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Lemonada.

Could I look at it?

I think so. I mean, I got to dig it out. I think it's in the safe. I hope it's in the safe.

That's my dad, Sergio. He's opening this safe in my parents' home.

Well, it got opened.

We're looking for something that belonged to my dad's father, my Nonno Franco.

This looks promising.

Yes, this definitely is his medallion. It's heavy, circular gold with the face of Alfred Nobel on it. I was only five when my white-haired grandfather, the nice guy with the accent who would get down on the rug and play with me sometimes, won the Nobel Prize. The 1985 Prize for economics went to the hot favorite, the Italian-born, naturalized American, Franco Modigliani. Franco was front-page news across the world. Stacks of foreign papers featuring Nonno Franco's victory came in faster than my grandmother could clip them out. But Nonno was most tickled by the coverage from Italy.

I just got an Italian very popular newspaper with the front page, The Price of to the Refugee from fascism.

The Refugee from Fascism, the papers called him. They said he'd fled Italy. One Italian put it this way. He said, Today, Modigliani is our great pride, but he's also our great shame because of what we did here to turn him into an American. Despite what his mother country put him through, Nonno Franco held Italy close to him, even at the Nobel Prize ceremony. In the group photos with all the winners decked out in matching white tie and tails, he's the only one who's added some extra flair. Across his chest, he's wearing the green sach of Italian nighthood. At that pinnacle moment, he wanted the whole world to know where he came from. He wanted to tell a story. And that story is what brings me to my parents house in Boston to open up this safe and hold his medallion in my hands. I'll just take a picture of it. To most folks, this prize is an emblem of academic success. To me, it's really an emblem of survival. I grew up hearing about how Nonno Franco was just a 20-year-old kid when Benito Mussolini passed racial laws against Jews like him, about how lucky he was to have fallen in love with this girl, Serena, and about her family taking him along when they fled the country.

As a kid, I was fascinated by my grandparents' romance on run, all this turmoil they escaped just in the nick of time. As I became a documentary filmmaker, I kept telling myself that I'd capture their story. I told myself I'd spend a solid week together with them, recording in one place all the anecdotes they'd shared over the years. I thought, I have time. I'll get around to it. But I didn't prioritize it. And then, my nonna died. First, Nonna Franco, then my nonna Serena. I will I'll never get those tapes of my grandparents that I promised myself I'd make. But when they died, my nonna left behind a parting gift for their grandchildren, a trove of their love letters full of their stories. And when I read those letters, I can hear their voices so distinctly. I always did these little impersonations of them for my sister and my cousins.

Serena, please don't treat me like a child.

Franco, this morning, you drove away with your briefcase on the roof of the car.

They always sounded to me like those old couples in When Harry Met Sally, the ones being interviewed about their love stories. So sometimes I imagine the interview I would have done with my nunny if I'd acted sooner.

Okay, In my mind, it sounds something like this. Now I keep talking? Okay, si. My name is Serena Calabi Modigliani, and yes, I'm agreeing to these interviews and to showing you these letters your nonno, Franco, and I wrote to each other while we were running from Mussolini. But David, on the condition you promised me that you won't share these letters until I die. But what about me? Okay, until both of us die then, Franco and I. Well, hopefully me first. Why you?

Because I couldn't bear a life without you, Serena.

And so you want me to bear it without you instead? Always to bear everything for both of us?

Mama, Serena, hopefully we die at the same time, okay? At the exact same time. Does that make you happy?

I got to say, I get why my grandmother was reluctant to share those letters.

Franco, you were a literary pornographer at times, so that I... All very tasteful. I wouldn't be able to look my grandchildren in the eye.

Like the nudes in the Sistine Chapel.

But the dead don't.... Blush. Blush. The dead don't blush. And I do want my grandchildren to know this history, your history. That's why I'm sharing these letters with you to show you how love got us through the horror of it all.

Love, yes, but also luck, Serena. Because there is another side to the story here. I mean, everything we escaped and everyone we left behind.

