Beatrice's daughter, Maria Grazia, lives on the other side of the River Tevere that cuts through Rome, not far from the square of St. Angelo, where the church where she was baptized is located. This is the same church that Beatrice, as a youngster, used to visit with her parents and her brother every Sunday morning. Sonia, her mother, would often repeat the phrase "Padre Giovanni, may he rest in peace, surely smiles satisfied from above, seeing you have become a devout Catholic," and then she would raise her head to the sky and blow a kiss.
Now that she was so close to the church, she decided to go in for a moment and try to experience her early years when she attended the church regularly.
. It has been many years since she last prayed or visited any church. As she climbed the stairs, she suddenly felt her heart pounding. Even in her youth, she was not convinced by religion. After her parents' death, she moved so far away that she stopped altogether attending church and celebrating holidays, except for Christmas, which became a family tradition of exchanging gifts.
The church was dark and cool and void of people. The pleasant smell of incense reminded her of her childhood. She raised her head and watched the rays of sunlight penetrate through the stained glass windows that adorned the chapel and danced in a wonderful and mesmerizing circle of colored lights.
She sat down on a bench and laid her head on the prayer shelf. Everything was so quiet and mysterious. She felt that nothing was separating her from the sanctity of the place. She felt safe and full of energy which surrounded her in a kind of loving embrace.
She did not realize how much time had passed as she had closed her eyes and probably had fallen into a doze.
Suddenly a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. She lifted her head and noticed the pastor standing next to her and looking at her anxiously.
"My child, do you need help?" he asked.
"No, thanks, Padre. I must have fallen asleep, as it is so cool and quiet here".
The pastor sitting on the bench behind her said, "Every man needs the mercy of heaven. Jesus is with us, within us. He answers every prayer of him whose heart is pure, and I feel that you came here because you needed a hug of love."
Beatrice wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek, "Padre, you cannot imagine how much I need a loving hug. For many days doubts have gnawed at my heart. Is God merciful to all who believe in him?"
The pastor smiled at her with a radiant look in his eyes; he said, "All human beings are equal in the eyes of God, and he loves them all."
"The Jews too?"
Her question surprised him, and he was silent for a long moment.
"Yes, Jesus was born a Jew, and surely God loves the Jews too. However, there is one God for all religions, and every human being is born in his image; as it says in Genesis, 'And God created man in his image, in the image of God he created him, male and female he created them."
"That being the case, why was there and there still is such great hatred for the Jews? Weren't the Romans the ones who burned down the Temple and exiled them from their land? Was it not the Roman army who crucified Jesus? Are we not the Christians who burned the Jews and forced them to convert to Christianity, thus forcing them to flee Portugal and Spain in search of a land of refuge?"
The priest looked down and put his hand again on her shoulder, "I am ashamed and have no words that can justify those deeds."
Beatrice got up from her seat, kneeled, and crossed herself, "Thank you, Padre, for agreeing to express your feelings."
As she turned to leave, the pastor rose from his seat. "The Holy See recognized the unforgivable attitude that the church had taken against the Jews. It was a historical moment when Pope Karol Wojtyla visited Rome's synagogue in 1986 and called the Jews 'elder brothers'. So it is not only my feelings but the Vatican's position," he said.
When she left the church, she felt again full of energy. She walked to the street that led to her daughter's apartment, smiling happily.
Maria Grazia lived in a penthouse overlooking the Tevere River and the northern part of the Jewish ghetto. A few years ago, she and her husband Sandro bought the apartment and renovated it. Their son Carlotto, who was Beatrice's only grandchild, had just turned four years old.
Sandro is employed at a law firm while Maria Grazia left her job as a registered nurse at the San Giovanni di Dio Hospital, called locally 'Fate Bene Fratelli' after Carlo's birth. The hospital was founded in the mid-16th century to care for the poor, homeless, and prostitutes. Eventually, it became a Vatican-supported hospital with most of its staff except for the medical staff volunteering and helping the underprivileged.
"My Carlotto, how sweet you are, come give Nonna a kiss,"
Carlotto ran to her and put his arms around her neck, "What did you bring me?" he tweeted in his thin voice.
Beatrice took out a chocolate kinder egg she had bought on the way. Carlotto snatched it from her hands and flew to his room.
"What will you drink, mother?" Maria Grazia asked. "You look exhausted to me. Are you sick?"
"No, I'm fine, but I'm not sleeping well these last few days."
"Is something bothering you? The job?"
"No, the work is fine; everything is fine."
"Nevertheless, I have a feeling you're hiding something from me."
"If you promise not to laugh at me, I'll tell you."
"I promise, but the very fact that you're about to tell me something funny makes me laugh already."
"No, it's not funny to me at all, but the thought of you thinking I'm crazy..."
"Enough, Mom, tell me."
"Well, it all started when I was sitting in a cafe and Graziella, who has known me for twenty years, suddenly said that I have a Jewish look, or rather, that I have a Jewish nose. The truth is, I always had empathy for the Jews, perhaps because they suffered from both the Inquisition and the Nazis, but suddenly more things were revealed to me. "
Beatrice moved uncomfortably in her seat and began to sweat; she poured herself a glass of water. Maria Grazia sat and looked at her with her mouth wide open. "You need treatment," she said in a weak voice.
"Listen carefully," Beatrice said loudly. "My maiden name is Palumbo, and when I married your father Silvio, I added the name Navarro. Here's the interesting thing; Palumbo is a Jewish name that was brought to Italy from Spain or Portugal by the Jewish martyrs who fled their county in the face of forced conversions."
Maria Grazia, who was sitting in her seat looking at her mother with a frozen expression, suddenly burst out laughing. "So we are Jews, is that what you came to tell me?"
"I'm not sure, I know there are a lot of people by that name, but I have a gut feeling that we are descendants of Spanish and Portuguese martyrs."
Beatrice chose not to tell her daughter about the murder of the martyrs in the port of Ancona. She was waiting for another opportunity to continue the subject.
"I would like you to come with me to your grandfather's sister Aunt Clara Palumbo who has a box with all the family paperwork. Maybe we'll find something interesting."
"Aunt Clara lives in Livorno."
"Very true, we'll go to Livorno."