First, they were lucky to have lived under the liberal rule of Vespasiano Gonzaga (1531 - 1591), the Duke of Sabbioneta. An enlightened ruler, educated in Greek, Latin, history, Italian literature, the Talmud, and even Kabbalah, he was raised to be both a soldier of fortune and true Renaissance prince. Gonzaga wanted to make Sabbioneta a capital of the mind. He not only permitted the rise of the Foà printing house, but also remained an enlightened protector of the Jews. In fact, as I later discovered, Sabbioneta is the only city in Italy (with the exception of Livorno) that never established a Jewish ghetto. Gonzaga welcomed and respected Jews as “people of the book,” at a time when other cities created ghettos and forced Jewish printers to close.
They were also fortunate that Rabbi Tobia Foà, a man of exceptional culture and good deeds, established the press. According to David Amran, author of The Makers of Hebrew Books in Italy, “No Hebrew press of the century was more fortunate in the number and quality of its workmen.”
My growing curiosity about our printer ancestors led me to educate myself about the history of printing and its migration from Germany to Italy. It’s a history with some surprises.
I did not know, for example, that although Jews helped finance Gutenberg’s 1450 invention — first used to print a Bible in 1455 — they were not permitted to join German printing guilds. So German Jews took their knowledge to Italy where, as early as 1470 in Rome, Christian and Jewish printers were established. Nor did I realize that, even in Italy, the privilege of printing books was never conferred upon a Jew. Only members of patrician houses could establish presses. This explains why Jews partnered with families like the Gonzagas. Even so, licenses to publish Hebrew books were granted and revoked at the whim of local rulers and the pope. In fact, only a short window of time existed during which the church allowed Jewish printers to pursue their trade in Italy. The situation varied from city-state to city-state.
I also had no idea that book burning was such an ancient practice. In 1554, for example, Julius III issued a Papal bull to the effect that all Jewish texts, the Talmud in particular, should be burned. The practice had already begun with a bonfire of books in Rome’s Campo de Fiori. In Venice alone, thousands of books were thrown into the flames in St. Mark’s Square. Very few books survived. Those that did, ironically, were often saved by monks and tucked away in monasteries.