The woman from the neighborhood says to me, They are looking for you. You go out, go out, go out. It's too dangerous. You resist as long as you can, as best as you can.

And when you cannot resist no more, you flee.

My name is David Modigliani, and this is Pack One Back, the story of my Italian Jewish family, split apart by war. And my quest to understand, if fascism takes over your country, do you stay or do you try to flee? And what happens if you can't? This is episode one, The Fairytale Escape. When Minoni died, it was a tough blow, and I couldn't really bring myself to dive into this trove of love letters they'd left for us. I felt this paralyzing mix of sadness and guilt that I'd waited too long. Instead, I just kept their voices alive in my head, and I held their story, what I knew of it, close to me, especially the romantic parts.

I heard the story the first day I met you.

This is Willa.

We were having drinks, and you told me the story of how your grandparents met and escaped fascist Italy together.

It seems I'd been a little over-eager to create a romantic mood on our first date. Wait, so that night, I told you the whole story of how they met?

Yes, complete with the voices.

I first saw your nonna when I was about 15 years old, and she came from Bologna to Rome, where I lived, on a business trip with her father.

I was taller than nonna then.

So of course, when we were playing tag with my cousins, I chose her for my team.

Yes, and then you grabbed my hand while we were running, and it made me fall down and tear my new silk stockings.

She was furious, furious. It was hate at first sight. Right away, she gave me a mean name.

Il Tipo Ridicolo, the ridiculous character. Which is exactly what he was, ridiculous.

But lucky for Nonno Franco, before Nonna's stockings were torn, she'd made the mistake of giving him her mailing address in Bologna. So that summer, he started sending her these postcards, which he always signed, Il Tipo Ridicolo. But these first attempts at flirt couldn't bridge the 200-mile gap between Rome and Bologna or the gap in their age.

I could not really hold her attention from a distance. Her father was a big shot, so she was a fancy young signorina.

Well, and I was almost two years older. You still are. Which means a lot when you're young. Stop it.

So it wasn't until a couple of years later that I a second chance.

Here's how it goes down. Serena's father has business in Rome again, so she comes along with him. And when she arrives, Franco is ready. He invites Serena to join him and his cousins for an outing along the Via Appia Antica, the ancient road that leads up out of Rome and into the hills. He picks her up in this rattling, rusty old Fiat, and his cousins are in a different car. But when they get to the base of the Appia Antica road, the car full of cousins appears to run out of gas, something that Franco had actually planned in advance with his cousins. And they wave Franco and Serena on ahead.

As we drive up the Appia Antica, we begin to pass these mimosa trees which are blooming so beautifully and as soon as I mention them to Franco-I stopped the car. I think something's wrong. He gets out. Then I hear a boom above me on the roof of the car.

Well, my car was the best way to get into the mimosa tree. Oh, gosh.

From the I see him climbing from the car up into the tree and out along a branch to reach a big twig with the blooms, which he manages to break off and then jump down, boom, again, and pass through the window into my lap, this big mimosa blooms up close.

A ridiculous character has to keep up his reputation.

They drive up into the hills, stop by an open field, and have some bread and cheese looking down over Rome, and they get to know each other a little better.

Franco is a pesky, still a little scrawny. But very handsome. Completely ignorant about politics.

I was focused on my studies.

But very intelligent, very curious, and verbally combative, which is attractive.

You see?

And since he is taller now. He's cute enough, I think. He's cute enough. So at a tramonto-Sunset. Before we leave, I let him kiss me.

It is like kissing the sunset itself.

The next morning, when Serena and her father arrive at the train station to go back to Bologna, a thin boy with springy hair in a suit two sizes too big is pacing the platform. The tipo ridículo.

And he just begins to blabber about his undying love for me. I just completely over the top.

I have to make my pitch before she takes a marriage proposal from some fancy man in Bologna.

I say, Don't be so ridículo, Franco. This is too fast. It was just a kiss.

She says, You are too young anyway. You can't even vote. By now, I had skipped two grades. So I say, Look, I'm already in university and I'll be 18 in just three months.

