Rosa frowned. “It’s horrifying, nothing can change that, Papa.”
“The Board is already exploring renting a space in which to hold classes, and members of the Community are volunteering to teach. We certainly have plenty of teachers and professionals who can help us.”
“But—” Rosa started to say, but his father raised a hand.
“Jewish teachers who were displaced today have been calling the synagogue, looking for work, and we are making a list to see how many we can hire. I have suggested we take Professoressa Longhi, Sandro’s math teacher. Sandro can help teach arithmatic to the younger students. He’s always wanted to teach, so perhaps we can look on this as an opportunity.”
“An opportunity?” Rosa repeated, her disapproval undisguised. His mother reentered the room with the place setting, set a dish and silverware in front of Rosa, then sat down.
“Yes,” his father answered firmly. “Obviously, this is a bad situation, but we must make the best of it. There’s no reason for Sandro and the others to lose time, as they will still be eligible to take the state examination at the end of the year. If they pass, they will graduate.”
“So that’s been provided for?”
“Yes. What matters most is that the academic needs of the students are met.” His father patted him on the shoulder. “Obviously, this is not a problem only for Sandro’s liceo. There are early estimates that about six thousand Jewish students are affected, one hundred and seventy secondary school teachers, and a hundred university professors. So we’ll adapt and go on. After all, survival is what we Jews do best.”
“Well put, dear,” his mother said, as Cornelia entered the dining room with a dish of carciofi alla giudia, fried artichokes, a Jewish specialty.
Sandro’s eyes lit up. “Bravissima, Cornelia.”
“Just for you.” Cornelia smiled as she set down the platter, and the fried artichokes looked delicious. The light breading glistened with olive oil and lemon, and was dotted with coarse flakes of sea salt. His father said a prayer over the food, and Sandro plucked a spear of artichoke, taking a bite.
“Mmm, I’m officially consoled.”
“Good.” Cornelia patted his shoulder and went back to the kitchen.
Rosa cleared her throat. “I have something to tell everyone, even though this night is already a difficult one. I might as well come out with it. My job at an international relief agency has come through, and everything is in place. I am going to emigrate with David, and it’s all set up. I’m sorry to have to tell you tonight, but I’m leaving at the end of the week.”
Sandro felt stunned and sad. He had never believed she would go through with it. He didn’t know what to say. It felt like a blow, but he would keep that to himself.
“So soon?” His mother’s hand flew to her mouth.
His father’s lined face fell. “This is sudden, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Rosa answered, her tone softer. “I’ve been waiting for it to come through. I don’t want to go without you all, but I’m afraid to stay. I’m afraid for you if you stay.”
“We’ll be fine,” her father said quietly. “We live here. We work here.”
“We have to stay, Rosa,” her mother added, and Sandro looked down at his plate, stricken. He agreed with his parents, and he certainly didn’t want to leave Rome, or Elisabetta. But the turn of events had shaken his confidence in his position.
“Listen to me, one last time.” Rosa leaned over. “What worries me is that at some point, you will not be permitted to emigrate. I hear things at the embassy, and I know you’ll say that’s not official, but it’s reliable. Jews all over Europe are fleeing the Nazis. And I know you say Jews are coming to Italy, and you’re right, but they’ll be in the same terrible position. Those who act quickly have a chance to go. If you delay, it will be only more difficult and more dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” His father scoffed.
“Yes, Papa.” Rosa pursed her lips. “Other countries are already moving to block refugees. The United States has quotas on Jews and it’s raising more restrictions. Their State Department procedures are fraught with delay. Even if you can get a visa, there are regulations about how much money you can leave Italy with, and if it’s not enough to support you, nobody will admit you.”
His father frowned, and his mother arched an eyebrow, but Rosa wouldn’t let them get a word in.