Lia Elmenia Tagliacozzo’s story is one of movement, layered belonging, and continuity shaped by change. Her family history begins in Naples, where her grandfather, a member of the Tagliacozzo family, settled after participating in the Risorgimento. Trained as an administrator and consultant, he later moved north to work with major industrial figures such as the Cini and Volpi families during the development of Marghera. What began as a professional duty soon became permanent: Venice became home. He married Lia’s grandmother, Adele Polacco, a Venetian surname, and together they rooted the family in the city.

Lia’s grandparents first lived on the Riva degli Schiavoni, renting a house owned by the Curia, near today’s Vivaldi Inn by La Pietà. Later, during the years of the racial laws, her father—an agricultural doctor like his own father—was forced into independence. Unable to work for others, he bought land in Zelarino so he could survive professionally. Eventually, the family returned to city life, selling part of the land to buy an apartment near Santa Margherita, finally owning a home of their own.

Despite this long presence, Lia reflects, “we were not really Venetian.” Even now, she says, her family feels “a little bit foreign, a bit here and a bit there.” The Tagliacozzo name ties them to Naples, while later generations live abroad—in Scotland, Portugal, and Bologna—contrasting with the deep-rooted identity of many Venetians.

Lia was excited when she found the notebook that the ADEI (Associazione Donne Ebree Italiane) kept between 1927 and 1946 and that documented their charitable and educational work. "I read it all like a crazy woman, I was fascinated." She incorporated it in her book Le signore del thè delle cinque: i primi anni dell'ADEI a Venezia (1928-1945) tra tzedaká e cultura ebraica (Venezia : Cetid, 2012). 

Women played a central role, from teaching children to preserving tradition. Jewish communal life provided stability and meaning. Lia recalls religious education, Hebrew lessons, holiday celebrations, and especially the shared joy of Purim costumes and Passover seders. 

Food, too, carries memory. The communal making of Pesach sweets—zuccherini, bisse, and impade—embodies continuity, care, and pride. Watching Venice and its Jewish community modernize, Lia remains thoughtful rather than nostalgic: change, she knows, is inevitable. What endures is the effort to build community, even as its shape evolves.