North Africans, Jews, Gypsies & Mexicans…
This prompt asked us to respond to what these four groups have in common, and explain what we have learned throughout the semester. The connection I found was immigration and oppression. To oppress is to stifle the growth of another by imposing strictures that deprive one of their right to a truly human life. Through the lens of the oppressor, I set out to explain how the walls that we build up between ourselves oppress the individuals on both sides.
Immigration is not just an Italian problem, or solely a European phenomenon, but a global issue. But, a truly Italian notion is bella figura, the beautiful image. This innate need to project beauty keeps oppressive structures in place. This image keeps us blind. So what do we do with the sight of Gypsies begging and North Africans hawking goods? What do we do with the remnants of Jewish ghettos and the modern ghettos the Gypsies call home? Sight oppresses us just as much as blindness, but offers us the chance at liberation.
Oppression is born of fear: fear of our own weaknesses, fear of becoming oppressed, fear of the unknown. At the root of it, we fear the loss of our naïve, yet beautiful image of the world. We react in many ways, including stereotyping. Oh yes, we, as in all of us. We oppress to allow our realities to remain unmarred by the image of the world. By upholding this image, we are contributing to oppression, which proves our weakness.
Oppression has been made manifest in the world culture upon many groups of peoples, including North Africans, Jews, Gypsies and Mexicans. For the purposes of this paper, I am going to discuss the situation of North Africans, Jews and Gypsies in Italy, and the situation of the Mexicans in America. But, these groups are not only found in the locations that I will discuss. North Africans and Gypsies flee to America as well, and oppression is not far behind them.
Gypsies, North Africans and Jews faced, and face, oppression of ghettos. Starting in the 1500s, Jews were quarantined behind walls, allowed to live but not thrive. They were misunderstood as bearers of bad luck and were feared as businessmen. Liberation came in the form of a unified Italy at the end of the 1800s, but less than century later, Jews found themselves ghettoed again, but the Nazi party. The work of the Nazis was to systematically destroy the life of those outside the Aryan ideal. Gypsies fell into this category too. Close to half a million Gypsies perished during the Holocaust, one of the largest ethnic genocides in history.
Today, the term Gypsy encompasses a lifestyle, not just the Medieval Indian caste that set left the oppression of the caste system to make lives for themselves. North African immigrants who live in camps and work illegally are also Gypsies. The Gypsies in Italy live in modern day ghettos, authorized by the government, that have police at every entrance. As you can deduct, not much has changed. Even America, a nation of immigrants, has not learned to stop the cycle. Mexicans are more than just the butt of jokes, they have become both the backbone and vain of our existence.
The walls that divide us - be them the walls of ghettos, or the metaphorical walls that are erected by stereotypes - oppress both sides of humanity. As the oppressors fester with misinformation and fear, those that are oppressed learn to hate the other population, disdain them for the pain that has been inflicted upon them. Who can blame them? If we, as a society, can make sweeping generalities about them, what stops them from doing the same? Us and them … that is the crux of the matter. The oppressed have been relegated to the “other” status. How can one deny the humanity of another human being?
I want to shout, “The dominant image of my culture is not me!”
And I am sure that sentiment is shared by those who face the oppression I symbolize. This is the mantra of both sides of the border of oppression; the mantra of misunderstanding. Here is where image overrides reality; where the beautiful image points not to progress, but to oppression. This image is smoke in mirrors, it’s photoshopping, it’s a mask … it’s not real. So what is real? Knowledge is real. I think it is even fitting to let you know that knowledge is power. And with knowledge comes responsibility. Instead of dressing up your reflection with makeup, keeping that beautiful image, and compelling the decay, look in the mirror and critique your reflection.
By oppressing these people we are stifling the growth of our minds and the development of the world. One must know history to know self, and know self to know the future. I believe that the true beautiful image is yet to be…
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
[325] Rome & Jerusalem, 21 Set 2010
The Pope’s address on Easter and Christmas always begins, “Urbi et Orbi” – “To the City of Rome and to the World.” The term “Roman Catholic” also suggests that there is something “roman” and something “universal” about the Church. In what sense is the Church “roman” and in what sense is it “global?”
In response to the question of the Roman and universal characteristics of the Catholic Church, and to the article “Full communion a very distant goal1,” I offer this journal entry …
(1) International Herald Tribune. 22 September 2010. 3.
(2) www.freedictionary.com
In response to the question of the Roman and universal characteristics of the Catholic Church, and to the article “Full communion a very distant goal1,” I offer this journal entry … Last weekend, Pope Benedict XVI was in Great Britain. During his time there, he participated in an ecumenical service at London’s Westminster Abbey, the headquarters of the Church of England. His visit to Great Britain marked the first visit of the papacy to this land since the Reformation. The Reformation’s roots came from disagreement on papal authority and Benedict explained the purpose for his visit was not to “dwell on differences which we all know exist,” but to “set our sights on the ultimate goal of all ecumenical activity: the restoration of full ecclesial communion.”
Ecumenical means universal, and so does the word “catholic.” Why does it seem that the universal nature of catholic is lost when the “c” is capitalized? Does the roman nature of the Church nullify its universality?
