Today we wandered a bit en route to the Jewish Ghetto.  We walked on meandering streets to the Tiber River and found our way to the Ghetto. We walked up to Capitoline Hill. We were a little lost until TLP (our son, the little prince) said, “this is Capitoline Hill.  I recognize it from our tour the other day and the map.”  POB (partner of blogger) and I looked at each other and sighed.  I guess we don’t have to worry about our child’s intellectual development.

IFOB (Italian friend of blogger) calls it the Jewish Quarter.  Euphemistic.  If an area was walled off with only day passes to the City, it was a ghetto.  A ghetto is a ghetto.  It was long ago and now the Jews of Rome thrive, with 15 synagogues.  We saw the two old synagogues and plaques from Roman times. But being Jews, we have to pick at the scabs of the past.  We have to wallow in the persecution.  All in, it took about 4 hours to recite the indignities since the 2nd century.  That was exhausting.

We had a kosher lunch.  That just means it is even more expensive than Rome generally and everything is overcooked.  IFOB gave us a suggestion for an eatery, but after the recitation of our people’s trials and tribulations we barely crawled to the first place we saw.  There was a sink and the blessing and men in yarmulkes.  All in Italian.  Very cool. A man came over to us and complimented us on how well behaved TLP was.  We were beaming, as in beatification beaming.  TLP got extra gelato.

We saw the four lesbians from the Jewish museum at the restaurant.  They were hard to miss in either place.  The particularly masculine one was flirting with a beautiful woman who worked at the museum.  The woman was clearly flirting back.  I was intrigued but my job as a Jew was to relive the painful past, so I didn’t have time for interesting side stories.  (IFOB: I am being my usual over-the-top self, so don’t be alarmed.  We really don’t going into excruciating details about the past.  We usually conflate a few centuries to save time.)

Then, we walked through various piazzas and along side streets where open doors showed courtyards and beautiful buildings.  Truly magical, as long as no one runs you over.

We took a bus to the Sistine Chapel and TLP survived, barely.  He is not a Raphaelite or a fan of Michelangelo or Titian.  I told him that I am not either, but one has to appreciate the art and the extraordinary talent and skill that is evident.  We took the subway back.  TLP was in transportation Heaven.

We napped and went shopping.  Then off to dinner, in a quiet restaurant. That is, until the LARGE, LARGE group of American adults and children came in.  Three huge tables.  And one of the adults thought it was appropriate in a public place to give a LOUD, VERY LOUD toast to the group’s leaders.  All the English speaking people in the restaurant looked on, stunned and gobsmacked.  The Italians also were talking, and I am sure not in the most glowing terms about the Americans.  One group of kids was being loud and I turned around and said, “Really? Really?  You think this is appropriate?”  They were silent.  Phew.  It could have backfired.

There was one family from the UK also in the restaurant.  They looked similarly distressed at the large (did I mention, LARGE), loud group. As we passed their table on the way out, I looked at the mother and said simply, “Oy.”  She held up her hand and we high-five’d.  Now, THAT’S international communication.

Another great day in Rome.