Art and Ceremony in Jewish Life: Essays in the History of Jewish Art 1899828966, 9781899828968

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ART & CEREMONY IN JEWISH LIFE ESSAYS IN THE HISTORY OF JEWISH ART

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ART & CEREMONY IN JEWISH LIFE ESSAYS IN THE HISTORY OF JEWISH ART VIVIAN B. MANN

The Pindar Press London 2005

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Published by The Pindar Press 40 Narcissus Road London NW6 1TH UK l

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 1 899828 96 6 (hb) ISBN 1 904597 29 7 (pb)

Printed by GRAFILUR, S.A. 48970 Basauri, Spain

This book is printed on acid-free paper

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For my children, Jordan, Ranon and Miriam who lived through the writing of these essays, the earliest of which date back to their childhoods, with great pride in the adults and the parents they have become.

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Contents

Preface

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i

Art and Spirituality through the Rabbis’ Eyes

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THE ART OF THE MIDDLE AGES II

Torah Ornaments before 1600

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III

‘New’ Examples of Ceremonial Art from Medieval Ashkenaz

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IV

Sephardi Ceremonial Art: Continuity in the Diaspora

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Toward an Iconography of Medieval Diaspora Synagogues

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Between Worshipper and Wall: the Place of Art in Liturgical Spaces

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VII

The Unknown Jewish Artists of the Middle Ages

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VIII

A Fifteenth-Century Box in the Jewish Museum and its Transformation

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VI

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The Samson/Hercules Tablemen: A Case for Jewish Patronage in Twelfth-Century Cologne:

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JEWISH ART IN MUSLIM LANDS — THE MIDDLE AGES AND LATER X

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The Covered Gospels, The Torah Case, and the Qur’an Box

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Jewish-Muslim Acculturation in the Ottoman Empire: The Evidence of Ceremonial Art

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Memory, Mimesis, Realia: Jews and Art in Morocco

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RENAISSANCE TO ROCOCO XIII

The Rediscovery of a Known Work

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The Golden Age of Jewish Ceremonial Art in Frankfurt: Metalwork of the Eighteenth Century

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Forging Judaica: The Case of the Italian Majolica Seder Plates

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Defining Jewish Art: The Case of Two Eighteenth-Century Book Covers

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Glossary

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Bibliography

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Index of Names

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Photo Credits

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Preface

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N the process of revising many of the essays written years ago, I was reminded of how many times I acknowledged the same names in thankfulness for their suggestions. The late Rafi Grafman, who combined a scholar’s knowledge of the decorative arts with an artisan’s knowledge of how things were made, offered rare insights into works I was investigating. Each and every time I published an article or a book, Rafi responded with pages of single-spaced criticism and suggestions of further bibliography. Since my arrival at The Jewish Museum in New York twenty-five years ago, Professor Menahem Schmelzer (then Librarian of the Seminary Library) has always made himself available to answer textual questions, drawing on his vast knowledge of liturgy and Hebrew poetry. And finally, Richie Cohen who brought to our discussions over the last twenty-five years the perspectives of the historian and social historian, holding a different mirror up to my art historian’s approach. Out of our professional relationship grew a meaningful friendship, which has stayed fast these many years. And many were the times I turned to my son, Dr. Jordan Mann, whose profound knowledge of talmudic lore has always been a source of pride to his mother. I am fortunate to have found these teachers. My deepest gratitude goes to Stacey Traunfeld of the Judaica Department of The Jewish Museum, whose hard work and cheer did much to further this book, and to Irwin Robin who became my “second pair of eyes”. In deciding to dedicate Art and Ceremony in Jewish Life to my children, Jordan and Ali, Ranon and Shani, and Miriam and Stephen, I turn toward the future, to Lizzie, Shoshana, Ezra, Jacob, David, Micah, Yoni, and

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Joseph, beautiful grandchildren who, hopefully, will one day reflect the ahavat shamayim (the love of God), the intelligence, and loving kindness of their parents. VIVIAN B. MANN NEW YORK, NEW YORK JULY 24, 2004

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INTRODUCTION

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Art & Spirituality through the Rabbis’ Eyes Introduction

