arrests occurred in the Jewish quarter

2 Arrests

Via degli Specchi

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

20 Arrests

Piazza Costaguti

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

24 Arrests

Via di Sant'Angelo in Pescheria

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

33 Arrests

Via di Sant'Ambrogio

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

39 Arrests

Via Arenula

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

69 Arrests

Via della Reginella

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

130 Arrests

Via del Portico d'Ottavia

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

16 Arrests

Via Catalana

27 Arrests

Vicolo Costaguti

37 Arrests

Via del Tempio

6 Arrests

Piazza Benedetto Cairoli

6 Arrests

Piazza Benedetto Cairoli

6 Arrests

Piazza Benedetto Cairoli

6 Arrests

Via dei Calderari

6 Arrests

Via di S. Bartolomeo de' Vaccinari

1 Arrest

Lungotevere Cenci

1 Arrest

Piazza Mattei

1 Arrest

Via della Catena

1 Arrest

Via dei Delfini

1 Arrest

Via del Conservatorio

1 Arrest

Via di Sant'Anna

1 Arrest

Piazza Paradiso

1 Arrest

Via Publicolis

1 Arrest

Via del Progresso

1 Arrest

Largo dei Librari

2 Arrests

Via dei Chiavari

3 Arrests

Via del Pianto

3 Arrests

Via di Santa Maria in Monticelli

4 Arrests

Via della Tribuna di Campitelli

Testimony of Milena Zarfati in Marcello Pezzetti (edited by), 16 ottobre 1943. La razzia, Roma, Gangemi, 2017.

“And we were saved because on via degli Specchi where I lived, there was a basement, so my father put us all in there. They captured him, but when they made everyone line up, he would always stand in the very more like the last one. But when the Germans had their backs to him, he managed to escape. My pregnant sister and my nephew were captured, and they never returned.”

Testimony of Benedetto Vivanti in Marcello Pezzetti (edited by), 16 ottobre 1943. La razzia, Roma, Gangemi, 2017.

“The lorries came to the fountain, the big one in Piazza delle Cinque Scole, they stopped there. Shooting, waving their guns around… we were frightened. I lived in Piazza Costaguti and the people were saying: ‘Run away, run away! The Germans are taking you all!’
When we heard that the Germans were going to people’s homes to take families, me and a friend, who were living together, we escaped onto the roofs. My mother, two sisters and a young nephew were taken. My father ran away. We didn’t know, because they said only men would be taken, for work. That’s what it was. But they took everyone, all of them. After, when it was over, I climbed down.”

The diary of Fortunata di Segni

<< On October 16, 1943, the Germans could really give vent to all the hate they had for us. An unforgettable day that will clearly stay for the rest of our lives and will be remembered for generations after generations, you can’t ever forget the 16th of October and every time it will be remembered, we will look around us, afraid a German might be behind us.

Before, they didn’t tell us anything because we believed we didn’t have time, but then we had time and so…
During the night of October 15, 1943, we heard hand grenades exploding, machine gun volleys, bursts of gunfire, everyone thought the alarm would sound but nothing. Calm returned around one o’clock in the morning. Exhausted by the disturbed night, we fell asleep immediately. We were rudely awakened by loud banging on the front door.
I looked at the clock, it was five am.
Who on earth could it be? What happened, has someone fallen ill?
We were all quickly on our feet . Mum went to open the door. It was Aunt Clelia, who lived on the floor below; she was pale and scared out of her wits, and in a trembling voice said: What on earth? You’re all in bed, run away! They’re taking all the Jews. I will feel the blood curdling in my veins and that shiver down my spine for the rest of my life. We rushed to the window and were suddenly struck by a harrowing scene. An entire family was being taken away, surrounded by four Germans. The children were crying, the parents were trying to get them to escape, the Germans were shouting at them to keep walking and if they lagged behind, they were kicked.
We were at the window paralysed, trying to get a grip, we got dressed as well as possible to help the men escape. Mum left first, she saw there was no one at the main door, and signalled for me to get everyone to leave, two at a time. We tried to be as nonchalant as possible, but anyone could see the terror on our faces.
All the roads around Portico D’Ottavia were blocked by the Germans so the people who lived in the centre had no way to escape. With The help of god our men managed to flee.
We thought they were only looking for men, so all the women and children stayed home. The Germans knocked at every house, when they didn’t find men, they took away all the women and children. There were heart-breaking scenes, women screaming, children crying, Germans shouting and kicking them to make them move, people, the Christians, watching them saying: poor things! Poor people, where are they taking them? But no one did anything to help them escape and to take a child or two. They took away disabled people, old men on their deathbeds, bed-bound pregnant women or those who had recently given birth, they were merciless, they made them get dressed, loaded them onto trucks like cattle and took them away.
Everyone in our family was safe, but didn’t know anything about our relatives. We were saved by a miracle, after all the men fled, mum went back home again to check the front door was closed. We got ready to escape, took some underwear in case we couldn’t return home, then downstairs we heard loud blows to the main door. We all held our breath.
I closed my eyes and said Shemà but I thought we wouldn’t be spared. We slowly went down, Mum looked through the keyhole, she then pulled away, as pale as a ghost. There were four Germans standing outside the main door who wanted to come in.
Luckily, the doorman from the building next door said: they’ve gone, there’s no one left. We’ll be back The Germans said and left. As soon as they went, we breathed a sigh of relief, we were safe. >>

