When my grandparents emigrated through Ellis Island, my aunt swears my “bubby” was debating the pros and cons of female ranch mink skins vs male ones and predictably the “familia” embarked into the Shmatta Business. Consequently It was no surprise that my sister and I evolved into Frum Fashionistas who simultaneously studied Chumash and Vogue while being able to recite ten Italian couturiers on one Manolo. Yes, we were relegated to sharing a pair through a joint custody agreement mediated by my mother. Legend had it that a paternal second cousin once purchased a ten thousand dollar Gucci creation at a seventh avenue sample sale for $900.
So what if I had Chasidic rabbinical scholars in my lineage”? I yearned to see the roots of my familial passion and visit the land promised to me through my DNA. Italia- Land of Fellini, Fendi, and Fettucine. I yearned to experience La Dolce Vita, otherwise known in Jewish circles as the bais hamikdash burning, Lard saturated, Roman catholic “treife Vita”. Somehow I didn’t think there would be Cholent or Kishka in Cangione so What’s a Jewess to do? This one grabbed her shoe –fetishistic sister and flew to the boot-shaped cultural mecca of the world. We decided to Mangia where we could and improvise where we couldn’t.
When you’re two semi-broke girls who can’t afford to bring your personal kosher Mario Batali or Mario Perillo, how do you navigate the Piazzas without Pizza? Well, In Rome you don’t have to. Ironically, the home of the Vatican is also the oldest-known Jewish community in Europe. During the times of the Maccabees, Jews went back to the epicenter of the Empire to plead their case and peddle their wares (so what if they were killing us, we still had to make a living!)
This proved to be a running theme and so the first place we were exiled to as slaves was Italy, where “Jewish Laborer” was not an oxymoron and unfortunately where WE built that infamous coliseum. To this day, the Talmud forbids Jews to walk under the Arch of Titus, which depicts the menorah taken away from the Bais Hamikdash. Since most of Italian culture is centered around its churches (duomos) which reflect and contain the most exquisite architecture and artwork, it is difficult to avoid the cross. As with great music, great art was generally cathedral-centric and financed by and for the church. Not something they taught us in Bais Rivkah. However, the Sinagoga and Museo Ebraico is as beautiful as any dome in Rome.
It is in one of the oldest Jewish Ghettos (Via del Portico D’ottavio) where you can find all the Kosher Restaurants, bakery and a break from the treife. It felt strange and very Un “PC“ to direct the taxi Driver (who was better dressed than I was) to drive us to the “Jewish Ghetto”, but we didn’t know the name of the street and we were starved! Dining alfresco amidst the cobblestone streets sipping Merlot in the city of fountains made us feel like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. We were the Hilton Sisters not the Gorodetsky girls. We stuck to the kosher gelato served at Yotvata, a chalav yisrael place with a lot of butter-based al dente pasta. Everything was impeccable, but after eight hours of traipsing through Rome in ninety-degree heat, I was ready to eat the tablecloth and was still tingling from the beauty of the eternal city or maybe it was from my near death experience after a run-in with a Vespa.
Italy, where you are perpetually aesthetically stimulated throughout all your senses from the moment you arrive. You don’t know where to look first. The people, the fashion, the city or the artwork. Even the Mcdonald’s near the Roman Steps is recognized as the most beautiful of the golden-arched establishments. Only the Italians could build a Mcdonalds that resembles the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I know because I went into use the marble restroom, replete with statues and fixtures that I was dying to take home. In Staten Island this would have been cheesy, but in Rome it was Molto Bene. Even the man-purses were masculine in Italy. Somehow I couldn’t see one of the Sopranos pulling THAT particular fashion trigger,
All my previous Italian Guido stereotypes were shattered, other than the pervasive provolone and prosciutto ones. Whereas in Rome, Kosher is attainable, in most of Italy it is impossible, especially the Amalfi Coast and Capri, where my sister insisted that lard was rolled into everything, even the diet coke, but being the glamorous jetsetters that we were, we needed to follow in the footsteps of our foremothers, Grace Kelly, Sophia Loren, Jackie Onassis and Bridgette Bardot and our sisters Jennifer Lopez, Aniston and Angelina Jolie and experience the surreal ecstasy of the Italian gan eden so off we went up the funicular which took us up the mountain to Capri, which is my personal interpretation of heaven. Hell, being stuck on the BQE or the van wyck with two kvetchy toddlers in the back seat. A destination I’ve frequented so many times, I have earned enough mileage for a trip to New Zealand and back.
Once you are in this surreal paradise, your senses are heightened and an indescribable yet palpable joy radiates from your body. Is it the light reflected off of the picturesque villas, the magnificent views from Anacapri, the scent of the perfumerie Carthusia on the Via Tragara where perfume is made from the numerous flowers indigenous to this area or the Roberto Cavalli Gown in the window? In our case it could have been the fact that we hadn’t consumed a solid meal in two days. We took this opportunity to detox our bodies with fresh fruit purchased at a small mercato where there seemed to be more Formaggio and vino than fruits and vegetables. The only greater excitement than the breathtaking views was the chocolate bar we found with a hechser on it. (it was the dark “healthy” kind) This must have been the way Christopher Columbus felt!
This was definitely a new world for us, though the constant clamor and boisterous energy was not unlike a trip down Avenue J. In italy, it was endearing, while at home just irritating. The natives were like Jews, dramatic with a steady stream of commentary. Refreshingly unfiltered with an effortless style that we respected and envied. Most of all they seemed happy, but how could you not be when you’re spending an average of five hundred a night on hotels and 20 Euros on two Pellegrinos? My Jewish Brain was attempting to reconcile the tough economy with the Hermes Shopping bags and mandatory designer cover ups proliferating the Island Our budget was more Burka than Birkin after five days of vacationing in the land of Caesars Augustus, Tiberius and Herod. One definitely needed to be an emperor to afford this lifestyle, but we figured it was well-worth it and it was. The experience might have not been a Kosher culinary one, but the history, art and beauty of this region was a religious one. “Mah raabu maasecha hashem’ being the prevailing undertone of this sojourn to a predominately Catholic country. The Irony never eluded us. Though we may have been hungry for more kosher food selection, we were never starved out for beauty. There may not be Kugel in Calabria, but there is ALWAYS Chabad.
On our last day, my heart was heavy, I fleetingly fantasized about opening a lemon/falafel stand while singing “Volare”, but then I realized I would not be able to go to Pomegranate or see my kids too often. It was time to leave. My sister and I begrudgingly embarked on the hydrofoil to Naples, a few kilos lighter in body, but heavier in baggage. I knew we’d be back.
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