim’s back pain has led us to almost miss a flight because he couldn’t move.
The boys and I enjoyed our Shabbat lunch from the Rome market and played a few card games. After a couple of hours, I woke up Chaim so that we could explore Naples a little bit more before leaving the next day. Thankfully, Chaim’s back pain had improved enough so that he could join us. We walked toward the port where I the boys played “Mother May I”, a game from my childhood that I still believe teaches good manners while having fun. Chaim and I enjoyed having a moment to sit and talk without interruption. We returned to our apartment as Shabbat was ending and spent the evening packing up.