Testimony of Alberto Sed from Silvia Haia Antonucci, Claudio Procaccia, Gabriele Rigano, Giancarlo Spizzichino (edited by), Roma, 16 ottobre 1943. Anatomia di una deportazione, Roma, Guerini e Associati, 2006.

“I lived at number 28, Via Sant’Angelo in Pescheria, behind Portico d’Ottavia. […]
“I was at home on October 16, we heard shouting: ‘Watch out, they’re taking all the Jews, not just the men, youngsters and children too’. In front of our house there was a terrace overlooking the building opposite, that was where the screaming was coming from. Mum grabbed some toast – they toasted bread precisely because it lasted longer – and we escaped from behind, and we didn’t find any Nazi blockades.”

From Giacomo Debenedetti, 16 ottobre 1943, Torino, Einaudi, 2001.

“A mixture of wails and screams came from Via del Portico d’Ottavia. Mrs. S. looked around the corner of Via Sant’Ambrogio with the Portico. It was true, they were taking everyone, all of them, worse than one could have imagined. The arrested families passed by in the middle of the road, in disjointed single file: an SS at the front and one in the rear watching over the small groups, they kept them roughly in columns, they pushed them forward with their rifle butts even if no one offered any resistance apart from tears, moans, pleading for mercy and frightened questions.”

Testimony of Giuliana Gay, from Silvia Haia Antonucci, Claudio Procaccia, Gabriele Rigano, Giancarlo Spizzichino (edited by), Roma, 16 ottobre 1943. Anatomia di una deportazione, Roma, Guerini e Associati, 2006.

“On October 16th, at around dawn we were all at home [on Via Arenula] when we heard footsteps, loud noisy boots and the sound of lorries. We looked out of the window which faced the small garden on Piazza Cairoli, and we saw lorries. The last lorry closest to the Garibaldi bridge was already being loaded with people we knew. Right there and then, we didn’t know what to do so we got dressed. Mum called a cousin of hers who lived in the Prati area, close to the Adriano cinema, Costanza Fornari married to Alfredo Citoni, her only relative left living in Rome, and told her “Get out of the house!”, but in the heat of the moment, she didn’t believe her. She then reconsidered: “Well if they rang, something must have happened”, and luckily, she escaped, because the Nazis did arrive.”

Testimony of Mario Limentani in Marcello Pezzetti (edited by), 16 ottobre 1943. La razzia, Roma, Gangemi, 2017.

“I lived at Reginella. At five in the morning, we heard a bustling noise, we looked outside, and we saw all the Germans entering into the houses. So, luckily, where I live, in the kitchen there’s a terrace with a kind of tunnel that led down to the storehouse. And so, us men, we threw ourselves down it. We thought they were coming to take us off to work. But after a few minutes, the women who were watching from the window saw they were taking away children, old people, everyone. They started to scream. All our building was screaming. So, my brother and I went back up to my sister-in-law. I took three children who were his, and I went: ‘We’re going down! Come with me’ But she said: ‘No. You go ahead, I’m waiting for Mum and Dad!’ She had an elderly mother and father and a sister. As I was halfway out of the window, I heard them battering down the front door. Her last words: ‘Go, go! I can’t make it in time… God will provide!’ As I threw myself down, they threw open the door, captured everyone and took them away. I stayed underground for four, five hours and we watched the SS above us, walking up and down and taking these people away.”

Testimony of Settimia Spizzichino from Settimia Spizzichino, Isa Nepi Olper, Gli anni rubati. Le memorie di Settimia Spizzichino, reduce dai Lager di Auschwitz e Bergen-Belsen, Cava De’ Tirreni, Comune di Cava De’ Tirreni, 1996.