The Roman Catholic Church is indeed roman, in respects that it developed within the cultural structure of Rome. This means imperialism, militarism and visual manifestations of power are bound to the framework of the Church. Missionary zeal could be equated to Roman imperialism, and the destructive force of the Crusades was all too militaristic. And then you have, in Rome alone, numerous towering basilicas and churches, professing the might of the Church. Rome inspires pilgrims from around the world. St. Peter’s Square is filled every Wednesday with tens-of-thousands of people, from every corner of the globe, united in belief, awe, or interest in Catholicism and the Pope. But, a square filled with diverse groups of people does not mean that the Catholic Church is universal.
There is a two-fold definition of universality. First, it means the quality, fact or condition of existing everywhere. In this regard, the Roman Catholic Church is indeed universal. The second part of this definition states that universality denotes “universal inclusiveness in scope or range, especially great or unbounded versatility of the mind.”2 This part of the definition is what I believe it means to be truly universal, and because of this, I do not believe the Church itself is universal.
Universal inclusiveness eludes the Roman Catholic Church as an institution. But, universality does exist. True universality is found in the Word of God and in His Kingdom. The Kingdom is salvation for all, a universal entity that affects this life, and the entirety of the earth. The Church is an instrument of the Kingdom, but not the Kingdom itself. The Kingdom is both the genesis and goal of the Roman Catholic Church. Universality is at the heart of the Church, but its roman manifestations separate it from the totality of humanity. Humankind is united in its hopes for fulfillment, for a truly human life, but it is yet to be connected under one universal organization.
“Full communion was and still remains the goal,” said Christopher Hill, the Anglican bishop of Guilford, who has been involved in Catholic-Anglican dialogue. “How distant the goal is, is another matter. It’s not that close now.” We are not close to full communion of all religions, a breaking down of the systems of separation. But, the renewed interest in seeing what unites all religions, a search into the roots of Christianity, along with a discovery of common themes throughout all faiths, does bring light into the darkness of division. Maybe we are not close to full communion, but through ecumenical acts, we are now closer than ever before.
(2) www.freedictionary.com
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
[225] Art & Culture of Rome, 20 September 2010
Sistine Chapel: Creation of Adam
"The Creation of Adam" is the fourth panel on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The frescos of the Sistine Chapel were painted by Michelangelo during 1508 and 1512. "The Creation of Adam" (1511) was one of the last paintings to be completed. The dimesions of this painting are 130 feet 6 inches x 43 feet 5 inches.
I wanted to focus not on the whole fresco, but on the section containing God and Eve. As you can see, as God reaches out His finger to Adam, there is a female figure emerging from behind him who has her left hand clutched on God's left arm. Our tour guide told us that this female was Eve, and Michelangelo painted her in to portray his view that God had the idea of Eve during the creation of man. God's hand also extend over, touching a child. It is believed that this baby represents Christ. All of the images behind God are yet to be born.
This image of Eve resonated with the poet, Vittoria Colonna. In her sonnet to Michelangelo she wrote:
I saw no mortal beauty with these eyes
When perfect peace in thy fair eyes I found;
But far within, where all is holy ground,
My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies:
The symbolism of opening the doors is of God's mercy, reaching out to mankind's frailty. The door itself reprenents Jesus, who opened the gate of salvation up to mankind.By passing through the doors, pilgrims are symbolically conquering Adam and Eve's expulsion from Paradise.
For she was born with God in Paradise.
This image that depicts the spark of love, that is life, between God and man, also inspires love in its viewers. "The Creation of Adam" is truly a powerful piece of artwork. Within this painting, Michelangelo captured both the creation of man, and the creation of love.
Porta Sancta of St. Peter's
To the right of the entrance of St. Peter's, before you hit Michelangelo's La Pieta, there is a concrete wall, with a gold cross. Standing by Michelangelo's statue, I watched numerous people walk up to the cross and touch its worn and discolored bottom. This cross marks the Porta Sancta, the Holy Door of St. Peter's.
This door is only opened on a Holy Year (Jubilee), which is every twenty-five years. The Pope cracks the cement with a silver hammer on the first day of a Holy Year. This ceremony was inducted in 1450, and was tied to indulgences. The abuse of indulgences led to the door being only opened once every one hundred years. As the rules stand today, the Pope can open the doors whenever he wishes, but the ceremonial opening has been linked to the Jubilee.
When the wall is gone, the "Door of the Great Pardon" can be seen. It is made up of bronze panels, crafted by Vico Consorti, that depict scenes of man's sin and redemption through God's mercy. Vico's door replaced the wooden doors that occupied the space from 1749-1948. One of the panels crafts the scene of Jesus unlocking the heart of doubting Thomas.
The symbolism of opening the doors is of God's mercy, reaching out to mankind's frailty. The door itself reprenents Jesus, who opened the gate of salvation up to mankind.By passing through the doors, pilgrims are symbolically conquering Adam and Eve's expulsion from Paradise. The last time the Holy Door was opened was in 2000, by Pope John Paul II.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
[314] Rome and Jerusalem, 16 September 2010
What is the impact of the ghetto (in both the old sense and a contemporary sense) on the people inside and the people outside?
