Free The Venetian by Mark Tricarico

remained silent. “We Jews and Venice have had an interesting relationship over the course of the last two hundred years,” she began. Interesting was a word her father would have used to describe the events since the early fourteenth century. It was unlike her to use such gentle terms.
    “Venetians see what they wish to see, and what they wish to see when they look at Jews is a people obsessed by greed and the accumulation of wealth, when of course they need look no further for that than the wondrous looking glass your father creates on Murano. Jews are not attracted to moneylending out of the greed of which we are so often accused. Nor does it supplant the ‘higher’ callings of art and other intellectual pursuits. The Great Republic,” she said with a sneer, “has made it impossible for Jews to do anything but moneylending.”
    Paolo knew that the State put certain restrictions on the occupational pursuits of the Jews, but he had to admit that he was not aware of the extent of those restrictions. He sensed however that it was not a good time to give voice to his ignorance. He popped a sardine into his mouth.
    “Jews are banned from the arts and the trades, forbidden to hold public office or perform military service, excluded from professional pursuits, and denied the privilege of owning land.” Her eyes never left his, willing him to challenge her. “There is nothing left but usury.”
    “And medicine,” Bercu reminded her.
    “Oh yes, medicine,” her tone mocking. “We are allowed to take care of them when they are ill.”
    “Of course usury is strictly forbidden for religious reasons.” Chaya smiled at the irony, Paolo noting her perfect teeth. “But,” she continued, “following the war with Genoa and various conflicts with Chioggia, the economy of La Serenissima,” again the scorn, “was in a shambles. Normal instruments of credit were inadequate. And moneylenders were the saviors of Venice. And as always, God was put away to be drawn out at a later date when His divine retribution was convenient and would add to the Republic’s coffers.”
    “I had no idea,” Paolo responded, rather lamely he thought. It was true however, he didn’t know, although he also didn’t know whether Chaya was stretching the truth, exaggerating small injustices. No government was perfect.
    “Chaya is a great student of history, among other things.” Bercu smiled at his daughter. Despite their differences, he was clearly proud of the fact that she had chosen to ignore society’s role for her. Chaya flushed, quickly regained her defiant composure as though holding her place in the conversation with a finger.
    “One would naturally think then that the Jews would be regarded as heroes of a sort for saving the State. But no. During the countless fits of religious revivalism over the years, the church and its followers would rail against usury as the source of eternal evil and the Jews would again be subject to violent attacks. The fact that we were strictly prohibited from doing anything except lending money was a small detail perpetually overlooked.”
    “What sorts of attacks?” asked Paolo.
    Chaya considered the question for a moment. “I will give you an example. In 1475, on the evening of Holy Thursday, a little boy named Simone disappeared. This was in Trent. And before the sun had set, the local Jews were accused of kidnapping and ritual murder. They were tortured and they died.” Chaya stopped, swallowing her anger. These were no theatrics, Paolo could see. There was true rage there.
    “Eventually the true murderer was found. There had been no ritual. He was not a Jew. And yet Catholics still tell stories to their children of Jews that kidnap little boys and girls and drink their blood.”
    Blood libel. Paolo knew of it, but never believed it himself. It was simply too gruesome to be real, although after what had happened to Ciro, such reasoning no longer held. “That was over 30 years ago,” Paolo said.