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HE art discussed in this paper is ceremonial, art used in conjunction with prayer and the rituals of Jewish life. Its relationship to spirituality was a question considered in rabbinic literature, sometimes directly and, at other times, by inference. Various factors affected rabbinic views on the role of ceremonial art in promoting or detracting from spirituality: the developmental history of Judaica; the age in which the rabbinic decisor lived; and even the culture of which he was a part. As a result of these variables, opinions ranged from the view that works of art interfered with spirituality to the opinion that art could serve as an agent of spiritual inspiration. The History of Judaica

Not all the Judaica we know and use today existed in the past. Certain types have always been necessary for the practice of Judaism and are discussed in the Mishnah (first–second centuries) and the Talmud (third–sixth centuries), for example, a cup or goblet for the recitation of blessings over wine, a common ceremony in Jewish life. Yet, none of the texts outlining the requirements for the cup describe its form or decora-

This paper was first read at the Orthodox Forum 2000, sponsored by the Rabbi Isaac Elhanan Theological Seminary of Yeshiva University, New York.

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tion,1 and no ancient vessel has been found that was designated by inscription or imagery as having been made exclusively for the sanctification over wine.2 Other types of Judaica that are ubiquitous today were unknown in antiquity, for example, a lamp with eight lights designated for use on Hanukkah, although branched synagogue menorot did exist.3 The earliest extant Hanukkah lamp dates only to the 12th–13th century (Fig. 1) as does the earliest mention of a container used to hold the spices for havdalah, the ceremony that marks the end of Sabbaths and festivals.4 A relatively amusing responsum of Maimonides (1138–1204) considers the case of an inebriated cantor who caused the finials to fall from the staves of a Torah scroll,5 one of the first citations of Torah finials as objects independent of the staves, aside from records found in the Cairo Geniza.6 Other geniza texts indicate the development of other forms of Judaica. For example, the inventory of the Babylonian synagogue in Fostat of 1095 includes the first mention of copper tikim, rigid cylindrical cases for the Torah scroll. By the twelfth century, then, new forms of ceremonial art had appeared in addition to those known from the Mishnah and the Talmud. In the late Middle Ages and the early modern period, new types of tableware and display plate were created, the result of the exploration of the Americas at the end of the fifteenth century and the increase in the European silver supply. These works in silver sometimes inspired innovative forms of Judaica, like the Torah shield, which answered a long-standing need for an appropriate means of identifying a Torah to be used for a specific service (Fig. 2). Anton Margaritha described silver Torah shields in his See, for example, Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 51a. Rachel Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel (Leiden, New York, and Copenhagen, 1988), p. 238. 3 Ibid., pp. 238–41 and Figs. 54 a–b and 57, for examples of synagogue menorot. 4 B. Narkiss, ‘Un objet de culte: la lampe de Hanuka’, in Art et archéologie des Juifs en France médiévale, ed. Bernhard Blumenkranz (Toulouse: 1980), pp. 200–201. The earliest mention of a spice container appears in the work of Isaac ben Moses of Vienna who wrote that his teacher, Rabbi Ephraim of Regensburg (1110–75), stored spices in a glass container for use in the havdalah ceremony. (She’alot uTeshuvot ‘Or Zaru’a, Vol. 2 [Zitomer: 1862], no. 92). 5 Maimonides, Teshuvot haRambam, Vol. 2, ed. Jehoshua Blau (Jerusalem, 1960), no. 165. 6 Shlomo Dov Goiten, ‘The Synagogue Building and its Furnishings according to the Records of the Cairo Geniza’ (in Hebrew), Eretz Israel 7(1964), pp. 81–97. 1 2