Jewish ghettos were inhumane. People were confined behind walls and gates, forced into a space that did not allow enough room to live. There was no room to move out, so the Jews built up – literally living on top of each other. For three-hundred years, this imprisonment went on in Rome. The impact of this inhumanity is still being understood today. I feel that the best way to shed light on the ghettos is to look at the most personal, and arguably the most human impact: emotional. This journal will look into the emotional impact of separation, both inside and outside the ghetto.
Standing outside the Roman ghetto, I didn’t notice anything different than the rest of the city. There are walls, but Italians love walls (just another expression power). I could see a large synagogue, but it was constructed by Italian architects, thus, its design mirrored other buildings throughout the city. Once inside, we were told that the synagogue was actually designed like a church, the proportions were not authentic. Its high, square dome is unique, but still fits this Jewish landmark snuggly into the skyline of Rome.
The “normalcy” quickly disappeared when I walked inside the gates. An unassuming wall contained a plaque, commemorating the date October 16, 1943. On this date, Nazis stormed the ghetto and took nearly two-hundred people to Auschwitz. Only sixteen returned. These rip-out-your-heart-and-watch-it-bleed stories are the old ghetto, not the ghetto we see today. The new buildings that stand within the walls work to cover up the perpetual tragedy that was the Roman ghetto. Without attention to detail, this area would have had no emotional implications to me; it would have been like any other. But, just like every piece of land in Rome, history lives around every corner and in every step.
The residents of the historical ghetto must have felt the pangs of separation. These walls and gates locked them away from the rest of the world, perpetuating confusion and paranoia. Then, there was also separation felt when the ghettos were emptied. The wails of emotional pain sounded off the walls, replaced only by the absence of feeling – actually, of pain to deep to express. I doubt that the people felt weak, the one emotion that the key-holders wanted.
But what did these oppressors feel? How about the men who locked the gates at night, or the people who moved freely through the ghetto during the day, then got to spend their nights in their homes outside the walls? The popes, especially Pope Paul IV who created the ghetto, must have felt a sense of power and accomplishment. Believers may have seen these ghettos and been afraid of turning their backs on Catholicism, or at least that was the hope of the ghettos – to serve as an example. The only example I see is that of community, of people who came together under the worst of situations and found a way to not be discouraged.
I think that the Jewish community, both old and new, was able to thrive because of the sense of family the ghetto provided. As Elsa Morante explains in The Smiles of Rome, “It was a place […] of a single, endless family.” (289) The emotional implications of family are a lot to unpack. But, the sense of being a part of something bigger, and having a community to rely on, is what I can boiled it down to. With these factors, one can feel comfort, a feeling that saturates the Roman ghetto today.
Now, the gates are gone. There is no terror palpable inside the ghetto’s walls. It is a pleasant place, filled with pleasant people. The streets are filled with more people than cars, and it feels as if the ghetto could be somewhat of a suburb to this Eternal City. There are children on break from Hebrew School, old men sipping caffé, legs crossed, talking of some unknown topic in exaggerated Italian, and plenty of women, young and old, chatting in and out of store fronts. The only separation I sense is that of a traveler viewing a local. As the group happens upon a kosher restaurant, even that feeling subsides as the owner pats Rabbi Spitzer on the back and encourages us all to take a seat.
Though the walls are gone, separation still permeates the ghetto. But now, it isn’t imposed by authority, it is the product of comprehension. What can we, the Gentiles, fathom? I can hear stories, see museums, walk the ghetto's streets … but I can never get past the wall of empathy. I can’t imagine. I don’t know what it’s like. So, I enter where the gate once stood, and physically enter the walls of this separation, hoping to open the doors of the gate in my mind.
Standing outside the Roman ghetto, I didn’t notice anything different than the rest of the city. There are walls, but Italians love walls (just another expression power). I could see a large synagogue, but it was constructed by Italian architects, thus, its design mirrored other buildings throughout the city. Once inside, we were told that the synagogue was actually designed like a church, the proportions were not authentic. Its high, square dome is unique, but still fits this Jewish landmark snuggly into the skyline of Rome.
The “normalcy” quickly disappeared when I walked inside the gates. An unassuming wall contained a plaque, commemorating the date October 16, 1943. On this date, Nazis stormed the ghetto and took nearly two-hundred people to Auschwitz. Only sixteen returned. These rip-out-your-heart-and-watch-it-bleed stories are the old ghetto, not the ghetto we see today. The new buildings that stand within the walls work to cover up the perpetual tragedy that was the Roman ghetto. Without attention to detail, this area would have had no emotional implications to me; it would have been like any other. But, just like every piece of land in Rome, history lives around every corner and in every step.
The residents of the historical ghetto must have felt the pangs of separation. These walls and gates locked them away from the rest of the world, perpetuating confusion and paranoia. Then, there was also separation felt when the ghettos were emptied. The wails of emotional pain sounded off the walls, replaced only by the absence of feeling – actually, of pain to deep to express. I doubt that the people felt weak, the one emotion that the key-holders wanted.
