Happy chaos reigns as families congregate at the tables on the cobblestones of Via Portico d’Ottavia in central Rome. Crowds of bank holiday strollers, dark-haired and dark-coated, wend their way around a bakery queue that stretches into the street.
The bustle is typical of the Italian capital as it emerges from a pandemic period that shuttered much of its public life. But here, there is a difference.
Many of the waiters are wearing kippahs with their black aprons and neat white shirts. The word "kosher" adorns the menus. A bric-a-brac shop twinkles with brass menorahs. On a stretch of medieval brick masonry that overlooks the scene is pinned the bold blue and white of the Israeli flag.
This is the heart of Rome’s Jewish ghetto, a community with a history here stretching back 22 centuries. It was almost wiped out by the Holocaust but, with the help of a revival of traditional Judeo-Roman cuisine, has re-established a thriving public presence in the heart of its ancient home.
The word 'Ghetto' is thought to originate in Italy, perhaps from an old word referring to foundry work in the district of Venice where Jews were forced to live by the Venetian republic
"My father opened the first kosher restaurant in Italy in 1989," recalls Ilan Dabush, the swarthy manager/proprietor of Ba'Ghetto, pausing for an espresso amid frenzied preparations for the evening service. "Since we opened in the Ghetto, it has become extremely popular."
Kosher restaurants and dessert shops specialising in Judeo-Roman cuisine now stretch the length of the street, many doing a roaring takeaway trade as well as busy table service.
Ilan and his brothers Avi, Eran and Amit have expanded the family trattoria to five restaurants, including outlets in Florence and Milan, with a sixth due to open in Venice. The availability of kosher food sets a helpful condition for the presence of observant families, as well as proving a draw for locals and tourists, whether Jewish or gentile.
Artichoke ‘alla giudia’
As twilight falls, waiters begin to unload crates of fresh artichoke, the flower of Roman-Jewish cuisine. Artichoke “alla giudia” is seasoned and crisply fried in olive oil, and here in the Ghetto, comes served on a cut of Hebrew-language newspaper.
In common with much of the city’s traditional cooking, many Roman-Jewish recipes have humble origins, making creative use of cheap staples, pulses and offcuts of meat.
Some dishes are familiar, with a kosher twist. Pasta all’Amatriciana is made with goose rather than the usual pig cheek or guanciale. Meat and dairy are not mixed, in keeping with dietary rules from the Torah.
Fish plays a star role. Cod is cooked with tomatoes, olives, and thin-sliced potatoes, while pasta dishes carry a kick of the pungent cured fish roe, bottarga. Fish broth, sardines and anchovies feature prominently.
This is the legacy of the fish market that was held for centuries in the remains of an ancient temple complex at the top of the street, as well as a law by the papal government in 1661 that barred the Jewish community from eating “luxury” types of fish.
An earlier papal restriction in 1555 formalised the Ghetto, forcing Jewish people to live within its gates, which were shut at night. The word “Ghetto” is thought to originate in Italy, perhaps from an old word referring to foundry work in the district of Venice where Jews were forced to live by the Venetian republic, or perhaps as an abbreviation of “borghetto” (little neighbourhood).
Terrible day
These laws ended when the Papal States were absorbed into the newly unified Kingdom of Italy in 1870. The ornate 1904 Great Synagogue of Rome, its cream colonnaded sides overlookin the Tiber, reflects the confidence of the community in its place at the heart of the ancient city at the turn of the 20th century.
A museum in the synagogue's basement records the events of the Ghetto's most terrible day: October 16th, 1943, immortalised in a harrowing contemporary account by the Jewish-Italian journalist Giacomo Debenedetti.
It began during the night with a barrage of sound, as occupying Nazi forces terrorised the district by letting off ceaseless rounds of ammunition. At dawn they struck, dragging the sleep-deprived families from their homes and loading them into trucks, many still in their night clothes. Most perished in the gas chambers of Auschwitz seven days later; 1,007 were killed. There were 16 survivors.
On the same street today, classes are being held to teach the recipes of Roman-Jewish cuisine, passed down through the generations and in community archives. Bookings are coming in for the special Sabbath meal that is served each Saturday, with special rates for children.
As a gust of wind threatens to lift a tablecloth, a unique linguistic babble rises from a table of women: the percussive ring of Italian, mixed with the guttural vowels of Hebrew.