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Die Ganz jüdisch Glaub, published in 1530.7 Silver created for guilds likewise stimulated the commissioning of like objects for evrot, the Jewish societies devoted to the same social welfare functions as the Christian guilds. Burial Society beakers are one example (Fig. 3). In the eighteenth century, the expansion of European Jewish communities and the resulting need for ceremonial objects for new synagogues joined to the general desire for silver objets de luxe. The result was another creative period in the history of ceremonial art with new types created and much experimentation with the decoration and iconography of existing types. During the last two centuries, the increased affluence of the Jewish community, coupled with new and cheaper mechanical means of production, have led to the creation of ceremonial art for which there is no imperative in Jewish law, e.g. silver plates for matzot, the unleavened bread eaten on Passover (Fig. 4). The present corpus of Jewish ceremonial art evolved over centuries. Innovative forms and decoration often became the subject of halakhic discussion when rabbinic authorities were questioned on the appropriateness of new Judaica: its form, decoration, or its medium. Interestingly, the responsa on ceremonial art are largely all post-facto; they result from the creation of a work commissioned or made by a donor that is subsequently questioned by another member of the community.8 Spirituality and Art: the Negative View An oft-quoted responsum of Maimonides discusses art in liturgical spaces in the context of the need to concentrate during prayer,9 a subject treated more fully in his code of Jewish law, the Mishneh Torah.10 His questioner asked:

Anton Margaritha, Die Gantz jüdisch Glaub (Augsburg, 1530), pp. 267–268. The exceptions are questions on the architecture of synagogues (e.g. Ezekiel Landau, Responsa Keneset Yeezkel (Sudilkov, 1833), pt.1: no. 18 and pt. 2: no.16). Probably, the relatively high cost of building acted as a deterrent to commissioning without rabbinic approval. 9 Maimonides, Teshuvot haRambam, no. 215. This translation as well as others cited in this paper are from Vivian B. Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts (Cambridge and New York, 2000). For an expanded discussion of this responsum and others discussed in this section, see pp. 98–100 below. 10 Ibid., Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tefillah 4:15–18. 7 8

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. . . ‘Is the Torah curtain, to which we direct ourselves during prayer, which incorporates images that do not project and these are at the sides [of the curtain], or the covers placed on walls of the house to beautify them forbidden?’ Maimonides answered: [It is not a matter of a prohibition, but] ‘what is preferable. Coming close to the wall allows for concentration. The Torah curtain doesn’t prevent concentration [but] . . . Turning toward images during prayer, even those that do not project, distracts us into looking at them and our kavanah, or concentration, is lost’. In this responsum on the disruption of kavanah, which Maimonides elsewhere described as spirituality,11 he differentiates between figured textiles hung in a home for aesthetic reasons and a Torah curtain incorporating imaged textiles. One reason for his distinction between the two may have been their compositions. Presumably, the textile or mural in the home was composed entirely of images, while only the less significant portions of the curtain bore images, i.e. the sides of the composition.12 There is no description of its centre. A review of fabrics that date to Maimonides’ lifetime found in Fustat reveals that the decorated examples were woven with floral designs or fauna; they lack human images (Fig. 5).13 A further hint as to the appearance of the textiles hung in the home comes from a quotation of the same responsum by Joseph Caro (1479–1575) who cites only the ‘fine wool screen that is hung on the walls of a house for beauty’. He could have been referring to woven textiles14 or to knotted pile rugs. Ibid., Teshuvot haRambam, ed. Joshua Blau (Jerusalem, 1960), no. 215. See below, pp. 98–104 for a more extensive discussion of this text and those of Rabbi Eliakim and Meir of Rothenburg cited briefly here. 12 See Yedidiah Stillman, Arab Dress. A Short History from the Dawn of Islam to Modern Times, ed. Norman A. Stillman (Leiden, Boston, and Cologne, 2000), pp. 58–59 for textiles with borders colored differently than the main fabric. 13 See for example Clive Rogers, ed., Early Islamic Textiles (Brighton, 1983), Pls. IV, VIII, IX, Figs. 28–29. 14 Decorated textiles dated to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have been recovered from Muslim graves in Egypt. (Louise W. Mackie, ‘Textiles’, Fustat Expedition Final Report, Vol. 2, eds.Władys ł aw Kubiak and George T. Scanlon (Winona Lake, 1989); Paul Schulze, Alte Stoffe [Berlin, 1920], pp. 19–21, Fig. 10.) 11