But what did these oppressors feel? How about the men who locked the gates at night, or the people who moved freely through the ghetto during the day, then got to spend their nights in their homes outside the walls? The popes, especially Pope Paul IV who created the ghetto, must have felt a sense of power and accomplishment. Believers may have seen these ghettos and been afraid of turning their backs on Catholicism, or at least that was the hope of the ghettos – to serve as an example. The only example I see is that of community, of people who came together under the worst of situations and found a way to not be discouraged.
I think that the Jewish community, both old and new, was able to thrive because of the sense of family the ghetto provided. As Elsa Morante explains in The Smiles of Rome, “It was a place […] of a single, endless family.” (289) The emotional implications of family are a lot to unpack. But, the sense of being a part of something bigger, and having a community to rely on, is what I can boiled it down to. With these factors, one can feel comfort, a feeling that saturates the Roman ghetto today.
Now, the gates are gone. There is no terror palpable inside the ghetto’s walls. It is a pleasant place, filled with pleasant people. The streets are filled with more people than cars, and it feels as if the ghetto could be somewhat of a suburb to this Eternal City. There are children on break from Hebrew School, old men sipping caffé, legs crossed, talking of some unknown topic in exaggerated Italian, and plenty of women, young and old, chatting in and out of store fronts. The only separation I sense is that of a traveler viewing a local. As the group happens upon a kosher restaurant, even that feeling subsides as the owner pats Rabbi Spitzer on the back and encourages us all to take a seat.
Though the walls are gone, separation still permeates the ghetto. But now, it isn’t imposed by authority, it is the product of comprehension. What can we, the Gentiles, fathom? I can hear stories, see museums, walk the ghetto's streets … but I can never get past the wall of empathy. I can’t imagine. I don’t know what it’s like. So, I enter where the gate once stood, and physically enter the walls of this separation, hoping to open the doors of the gate in my mind.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
[325] Rome: Stories & Traditions, 6 September 2010
How does the piazza provide a lens toward Italian culture?
Italian culture has been mimicked and caricatured throughout the world. In Italy, this theatrical culture of expressive life, indulgent foods and religious prominence has found its biggest stage. Barzini explains, “The surface of Italian life […] has many characteristics of a show. It is, first of all, almost always entertaining, moving, unreservedly picturesque […] secondarily, all its effects are skillfully, if not always consciously, contrived and graduated to convey a certain message to […] the bystanders.” (74) From the piazzas of Rome, foreign bystanders become theater-goers, observing this show we know as Italian culture. Spooning la dolce vita into our open mouths, listening to the cries of a worn violin, travelers realize that Italy is speaking: “destiny can wait.”
To come to piazzas to observe is not a foreign idea; actually, Italians have been doing so since the Renaissance. The residences that surround piazzas all have balconies, “as convenient as boxes at the theater.” (Barzini) This culture is truly social and piazzas beckon characters like theaters call actors – the pull is not engineered, but instinctual. The piazza’s shows range from drama to comedy, with the mandatory love stories. The props range from Bernini fountains to soaring cathedrals. There are waiters in perfect black bow-tied costumes, ushering audiences into seats. The front row flowing onto sidewalks and streets.
The street that leads to one of Rome’s greatest piazzas, Piazza di Spagna, is Via Condotti. This is where tourists and locals alike find the most elegant shops, and the most deceptive actors. “The art of appearing rich has been cultivated in Italy as nowhere else,” Barzini testifies, because Italians have consistently found it difficult to acquire real power and wealth. (83) Oftentimes, the local that walks by in Gucci does not own more than the clothes on his back. It is more important to live lavishly on the street than in one’s home, because life is lived outside. Ancient Romans are known for their architecture, but today, fashion is the new show of power and prosperity. If enough people believe the show they see, it becomes a reality.
This show is perpetuated throughout Italy – not just of prosperity, but of fantasy. “Everything must be made to sparkle, a simple meal, an ordinary transaction, […] a cowardly capitulation must be embellished and ennobled with euphemisms, adornments. […] These practices were not developed by people who find life rewarding and exhilarating, but by a pessimistic, realistic, resigned and frightened people.” (75) Nothing unites people more than fear. Fear of disorder is silenced by the organization of Roman streets and the geometrical perfection of piazzas.
Unity is manifest in piazzas. There is food, art, and churches (the most Roman form of unification). Every piazza contains a church, and in the case of Piazza di Popolo, three churches. Religious life permeates the culture of Italy. Rome is one of the most important cities for the Christian religion, and the number of papal crests on buildings, and nuns roaming the streets, serve as tangible examples to that fact. There is a definite show of power with churches: golden mosaics, cumbersome marble columns, ceilings that seem to reach heaven, and crosses ten times the size of life. Tourists flock to these vaults of cultural richness, but on Sunday, the churches are never full. It seems as if the show of dominance is more important than the actual influence of faith.
So, religion and wealth are distorted pictures in piazzas, but there is one way to understand Italian culture: food! Standing at Bernini’s fountain in the center of Piazza Nuvona, one can do a three-sixty and see multiple sit down restaurants, gelaterias, pizzerias and sandwich shops. Throwing my arms up in the air, I spin around and take in the smells of fresh tomato sauce and baking bread. Here is Italian culture, the simplicity of pure food and the pleasure of enjoying it with characters of your life. I run up to Danilo and ask, “Where would you recommend we eat at?” I was prepared for options, but got a curt, yet genuine response, “I don’t know, Italians don’t eat here.” The show started crumbling.
