By Anita Hirschbeck (KNA)
80 years ago, the “brothers” saved his life in this place. Now Fausto Zabban sits on the stage of the school theatre at the Collegio San Giuseppe in Rome and tells the pupils his story. When the Nazis occupied the Italian capital, his Jewish family went into hiding, he explains. His father hid at his workplace and his mother was taken in by a private household as a supposedly Christian housemaid. The two sons, however, joined the “brothers” at the Collegio. “Thanks to them, we were both able to …”, Zabban begins, then his voice fails him. The girls and boys in the audience clap.
At the beginning of the Second World War, it is estimated that 10,000 to 15,000 Jews lived in Rome. After Italy’s government had signed an armistice with the Allies, the Germans occupied the capital in September 1943. They arrested, deported and murdered around 2,000 people.
However, many managed to hide until the Allies liberated the city in June 1944. All over Rome, private individuals, employers and above all Catholic organisations opened their doors and allowed Jews and politically persecuted people to go into hiding. Last September, a list that was thought to have been lost was discovered in the archives of the Pontifical Biblical Institute. It shows that more than 4,300 people found protection from the Nazis in church buildings.
Among them was the Collegio San Giuseppe, a Catholic school very close to the Spanish Steps. Founded in 1850, Pope Leo XIII transferred the management of the institute to the Congregation of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, or Lasallians for short, in 1900. The “Brothers”, as they are commonly known, hid around 40 people in their boarding school during the German occupation – mainly boys who pretended to be Catholic pupils. However, there were also a few adults among the rescued, ostensibly school staff.
Zabban remembers his first day at the Collegio. He was 14 years old at the time, his brother eight. Their first stop was the headmaster, Sigismondo Ugo Barbaro. He warned the boys that their names would no longer be Zabban, but “Zambani” – which sounds more Italian. They were also given new first names and told that they came from Apulia and had only recently arrived in Rome.
Barbaro was taking a big risk with his involvement. If the Nazis had found out about him or one of the few insiders, it would have meant a severe punishment, perhaps even death. Today, a memorial plaque in the entrance area of the school honours his commitment.
The Collegio also commemorates its own history every year around Holocaust Remembrance Day on 27 January. Fausto Zabban usually says a few words to the girls and boys in the secondary school. This is not always easy for the little man with the grey hair and friendly face, even at the age of 94. He often has to interrupt his speech for a few moments.
Mario Venezia, President of the Foundation of the Shoah Museum in Rome, has come to the school as the keynote speaker at this year’s event. The Holocaust is a man-made tragedy, says the son of a concentration camp survivor. It does not necessarily have to be repeated one-to-one. “But it is important to recognise certain mechanisms so that something like this doesn’t happen again.”
Zabban tells the Catholic News Agency (KNA) that he never misses the days of remembrance at the Collegio. He was fine at the boarding school. He was only unable to see his parents during the months of Nazi occupation. He once came across them by chance in a park when his class went for a walk. His father and mother were sitting on a bench. “I asked the teacher for permission and then I went up to them and said hello,” says the 94-year-old. “Without saying that they were my parents, of course.”
Thanks to the efforts of the people who hid them, his mother, father and two sons survived the Second World War. Fausto Zabban says that he still feels very close to the Collegio to this day. “They basically saved my skin.”
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