The sound of the tracks has always accompanied his life.
Everyday Emanuele Di Porto, recently turned 94takes the number 8 which cuts Trastevere in two and gets off at the Jewish Ghetto stop, the neighborhood where he feels at home. The streets teeming with life, the festive activity of the traders and the enchanting views accompany us along the short walk that leads us from its bench towards the places of memory. In front of the door on Via Reginella, where he lived until a few months ago, the stumbling blocks bear the names of those deported to Auschwitz. Among these is Virginia Piazza, Emanuele’s mother. He passes by us every day, without stopping looking at her, then he looks up and says: “From that window I saw my mother while the Germans took her away.”
It was dawn on October 16, 1943. Emanuele’s mother had left the house to warn her husband that the Germans had arrived in the Ghetto. «Dad sold souvenirs at Termini station. He got up in the middle of the night to work, even during the war. Mom had dressed quickly, convinced that they were only looking for men. Before going out she recommended to us children that we not leave the house”, says Di Porto.
After a few hours, Emanuele looked out and saw that the Nazis had made his mother get into a truck, parked in Piazza Mattei. “She saw me and signaled me to come into the house, but I ran down because I wanted to save her.”
A soldier grabbed him and pushed him onto the truck but Virginia, with a desperate gesture, he managed to get him down. Emanuele Di Porto always says that his mother gave birth to him twice: «When she gave birth to me and when she pushed me off that truck».
Virginia never returned home. Emanuele, just twelve years old, wandered alone in a city under siege. He walked for hours, in the rain, to get away from the Ghetto. «I walked slowly, without running. I didn’t want to draw attention. Every truck I encountered took away people I knew. It was all over in a few hours. The Germans had asked the Jewish community for fifty kilos of gold. We donated wedding rings, chains, bracelets. There was poverty but we managed to collect and give them what they asked for. We were convinced that at that point they would leave us alone.”
Arriving in Piazza Monte Savello, he stopped in front of the circular terminus and got on the first tram that passed. «I said to the ticket collector Look, I’m Jewish. The Germans are looking for me. He motioned for me to come up and I stood next to him. He gave me his snack to eat, a loaf of bread with an omelette. I’ll never forget it. That man saved my life with a piece of bread and by keeping a secret.”
That tram became his home, for two days and two nights. Between the seats and the spinning wheels, sheltered from the gaze of the soldiers and looked after by the tram drivers who said: «Look after the little boy.” Emanuele became an adult. And the mercy made of small gestures and of a surprising and unexpected humanity, diluted the terror of those days.
On the third morning, a family friend recognized him and took him home, where his father no longer expected him, believing him to be dead. «Dad was crying, he couldn’t speak. I saw him fall into depression and I rolled up my sleeves to make him stand up. I did what he did: I sold everything I could find on the street. Combs, wallets, rubber bands. The Germans bought, sometimes paid with bread. Once, one of them gave me five hundred lire: I thought he was wrong. But then he invited me out for some chocolate. He was big and fat, I was scared, but I understood that he just wanted to thank me, or he knew my story and wanted to compensate me in some way.” Emanuele’s story is told in two children’s books: A tram for life by Tea Ranno (The Steamboat) e The child on the tram by Isabella Labate (Immature Ear).
After the war came good times. He learned English, a little Japanese and began working as a tour guide. He frequented the Via Veneto of the Dolce Vita when it was the Italian Hollywood. The most important actors wanted to meet him and life, once again, chased away the long shadow of death.
Today, he repeats these words in schools, to children, in theatres, in communities, calmly, without emphasis, but with that quiet strength that only comes from those who have experienced a drama and chosen love.
As we conclude the walk through the streets of the Ghetto, Emanuele observes the tourists and the people who stop in front of the stumbling blocks. Someone recognizes him and greets him: «Are you fasting tomorrow Emanue? He answers yes, because traditions are important and also because to live a lot and well you need a little.
We say goodbye at the 8th stop, while the tram is arriving. The screeching of the wheels on the tracks interrupts our words. Emanuele turns towards me, his face illuminated by the soft afternoon sun. He gets on board and the tram leaves slowly, taking him home, as always.
