When I carried it outside, there was an elderly man dressed quite dapperly in a suit, tie and grey fedora, sitting on a bench in the small piazza, both hands resting on a walking stick. He had an engaging, warm and grandfatherly smile and with a tilt of his head beckoned me to the bench and asked in Yiddish if I spoke the language. After I replied that I was able to speak a little, but did understand it quite well, he switched to English and pointing at the pan, asked if he might hold it. He carefully turned it over, examining it from every angle, paying particular attention to the area near the broken rivet returning to that spot several times. I later learned he was hoping to find any markings that might indicate it had once belonged to his mother. Apparently, when his parents were rounded up by the Germans during the war, she had scratched her initials on various pots and pans in order to be able to identify them at a later date.
When I told him that I just purchased it at the shop, he asked if I would like to learn how pans like these came to be in this particular area. He did not have to wait long for my answer. I certainly did and sat down beside him on the bench.
He introduced himself as Haim Gentner and his family had lived on Via del Tempo, just a short walk from where we now were, for over 90 years. Waving his arm in a circular motion, he said that we were now in the middle of what had been the Jewish Ghetto, perhaps the oldest one in the western world. It was originally constructed in 1555 by Pope Pius II when he decided to revoke all the rights that had been previously granted to Roman Jews. With only two access points and significant additional restrictions, it made everyday life for its inhabitants extremely difficult. Jews could only reside within the ghetto and were required to carry distinctive signs identifying them as being Jewish. They could not own any real estate or be involved in any trade except those related to rags and clothing. They did as best they could with the hand they were dealt, many becoming clothing merchants, and Haim’s family would go on to be involved in this trade for several generations.
This was brought to an end in 1870, when Jews were put on the same level as all other Italian citizens. He pointed to the Temple Maggio, the great synagogue, where for 15 years prior to the war his father had been a parness, the person in charge of prayer rituals.
