My name is Sergio Di Veroli. And today I am 87 years old. When the Anglo-Americans arrived in Rome, on June 4, 1944, I was 7 years old. But in those seven years I had experienced all kinds of harassment that the Fascist regime first, and the Nazi regime later, had inflicted on me because I was born a Jew.

In this continuous chaotic succession of events all more or less dangerous for us, I was perforce awake and retain a very vivid memory of that period. So everything I am going to tell you is the result only of my memories and not of third-party carryover.

Before June 4, it was nine months that we were waiting for the Anglo-Americans to arrive in Rome, but instead they were stuck, as we know, in Monte Cassino. In the meantime, not only we Jews escaped from our home and hid under false surnames, but also all the rest of the population lived in terror of the Nazis, apart from the more than terror reserved for us Jews. The Germans were distant, unapproachable because of their pomposity and hatred against the Italians. Therefore, the terror was to end up even for a trifle in Via Tasso, headquarters of the SS Security Service Command, where they practiced the most atrocious tortures.

The anticipation of the breakthrough at Monte Cassino was spasmodic. But unfortunately, even Radio London, which was the only radio we could somehow hear from friends (in fact, we Jews had also been forbidden to own radios by the racist laws), was saying every day that there was nothing new on the Cassino front. In January-February 1944, the Anglo-American troops that had landed at Anzio had tried to reach Rome, and we could hear the sound of cannonade from the city, but the failed attempt to break through had caused us to lose the great hope of the Americans arriving soon in Rome, so discouragement became deep even in our very brave parents. How much longer could we hold out with the Germans at the door? 

While I remember perfectly well this waiting, always disappointed by Radio London, I do not remember at all that we had received news of the breakthrough of Monte Cassino. An entirely new fact happened for us, however. I will try to tell you about it by showing you a drawing that shows you what my and my family's vantage point was.

From the drawing, you can see the situation of the house where we were hiding in Via Appia Nuova 96, on the fifth floor, corner of Via Fregene. It was a large building with several staircases and a garden courtyard. We were guests of Miss Petrucci who lived in another part of the same apartment. We learned only after the liberation that she had a brother in the Resistance.

From our windows we could see, on one side Via Appia, and on the other up to the railroad lines, which were bombed by the Allies. We also had a small terrace that looked across the two streets.

A few days before June 4 there was a novelty: we saw the German armada parading, continuously, proceeding north. They were proceeding along the center lane, normally used for streetcar tracks, lined on both sides by tall pine trees. It was not the first time we had seen movements of German troops on the Via Appia, but this time we understood after a while, from the continuity of the movement, that it was a real retreat, because day and night this army was parading with soldiers on foot and with a few mechanical vehicles dented or with large holes because they had been hit by bullets.

The wounded soldiers were all blindfolded and went on foot or were even carried on handcarts. These were scenes that, despite our hatred for the Nazis, aroused pity in us. The Germans paraded, day and night, for five days, and so it came to June 4, '44, which was a Sunday. In the early morning the remnants of the German army still passed fleeing in front of us. At about 9 a.m., my mother, who had already come down to go very early to buy something to eat, returned home and said, "They say the Anglo-Americans have already arrived at Cinecittà!" Cinecittà was about 5 km away from us, and shortly afterwards we heard the sound of nearby cannonade beginning.

At about 11 a.m., a German military car with a loudspeaker said that from 12 noon on, everyone was to remain locked in the house. And you were not to go out or make noise "because otherwise you will be kaputt." The word kaputt was constantly used by the Germans at that time, to mean "destroyed, annihilated," terrible things.

At 12 o'clock, absolute silence began. A large German tank with a cannon, which I had never seen of that size, set out pointing from the Porta S. Giovanni to the south, that is, against us who lived on Via Appia Nuova. The tank after a couple of hours disappeared.

The silence became even more absolute. We had also closed almost all the exterior window shutters, because in such a climate there could have been some urban warfare with shooting. There were still glimpses left to see into the street.

Come 6 p.m. some of us, I think my brother Guido, said, "Come, come and see!" What we saw was the marvel we had been expecting for so many months: three large American star-spangled jeeps proceeding toward the center of the city. Each jeep had four riflemen on board, ready to respond to any sniper attacks from above. There was a brief shootout right in the building in front of us. The bullet holes from this shooting remained until the 1960s and can still be seen today in some postwar documentaries. The three jeeps with the star arrived at Porta San Giovanni, turned into the square and then drove back passing under our windows.

Around 8 p.m. the first American trucks arrived, perfectly shiny and as good as new, full of jubilant soldiers, with a crowd of Italians of all ages in the street to greet them, receiving candy and chocolates. That was how I got to know chocolate, which I had not known before. Girls were getting on these trucks-the atmosphere was that friendly people had arrived, unlike the hateful Nazis.

By the way, there were some soldiers who were sons of Italians and spoke a little Italian, often saying the word "Paisà," to say, "you are our countrymen, that is, you have the same origin as us."

The city erupted in celebration with bright and colorful lamps on all the terraces. From all the basements of the buildings, including ours, came out people hitherto hidden and never seen before: they were soldiers who had not joined the Salò Republic, British soldiers, anti-fascists, and hidden people of the Resistance. My father then met an Italian general he knew who was hidden, like us, in our building.

The Anglo-American army paraded under our windows for almost 15 days, day and night.

After a few days, I also saw the Jewish fighters of the Palestinian Brigade parading, carrying the flag with the Star of David, today the flag of the State of Israel. You cannot imagine my amazement at seeing Jewish symbols proudly and fearlessly displayed to the public. I was savoring, for the first time in my life, the taste of freedom.

My mother, to celebrate this great event of liberation, made us a cake with the only half-egg we had in the house (to tell you the hunger in which we lived!). The cake was not good, but very sweet for what it meant.

The following Friday, June 9, 1944, my father, brother and I were at the Jewish Major Temple in Rome for the Shabbat Arvit ceremony. The Synagogue had been closed for months since the Nazi occupation, and now that it was being opened for the first time it was packed to capacity and was full of American servicemen. The prayers were recited partially in English and partially in Hebrew, instead of all in Hebrew as we were used to. It was a memorable event!