So Serena says, Fine, three months. You can write to me in three months when you turn 18. Then we'll see if this connection is real. And after imposing this cooling off period, she gets on the train with her father and leaves. We'll be right back after a short break. This show is brought to you by Betterhelp. Hey, listeners, I'd love to chat for a minute about the importance of stepping back and reflecting every now and again. Taking a moment to look at our year so far, what we've accomplished, what we've still got ahead of us, is the perfect way to make sure you're on track with all your goals. A good therapist is there as your guide on that path, helping you figure out your next move and making you feel supported along the way. I certainly have benefited from therapy over the years. I found that talking out how I'm feeling and making plans for action can make a huge difference in my quality of life. If you've ever considered therapy or are thinking about returning, Betterhelp makes it more accessible than ever. Their service is entirely online, so it offers flexibility and convenience to fit your busy schedule.

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Three months later, I'm back in Bologna and I get a package from Rome. On top, there's a card, this card from Franco..

But every night I wrote to you.

So I opened the box and inside there are 91 little letters. Three months of letters.

The tipo ridicolo strikes again.

The letters are filled with descriptions of special tramonte. Sunsets. Which he's using as a code word for kiss.

In case her father intercepted the mail. I have to be very careful.

So what could I do? I wrote back a long letter to him.

Sending me Tramonte, too. And that was the start of everything.

So that's part of what I told Willa the day I met her. If it sounds like I was trying to spin this romantic fairy tale to warm her up to me, well, that's 100% accurate.

But I was too busy checking you out to totally remember all the details. So ever since you told me that story, I kept wanting to hear it again.

And I wanted to share it with her, but I also needed to learn more about what actually happened. And at the time, I was wrapped up in film projects. Plus, Willa was living in New York, and I live in Austin, Texas. So after that first date, we'd only seen each other every month or so. But then in the spring of 2020, the world stopped. The coronavirus has changed life as we know it across America. Millions quarantined with whole in lockdown. When the COVID lockdown started, Willa and I were suddenly facing the very real possibility that we wouldn't be able to see each other for an indefinite amount of time. So in a somewhat ridicolo move of my own, I invited Willa to come stay with me in Austin. Thankfully, she was game. She drove to my place and we became quarantined mates.

We went from seeing each other three days a month to living together full-time. Fallen in love with the world on fire.

Willa Willa's right, I was falling for her. And so when she asked again about my grandparents' story, I thought about my copies of their love letters sitting in my filing cabinet. Nonna Serena had even translated them into English before she died. The letters had been a source of guilt and sorrow, but Willa's curiosity felt infectious.

I remember you took out your grandparents' love letters and you started reading through them. We were sitting on the couch, and yeah, you started started to cry.

They were moving.

Very vulnerable.

We wound up immersed in my grandparents' letters. This one from Franco is very head over heels. He says, I do that crazy thing I once described to you. I lay my cheek on your letters and breathe in your perfume.

Have you tried that with my text?

With your text messages? Yeah. No, I don't think they'd smell as good. But these letters weren't all mushy romance. We also saw how the political situation around them was starting to spiral. Franco writes about his professor pressuring him to tow the fascist party line. Serena says, Antisemitism is getting louder in the mainstream press.

Lately, I've seen several anti-Jewish articles. This morning, there was an especially idiotic one in the Bologna newspaper. Wow.

These letters weren't what I'd expected. They weren't fated black and white mementos of some time gone by. The fragility of my grandparents' political situation felt vivid and immediate, even strangely familiar. I mean, today in 2024, the parallels between their era and ours might feel more obvious. But even when we first read these letters back in the spring of 2020, we already had an American President stress testing the fundamentals of democracy. More broadly, we were already in the midst of regular mass shootings by white supremacists, some of whom were posting anti-Jewish manifestos online. An era kicked off by rows of men carrying Tiki torches. Jews will not replace us. Jews will not replace us. Back then, swastikas were already popping up in my town, too. Tonight, neighbors want police to find whoever tagged their cars in South Austin with hateful anti-Semitic symbols. My generation grew up with two things I'd taken for granted, societal acceptance of Jews and a strong democracy. But it struck me that throughout world history, both of those things were not the norm. The period of safety and security Willa and I had grown up in was an exception, an intermission that could end.