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Maimonides’ responsum was cited by later rabbis as proof that the presence of works of art or ceremonial objects with figurative decoration in a place of prayer could prevent the achievement of spirituality by interfering with the worshipper’s concentration. In a famous case, Eliakim ben Joseph of Mainz (b. ca. 1170) objected to the presence of stained glass with depictions of snakes and lions in the synagogue of Cologne, and had them removed. 15 ‘They drew images of lions and snakes in the windows . . . [They] are prohibited because they are cult images, as is the serpent . . . It is also [prohibited] because one who is praying is commanded that there should not be anything interposed between him and the wall. Moreover, when one bows during [the recitation of ] his blessings, it would appear as if he bows to those images . . .’ Another, slightly later responsum of Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg (1215–93) discusses a ceremonial object of venerable age and precedent, but one that has been newly decorated with images.16 Illuminated Hebrew Bibles and Festival Prayer Books (mazorim) of large size appeared in the middle of the thirteenth century. Rabbi Meir began his text by repeating the question of his respondent: ‘You asked concerning the forms of animals and birds that are in prayer books, and are surprised that I do not object to them. [He answered,] ‘It seems to me they are not acting properly, since when they look at these forms, they do not concentrate [during their prayers] on their Father who is in heaven’. These examples should suffice to show that during the Middle Ages, the presence of art in a liturgical space or embodied in a ceremonial object was deemed by some rabbis to interfere with the achievement of kavanah, the spiritual state necessary to prayer. The tone of their responsa is negative, as these rabbis sought to establish limits to the works of art used in places of worship.

15 Isaac ben Moses of Vienna, Or Zaru’a (Jerusalem, 1887), Avodah Zarah, par. 203; Isak Farkas Kahan, Mekarim beSifrut haTeshuvot (Jerusalem, 1960), pp. 352–3. See below, pp. 101–103. 16 Meir of Rothenburg, Responsa Maharam of Rothenburg (Jerusalem, 1986), no. 56. See Simha Emanuel, ‘Responsa of R. Meir of Rothenburg as a Source for Jewish History’, Europas Juden im Mittelalter/ The Jews of Europe in the Middle Ages’ (Trier, 2004).

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The medium of the artwork situated in a place of prayer was another key consideration in rabbinic discussions of appropriateness. For example, many texts articulate a reluctance to fabricate Torah mantles, binders, and curtains from secondhand textiles. Previously worn textiles, generally fine silks, were highly valued, as few could afford these very expensive cloths when they were new. Jewish involvement in the textile trade during the Middle Ages and later is well known. It sometimes resulted from a ruler’s acknowledgment of the biblical prohibition against wearing a garment composed of both linen and wool (Deut. 22:11) and the need for Jews to manufacture their own clothing, or because expensive textiles were used as pawns in moneylending, or because Jews traded in secondhand goods. Meir of Rothenburg was one of the first decisors to rule on their use: 17 ‘Maharam18 forbids using the fabric from a vestment that a priest wears when he enters the house of idolatry to fashion an article used for fulfiling a commandment . . . However, the textile may be used for purposes other than the fulfilment of a commandment. [And further:] ‘Although priestly ornaments are permitted for everyday use, it is improper to use them to adorn a prayer shawl. Such ornaments have come from a place of filth; let them return to a place of filth’. It is impossible to know how widely Rabbi Meir’s restrictions were observed. There are instances of similar fabrics used both for ecclesiastical garments and Torah mantles and if there are no seams to indicate prior use, then it is impossible to say that one was made from a secondhand textile rather than both having been made from new fabrics.19 But there are some clear cases of the Jewish reuse of church vestments as synagogue textiles. A specialty of one Bohemia nunnery in the eighteenth century was the embroidery of naturalistic flowers and leaves on silk in the style of earlier Dutch still-life paintings. These textiles were made into church vestments Meir of Rothenburg, Responsa Maharam II. Pesakim uMinhagim, ed. I. Z. Kahan (Jerusalem, 1960), nos. 123–5. 18 Maharam is an acronym for Rabbi Meir’s name. In halakhic literature, rabbis are frequently referred to in this manner. 19 For an example of the use of the same cloth for both Jewish and Christian liturgical textiles, see D. Altshuler, ed., The Precious Legacy: Judaica Treasures from the Czechoslovak State Collections (New York, 1983), cat. no. 21, Fig. 67 and Milena Zeminová, Barokni Textilie (Prague,1974), nos. 62–63. 17

