The Jewish Museum of Venice “throws open its windows” (and nobody is protesting – hurray!)

The MEV, the Jewish Museum of Venice, is reopening its doors – or rather, throwing open its windows – and is once again open to visitors after seven years. This is big news, given the times (not least the fact that nobody has had anything to protest about, at least for now: it opens today). The restoration was a major undertaking (12 million euros, the first 10 raised through private fundraising, with the MIC providing the remainder) and has touched the heart of the world’s oldest Ghetto, a space established in 1954 at the behest of Holocaust survivors as a small museum with a single room, which has since grown considerably, to the point of housing one of the most significant collections of Jewish art and culture in Italy, featuring artefacts, sacred textiles, books and manuscripts that bear witness to centuries of life within the Venetian Jewish community.

A brief recap of the ‘liaison dangereuse’ between the Jews and the Serenissima may be useful: having always looked eastwards and towards trade, and being more pragmatic than bound by rigid religious dogma, in 1385 Venice authorised a group of Jews of German origin to take up permanent residence in the lagoon (otherwise the economy would have faltered: pawnbroking was forbidden to Christians). The first major upheaval came in 1516, when the Republic of Venice decreed the forced concentration of Jews in a specific area of the city. Thus the Ghetto was born, the first of many in modern history. The chosen area, the site of two disused foundries, was isolated, unsanitary and easily controlled (today not far from the station): at night, the gates were locked and guarded by Christian guards, paid for by the Jewish community. Living together in the Ghetto were groups of German Jews (Ashkenazim), Levantines (merchants from the Ottoman Empire) and Sephardim expelled from Spain. Added to these were the ‘Italian Nation’, comprising Jews from central and southern Italy.

Needless to say, each community built its own synagogue, but space was limited and the Ghetto grew upwards (with buildings reaching eight or nine storeys, a rarity for the time). Meanwhile, business was booming and Venice also became one of the world’s leading centres for Jewish publishing (until 1553, when the Pope ordered Talmudic texts to be burnt in the public square at St Mark’s). Then came the plague of 1630, the crisis of the Venetian Republic, Napoleon throwing open the city gates, and the Jews of Venice taking part in the Risorgimento. The 20th century then brought the tragic events of the racial laws and the Nazi occupation (more than 200 Venetian Jews were deported and killed).

Today, in a Venice stripped down to the bare bones – we have fallen below the psychological threshold of 50,000 inhabitants in the lagoon’s historic centre – the Jewish community accounts for one per cent of residents: 500 souls. Few in number but determined, as demonstrated by the revival of this small yet significant museum (1,700 square metres, with a bookshop, library, archive, a new entrance and air-conditioning system), which forms part of a process of rediscovery that includes the two synagogues in the Ghetto Vecchio and those in Campo Ghetto Novo.

With this reopening – a defiant move in the face of certain prevailing forms of censorship – the windows have literally been thrown wide open: “We wanted to keep the relationship between the museum’s interior and the outdoor space alive. We have opened up as many windows as possible to the view, so that visitors can recognise where they are at all times,” explains curator Marcella Ansaldi. “The Venice Ghetto, with its ability to resist, transform and carry on living, is a miracle of resilience,” she adds. Even those who are averse to the term would be hard-pressed to find a better synonym.