As Willa reminded me, part of the reason we met in the first place is because our grandparents had vacationed in the same community, one of the only towns in the area that would allow Jews to rent a place.

That would be crazy for us to be like, Oh, we can't stay in this hotel because we're Jewish. We don't think like that, but our grandparents thought like that.

My grandparents happened to be Jewish, but their story, and the story of who they left behind, holds clues for anyone facing down authoritarianism. For any regular folks who might suddenly become refugees. So as I read their letters, I found myself wanting to ask them questions, not for some historical record, but just to understand my present moment. If a strong man starts to other groups of people and invite political violence, what do you do? I mean, if fascism takes over your country, do you stay or do you try to flee? And how do you know when to make that choice? It's not like I was packing my bags yet, but I did want to understand, how do you plan for it and how do you get out? I also had a question about my bright and beautiful quarantine mate, Willa. What happens to relationships that are forged when the world's on fire? My nuni were gone, and the letters in my hands couldn't answer all of these questions. But the person who knew them best was very much alive. My dad didn't just have a safe in his house. He had a archive, 19 boxes of my grandparents' documents.

In fact, some of these boxes I literally have not opened ever. Part of the problem here is keeping track of all this stuff, and what do you do with it?

It seemed to me that the first step was to open up the boxes. That's after the break. For this show, I really wanted to ask my Italian relatives questions in their own language. That's why I use the most trusted language learning program out there, Rosetta Stone. Rosetta Stone has made learning a language super accessible. I can use it on my phone or on my desktop, so it really immerses you in whatever language you want to learn. The Rosetta Stone team are trusted experts who've been doing this for 30 years with millions of users. They offer 25 different languages. They specialize in helping you learn a language quickly with no English translation, so you really learn to speak, listen, and think in that language. Plus, their built-in true accent feature gives you feedback on your pronunciation, which is super helpful when my dad isn't around. You can get yourself a lifetime membership, which has all 25 languages, so you're covered for any trips and language needs throughout your whole life. So don't put off learning that language. There's no better time than right now to get started. For a very limited time, Pack One Bag listeners can get Rosetta Stone's lifetime membership for 50% off.

Visit rosettastone. Com/packonebag. That's 50% off unlimited access to 25 language courses for the rest of your life. Redeem your 50% off at rosettastone. Com/packonebag today. My dad, Sergio, is an architect by trade, and he looks a little bit like an Italian Hemingway. Solid build, cropped white hair, trimmed white beard, expressive eyes. He's tilting forward a little bit now at age 77, like he's leaning into a stiff wind at sea. All right, so we're going down the stairs of your condo building to a storage area.

Our storage area.

I went back to Boston to see him and to open up this little archive.

Here we are.

Here we are. A what? 8 by 10 room with a couple of shelves and then covered in plastic are these boxes. After pouring through my grandparents' love letters from the late 1930s, I had questions about their flight from Italian fascism, questions that probe deeper than what was in the letters. I was hoping that my dad and these boxes might hold some answers.

Your grandmother, Serena, had for many years been keeping records of your grandfather's life and achievements. When your grandmother passed away, I found a quite remarkable archive, which included things not just related to your grandfather, but to the entire family.

Just like his father, Nonno Franco, my dad is an intellectual omnivore who's also methodical and precise. Even if he hasn't opened these boxes, he's approached them in a logical way, just like every other project I've seen him take on, whether that's designing a hospital or eating corn on the cob. We stack the boxes on an old luggage cart and begin to roll them toward my parents' condo. You've run a very professional operation. Meaning what? A very professional archive. You have carriages, boxes, categorized systems.

David, I've I've been dealing with these for 14 years.

For my whole life, my dad's always been doing things for us. In high school English class, we read this poem that stuck with me. It's called Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden. It's about a father rising early, even on Sundays in the blue-black cold, to make a fire while his son is still warm in bed. I've always felt like the sun in that poem, and this situation is no different. My dad has managed the physical and emotional weight of boxes across two moves so that they sit available for me the day I roll up. It feels like it's time for me to help shoulder the load. We move the boxes from the cart into my dad's home office and get to work. Okay.

