Between Rome and Jerusalem
When Jews were taken as slaves to Rome after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, little could they have imagined how Italian their future generations would become. For Roman Jews, Rome is not just a city: it is their city. There is a saying among them that captures an unspoken truth: they are the true Italians, having been brought to Rome centuries before the unification of Italy in 1861.
As slaves with no formal rights, they were likely forced to build and die for the very monuments that today’s tourists love. Such as the Colosseum, which, according to tradition, was built with Jewish slave labor. Yet, Roman Jews often take a complicated pride in their ancestors’ contributions, while forgetting, or choosing to ignore, their suffering.
Under papal rule, when the Church had full control over Rome, Jewish lives and futures were dictated by popes. A good Pope? Jews were given a decent degree of liberty. A Bad Pope? Jews were confined once again to the Roman Ghetto, established in 1555 by Pope Paul IV. Their lives were controlled by curfews, forced sermons, and restrictions on property and professions. Stripped of rights, Jews were relegated to the few occupations they were permitted, primarily as moneylenders, which further fueled the antisemitic tropes we still hear nowadays.
Despite this cycle of oppression, Roman Jews survived, generation after generation, never truly allowed to thrive, but never disappearing either.
Throughout their long and complicated existence in Rome, the Jewish community gradually lost fluency in Hebrew, but their hearts never did. From the 16th century until the ghetto’s abolition in 1870, they developed a unique dialect known as Judaico-Romanesco (Judeo-Roman), a blend of Italian and Hebrew. To this day, this dialect survives within the community. Roman Jews, young and old, continue to use certain expressions or words as a secret slang that only fellow Jews can comprehend.
As the sporadic persecutions persisted, Jews learned how to coexist in a reality where shifting political circumstances could change their whole destiny. During the brief periods of religious tolerance, Jews became an integrated part of Roman society, connected to the city, but always aware that their safety was never guaranteed. Although their hearts and traditions never forgot Jerusalem, they believed themselves to be Italian and Jewish.
Having fought loyally on the Italian front during the First World War, many Jews believed they had earned full recognition as Italians. But to their utter disbelief, the racial laws of 1938 reached the ancient borders of Rome, less than one hundred years after the abolition of the ghetto in 1870.
October 16th, 1943, is the day every Roman Jew has ingrained in their hearts: when the deportations officially started. That Shabbat morning, Nazi troops raided the old Jewish Ghetto of Rome. Just that day, over 1,000 Jews, including men, women, and even children, were deported to Auschwitz. Only 16 survived. The ones who returned carried with them the trauma of the Shoah, a pain that will never fade.
After the war, the Jewish community in Rome resumed life in the shadow of memory, holding tight to their traditions. To this day, they share an inexplicable bond with the city of Rome.
While the Roman Jews are deeply Zionist in their beliefs, aliyot from Rome are rare. This is because Italian Jews lack one of the most common Jewish experiences around the world: the feeling of not belonging. In Rome, Jews have their families, their traditions, and their entire sense of identity. When asked where their ancestors are from, their answer is simple: Rome.
Through all the instability they faced, Rome remained a constant Jews never took for granted. Persecuted on every front, they learned how to thrive in small victories. For a Roman Jew, family is everything, and the Jewish Community is an extension of it. Among new gossip and old sayings, Italian jews have always stuck together, bound by a rooted sense of belonging.
However, after October 7th, the reality of Roman Jews has shattered again. The main roads of their city are often covered with Palestinian flags. And the same flags are hanging from the balconies of their beloved neighbors; people they grew up with, and lived beside for generations. For the first time in decades, Roman Jews are questioning whether their sense of home was ever real, or just an illusion they held onto for too long.
It would be poetic for the Roman Jews to close a circle and go back to Jerusalem as free people. But for many in the community, leaving Rome feels like failing their ancestors, who endured centuries of persecution and discrimination. Today’s younger generation is starting to feel a growing connection to global Jewish communities. But family is an anchor in young jews’ hearts, and not all of them are ready to leave behind the values they were raised with.
I live between two worlds, as both a Roman Jew and an olah hadasha. In Israel, I am the Italian whose family never left Rome. In Rome, I was always Jewish first.
Now, I often wonder the most Jewish question: where do I belong?
While actively looking for an answer, I accept this instability as a gift. In moments of doubt, I think of my mom’s goosebumps when she hears Hebrew and/or words of torah. It reminds me that belonging is not always a place, it’s a heartbeat of a moment. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
