Elda Levi came to Venice by choice. Unlike many members of the Jewish community whose families have lived in the city for generations, Elda’s connection to Venice is deeply personal rather than inherited. Her family history stretches across the Mediterranean: her mother’s family moved from Tuscany to Egypt in the late nineteenth century, while her father’s family came from Turkey, passing through Gaza and Constantinople. Elda herself lived in Rome, Milan, and Florence before deciding—thirty years ago—to settle in Venice. “No city was my real town,” she explains, “and then I could choose, and I chose Venice.”

Over time, Venice became not only her home but also the place where her Jewish identity grew more present in her daily life. Busy years of work and raising children had once pushed communal involvement to the margins. In Venice, however, she became more active, attending community gatherings such as the long-standing “Tea at Five,” holiday celebrations, and events organized largely by women. She describes the Venetian Jewish community as open, integrated, and distinctly shaped by the city itself—Jewish, yet unmistakably Venetian.

Elda is particularly fascinated by the historical uniqueness of the Venetian Ghetto. While Jews were confined to the ghetto, she notes, they remained deeply embedded in the life of the city. Venice’s independence from papal authority meant that restrictions were often less severe than elsewhere, and institutions like the Inquisition were never fully imposed. This complex history, both constrained and interconnected, continues to shape the present.

At the same time, Elda speaks candidly about today’s challenges. The greatest concern is numbers: young people leave Venice for work, mixed marriages increase, and the community grows smaller each year. Still, she emphasizes that many return for holidays and family gatherings, keeping ties alive. She hopes that, in time, some will come back permanently.

For Elda, Venice’s Jewish heritage—its five preserved synagogues, living traditions, and thoughtful memorialization—remains extraordinary. Even as the ghetto becomes increasingly touristic, she sees value in careful storytelling and education, believing that memory, when respected, can still sustain community.