When it was up to a couple of Jewish friends we would meet for a shabbos meal, having that connection meant some kind of link to home even though I am not religious. I had a room with converted Jews who lived in via Valdarivo and remember their generosity and the sacrifice they made to bringing up a young daughter in their thin minority while attending medical school. I remember the night before passover and appreciated a custom I never saw in my own home, how symbolically they would clean out their house from all their bread crumbs because the following day was Passover. The house had to be free of any bread products, only unleavened bread, Matzos would be allowed.

I was a diligent student dividing my time with first year medical courses and paving my way as a student. Tutoring was what I was good at and some of the doctors appreciated my help although it took me away from my books. Today I still tutor and assist young adults who did not have a chance to further their education. Sometimes psychological and philosophical statements would come out with my teaching, psychology was a favorite elective. early philosophy was a pet peeve.

I turned thirty one early fall day and remember that I felt a little more mature than the way I did when I first lived across the Atlantic where Jews were not always loved. I had shared some lodging in a house on Miramare then shared with a German student from the translation school and a medical colleague from the states. It  hit me in my red Italian woolen sweater, as I was walking toward the city center from the coastal paradise view, past an international convention center and then to the old part of the town, cobblestones and all.