I wheeled around, searching with my vision for verification of what he said. I saw people, plenty of people, but, they had that air of trying to be Italian, but not really succeeding. How could this be? The piazzas, just a moment before, had been everything Italian to me. Now I see the Germans seated in the front rows of restaurants, the Chinese taking individual photos by the fountain, and the Americans devouring huge slices of pizza. Maybe the piazza was the stage of culture earlier in history, but now it just seems to be a reflection of what we, as tourists, think Italian culture should be. But, that is not entirely true, “in fact, the thing and its representation often coincide exactly” in Italy. (85) This is all just a show of Italian culture, but this culture is a show.
I follow Danilo to a place the tourists don’t know around Piazza Nuvona, a hole in the wall smoothie shop. He orders banana mango, and I split banana strawberry with my friend Rebeka. We take our seats on the street and gaze at the actors. Pretending to be a local, I add to the open air theater, becoming a part of the revolt. Take it from an Italian, “Often, to put up a show becomes the only pathetic way to revolt against destiny, to face life’s injustices with one of the few weapons available to a desperate and brave people, their imagination.” (Barzini 83) As I sip my smoothie, I do not feel the pangs of fear that follow me at home, the overwhelming feeling of mortality. For now, the world is kind, life is sweet, and I feel immortal.
Italian culture has been mimicked and caricatured throughout the world. In Italy, this theatrical culture of expressive life, indulgent foods and religious prominence has found its biggest stage. Barzini explains, “The surface of Italian life […] has many characteristics of a show. It is, first of all, almost always entertaining, moving, unreservedly picturesque […] secondarily, all its effects are skillfully, if not always consciously, contrived and graduated to convey a certain message to […] the bystanders.” (74) From the piazzas of Rome, foreign bystanders become theater-goers, observing this show we know as Italian culture. Spooning la dolce vita into our open mouths, listening to the cries of a worn violin, travelers realize that Italy is speaking: “destiny can wait.”
To come to piazzas to observe is not a foreign idea; actually, Italians have been doing so since the Renaissance. The residences that surround piazzas all have balconies, “as convenient as boxes at the theater.” (Barzini) This culture is truly social and piazzas beckon characters like theaters call actors – the pull is not engineered, but instinctual. The piazza’s shows range from drama to comedy, with the mandatory love stories. The props range from Bernini fountains to soaring cathedrals. There are waiters in perfect black bow-tied costumes, ushering audiences into seats. The front row flowing onto sidewalks and streets.
The street that leads to one of Rome’s greatest piazzas, Piazza di Spagna, is Via Condotti. This is where tourists and locals alike find the most elegant shops, and the most deceptive actors. “The art of appearing rich has been cultivated in Italy as nowhere else,” Barzini testifies, because Italians have consistently found it difficult to acquire real power and wealth. (83) Oftentimes, the local that walks by in Gucci does not own more than the clothes on his back. It is more important to live lavishly on the street than in one’s home, because life is lived outside. Ancient Romans are known for their architecture, but today, fashion is the new show of power and prosperity. If enough people believe the show they see, it becomes a reality.
This show is perpetuated throughout Italy – not just of prosperity, but of fantasy. “Everything must be made to sparkle, a simple meal, an ordinary transaction, […] a cowardly capitulation must be embellished and ennobled with euphemisms, adornments. […] These practices were not developed by people who find life rewarding and exhilarating, but by a pessimistic, realistic, resigned and frightened people.” (75) Nothing unites people more than fear. Fear of disorder is silenced by the organization of Roman streets and the geometrical perfection of piazzas.
Unity is manifest in piazzas. There is food, art, and churches (the most Roman form of unification). Every piazza contains a church, and in the case of Piazza di Popolo, three churches. Religious life permeates the culture of Italy. Rome is one of the most important cities for the Christian religion, and the number of papal crests on buildings, and nuns roaming the streets, serve as tangible examples to that fact. There is a definite show of power with churches: golden mosaics, cumbersome marble columns, ceilings that seem to reach heaven, and crosses ten times the size of life. Tourists flock to these vaults of cultural richness, but on Sunday, the churches are never full. It seems as if the show of dominance is more important than the actual influence of faith.
So, religion and wealth are distorted pictures in piazzas, but there is one way to understand Italian culture: food! Standing at Bernini’s fountain in the center of Piazza Nuvona, one can do a three-sixty and see multiple sit down restaurants, gelaterias, pizzerias and sandwich shops. Throwing my arms up in the air, I spin around and take in the smells of fresh tomato sauce and baking bread. Here is Italian culture, the simplicity of pure food and the pleasure of enjoying it with characters of your life. I run up to Danilo and ask, “Where would you recommend we eat at?” I was prepared for options, but got a curt, yet genuine response, “I don’t know, Italians don’t eat here.” The show started crumbling.
