and down.
“Now, we go upstairs, everyone!” Mayer gestured to the stairwell, and Sandro and the others followed him and ascended to the second floor, only to be greeted by an appalling sight.
Nazis were ransacking the bookshelves in the conference room, tossing books and papers onto the floor. One side of the room held locked file cabinets, and Nazis broke them open and rifled through the contents. Other Nazis arrived with cardboard boxes and started packing the papers and files.
Sandro’s father frowned. “Captain Mayer, those are records of the Community. Why are they being confiscated? You said you wanted only to search.”
“We can search more effectively off the premises.” Mayer pointed at the bookshelf against the far wall. “Foà, what are those bound volumes?”
Foà hesitated. “The minutes of our meetings of the Jewish Council and financial ledgers.”
Mayer gave orders in rapid German, and Nazis tore the volumes and financial ledgers from the shelves and loaded them into boxes. “Foà, what are those index cards?”
Foà’s lined face fell. “The names, addresses, and genealogy information of our members.”
Mayer gave more orders, and Nazis began boxing the index cards. “Foà, I know the Community has a safe. Where is it?”
Foà sighed in resignation. “In my office.”
“Show me. Signora, remain here, please. The others, come with me.”
Foà crossed to his office and opened the door, followed by Sandro and his father. The room contained a desk covered with papers, a wooden cabinet, and a bookshelf filled with books, photographs, and a menorah of engraved silver. Sandro had never been in the office before.
Foà opened the cabinet door, revealing a black safe. “Here.”
“Open it.”
“The key’s in my desk.” Foà pulled out his desk drawer, produced a small gold key, then unlocked the safe.
Mayer looked inside. “How much money is that?”
“About two million lire.”
“Leave. I must use the telephone.” Mayer motioned them out and closed the door, while they waited in coerced silence. Sandro exchanged looks with his father, who looked angrier than he had ever seen him. Around them, Nazis ransacked cabinets and confiscated files, papers, and index cards. Sandro strained to eavesdrop on Mayer’s phone call, but couldn’t make out the German words.
After a few minutes, Mayer opened the door and gestured to the safe. “Foà, I have new orders from Colonel Kappler to seize that money. Get a small box and pack it up for me.”
“But it’s ours.” Foà’s lips parted in dismay. “We collected it in response to his demand for gold.”
Sandro’s father interjected, “Captain Mayer, you have no legal basis for taking Community property. You called it a seizure, but it’s common robbery, a criminal act.”
Mayer glared at him. “Such defiance! I’ll report you to Colonel Kappler, Simone.”
Sandro cringed, terrified for his father. “Captain Mayer,” he blurted out, “my father is a lawyer and he’s only trying to protect the Community.”
“Captain Mayer, please, I’ll comply.” Foà quickly picked up a box of correspondence from his desk, but Mayer grabbed it from him and dumped the letters on the rug.
“Get out, we’ll do it!” Mayer motioned them out again, and they stood aside as he barked orders to his soldiers, who fetched more boxes and began emptying the contents of Foà’s office.
As the morning wore on, Captain Mayer and the Nazi soldiers loaded the Community’s papers, files, minutes books, financial ledgers, and other property onto the covered trucks in the piazza. Sandro, his father, Foà, Rosina, and families on the piazza, among them Sandro’s mother and Rosa, watched in horrified silence.
It struck him that tonight was Rosh Hashanah, and the Jewish New Year 5704. He had hoped things would be better.
Now, he feared they would be worse.
* * *
—
Later, Sandro huddled with his parents and Rosa around the kitchen table, having finished a meager lunch of spaghetti with diluted pomodoro sauce. Sandro felt disturbed after seeing the Nazis vandalize his synagogue, a sacred house of worship. He hated that there was nothing anyone could do to stop the Nazis, in any way. If the Fascists had ruined the Ghetto Jews, the Nazis intended to destroy them.
Rosa shook her head. “I have to say, after seeing those tanks, I’m frightened for our lives, truly. We should go into hiding. We know people who can help us, like Emedio and Monsignor O’Flaherty.”
“You think so?” Sandro asked, uncertain.
“Yes, absolutely. Others have, even Chief Rabbi Zolli. Why don’t we? This could be our last chance.”
“Well.” Sandro’s father sighed, his expression gravely troubled. “I admit, what I saw today opened my eyes. The Nazis . . . enjoyed