“We heard lorries passing and then heavy footsteps, military footsteps.
We thought it was an exercise. We didn’t know they were surrounding the Ghetto.
All of a sudden, the square exploded. I heard orders in German, screaming, cursing.
We looked out of the window. We saw German soldiers pushing people out of these homes and making them stand in long lines towards the Portico d’Ottavia.
‘They’re taking the Jews!’, whispered my father. We couldn’t escape, the Germans were heading towards our house. So, Dad made us go into a small room and then left the door ajar, ordered us to shush; he then opened the front door, and left it wide open. ‘They’ll think we’ve run away”, he said quietly as he came back .
We might have made it. But Giuditta panicked when she heard the Germans footsteps on the stairs. She ran off, heading straight for the soldiers. She found them in front of her, and she turned to us. So, she led them there, to where we were hiding.
They made us leave the room and gave us a leaflet with instructions: we had 20 minutes to prepare and take our gold, jewellery and some food with us for an eight-day journey.”

From Giacomo Debenedetti, 16 ottobre 1943, Torino, Einaudi, 2001.

“The lines were pushed towards the ungainly building of Antiquities and Fine Arts, at the corner of the Portico d’Ottavia facing Via Catalana, between the Church of Sant’Angelo and the Theatre of Marcellus. There was a small area of excavations in front of the building there, packed with ruins, a few feet below street level. The Jews were gathered together in this ditch and put in line to wait for the return of the three or four lorries that were going back and forth between the Ghetto and the place where the first stop was planned.”

Testimony of Gabriella Ajò, from Silvia Haia Antonucci, Claudio Procaccia, Gabriele Rigano, Giancarlo Spizzichino (edited by), Roma, 16 ottobre 1943. Anatomia di una deportazione, Roma, Guerini e Associati, 2006.

“My family and I lived at number nine, on Via Portico d’Ottavia and have never moved […]. I remember a woman leaning out of her kitchen window to call her daughter who lived with her mother-in-law on the floor below: ‘Rina, Rina.’ The daughter had already fled and was still holding a baby bottle to feed her daughter some milk. On hearing her name being called, she wanted to go back to her mother, but someone stopped her and said, “Hey, where on earth are you going?”, and this is how she managed to save herself and her baby girl. It was a terrible day.”

Testimony of Leone Sabatello, from Silvia Haia Antonucci, Claudio Procaccia, Gabriele Rigano, Giancarlo Spizzichino (edited by), Roma, 16 ottobre 1943. Anatomia di una deportazione, Roma, Guerini e Associati, 2006.

“We lived at number nine, Via Portico d’Ottavia […]. It was raining on October 16; I was sleeping when my father heard noises around 5.30 or six o’clock. He looked out of the window and saw a squad of soldiers and some families leaving their buildings with suitcases, being gathered together in what is now Piazza 16 Ottobre. I was also taken there. The Nazis came into my house, they had a piece of paper with a list of names. They were also looking for my brother, but he was in Ciampino. The Nazis told us we had to go on a long journey and so we should take some food with us. We got dressed and went outside. They loaded us onto trucks and took us to the Military College, where someone even tried to make us convert.”

From Giacomo Debenedetti, 16 ottobre 1943, Torino, Einaudi, 2001.

“A young man broke out of line: he had permission to go and get a coffee, under the surveillance of an SS, but the officer did not want to ‘keep him company’. He swallowed noisily, his hands were trembling, and his knees were knocking too. He cast his frightened gaze towards the bar tables, where he used to sit and play cards in the evenings when he still had a future. With a kind of timid, tired smile, he asked the barman:
‘What will they do with us?’”

From Giacomo Debenedetti, 16 ottobre 1943, Torino, Einaudi, 2001.

“It seems that the alarm was first raised by a woman called Letizia: a big old lady, pompous in style and manner, with staring eyes and big thick lips, set in an inert, expressionless smile. Out of that mouth came a distracted, irritated voice, extraneous to what it says. Around five o’clock, she was heard to scream:
‘Oh God, the mammoni’
‘Mammoni’ in Roman-Jewish dialect means the cops, the guards, the police, the armed forces. In fact, they were the Germans with their heavy, rhythmic step (we know people for whom this step has stayed the symbol, the terrifying audible equivalent of German terror), who started blocking the Ghetto’s streets and houses.”

