Manuela Fano
Manuela Fano’s story unfolds at the intersection of memory, community, and a deeply rooted sense of place. The surname Fano, she explains, is itself a map of Jewish Italian history—shared by many families who took the names of cities as their own. Her family identifies first and foremost as Italian Jews, neither Ashkenazi nor Sephardic, but part of a distinct and ancient Italian Jewish tradition. Her father was Venetian, and her mother was from the Jewish community of Ferrara, while earlier generations traced paths through Parma, Poland, and what later became Ukraine. Venice, however, became the center where these histories converged.
The Second World War marked a profound rupture. Manuela’s parents married in 1940, her older brother was born in 1942, and in 1943, the racial laws upended their lives. Her father was arrested for anti-fascist activity, and soon after, the family fled to Switzerland, crossing the mountains at night. There, survival came at a cost: men, women, and children were separated, and her brother, still a toddler, was placed in an institution. These experiences left lasting traces, shaping how the family understood both safety and belonging.
After the war, communal life became a form of resilience. Manuela recalls a vibrant Jewish Venice filled with plays, celebrations, and traditions. Her parents were deeply involved: her father served on community committees, while her mother, Vittoria Polacco, was a pillar of ADEI, the Jewish women’s association that Manuela proudly continues to support. Even today, ADEI remains a “guarantee,” a stable force of care, fundraising, and social connection. Weekly tea gatherings—simple moments of togetherness—fund causes ranging from Israel to Italian charities and disaster relief.
For Manuela, being Jewish is both a historical responsibility and a personal pride. Venice itself feels like a privilege: the world’s first ghetto, extraordinary synagogues, unique liturgical melodies, and traditions like the communal matzah oven and Passover sweets. Yet she also speaks candidly about decline—the shrinking number of children, the aging community, and the loss of elders such as Virginia Gattegno, an Auschwitz survivor. Still, through memory, action, and shared ritual, Manuela embodies a community determined to endure.
Manuela reflects on what it means to be Jewish not only as personal identity, but as a responsibility shaped by history and continuity.
“The fact of being Jewish I have always lived it as a historical duty… I take pride in being Jewish because of how much Judaism has given to the world.”
She speaks with gratitude about growing up Jewish in Venice, a city whose history and architecture hold unique meaning for the Jewish world.
“Being from Venice I live it as a real privilege… we have the first ghetto in the world, with these wonderful synagogues—we have treasures.”
Addressing present challenges, Manuela notes the demographic decline of both Venice and its Jewish community, and the urgency of sustaining communal life.
“We were more… as the Venetian population is decreasing more and more, the Jewish Venetian population is also decreasing more and more.”