Unpacking

Friday May 8 2026/21 Iyyar 5786

Hevre/Friends/Amici,

Of all the things I wish I could have packed for our Rabbi on the Road journey to Sicily and Calabria, it is our innocence I missed most—the days of wandering Italy concerned only with where to find our next gelato once the pasta had settled.

Our travels were filled with breathtaking vistas, charming towns, extraordinary meals, deep conversation, daily learning, spirited Shabbat prayer, abundant laughter, and genuine camaraderie. There were even a few moments to rest (though not too many), all under near-perfect skies. The history, too, was captivating—but also painful. And deeply complex.

Encounters with the vestiges of our people’s long-ago presence were at once tender and haunting. Sometimes it was a street sign marking a former Jewish neighborhood. Sometimes an opulent church that had once been a grand synagogue. Sometimes a local Catholic family whose curious rituals hinted at hidden Jewish roots.

Emotionally, we moved along a wide arc—grieving the brutal expulsion of our ancestors from homes they had inhabited for centuries, while also feeling a quiet pride in returning to these places, carrying forward a legacy of Jewish resilience and dignity. We wrestled, too, with moral ambiguity: ancient artifacts of destroyed Jewish communities carefully preserved and drawing tourism and revenue, even as living Jews today face rising antisemitic violence. And the irony was not lost on us—we reconnected with our own history, yet did so incognito, removing visible markers of Jewish identity while plainclothes Italian security guards quietly accompanied us. Welcome to Jewish life in 2026.

And still—we toured, hiked, toasted, sang, and laughed. Together, we created a kind of sacred alchemy: honoring the past, both Jewish and human, while committing ourselves to the future—our own, that of our people, indeed of all people.

We visited Palermo’s catacombs and reflected on how we care for our dead, and how those rituals evolve.

We sat in the shadow of majestic Greek temples and explored Jewish understandings of sacred space.

At a countryside olive farm, we considered the olive as a symbol of endurance, renewal, and generativity.

In the former Jewish quarter of Ortigia in Siracusa, we descended 60 feet into a 1,500-year-old mikvah; later, sipping Aperol spritzes as the sun set over the honey-colored Baroque city of Noto, we reflected on the enduring spiritual power of immersion and its meaning in contemporary Jewish life.

As I shared last Friday, our hike up Mount Etna became a living metaphor for life’s most vexing tensions: beauty and danger, destruction and rebirth, despair and hope.

We welcomed Shabbat at a stunning seaside resort in Calabria, gathering on the beach as the rhythmic sound of the waves framed our meditation and study.

On our final day, we visited the concentration camp at Ferramonti, where nearly 4,000 European Jewish refugees were interned during the Shoah. Though it remained a prison camp—with all the indignities and suffering that implies—life there unfolded with a degree of relative autonomy. People practiced trades, formed sports leagues, established Hebrew schools and synagogues, and marked life’s milestones—b’nai mitzvah, weddings—amid deep uncertainty. While some were transferred or left, no one was deported from Ferramonti to a death camp, nor did anyone die there except of natural causes. Still, standing together in a circle beneath the open sky, we recited El Maleh Rachamim and Kaddish, honoring all who perished under Nazi terror.

Later that day, turning toward what might yet be, we gathered in the small mountaintop sanctuary of Sinagoga Ner Tamid del Sud in Serrastretta. There, Rabbi Barbara Aiello shared her groundbreaking work welcoming descendants of Calabrian conversos back into Jewish life, and building an inclusive, vibrant community for contemporary seekers.

After saying goodbye to the group, Andi and I spent a day in Rome before heading home. As we wandered through Trastevere, we noticed the small brass Stolpersteine embedded in the sidewalks—each one bearing the name of a Jew deported to Auschwitz from that very home. In Europe, the shadows of Jewish history are never far. During our week abroad, contemporary events continued to echo this reality: in Milan’s April 26 Italian Liberation Day celebrations marking the end of Nazi occupation and the fall of the Fascist regime, Jewish participants - those who had fought alongside Italian partisans - were harassed and forced to leave, and two Jews were savagely stabbed in London.

Sobering as parts of the journey were, we boarded our flight home with a deep sense of gratification—for the opportunity to create an experience that was meaningful, challenging, and, we hope, inspiring. Somewhere over the Atlantic, we watched Nuremberg, a film exploring the relationship between American psychiatrist Dr. Douglas Kelley and Hermann Göring during the Nuremberg Trials, and the unsettling question of our human capacity for evil. Its closing line, from historian R. G. Collingwood, lingered with us: “The only clue to what man can do is what man has done.” A chilling—and fitting—bookend to our journey.

And yet, I want to end elsewhere.

One of our most meaningful encounters took place in the hilltop village of Agira, where a local church safeguards Europe’s oldest surviving Aron Kodesh, dating to 1453, and recovered from the ruins of a medieval synagogue. The town is now constructing a new synagogue (really, a museum) to house it. As we departed, I thanked the priest for protecting this sacred artifact. He responded simply, “Of course—the Jews are our older siblings. We share a history.” “Yes,” I replied, “we share a history. But even more importantly, we must share a future—one rooted in respect, equality, and peace. We must not only preserve the past, but we must build a better future together.”

At this time, I want to acknowledge Sara Krumminga, our trip administrator, for her invaluable support. I also want to thank Nina Aquino and Pablo Argüelles of Bravo Luxury Travel, our logistics team and fellow guides, for their luminous presence on our trips. Their creativity, warmth, and professionalism elevate every journey. More than that, as devoted Catholics, the relationship we’ve built—through shared experiences, conversations, and their participation in our learning and Shabbat celebrations—proves the possibility of genuine connection across difference.

And, of course, I could not take one step on these adventures without the love and partnership of my wife, Andi. Many of our travelers come along just because of her! She can always find a bathroom or a snack, no matter where we are. I get it. She’s why I do everything I do, also.

I returned home once again filled with gratitude—for the trust placed in me to guide others through the world with Jewish eyes, and for the relationships formed along the way. Now that I’ve unpacked and done the laundry, it’s time to make our final preparations for our next adventure—Mexico City and San Miguel de Allende in January 2027!

I look forward to seeing you at our info meeting on June 3. Andiamo!

Shabbat Shalom,

Dini