Journey to Nonantola

Moving from the war-torn hills of Slovenia into the relative quiet of Italy was a huge emotional shift for everyone. Even though the views at the border were stunning, the trip was really defined by a messy mix of stressful paperwork and the quiet, exhausted relief of children who knew they had made it out just in the nick of time. The violence they had witnessesd in Slovenia began to recede, replaced by a cautious curiosity.

Reflection on the Journey

Sonja – On the Train, July 16, 1942

I’m sitting on the train heading to Trieste. I’m really looking forward to arriving. For sure, we will stay in Trieste for a few hours. From there, we’ll go to Modena. I hope I’ll like the time there much better than the time I spent in Lesno Brdo. I’ve grown quite distant from Salli, and honestly, it’s for the best.

Yoshko:

“To describe the journey? It is of no importance. We passed through famous cities, everything looked beautiful, and even the waiting near Venice was such that we did not understand its meaning. And perhaps it was better that they did not reveal it to us. Only after the war did they tell us that in those days, battles were fought over our fate: the Germans demanded to divert the train toward Germany, and the Italians refused to comply…

Modena at dawn. The usher of the Jewish community met us. We made our way to the synagogue, our bones still aching from the jolts of the journey. The building is large and the Jews in the city are few. Perhaps in the past, they were unified in this house with the brilliant Leon da Modena.

The first to honor us with his presence was the local rabbi. A large Jewish crowd like this, men aged thirteen and up, is a rare sight in his eyes. With all due respect, we are under an open sky, with caps on our heads. The rabbi—and no one else—gives us food and also warnings: Most of all, do not go out… let us not arouse curiosity… as long as we keep quiet, it will be better for us…

What an inconceivable change! Just two days ago, we were at the center of the wars, among a population that cooperated with the partisans and in hand-to-hand combat with the fighters… Now we are in the heart of the conquering land, in the heart of the Fascist regime. There are no battles and no curfew hours. Life here is without disturbances. It is as if their soldiers were at the front, as if the entire population had surrendered with submission to all the moves of the ruler. A medium-sized Italian city and its streets are peaceful, and there is no understanding of why or what for our panicked messengers warned us.”

Sonja – Modena, July 17, 1942

“When we arrived in Modena early in the morning, several gentlemen from the Delasem came to

meet us right away. They took us to a beautiful temple. We were starving throughout the whole journey. It was terrible. In Trieste, when we got off the train, we took a little walk. In front of us was the vast, big sea. It all felt like a dream. I never imagined I would travel to Italy. We stayed there in the temple until one o’clock, and then we headed to Nonantola, where we’ll go to Villa Emma.”

From Yoshko’s memoirs:

The local rabbi was glad to meet them. The synagogue was a big building and yet we learned that there were not many Jews living in Modena. Thus, their presence (including more than 10 men 13 and older) were very welcomed.

The next morning, representatives from DELASEM arrived to guide them. The final leg was not by train, but by local transport to the nearby village of Nonantola. According to Yoshko, “the road to Nonantola was lined with vineyards and orchards. The sun of Italy was different—it was bright and warm, promising a life that we had almost forgotten existed. As the carts approached the outskirts of the village, a massive red-brick structure rose from the fields. It was the Villa Emma. To the children, it looked like a palace; to us, it looked like a fortress where we might finally find rest.”Yoshko noted the transformation in the children as they stepped out onto the vast, silent platform in Modena. The sun of Italy felt different—bright and warm, promising a life they had almost forgotten. As the group traveled the final stretch toward the outskirts of Nonantola, a massive red-brick structure rose from the vineyards. It was Villa Emma, a mention built by a wealthy Jewish person for his wife in the 19th century.