Angelo and I didn’t stay in Italy, though we went back to Florence for a time after the war. We were married in a small ceremony—non-denominational, though we added our own defiant touches. I am still a Jew and Angelo is still a priest. Those are things that cannot be undone, nor would we want them to be. But he is laicized—unable to perform holy ordinations—and our marriage is not recognized by the Catholic Church. But I think it is recognized by God, and that’s good enough for me. No one calls him Father anymore . . . except our four children, and they usually call him Babbo. It is Italian for “Daddy,” and we are italiani after all. We always will be.
Santino and Fabia wanted us to stay with them in Florence. They wanted to love our children and love us. They wanted to be a family again. After all, the villa was our home, a home they returned to me after the war. But there are some hurts and some memories that are better laid to rest, better left to the mellow patina of photographs and selective remembrance. We needed to make a life together beyond the shadow of war, beyond the dictates of our pasts, and beyond the whispers and speculation of those who thought they knew us.
We stayed in Florence until little Angelo was two and Felix Otto—our second son—was six months old. The twins were born in America, two little boys we named Fabio and Santino, a nod to their great-grandparents, who had decided if they couldn’t convince us to stay in Italy, they would join us in America.
The years have been kind, and I am teaching my children to play the violin, insisting on long notes and scales, making them read the dots and count the lines, reminding them that music is something no one can take from them. They are undisciplined, much like I was, but when they play, I hear my life and the life of my family lifting off the strings, just like Uncle Felix said it would.
Angelo teaches history and theology at a small college in upstate New York. He is Professor Bianco now, and the title suits him. He knows more about religion than any man I know, yet he still has a million questions. I just smile and shake my head when he gets tangled in dogma and disillusioned by doctrine.
“There are two things I know for sure, Angelo Bianco,” I tell him, just like I’ve told him a dozen times before, and he always pretends not to know what I’m going to say.
“Tell me,” he says. “What do you know?”
“No one knows the nature of God,” I insist, holding up a finger.
“What else?” he asks, with a twinkle in his eyes. I point my finger toward him and shake it, as if I’m scolding him like a good Italian wife should. But my voice is tender.
“I love you. I have always loved you, and I will always love you.”
“That is enough for me, my wise and devious wife,” he whispers, and he wraps his arms around me so fiercely that I can barely breathe.
It is enough for me too.
Batsheva Rosselli-Bianco
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I have long been fascinated with World War II, but I never thought I would be able to write a book set in the time period, simply because of the vastness of the topic and the enormity of the task. When I stumbled upon an article about Italy’s Jews being hidden by members of the Catholic clergy, I was intrigued and dug deeper. And deeper. And I started to believe that there was a special story for me to tell. My prayer is that the people of today will know the past so they won’t repeat it.
The historical setting and the events that Eva and Angelo find themselves immersed in are all factual. The gold that was extorted from the Jews in Rome—and then simply left at the Via Tasso when the Germans left Rome—the massacre at the Ardeatine Caves, the roundups in cities throughout Italy, as well as the experiences of those hiding in convents and monasteries, were based on actual events. Many priests, monks, nuns, and so many regular Italian citizens risked everything for the sake of others, and I was truly awed and touched by the sacrifice and courage of so many. It was a terrible time, but the silver lining was the revelation of such goodness and heroism. For me, the horror was eclipsed by the stories of bravery and valor. Eighty percent of Italy’s Jews survived the war, a marked contrast to the eighty percent of Europe’s Jews who did not.
As with most historical fiction, Eva and Angelo were not real, but they interact with people who were. Jake Prior was an actual American doctor who worked the aid station in Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge. I thought about changing his name, but then thought how lovely it is to give credit, even through the use of a name, when I can. Pietro Caruso, Rome’s Chief of Police; Peter Koch, head of a violent Fascist squad in Rome; as well as Lieutenant Colonel Herbert Kappler, head of the Gestapo in Rome, were actual people. The Irish priest, Monsignor Hugh O’Flaherty, was a true hero, working from the Vatican to rescue and aid up to sixty-five hundred people in and around Rome during the war. Rabbi Nathan Cassuto was the spiritual leader of the Jews in Florence in 1943, when the Germans occupied Italy. His story both inspired and haunted me. He showed incredible leadership and courage and survived Auschwitz only to die in February of 1945 in a forced death march at the hands of his captors. He was thirty-six years old when he died, and showed more fortitude, grace, and strength in his young life than most will ever exhibit. I dedicated the book to him.
The world owes a debt of gratitude to people like Monsignor O’Flaherty and Rabbi Cassuto, but I owe them too, for inspiring me and guiding me through the telling of From Sand and Ash. I did my best to represent the Jewish and Catholic religions and people with love and respect. Any mistakes I’ve made or inaccuracies in practices or positions are my own and were done inadvertently.
In addition, I know history can be murky and accounts can be muddied. My wish was not to condemn or to vilify, nor was it to exaggerate, but I did not invent the atrocities in this book. Sadly, every atrocity cited and used was based on true events and actual accounts.
I want to extend special thanks to Father John Bartunek for helping me to fall in love with Florence, art, and Catholicism. I am grateful for his generous time and attention, for his passion for his calling, and for sharing Donatello’s Saint George with me. I know I didn’t quite capture the essence of being a worthy and committed priest, dedicated to the work and to the calling, but I believe Father John understands it full well, and I am grateful for his time and friendship.
Thank you, Karey White—my personal editor and friend. I am grateful for your honesty and integrity and for your belief in me and my books.
Tamara Bianco—the best personal assistant in the history of assistants. There is nothing you can’t do, but this book needed you more than most. Thank you for your help with the language issues, and thanks to Simone Bianco as well, for use of his last name and for his help with all things Italian.
For Jane Dystel and the folks at Dystel and Goderich, I always feel like you have my back. Thank you for that. For the people at Lake Union Publishing, for loving my book and believing in this story. Thanks to Jodi Warshaw, Jenna Free, and so many others who worked to make this book a success.
And, finally, I’m so thankful for my husband, who never seems to doubt my abilities, and for my children, who have to put up with having a mother with her head in the clouds or immersed in history. My husband, children, parents, siblings, and family are the best parts of my life. Thank you for loving me and believing in me.
Like Angelo, I believe that God is quiet. But he is not blind or impartial in the affairs of man. I don’t know his mysteries, and like Eva, I’m not convinced anyone does. But I am grateful to know him to the extent that I do, to feel his love and influence in my life, and to walk quietly with him as best I can.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Harmon is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of ten novels, including the Whitney Award–winning The Law of Moses. Her historical novels, inspirational romances, and young adult books are now being published in twelve countries around the globe.