MARCH 20, 2025: When we travel for Wandering Jew, we usually move quickly, sleeping in a different place almost every night. In Spain, our previous destination, we stayed in 21 different Airbnbs over 27 days. That pace means constant packing, unpacking, and the kashering of many, many kitchens.
In Sicily, we decided to try something different.
Instead of changing locations daily, we’re staying several nights in one place and taking day trips by car. While this means more overall driving, having a place that feels like home—even briefly—has made traveling easier. Tonight will be our third night in Trapani, and today we’re heading south on a day trip to Marsala and Salemi.
With a population of almost 80,000, Marsala is the fifth largest city in Sicily. It is best known for Marsala wine, a fortified wine produced from local grapes. During fermentation, alcohol—usually brandy—is added, increasing the alcohol content and intensifying the flavor. Marsala is made in both dry and sweet versions and is widely used in cooking.
Marsala also holds an important place in Italian national history. It was here, on May 11, 1860, that Giuseppe Garibaldi landed, an event that helped set in motion the unification of Italy and the creation of the Kingdom of Italy.
We left the apartment and began driving south. Just outside Trapani, we passed the salt pans, where pink flamingos were standing in the shallow water. We planned to return to further explore the salt pans later in the day.
The drive to Marsala followed local roads through small towns, all in the same Sicilian palette: varying shades of peach, beige, and faded yellows. Agricultural land surrounded the road, with olive trees and rows of grapevines, likely used for Marsala wine production.
In Marsala, we parked near Porta Nuova, the entrance to the historic center. Nearby, the Museo Archeologico Regionale Lilibeo Baglio Anselmi sits on the waterfront, just outside the old city walls. Instead of entering the museum through the main entrance, we came in through the backyard, where the ancient Roman Cardo is still visible. Nearby ruins were almost completely hidden beneath a thick carpet of purple and yellow wildflowers. Hundreds of white butterflies fluttered everywhere. I loved it.
Inside, a group of students crowded one gallery, their voices echoing softly among the display cases. In one display case, I stopped short: oil lamps decorated with a menorah, a palm branch—maybe a lulav?—and what could possibly be an etrog. This turned out not to be an isolated example. Another large case followed, filled with lamp after lamp bearing these unmistakable Jewish symbols.
In a different display, I noticed a bowl that appeared to be decorated with a Magen David. According to the label, it originated in Tunisia in the 13th century CE—a period when there was a prosperous Jewish community there. It made me wonder whether this bowl, too, had a Jewish connection.
The museum’s centerpiece, and what it is best known for, is a Punic War ship from the First Punic War (Rome versus Carthage in the 3rd century BCE). The ship is displayed in its own hall, alongside reconstructions explaining how it was built and used. There was even a computer game that let you try your hand at building your own ship.
Overall, we found the museum engaging and well done. Unlike other places, the exhibits here were also labeled in English, which allowed us to appreciate it more fully.
From the museum, we walked through Porta Nuova into the historic center.
Marsala’s Jewish history stretches back to antiquity, when the city—then known as Lilybaeum—was a major Phoenician and Roman port with a settled Jewish population, as evidenced by archaeological finds like the oil lamps we had just seen. Jewish life continued through the Byzantine and Islamic periods and flourished in the Middle Ages, when Marsala had an organized community living in a Giudecca and working as merchants, artisans, and professionals connected to wider Mediterranean networks, especially North Africa. That long continuity came to an abrupt end in 1492, when the Spanish expulsion forced Marsala’s Jews to leave or convert, erasing the visible community.
Today, no synagogue or marked Jewish quarter remains. Inside the historic center, Marsala’s Jewish past is invisible. The synagogue is thought to have stood where the church San Pietro stands today. All we could do was walk the streets around the church, assuming this was once the Jewish quarter. Now nothing marks its existence: no plaque, no sign, no street name—no acknowledgment at all.
It was siesta hour as we walked back through the streets of Marsala toward our car. The historic center was lined with pleasant shops; the streets were clean and, at midday, almost completely deserted.
It would be wrong to write about western Sicily without mentioning couscous. Introduced during Arab rule in the 9th–11th centuries, couscous never disappeared from this part of the island. Marsala’s position as a port city facing Tunisia made it a natural gateway for North African food. Unlike much of Italy, where pasta dominates, western Sicily absorbed couscous into everyday cuisine. Different from the North African versions, which typically use meat and vegetables, Sicilian couscous is prepared with a richly flavored broth made from local fish, placed in a large communal dish, and then topped with pieces of cooked fish or seafood.