I wheeled around, searching with my vision for verification of what he said. I saw people, plenty of people, but, they had that air of trying to be Italian, but not really succeeding. How could this be? The piazzas, just a moment before, had been everything Italian to me. Now I see the Germans seated in the front rows of restaurants, the Chinese taking individual photos by the fountain, and the Americans devouring huge slices of pizza. Maybe the piazza was the stage of culture earlier in history, but now it just seems to be a reflection of what we, as tourists, think Italian culture should be. But, that is not entirely true, “in fact, the thing and its representation often coincide exactly” in Italy. (85) This is all just a show of Italian culture, but this culture is a show.
I follow Danilo to a place the tourists don’t know around Piazza Nuvona, a hole in the wall smoothie shop. He orders banana mango, and I split banana strawberry with my friend Rebeka. We take our seats on the street and gaze at the actors. Pretending to be a local, I add to the open air theater, becoming a part of the revolt. Take it from an Italian, “Often, to put up a show becomes the only pathetic way to revolt against destiny, to face life’s injustices with one of the few weapons available to a desperate and brave people, their imagination.” (Barzini 83) As I sip my smoothie, I do not feel the pangs of fear that follow me at home, the overwhelming feeling of mortality. For now, the world is kind, life is sweet, and I feel immortal.
 |
| Piazza Nuvona with some awesome characters: Barbie & Ali. |
Monday, September 6, 2010
[314] Rome & Jerusalem, 2 September 2010
In what ways is Georgio Perlasca an “authentic Italian hero?” What does “authentic hero” mean?
“Whoever saves a single soul, it is as if he saved the entire world.” (1)
Since the end of World War II, the Yad Vashem has been awarding “non-Jews who specifically addressed themselves to the Jewish issue, and risked their lives in the attempt to aid Jews” with the Righteous Gentile distinction. (2) To date, over 16,000 people have been recognized, 468 Italians alone. Among these Italians is a man named Georgio Perlasca. Perlasca’s dedication to the Jewish community in Budapest saved over 5,000 lives, a feat which eventually led to his recognition in film: Perlasca: The Courage of a Just Man. He is more than a mythical heroin, he is authentic.
Perlasca, an Italian Catholic, worked with the Italy’s military as a provisionary. While in Budapest collecting supplies, a location that had remained untouched by the war, Perlasca was swept up in wartime events, alongside Hungarian Jews. Unlike the Jews, he had connections with the Spanish embassy. As a soldier in Franco’s army, Perlasca had received a document that allowed him safe-keeping at the Spanish embassy. Upon finding the embassy, he learned that the ambassador was moving to a safer location, and he was given the option of staying there or moving along with him. Perlasca decided not only to stay, but to impersonate the ambassador.
Assuming the role of ambassador, Perlasca handed out letters of safe haven to Jewish peoples. He had learned of the Nazi’s plans for Jewish ghettos in Budapest, and eventual extermination, and deliberately put himself between the Nazis and the Jews. He faced emanate death and unspeakable danger, but never backed down – a feat of valor that most people would agree they could never muster the courage to do. Once the war ended, Perlasca returned to Italy and his family. He never spoke of his wartime heroism, but he did write his account down, making three copies.
The first copy he sent to the Vatican, the second to the Spanish government, and the third he housed in his coffee table. His story was discovered by his daughter-in-law, who was instructed by an ailing Perlasca to open up the drawer of the coffee table. After verification of accounts by Jews that he helped, Georgio Perlasca was awarded “Righteous Gentile” status. Thousands of people have risked their lives to save Jews, procuring the same status as Perlasca. When one searches the archives of “Righteous Gentiles” his name is not included on the people of note.
The fact that countless others have worked towards the same end as Perlasca does not make him a faux hero. He is more of a hero because his dedication to life can be imitated. Furthermore, his authenticity stems from his obscurity. Perlasca retained his humanity after completing superhuman acts. He went back to his life. He did not search out acknowledgement by peddling his story, making himself into a character or superhero; he continued living as he always had. He lived out Matthew’s Gospel message, “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (3) He was rewarded, and his life left inspiration for us all. One cannot hope to save thousands of lives, but by saving one, the world is saved.
(1) The inscription found on “Righteous Gentile” medal. http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/righteous.html
(2) Henry, Marilyn. http://christianactionforisrael.org/isreport/righteous.html
(3) Matthew 6:3-4.
“Whoever saves a single soul, it is as if he saved the entire world.” (1)
Perlasca, an Italian Catholic, worked with the Italy’s military as a provisionary. While in Budapest collecting supplies, a location that had remained untouched by the war, Perlasca was swept up in wartime events, alongside Hungarian Jews. Unlike the Jews, he had connections with the Spanish embassy. As a soldier in Franco’s army, Perlasca had received a document that allowed him safe-keeping at the Spanish embassy. Upon finding the embassy, he learned that the ambassador was moving to a safer location, and he was given the option of staying there or moving along with him. Perlasca decided not only to stay, but to impersonate the ambassador.
Assuming the role of ambassador, Perlasca handed out letters of safe haven to Jewish peoples. He had learned of the Nazi’s plans for Jewish ghettos in Budapest, and eventual extermination, and deliberately put himself between the Nazis and the Jews. He faced emanate death and unspeakable danger, but never backed down – a feat of valor that most people would agree they could never muster the courage to do. Once the war ended, Perlasca returned to Italy and his family. He never spoke of his wartime heroism, but he did write his account down, making three copies.
