In the maze of stories that run through the fabric of time, the shadows of my memories dance animated by the light of memory, illuminating moments of my journey into the world of the living, which took place hundreds of years ago. That same light is also fuelled by you, who by visiting the place where I rest, keep the testimony of my story alive.
My name is Anselmo Del Banco, once known as Asher Levi Meshullam. I came into the world at the twilight of the Middle Ages, in the year 1480, endowed with a humble soul, but destined for a long journey that would mark it in equal measure, both with glory and suffering. I urge you, therefore, to listen to these words and find comfort in them, as they draw the places of my existence.
I was born into a world of contrasts, a time when the light of hope struggled against the dark clouds of prejudice and persecution. My name, Anselmo Del Banco, resounded among the narrow alleys of Padua, a city where ancient stones whispered stories of generations past and witnessed many vicissitudes of the Jewish community in the 15th and 16th centuries.
The Jewish community, caught in a tight web of prosperity and resistance to a hostile and violent climate, lived under the veiled gaze of history.
Among the alleys and synagogues, our lives were intertwined with the rich traditions of our ancestors. It was a time when the air was thick with uncertainty, a ghostly dance of shadows over our faith.
As the years passed, I became a custodian of riches, an administrator of the financial currents in the Venetian territories. My heart was a ledger and my spirit a nomad in the vast sea of trade and exchange of goods, money and knowledge.
However, the new century came bringing with it a blanket of dark clouds, dragged by winds of war.
In 1509, troops of the League of Cambrai devastated our beloved city. To survive the chaos and horrors of the conflict, I sought refuge in Venice, a city where our community had long been judged, persecuted and excluded. It was among the labyrinthine streets and maze of waterways of Venice that my life took an unexpected turn.
In the canals of Venice I took on the role of spokesperson for my people. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes of Padua, I fought against silence and indifference, succeeding in imposing myself in the places of power, traversing their corridors and ensuring that my voice was heard as I called for the right of residence and fair taxation for my Jewish brothers and sisters.
But in those same places and among those marble halls of the Venetian Senate, the wickedness of men meandered through the architectural wonders, allowing the seed of hatred to germinate in the souls of many. In the year 1516, the Venetian Senate decided to establish a ghetto, a place to confine us within the city walls.
Faced with that horror, however, I did not flee. I stood before them, my voice trembling but undaunted. I stood as both sentinel and advocate, my voice echoing through the narrow confines of our designated home. With passionate words, I demanded fairness and understanding for the Jewish community, which had both the right and the opportunity to coexist harmoniously within the fabric of Venetian society. Although the ghetto was now an inevitable reality, I fought tooth and nail to mitigate its impact and to ensure our dignity and survival.
But my efforts extended beyond the Venetian lagoon; they spanned oceans and continents. I forged links with the Jewish community in Jerusalem, a holy place that many of us had never seen, but which was nevertheless imprinted in every fibre of our collective spirit.
From Venice, I sent money and aid to those seeking comfort in the Holy Land. There, the heart of the Jewish world beckoned and I, like a pilgrim of old, sent money and advice to those embarking on the perilous journey from Venice. Through my correspondence with the distinguished kabbalist Abraham ha-Levi, I delved into messianic topics, exploring the desire for redemption that resonated in our hearts.
In the realm of mysticism, I found a kindred spirit in the esteemed Abraham ha-Levi of Jerusalem. Letters, in which the ink drew our reflections, crossed seas, lands and borders, bringing our souls into communion. The mysteries of Kabbalah were revealed and, in a delicate dance of words, we explored messianic visions that transcended the boundaries of our mortal remains. Amidst adversity, discovery and the defence of my people, my descendants sprouted, allowing my name to survive the ages.
My son, Shimon, embraced the burdens of generosity, covering the expenses of the enigmatic David Reuveni during his stay in Venice. Through such acts, the tendrils of our lives intertwine with the broader tapestry of Jewish history.
Diamant, my daughter, the jewel of our house, intertwined her destiny with Jehiel of Pisa in marriage, forging alliances that have bestowed harmony and prosperity over time.
As my progeny germinated, my life inexorably reached its twilight, and one day in 1536 I left my mortal remains. Now, as my tale comes to an end, I return to rest among the leaves and earth of this sacred place. May my words, like the finest poetry, illuminate the dark corners of memory, eternalising the memory and soul of our people.