26 Settembre 1943

Villa Wolkonsky (Ambasciata tedesca fino all'occupazione tedesca), via Ludovico di Savoia 11

Ugo Foà e Dante Almansi sono convocati da Herbert Kappler a Villa Wolkonsky per la richiesta dei cinquanta chili d'oro

Ugo Foà, Presidente della Comunità Israelitica di Roma tra il 1941 e il 1944, e Dante Almansi, Presidente dell’Unione delle Comunità Israelitiche Italiane dal 1939 al 1944, vengono convocati da Herbert Kappler, Capo della Polizia di Sicurezza tedesca (Sipo) a Roma, a Villa Wolkonsky, sede dell’ambasciata tedesca fino all’occupazione. Kappler chiede la consegna di 50 chili d’oro alla Comunità, pena la deportazione di 200 dei suoi membri.

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Ugo Foà

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Dante Almansi

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Herbert Kappler

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villa Wolkonsky

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Verbale dell'interrogatorio

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Almansi in Rigano, p.27

Settimia Spizzichino

Fondazione Museo della Shoah, Roma Fondo David Calò

Settimia Spizzichino

Nasce il 15 aprile del 1921 ed è la quarta di sei figli. In un primo tempo la famiglia vive a Tivoli dove il padre, Marco Mosè Spizzichino, è commerciante. Dopo la promulgazione delle leggi antiebraiche, persa la licenza del negozio, la famiglia decide di trasferirsi a Roma, presso le figlie Ada e Gentile ormai sposate.
Il 16 ottobre i nazisti irrompono nell’appartamento di via della Reginella 2, dove gli Spizzichino risiedono. Con la prontezza che la contraddistingue, Settimia riesce a salvare la sorella Gentile e i suoi tre figli dichiarandoli non ebrei. Lei viene però deportata con la madre Grazia Di Segni, le sorelle Giuditta e Ada, la nipotina Rosanna di solo 18 mesi.
All’arrivo a Birkenau solo Settimia e Giuditta superano la selezione, mentre le altre vengono mandate alle camere a gas. Giuditta, purtroppo, non sopravvive al lavoro schiavo.
Settimia, immatricolata con il numero 66210, viene successivamente trasferita ad Auschwitz I per essere sottoposta a una terribile sperimentazione medica a cui miracolosamente sopravvive. Nel gennaio del 1945 deve affrontare anche la “marcia della morte” verso il campo di Bergen-Belsen, dove rimane fino all’arrivo degli inglesi. L’11 settembre rientra finalmente a Roma.
Settimia è una delle prime persone sopravvissute ad Auschwitz a testimoniare il dramma della Shoah, impegno che avrebbe onorato per tutta la vita.
Nel 1996 esce il suo libro: Gli anni rubati. Muore il 3 luglio 2000 a Roma.

Nasce il 15 aprile del 1921 ed è la quarta di sei figli. In un primo tempo la famiglia vive a Tivoli dove il padre, Marco Mosè Spizzichino, è commerciante. Dopo la promulgazione delle leggi antiebraiche, persa la licenza del negozio, la famiglia decide di trasferirsi a Roma, presso le figlie Ada e Gentile ormai sposate.
Il 16 ottobre i nazisti irrompono nell’appartamento di via della Reginella 2, dove gli Spizzichino risiedono. Con la prontezza che la contraddistingue, Settimia riesce a salvare la sorella Gentile e i suoi tre figli dichiarandoli non ebrei. Lei viene però deportata con la madre Grazia Di Segni, le sorelle Giuditta e Ada, la nipotina Rosanna di solo 18 mesi.
All’arrivo a Birkenau solo Settimia e Giuditta superano la selezione, mentre le altre vengono mandate alle camere a gas. Giuditta, purtroppo, non sopravvive al lavoro schiavo.
Settimia, immatricolata con il numero 66210, viene successivamente trasferita ad Auschwitz I per essere sottoposta a una terribile sperimentazione medica a cui miracolosamente sopravvive. Nel gennaio del 1945 deve affrontare anche la “marcia della morte” verso il campo di Bergen-Belsen, dove rimane fino all’arrivo degli inglesi. L’11 settembre rientra finalmente a Roma.
Settimia è una delle prime persone sopravvissute ad Auschwitz a testimoniare il dramma della Shoah, impegno che avrebbe onorato per tutta la vita.
Nel 1996 esce il suo libro: Gli anni rubati. Muore il 3 luglio 2000 a Roma.

