The Venetian Ghetto

There is no higher credential for an Italian city than being able to claim Roman origins. I have been stopped in the street in Mantua before by a local man who wanted to make sure I had mentioned to my group that their city was older than Rome and was the birthplace of Virgil. The Sienese invented a spurious tale about a founder called Senius who was the son of Roman-reject Remus. One city that, for all its glitz and glamour, cannot claim Roman origins is Venice, whose beginnings are as humble as could be, as refugees from Germanic invasions took shelter in the muddy banks of the lagoon. But humble beginnings make for ambitious citizens, and the Venetians lost no time in making up what they lacked in ancestry by making an awful lot of money.

The key to their success was that everyone was welcome as long as they could benefit the city, and in particular its finances. Unlike it’s Italian neighbours, whose squabbling dynasties and political factions ruptured any long-term stability, Venice established a republic that lasted over 1000 years, founded on the principle that no individual was more important that the State.

Barely tolerated elsewhere in Italy, Jews were able to live in Venice as they undoubtedly benefited the city. Not that they were treated well – they were used as scapegoats to reduce internal political tension and excluded from all trade and positions except lending money (which was prohibited by Christian doctrine). In 1508 when Venice was under attack from the pan-European League of Cambrai, the Jews of the Veneto took refuge in the lagoon and were welcomed as they brought with them much-needed wealth in a time of crisis. But a mere 8 years later, March 29th 1516, the Doge decreed that all Jews should be housed in the secure area around the old foundry, locked in at midnight and guarded (at their own expense) by Christian gatekeepers. From the Italian word gettare meaning ‘to cast’, the first geto was born.

Visiting the Ghetto today is one of Venice’s most rewarding experiences, but one that is rarely at the top of any visitors list. I take groups of students when teaching with Art History Abroad, an English company that runs 2 and 6-week courses in Italy, spending 5 and 10 days respectively in Venice. It’s a opportunity to delve beyond the usual tick-box of tourist sights to experiencing something of the city’s human history, and nowhere has quite the resonance and evocative atmosphere of the Ghetto. First, it’s far away (insofar as anywhere can be in Venice) in Cannaregio, the quarter of Venice most devoid of tourists and replete with atmosphere. Secondly, there is no obvious sight to see. It is an opportunity to let the students look and unravel it for themselves.

The first thing they notice is how tall the buildings are. Some reaching seven stories, and the small space between suggesting very low ceilings. The buildings of the Ghetto Novo (the new Ghetto formed in 1516) form an almost complete ring, entirely surrounded by water. Looking closer at the passageway leading to one of the three bridges, square indentations in the stone were left by the hinges on the gates that closed the Ghetto by night, until they were removed by Napoleon’s troops in 1797. This is one shady memory of the darker history of this peaceful corner of the city. It provokes an argument between two students as to whether Jews were better off in Venice – was it good that they were allowed to live and work, or is liberty an inalienable right? This ambiguity leads onto Venice’s most famous Jew, Shylock. One student recalls his most famous speech, “If you prick us, do we not bleed?” – the ultimate retort within a play that was seen as so anti-Semitic that it was broadcast as propaganda in Nazi Germany.

During the German occupation of Venice, over 200 Venetian Jews were deported. Only seven survived. The memorials on the walls of the Ghetto Novo are a painful reminder of this city’s place in the holocaust. But hidden away behind humble walls are reminders of the glorious past of the Jews of Venice – six synagogues, belonging to the different national communities, dating back the 16th and 17th centuries. They are invisible from the outside, as they were forbidden to build them as separate so they were incorporated into the apartment blocks. Awash with rich wood-carvings, gilding and chandeliers, they are a sign of the Jewish community’s prosperity. Venice was one of the great centres of rabbinical culture in Europe, particularly in Hebrew book-printing outside the ghetto walls. Bankers, physicians, poets and theologians created a golden age of commerce and scholarship renowned throughout Europe, providing doctors to the Queen of France and Pope Paul III and travelling to start new communities in London and Amsterdam. Henry VIII consulted a Venetian rabbi in his divorce suit against Katherine of Aragon.

In many ways, Venice itself was a pariah in much the same way as the Jews – trading equally with Christian and Turk, they were hated and envied, and like the Jews were children of the Exodus. The doge even ordered protection of the Jews, while Christian friars were preaching for their death. It was perfectly expressed by Shakespeare’s merchant, Antonio.

The duke cannot deny the course of law;
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice if it be denied,
Will much impeach the justice of this state;
Since that the trade and profit of this city
Consisteth of all nations.

But all this came at a price. By the time the Ghetto was dismantled by Napoleon’s troops the Jewish community had been bled dry by the state – forbidden ownership of property, they were charged an extortionate rent on the houses they were forced to occupy. They were forced to keep open their loan banks long after they had ceased to be profitable, and paid for the privilege. Finally, in 1735, the Inquisitors informed the Venetian Senate that the Jewish community was officially bankrupt. By the end of the century, Venice herself was over too.