I first went to Italy in 1969 and fell in love with the country then. Over the years, I must have visited twenty or thirty times. I used to joke that in my next life I would return as an Italian, because I thought  Italians are like Jews but without the guilt.

Last year, my wife and I moved to Italy from Amsterdam. We first lived in Genoa but realized we were more drawn to the South, which reminded us of California where we were both raised and Israel, where we had been living for eight years. We had no idea how hard some of the cultural adjustments would be, not to mention the crushing bureaucracy (a subject for another post).

We moved to the historic city of Lecce, in the heart of Puglia, the heel of Italy’s boot. In a moment of temporary insanity, we bought a Palazzo built in 1731, located in Lecce’s historic center. We then undertook a renovation project that may be one of the craziest things we have ever done. I wrote about that [here].

The renovation has immersed me in the cultural realities of expat life in Italy. Every day I interact with a range of Italians, the contractor, various designers, lawyers, and other professionals. Italians are not used to dealing directly with someone like me, and I suspect this confuses them. Wealthy, established, and “elderly” people here typically use intermediaries. They are not used to someone who insists on being hands-on and wants to understand everything. 

As an American and an Israeli, I tend to be direct  not aggressive, but direct. I’m fairly sure my directness reads as aggression. I am slowly learning that I need to be more formally polite than feels natural to me including engaging in small talk. I have to be careful not to appear critical or judgmental. I have to get used to using professional titles such as Architetto, Geometra and Avvocato rather than first names. I have to constantly affirm that I appreciate people’s work and expertise. Sometimes I feel like I’m dealing with children but it is me that may be the child.  I get frustrated and angry but then I remind myself: I chose to move here. It is on me to adapt.

One thing they cannot appreciate is my sense of urgency. But at 81, I feel I have at best ten great years ahead of me. I want to be living in our Palazzo; playing my piano, writing in my office, welcoming my family for visits and enjoying the warm summer nights on our terrace overlooking the center of Lecce.  I have an urgency I cannot expect others to understand.

People probably see me in a very different way than I see myself. They see someone wealthy and accomplished, so when I appear critical, it carries an extra sting. I am grateful to be financially comfortable and proud of what I’ve achieved.  However,  I experience those things as the past. I am more focused on what comes next. I am still very engaged professionally including being a Fellow at the Italian Institute of Technology combining my background in science, technology and innovation with a hope to add some value to my new home, Italy.

I am also a Jew in a country that is less than 0.05% Jewish. Being Jewish is central to my identity. Italy is profoundly Catholic, and I have only the vaguest sense of what that means at a cultural level because for Italians, as for Jews, it is not only religion but also a whole way of being in the world.

While I am learning the Italian language, I am realizing I also need to learn Italian culture and that is proving far harder. I never felt this degree of cultural estrangement in any of the other countries I’ve lived in. I know I will never become Italian. But I need to become more flexible, more accepting, more patient. I suppose I am not only renovating a Palazzo. I am renovating myself.