From Marsala, we drove inland toward the hilltop town of Salemi. The road passed mile after mile of vineyards, punctuated by wind turbines and solar panels. Farmhouses dotted the landscape. It was a very enjoyable drive.
Salemi is not a small place—it has more than 10,000 inhabitants. In 1968, it was devastated by an earthquake, and today the town is a patchwork of old structures and rebuilt ones. It gained some international attention a few years ago when it appeared in a BBC episode about the “€1 houses” project, in which Salemi participates.
We parked on the edge of town and made our way through narrow lanes toward the area of the former Jewish quarter. In the middle of a staircase, we unexpectedly came across a monument erected in 2017 by the Lions Club of Salemi, commemorating the town’s Jewish quarter.
Nearby, a street sign for Via A. Mistretta notes that it was formerly known as Via Giudecca, clearly identifying it as part of Salemi’s Jewish quarter. In the main square, a poster outlines the town’s Jewish history. While there is no precise information about when Jews first settled here, documents show that by 1228 a Jewish community already had a stable presence in Salemi. At the time of the 1492 expulsion, after centuries of generally peaceful coexistence with their Christian and Muslim neighbors, many of Salemi’s Jews chose to remain and convert rather than leave.
Down a lane from the main square stand the ruins of the church of Santa Maria della Catena, built on or near the site of the former synagogue. The synagogue had been constructed in 1040, during the period of Arab rule. After the expulsion of the Jews in 1492, Jewish property was confiscated; the synagogue was seized and either sold or repurposed, likely becoming part of the church complex. The church itself was heavily damaged in the 1968 earthquake, and today only its ruins remain. A sign at the entrance notes the site’s earlier history as a synagogue.
I found it interesting that Marsala—a city that once had a relatively large Jewish population—has nothing today to commemorate it, while Salemi, a hilltop town with a much smaller Jewish presence in the past, has chosen to mark its Jewish history so openly.
Yesterday in Trapani, we stumbled upon a procession in honor of San Giuseppe. Here in Salemi, San Giuseppe is celebrated through the creation of elaborate bread sculptures. Shaped into flowers, tools, wheat sheaves, crowns, animals, and religious symbols, they appear throughout the town—decorating ancient gates and strung above narrow alleyways. The bread is not meant to be eaten; it is a ritual object, offered during the Feast of San Giuseppe as a symbol of devotion, gratitude, and communal memory.
At the entrance to the town hall, there was an ornately decorated table – an Altari di San Giuseppe. For the festival, these altars are constructed in homes, churches, and public spaces and are covered with ritual breads, along with citrus fruit, legumes, sweets, flowers, and candles. They often take weeks of preparation. Each altar fulfills a vow made to Saint Joseph, usually in gratitude for help received or a plea for help during hardship. The altar is both a thank-you and a petition.
Although Salemi is not a large town, it has five museums. One of them, the Ritual Bread Museum, sits in the heart of the historic center. The museum is dedicated to Sicily’s bread-making traditions, with a focus on the ritual breads associated with local festivals such as San Giuseppe. It has two rooms, one dedicated to the ritual breads of Salemi, and the other to the breads of different regions. Each town in Sicily has its own traditional bread shapes, distinct and immediately recognizable to locals.
On our way back to the car, we passed a stand selling Sfince di San Giuseppe, a traditional sweet originally made only for the San Giuseppe festival. A soft, airy pastry filled and topped with sweet ricotta, candied fruit, and—here—chocolate bits, it was impossible to resist. Delicious.
We then drove back toward Trapani along a narrow mountain road, dodging potholes, with rolling hills, agricultural fields and wildflowers on all sides.
Before sunset, we stopped at the salt museum near Nubia, just south of Trapani. The museum itself was already closed, but we could still walk among the salt pans. One windmill near the museum grinds the salt; another, closer to the water, powers a screw mechanism that drains the ponds—faster than waiting for evaporation alone.
A coastal city, a hilltop town, and the salt pans. A full day.
It was a very full and enjoyable day!
They really like bread 😀