Up on the table. Good.

We're glad to be in an architect's office where we have large surfaces for reviewing documents and some good lights.

All right.

Turn it on. Okay, so this is box number one.

Box number one.

This is from Jimmy Carter.

With a handwritten note. How nice. Saying to Serena, your letter is beautiful and still pertinent. Thanks and best wishes. Love, Jimmy Carter.

Love, Jimmy.

Jimmy. Thank you.

This fancy pen pal wasn't really a big surprise to me. As a prominent economist, Donno Franco had a platform, and both he my grandmother used that platform to engage with powerful folks and build real friendships. Dear Serena and Franco, thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Sincerely, Bill Clinton. Okay. Thanks, Bill. But I already knew about most of this postwar public life. I was opening these boxes hoping to uncover more about who my nonny really were before the war and how they escaped it. So when my dad and I took a break from the boxes, we went over the facts. I knew Nonna Serena's family had been ready to flee the country, and that somehow, Franco, the tipo ridículo, had gotten an invitation to come along. Later, in August of 1939, they boarded this famous French ocean liner, the Normandy, bound for New York City.

And they all do indeed arrive in New York, only to find that a few days after their arrival, Hitler invades Poland and the war breaks. The Norman D was the last passenger ship to leave prior to the September 1 outbreak.

I'd always been amazed by this timing, how my grandparents got off the European continent just before it was engulfed in war. But what I didn't fully understand was what Nonno Franco left behind when Serena's parents offered him this chance to escape.

Franco accepted leaving behind in that process his own family in Rome, which included his mother, his brother Georgia, and many cousins, aunts, uncles. So more than five years pass with no knowledge of what had happened to them. So it was a pretty amazing departure and disconnect.

My noni's flight out of Italy had always seemed like a fairytale, this romantic escape with a happy ending that I told Willa the day I met her. But hearing my dad describe my grandfather saying goodbye to his family, I began to see the more tragic side of their story. That departure from the Coast of France ultimately split our family apart. It landed my grandparents in New York and isolated them from everyone they left behind in Italy. When the war broke out, that disconnect became five long years in which Nonno Franco had no news from his family, just reading about the war in the New York Times, listening to a American radio stations broadcast that the Nazis had occupied his hometown of Rome, eventually getting word of the systematic mass murder of European Jews. It's getting late when my dad and I decide to open up one more box for the day. And finally, we find something that does surprise me.

All right, you're opening a box here, three.

Yes, box three. This is a sheath, a sheath of many papers.

This is, I think, maybe the famous letter of... Yeah. From Georgia to the family, telling about his experience during the war. This is-What do you mean the famous letter? Georgia, my uncle, Franco's brother, had written a letter to Franco and Sedana to tell them that They were basically alive and what had happened during the war, and this must be it.

It's a type letter. There's 20.

How many pages? 24 pages. And it starts off. He says,. That is the first direct letter, and there are many things to tell you.

Wow.

Huge.

In my hands, I now have an account from my great uncle Giorgio, one of the family members my Nonno Franco left behind, the famous letter my dad had only heard of. It turns out to be the page-turning story of how Giorgio and his family faced the Nazi occupation of Rome. Here's the passage my dad helped me translate.

. We walked three hours or more with tortured souls, soaked to the bone, with feet rotted by water and mud, while the poor children looked at us speechless, sensing the difficulty of the destiny that waited us. Every time I lifted my foot from the slimy mud to take another step, I seem to feel reliving within me the wandering Jew, as he advances, advances always in search of a refuge, a place which will still not be final for him.