Fondazione Museo della Shoah, Roma Fondo David Calò

Contattaci

Ritratto di Ugo Foà (1887-1953), presidente della Comunità Israelitica di Roma nei primi anni '40 e per tutto il periodo dell'occupazione nazista, in veste di procuratore generale della Corte d'appello di Roma (1934 - 1938).

Federico Spoltore, olio su tela. Museo Ebraico di Roma

Ritratto di Ugo Foà (1887-1953), presidente della Comunità Israelitica di Roma nei primi anni '40 e per tutto il periodo dell'occupazione nazista, in veste di procuratore generale della Corte d'appello di Roma (1934 - 1938).

Federico Spoltore, olio su tela. Museo Ebraico di Roma

Dante Almansi (1877-1949), giurista, prefetto, consigliere della Corte dei Conti dal 1930 fino alla promulgazione delle leggi antiebraiche. Presidente dell'Unione delle Comunità Israelitiche Italiane dal 1939 al 1944.

Renzo De Felice, Storia degli ebrei italiani sotto il fascismo, Torino, Einaudi, 1988

Dante Almansi (1877-1949), giurista, prefetto, consigliere della Corte dei Conti dal 1930 fino alla promulgazione delle leggi antiebraiche. Presidente dell'Unione delle Comunità Israelitiche Italiane dal 1939 al 1944.

Renzo De Felice, Storia degli ebrei italiani sotto il fascismo, Torino, Einaudi, 1988

Herbert Kappler (1907-1978), Capo della Polizia di Sicurezza tedesca (Sipo) a Roma.

Bundesarchiv, Berlin

Herbert Kappler (1907-1978), Capo della Polizia di Sicurezza tedesca (Sipo) a Roma.

Bundesarchiv, Berlin

Villa Wolkonsky durante l'occupazione nazista.

The National Archives, Kew, London

Villa Wolkonsky durante l'occupazione nazista.

The National Archives, Kew, London

Verbale dell'interrogatorio di Kappler, avvenuto il 22 agosto 1947, sulla convocazione dei due presidenti Foà e Almansi per la richiesta dei 50 chili d'oro.

Tribunale Militare di Roma

Verbale dell'interrogatorio di Kappler, avvenuto il 22 agosto 1947, sulla convocazione dei due presidenti Foà e Almansi per la richiesta dei 50 chili d'oro.

Tribunale Militare di Roma

Dante Almansi sul suo colloquio con Herbert Kappler, in Silvia Haia Antonucci, Claudio Procaccia, Gabriele Rigano, Giancarlo Spizzichino, Roma, 16 ottobre 1943. Anatomia di una deportazione, Milano, Guerini e associati, 2006.

“Voi e i vostri correligionari avete la cittadinanza italiana, ma di ciò a me importa poco. Noi tedeschi vi consideriamo unicamente ebrei e come tali nostri nemici. Anzi, per essere più chiari, noi vi consideriamo come un gruppo distaccato, ma non isolato dei peggiori fra i nemici contro i quali stiamo combattendo. E come tali dobbiamo trattarvi. Però non sono le vostre vite né i vostri figli che vi prenderemo se adempirete alle nostre richieste. È il vostro oro che vogliamo per dare nuove armi al nostro paese. Entro 36 ore dovete versarmene 50 Kg. Se lo verserete non vi sarà fatto del male. In caso diverso, 200 fra voi verranno presi e deportati in Germania alla frontiera russa o altrimenti resi innocui.”

Da G. Debenedetti, 16 ottobre 1943, Torino, Einaudi, 2001.

“Effettivamente, la sera del 26 settembre 1943, il presidente della Comunità Israelitica di Roma e quello dell’Unione delle Comunità Italiane – tramite il dott. Cappa, funzionario della Questura – erano stati convocati per le ore 18 all’Ambasciata Germanica. Li ricevette, paurosamente cortese e «distinto», il Maggiore delle SS Herbert Kappler, che li fece accomodare e per qualche momento parlò del più e del meno in tono di ordinaria conversazione. Poi entrò nel merito: gli ebrei di Roma erano doppiamente colpevoli, come italiani […] per il tradimento contro la Germania, e come ebrei perché appartenenti alla razza degli eterni nemici della Germania. Perciò il governo del Reich imponeva loro una taglia di 50 chilogrammi d’oro, da versarsi entro le ore 11 del successivo martedì 28. In caso di inadempienza, razzia e deportazione in Germania di 200 ebrei. Praticamente: poco più di un giorno e mezzo per trovare 50 chili d’oro.”