Letter #26, 2026, Monday, September 30: Letter to Miriam #1

Rabbi Israel Zolli (born September 27, 1881, in Brody, Austria-Hungary, died March 2, 1956, in Rome, Italy, age 74). Zolli was the Chief Rabbi of Rome from 1939 to 1945. But, because he converted to Catholicism on February, 1945 (after the Allies had taken control of Rome, but before the end of World War II, which came in Europe in May 1945), he became extremely controversial (link), and was, in effect, “canceled” by the Jewish community of Rome, with his name removed from lists of the Chief Rabbis of Rome. This letter, along with a number of planned future reports on Zolli’s thoughts and faith, is an attempt to shed further light on Zolli’s story and the true nature of his conversion. This letter is written in response to a request made to me long ago by Zolli’s daughter, now deceased, Miriam Zolli… Rabbi Zolli’s Own Words “I am convinced that after this war [the Second Word War], the only means of withstanding the forces of destruction and of undertaking the reconstruction of Europe will be the acceptance of Catholicism, that is to say, the idea of God and of human brotherhood through Christ, and not a brotherhood based on race and supermen, for ‘there is neither Jew nor Greek; neither bond nor free; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.’” —Rabbi Eugenio Zolli, speaking to a journalist in Rome a few days after the announcement of his controversial conversion to Catholicism in February 1945 (link) “I was a Catholic at heart before the war broke out, and I promised God in 1943 that I should become a Christian if I survived the war. No one in the world ever tried to convert me. My conversion was a slow evolution, altogether internal. Years ago, unknown to myself, I gave such an intimately Christian form and character to my writings that an archbishop in Rome said of my book, The Nazarene, ‘Everyone is susceptible of errors, but so far as I can see, as a bishop, I could sign my name to this book.’ I am beginning to understand that for many years I was a natural Christian. If I had noticed that fact 20 years ago, what has happened now would have happened then.” —Rabbi Eugenio Zolli, February, 1945, Ibid. “Do you think I love the Jews less because I have become a Catholic? … No, I shall never stop loving the Jews. I did not compare the Jewish religion to Catholicism and abandon one for the other. This is the greatest tragedy of my life. I slowly, almost imperceptibly became a Christian and could no longer be a Jew.”—Israel Zolli, a week after his conversion on February 13, 1945, interviewed by T. S. Mathews, the Rome correspondent for Time magazine (link) Letter #26, 2026, Wednesday, September 30: For Miriam The Canceled Rabbi In 1939, Israel Zolli (photo above), a Jewish biblical scholar and rabbi from Trieste in northeastern Italy, next to Slovenia, was chosen to become the Chief Rabbi of Rome — one of Europe’s oldest, most prestigious Jewish communities. The choice came just as World War II was about to break out. Thus, it became Zolli’s fate to be at the head of Rome’s Jewish community as Benito Mussolini and his Italian Fascist Party in Italy, in power since 1922, allied with Adolf Hitler in Germany, and war exploded throughout Europe, and the world. After Mussolini fell from power in mid-1943, Hitler ordered German forces to enter Italy, free Mussolini in a daring glider operation in the Gran Sasso mountains, and fully take control of Italy and Rome starting on September 8, 1943. With his years of experience in northern Italy, near Slovenia and Austria, Zolli immediately warned the leaders of Rome’s Jewish community that all of the city’s Jews were in imminent danger. Zolli reportedly urged Jewish families to go immediately into hiding, and to destroy the lists of families and their addresses, in order to make it difficult for the Jews to be rounded up. Other leaders in the Jewish community argued such measures would cause panic, and said that their connections with the Italian government were so strong that the community would always be protected. So, there was an intense conflict within the leadership of the Jewish community in Rome about what precisely to do, during the last days of September and first days of October, 1943. On October 16, 1943, just after dawn, German Gestapo units began to go from house to house in the Jewish section of Rome, and throughout the city. They arrested hundreds of frightened Jewish men, women, and children. Zolli had understood the danger. Thousands of Jews were not arrested, because they were not found in their homes. Many of these had found shelter in Catholic convents and monasteries, and stayed in those places from October 1943 until Rome was liberated from the Germans in June 1944. There is evidence that Pope Pius XII knew of, permitted, and, even actively encouraged this hiding of Jews in Catholic institutions. (Future reports will discuss this question.) Zolli went into hiding himself. But this, too, led to controversy: some members of the Jewish community accused him of abandoning them. (This too will be the subject of future reports.) Then, the war in Italy ended. American General Matthew Clark entered Rome on June 4, 1944. Rome’s synagogue reopened, with Zolli still the community’s rabbi, for the second half of 1944. And Zolli was present to preside over the ceremony of the reopening of Rome’s synagogue, along with an American Jewish Rabbi who was a chaplain with General Clark’s army: Morris Kertzer (Morris Kertzer is father of Prof. David Kertzer, who has become one of the world’s leading scholars on the question of the relationship between the Vatican and Hitler’s Germany, and on the events of October 1943, when hundreds of Rome’s Jews were rounded up by the Gestapo. (Note: “During World War II, Rabbi Kertzer was the only Jewish Chaplain at the Anzio [Italy] beachhead, earning a bronze star for his services there. He entered Rome shortly after the liberation and spoke at the liberation ceremonies. He also served in Africa as well as Southern and Central France before returning home in 1945.” link) Zolli’s Conversion But, on February 13, 1945, Zolli and his wife — Miriam’s parents — were baptized into the Catholic Church by the future Cardinal Luigi Traglia (1895-1977). For many Roman Jews, Zolli’s conversion was an unforgivable wound. And, despite his years of service, Zolli’s name is today almost never mentioned in Rome’s Jewish community, almost as if he never even existed. Join me in Rome this November 2026 for an unforgettable pilgrimage, with the extraordinary privilege of staying inside Vatican City. Only a few places remain — I would be honored to have you with us. And, if you would like to support