Reading Giorgio's letter is like hearing from a parallel universe, a version of what might have happened to my nuni if they hadn't escaped Italy. But this letter was only a start. I had so much to learn about the other side of my nonny's story, about who and what they'd left behind, about how it all went down. Giorgio's children were still alive in Rome. I'd already failed to record my nonny before they died, but I didn't I have to make the same mistake twice. If I wanted to answer these questions about my grandparents and their families, I knew I had to travel back over the ocean my grandparents had crossed on the Normandy. I had to go back to the hills of mimosa trees back to the country that had given Nonno Franco that green sach of nighthood. Back to Italy. I called Willa to tell her.

How long would you need to be there?

I don't know. A month, maybe.

Yeah.

But I would need a crew. I would need an audio engineer.

Yeah, or I could do it.

Really? Willa was making a ridiculous move of her own, a generous offer to put her own projects on pause and use the audio skills she learned in film school to help me uncover my family's story on the ground. I felt pretty anxious about mixing work with romance, but Willa's curiosity was the reason I'd started digging back into my family's history in the first place. It felt right to keep going together. So I said yes, and we committed to the adventure ahead. With no idea just how far it would take us. Ciao, Enrico. Hey.. This is how beautiful you are.

Thanks to the regime by In 1938, it had become illegal for Jews to move money out. But... I don't know what to say. It had to be done in case we had to flee.

How do you walk out on your whole life in one day. We are walking to go and meet with the Prime Minister of Italy, Mario Draghi. Germany has invaded and bombed many times.

General mobilization has been ordered.

She's saying that the bombs came. There was no siren. They came down and they hid right here. We see a stampede of people with women running and shouting to the men, Run away. The Germans will take you.

As Commander-in-Chief, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.

You could wind up in an internment camp in Texas.

Of course it's crazy. This is what war does.

Next time on Pack One Bag, we prepare for Italy by uncovering more of my family's story in those 19 boxes. That's where we find a surprising personal connection to the very man who would drive my family out of Italy.

Now, it's signed by Mussolini. It's signed directly Benito Mussolini.

It says Vostro. Yours. This is a letter from Benito Mussolini.

Yeah.

PAC One Bag is a production of live-action projects and gilded audio with sales and distribution by Lemonada Media. Is there someone you think might enjoy this show? Please text them this episode. Reviewing the show in your podcast app is the best way to help new listeners find us, even just taking a second to give us five stars. To be sure you don't miss an episode, follow or subscribe to this feed where you're listening right now. If you want to see Modigliani family tree, Franco's Nobel Prize, and the first postcards he sent to Serena, please follow us on Instagram, TikTok, and X at pack1bag. To hear bonus audio from behind the scenes and to share your own stories and comments, please visit our website, pack1bagshow. Com, where you can also find a tip jar to support the series. Pack One Bag is produced and written by me, David Modigliani. Production, audio engineering, and story development by Willa Kaufman. Lead producer, Nicky Stein, producer, Eric Spiegelman. Executive producer and editor, Whitney Donaldson. Story editor and additional writing, Sam Dingman, executive producer and voice talent, Stant, Stanley Tucci. The show's original music is by David Garza, sound design by Dan Rosato, mixing, Mick Duhly.

Additional Italian research and production, Sophie Eisenberg, archival research and additional production, Dustin Brown, Olivia Cani, and Ben Chug. Graphic Design and Art by Philip Hages. Andrew Chug is Gilded Audio's creative director. Executive producers for Lemonada Media, Jessica Cordova-Kramer, and Stephanie Wittelswax. Our show is made possible by the following: lead executive producer El Hefe, Jeff Steen, co-executive producers Andrew J. Viterbi, David Montague, Leanne Barons, Shoshana Ungerleider, Andrew and Lindsay Gill, Alex Halbert, Heather Halbert, and Dominic León. Co-producers, Diana Barrett and Ashley Pettus, and Linda and John Halbert. Associate producers, Justin Siegel, Guy Lancaster, Nikki McGrane, Leah Modigliani and Arthur Yulian. Early development production by Rachel Ecclind and Brian Ramos, consulting Rebecca Feferman. We'll thank the many additional supporters of the show at the end of our series. Until then, my biggest and deepest thanks to the entire extended Modigliani family in the United States and in Italy, all of you, past and present. See you next time.