At 95, Aldo Izzo stands as the devoted guardian of the long-suffering Jewish cemetery on the Lido di Venezia, a site repeatedly displaced, violated, and now reduced to a small, vulnerable patch near a shooting range. With quiet authority, he insists that the history of Jews in Venice cannot be understood without these stones, each one holding a story. He points to the grave of rabbi Leone da Modena (who died in 1648), the oldest burial of Samuel son of Sansone (1389), and the scorpion-marked tomb of Sara Copio Sullam (1641), a wealthy, childless poet who hosted a vibrant salon where Jewish and Christian intellectuals from Venice and Padua met in dialogue. He also shows the carved hand pouring water, the emblem of the Levites, whose ritual role endures in the washing of the Cohen’s hands before blessings. 

Admiral Izzo also recited a beautiful passage from Giovanni Prati’s Edmenegarda (1841) with his theatrical voice. The passage describes the desolation of the island of Lido where the cemetery was.

“Prese i fanciulli e lentamente venne al Lido. Nuda e desolata è quella terra e ironite pietre sparse all’intorno, non le onora un segno e non le guarda una croce, eppure stanno qua, custodi di una progenie estinta. Eternamente le percuote il vento, eternamente le flagella il mare a testimoniare che su quella cenere pesa la sentenza di Dio, ma guai all’uomo superbo che calpesta quelle pietre e ride”.