The first copy he sent to the Vatican, the second to the Spanish government, and the third he housed in his coffee table. His story was discovered by his daughter-in-law, who was instructed by an ailing Perlasca to open up the drawer of the coffee table. After verification of accounts by Jews that he helped, Georgio Perlasca was awarded “Righteous Gentile” status. Thousands of people have risked their lives to save Jews, procuring the same status as Perlasca. When one searches the archives of “Righteous Gentiles” his name is not included on the people of note.
The fact that countless others have worked towards the same end as Perlasca does not make him a faux hero. He is more of a hero because his dedication to life can be imitated. Furthermore, his authenticity stems from his obscurity. Perlasca retained his humanity after completing superhuman acts. He went back to his life. He did not search out acknowledgement by peddling his story, making himself into a character or superhero; he continued living as he always had. He lived out Matthew’s Gospel message, “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (3) He was rewarded, and his life left inspiration for us all. One cannot hope to save thousands of lives, but by saving one, the world is saved.
(1) The inscription found on “Righteous Gentile” medal. http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/righteous.html
(2) Henry, Marilyn. http://christianactionforisrael.org/isreport/righteous.html
(3) Matthew 6:3-4.
Friday, September 3, 2010
[225] Art & Culture of Rome, 31 Aug 2010
Blasi & Montano Organ (1598) This organ, found in Basilica San Giovanni in Laterano, Rome, Italy, is the oldest organ in Italy. The organ was engineered by Luca Blasi, and the Giovan Battista Montano decorated it. The central pipe is 8 feet high and it weighs more than 400 pounds. I am not sure of the dimensions or material for this piece of art, but I do know that the gold that adorns it was part of the booty that Christopher Columbus brought back from America.
This organ was commissioned in 1597 by Pope Clemens VII. It is located on the right trancept wall of the basilica, right above the entrance doors. The whole wall is decorated with music related reliefs and stautes, including Ezekial and David playing instruments.
David's song of praise is found in 2 Samuel 22: "Therefore I will praise you, O LORD, among the nations I will sing praises to your name." With this organ, a congregation of the faithful have ben able to sing God's praises for over 400 years. The praise David speaks of has been manifest in many ways throughout the years, including an adaptation of sacred songs by Duke Ellington. As I stared up at this massive organ and the sculpture of David, I remembered the song "David Up and Danced" that I sang in jazz choir this summer. Here is the link, I am the second person in on the right, in the front row. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R25B6toL8Z0&feature=related
The power of worship is not in the size of an organ, or the age and decoration of a church, but in the spiritual connections that people find within its walls. The instrument that Blasi provided this church brought fruitfulness of worship, and for me, brought me home.
This organ was commissioned in 1597 by Pope Clemens VII. It is located on the right trancept wall of the basilica, right above the entrance doors. The whole wall is decorated with music related reliefs and stautes, including Ezekial and David playing instruments.
David's song of praise is found in 2 Samuel 22: "Therefore I will praise you, O LORD, among the nations I will sing praises to your name." With this organ, a congregation of the faithful have ben able to sing God's praises for over 400 years. The praise David speaks of has been manifest in many ways throughout the years, including an adaptation of sacred songs by Duke Ellington. As I stared up at this massive organ and the sculpture of David, I remembered the song "David Up and Danced" that I sang in jazz choir this summer. Here is the link, I am the second person in on the right, in the front row. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R25B6toL8Z0&feature=related
The power of worship is not in the size of an organ, or the age and decoration of a church, but in the spiritual connections that people find within its walls. The instrument that Blasi provided this church brought fruitfulness of worship, and for me, brought me home.
http://pipedreams.publicradio.org/gallery/italy/rome_lateran_alari.shtml
http://www.romeartlover.it/Organs.html
http://www.romeartlover.it/Organs.html
Sculpture at the Shrine of ArdeatineThe Shrine of the Ardeatine was opened in 1949 and serves as a constant reminder of the Nazi massacre in Rome. On March 24, 1944, in the quaries of Ardeatina Street, 335 men were rounded up and killed as retribution for the deaths of 33 German soldiers, killed by Italian partisans. The German soliders were killed in a ploted attack because of the devestation they had caused in Rome the months previous. Upon hearing of his men's deaths, Kesselring decided that ten Italians had to die for each German head. The victims were mostly civilians and Italian prisoners of war, ranging in age from 14 to 75 years old.
The sculpture that stands outside of the burial site was crafted by Francesco Coccia. Coccia, a travertine sculptor, completed this work of tufa stone in 1948. The name of this piece is "Martyrs". The three men grouped together represent the young people, adults and seniors that were "joined in the Martyrdom of the Ardeatine caves."
The brutality of this event cannot be adequately captured. The Nazis dragged the victims into a cave in groups of five. Lined them up on their knees and shot them in the cerebellum, to ensure that it only took one shot to kill. It took the entire day to complete this senseless retribution. Groups being brought in had to knee on top of the bodies of those who had been shot before them. Not all of the Italians were killed instantly, some met death when the Germans bombed the area to seal the grave.