this research, please donate here. —RM Rabbi Eugenio Zolli’s story has elements of mystery, mysticism, tragedy. On a human level, it is compelling. But it is because he became the chief rabbi of Rome, precisely during World War II, and because he decided to change his name (Israel) to the name of the Pope of Rome, Pius XII (Eugenio), that his story intersects directly and powerfully with the entire history of the Church: the 2,000-year-old history of Christian-Jewish relations. Dinner with Miriam Twenty-eight years ago, in Rome, in Trastevere, on a spring evening in 1998, along with my father, I had dinner with Miriam Zolli, Zolli’s daughter. Miriam, born in 1921, was then 76. (With us was Miriam’s daughter, Maura, so we were four at the dinner in Trastevere: a father and a son, and. mother and a daughter.) For more than two hours we spoke about Miriam’s life and work, Maura’s life and work, my father’s life and work, my life and work. And when Miriam spoke about the life and work, and death, of her father, Eugenio Zolli, once the Chief Rabbi of Rome (he died in 1956, not long after I was born), she seemed on the verge of tears. So I write this letter, in part, in response to those barely suppressed tears. *** Miriam told us that she, with her parents, had become a Catholic, though she insisted that she was also, and would always be, a Jew. Unlike her parents, she had waited more than a year before receiving baptism, spending those months in reflection, study, and prayer. She spoke of the accusations that had followed her father and shadowed her own life. People had said that his conversion was insincere, that he had been paid to convert, or that the strain of war had left him mentally crippled, unable to think clearly. And at one point she turned to me and said, “If you ever would find it possible to write something in defense of my father, to restore his good name, I would be very grateful.” When the meal ended, my father offered to pay. Miriam refused. Trastevere was her home, she told us, and we were her guests. She paid for our dinner with a quiet dignity I have never forgotten. My father and I walked slowly up the Janiculum hill. He turned to me and said, “Bob, that woman had enormous dignity. If you ever can, you ought to write something about her father.” I have carried his words, and Miriam’s request, ever since. As I have looked more closely at Zolli’s story, I have also learned more about the family who lived with its consequences. Miriam became a psychoanalyst in Rome. She married and raised children, including Maura and a son, Enrico. She spoke publicly about her father only rarely. When she did, she tried to explain something many found difficult to accept: he had become a Catholic without believing that he had ceased to be a Jew. Miriam wanted people to understand what her father believed he was doing, even if they could not agree with him. Maura, the daughter beside her at our dinner, became a sociologist and a professor at the University of Bologna. She taught Jewish studies and examined the Shoah, antisemitism, racism, and the history of religious coexistence. She also contributed her family’s testimony to scholarship about her grandfather. Maura died on December 6, 2024. When I learned of her death, I thought again of the two women who had welcomed my father and me in Trastevere. Their story led me back to the accusation that had caused Miriam such pain: that her father had been paid to convert. Zolli did face serious financial hardship. During the German occupation, while he was in hiding, he sought payment of salary owed to him. In February 1945, the Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA) reported that he had described himself as facing starvation. His pension became the subject of a dispute. After his baptism, Catholic clergy gave him practical help. He resumed teaching, first without pay at the University of Rome, La Sapienza, and later in a paid position. He also taught at the Pontifical Biblical Institute. I can now say something more. I have spent some days inside the Vatican Apostolic Archives, examining files related to Rabbi Zolli. In the margins of manuscripts and letters, I have found handwritten notes connected with “Pacelli” (later Pope Pius XII), and “Montini” (Giovanni Battista Montini, the future Pope Paul VI). These documents speak of the relationship of these men with Zolli, and of their wish to help him. The documents concern Zolli’s “human dignity,” and describe arranging work for Zolli within the Vatican’s archives, so that he would have an income, and his personal dignity. I have found, too, evidence of Zolli’s personal appeal to Pius XII, whom he met. Zolli asked the Pope to give special consideration to Jewish concerns about the Church’s teaching and language concerning Jews. This was a matter of deep importance to Zolli after his baptism, as it had been throughout his life. The documents require patient reading. I want to establish the dates, the circumstances, and the precise terms of Zolli’s work before drawing conclusions. But they already point toward a relationship between Zolli and leading figures of the Church that deserves much closer attention. That is the work I intend to undertake in upcoming Moynihan Letters. In the months ahead, I will return to these files, examine what Pacelli and Montini wrote, and follow questions about Zolli’s life that, so far as I can tell, have not yet been fully explored by scholars. Miriam asked me to do something for the memory of her father. My father urged me to do the same. I owe them both a careful account — one that follows the evidence wherever it leads, and allows Rabbi Zolli, at last, to be seen in the fullness of his life. *** Open Letter to the late Miriam Zolli Wednesday, September 30, 2026 Dearest Miriam, I write to you today, Miriam, remembering our dinner together, also with my father, in Trastevere in 1998 — 28 years ago now! That night you told me about your life, your faith, your work, your parents, your father — most of all about your father, Rabbi Zolli, who had been criticized and condemned by so many, and about your wish that someday I might “do something” to help restore his good name. And because we had become friends, and because I was moved by your great dignity in the midst of your pain, I told you that, someday, I would try. Tonight I am writing to you to tell you that the time has finally come, after 28 years, to do what I told you I would try to do. So these letters I will be writing in these coming months are for you. Robert Moynihan Maura De Bernart (1953-2024), Rabbi Zolli’s granddaughter, and Miriam’s daughter (link). Maura was also at the dinner with Miriam and my father in Trastevere in 1998