When Rome was liberated by the Allies and the cave was exhumed, the bodies of a son, inside his fathers arms, were found. This image of the father and son bound together, brings me back to the Coccia's sculpture. Although these men are no longer here, Italy, and the world, can hold them in the arms of our memory.
When Rome was liberated by the Allies and the cave was exhumed, the bodies of a son, inside his fathers arms, were found. This image of the father and son bound together, brings me back to the Coccia's sculpture. Although these men are no longer here, Italy, and the world, can hold them in the arms of our memory.
www.anfim.it/wai/mausoleo.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ardeatine_massacre#Preparation_for_the_reprisal
Thursday, September 2, 2010
[325] Rome: Stories & Traditions, 30 Aug 2010
The major religions of the West, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, all promise some sort of future salvation. However, all are inextricably linked to the past. Does history contribute/bolster faith, or does the past limit faith?
Christianity is both bound to the past, and oriented to future salvation. The link between the past and salvation is problematic because history does not paint a coherent righteous picture. The canvas of Eden has been smudged with tyrannical fingerprints, scraped by crosses wielded by the Inquisition and sectioned off and sold as indulgences. We are left with the ruins. But, Eden is not the salvation of man. As Gustavo Gutierrez explains, “The goal of humanity is not to attain paradise lost, but to march forward towards a new city.” (89) History then, is man’s continual attempt at creating this new city, a city of salvation known as the Kingdom of God.
Although I introduced this entry in light of Christianity, I must explain that the idea of salvation has changed from the saving of a “privileged few”, to include all of humanity. The religion one claims, or lack thereof, does not determine their future salvation. Now, in the post Vatican II era, the Church teaches that there is one human destiny. Just like persons of all faiths share the earth and its history, we all also share the ability to aid in our united salvation.
But, what do we do with the ruins? I detest trite sayings, but I think this one is applicable due to my current location: “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” What do the Romans do with ruins of past grandeur? They strip them of that which is valuable and leave the faulty foundations. Take the Coliseum, the marble and copper were carted off, melted down and reused in the new society. The bricks and stones remained, and do to this day, portraying the ingenuity of Roman architecture, but the instability of man-made immortality. The Roman emperors crafted a world where they reigned as peers of the gods, but this was not the new city destined for humanity. St. Peter writes, “All flesh is grass and its glory like the wild flower’s. The grass withers, the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever.” (Smiles of Rome 75) Humanity is led astray when man focuses on his ego and loses sight of the will of his people, and the eternal power of God.
With the proverbial ruins of Eden, humanity can strip of history that which can aid in salvation, and leave behind the foundations of injustice. I am not advocating forgetting history. One should understand the past, both good and bad, and use this knowledge to better the future. As the Romans did, each generation must build upon the last. To grow in faith, building upon the past means rectifying wrongdoings and bringing the world back to basics of religion, turning our focus not on ourselves, but on community.
A testament to faith is the fact that man is still building this community, and creating cities. Futhermore, man has added the colors of equality and universality to the canvas of salvation. These ideas were only scrap material in Ancient Rome. We have not reached salvation yet, but it “is present at the heart of human history, and there is no human act which is not defined in terms of it.” (Gutierrez 105) History both bolsters and limits faith, a religious checks and balances. Without being challenged, faith would not grow; but without faith, humanity would not grow.
Christianity is both bound to the past, and oriented to future salvation. The link between the past and salvation is problematic because history does not paint a coherent righteous picture. The canvas of Eden has been smudged with tyrannical fingerprints, scraped by crosses wielded by the Inquisition and sectioned off and sold as indulgences. We are left with the ruins. But, Eden is not the salvation of man. As Gustavo Gutierrez explains, “The goal of humanity is not to attain paradise lost, but to march forward towards a new city.” (89) History then, is man’s continual attempt at creating this new city, a city of salvation known as the Kingdom of God.
Although I introduced this entry in light of Christianity, I must explain that the idea of salvation has changed from the saving of a “privileged few”, to include all of humanity. The religion one claims, or lack thereof, does not determine their future salvation. Now, in the post Vatican II era, the Church teaches that there is one human destiny. Just like persons of all faiths share the earth and its history, we all also share the ability to aid in our united salvation.
With the proverbial ruins of Eden, humanity can strip of history that which can aid in salvation, and leave behind the foundations of injustice. I am not advocating forgetting history. One should understand the past, both good and bad, and use this knowledge to better the future. As the Romans did, each generation must build upon the last. To grow in faith, building upon the past means rectifying wrongdoings and bringing the world back to basics of religion, turning our focus not on ourselves, but on community.
A testament to faith is the fact that man is still building this community, and creating cities. Futhermore, man has added the colors of equality and universality to the canvas of salvation. These ideas were only scrap material in Ancient Rome. We have not reached salvation yet, but it “is present at the heart of human history, and there is no human act which is not defined in terms of it.” (Gutierrez 105) History both bolsters and limits faith, a religious checks and balances. Without being challenged, faith would not grow; but without faith, humanity would not grow.
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