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and donated to Santa Maria in Loretto, Prague, and to Austrian monasteries.20 Two Torah mantles now in the Jewish Museum, Prague, are composed of small pieces of the nuns’ embroidery skillfully patched to preserve their original patterns (Fig. 6).21 Art that Contributes to Spirituality The most frequently cited passage on the need to fashion beautiful ceremonial art begins Zeh Keli ve-anvehu, ‘This is my Lord and I will exalt Him’ (Ex. 15:2). The Babylonian Talmud (Sabbath 133b) commented on this biblical verse: ‘Adorn yourself before Him through the commandments. Make a beautiful sukkah, and a beautiful lulav, and a beautiful shofar, beautiful zizit, a beautiful Torah scroll in which to write His name with beautiful ink and penmanship by a trained scribe, and bind it with fine silks’.22 This passage is so often cited in discussions of Jewish ceremonial art as to have become a catchall explanation for the development of new forms and decoration when, in reality, these depend in part on historical and art historical circumstances. The inadequacy of ‘This is my Lord and I will exalt Him’ as the sole stimulus for the creation of Judaica may be deduced from an analysis of the artistic categories to which the cited ceremonial objects belong. The shofar (ram’s horn), the lulav, and the silk binder or mantle for the Torah scroll are all preexisting objects that are modified or finished (in the case of the shofar and the textiles) or arranged as a compound object (in the case of the lulav). In art historical parlance, they are ‘found objects’, typologically the same as those created from existing pieces by Marcel Duchamp and Picasso. The writing of a Torah scroll is subject to such precise rules as to allow little room for creativity, except in the excellence of the script. Never decorated, the Torah scroll is above all a text, rather than a work of art. We are left to consider the sukkah and zizit. Zeminová, Barokní Textilie, nos. 48 and 78. Altshuler, The Precious Legacy, cat. no. 24, Fig. 110; Jirí Dole¾al and Ev¾en Vesely, Památky pra ć kého ghetta (Prague, 1969), no. 138. 22 A lulav consists of a palm branch to which sprigs of myrtle and willow are bound. The lulav is carried in procession during prayers on the fall holiday of Tabernacles (Sukkot). 20 21

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The sukkah is a structure used only eight days of the year as a site for ceremonial meals, study, entertaining, and sleeping during the holiday of Tabernacles. Even when its constituent building components remain in a fixed arrangement, the decoration of the sukkah may vary from year to year as old wall hangings wear out and new ones are acquired. The decorated sukkah could be considered the setting for what is termed today ‘performance art’, a temporary environment enlivened by the activities that take place within. The only object cited above that might qualify as art in the sense of a work created by a trained artist or artisan is the zizit, a term that refers either to the knotted fringes at the corner of a rectangular garment, or to a garment with such fringes. Its wearing is mandated in the Bible (Deut. 22: 12). A garment with fringes may vary in material or colour according to the traditions of the Jewish community in which it was made or the whim of its wearer, although the manner of knotting the fringes is prescribed by Jewish law. If the cloth to which the fringes are attached is handwoven or embroidered, the garment could qualify as a work of art (e.g. Fig. 7). No other type of art is mentioned in the passage ‘Zeh Keli ve-anvehu’, despite the fact that the rabbis of the Talmud must have been familiar with art created for the Tabernacle and the Temple from their description in biblical texts. To gain another view of a positive relationship between art and spirituality in Judaism, one must turn to later texts, to the responsa. A key shift in the halakhic attitude toward decoration in the synagogue appears in the responsum of Joseph Caro on the presence of wool hangings in a place of prayer cited above, which was written before his death in 1575: 23 ‘One cannot argue from Maimonides’ words . . . [that one should not hang a Torah curtain with figures on it], because he had said that it is not proper that figured textiles should create a barrier between one and the wall. It is the custom throughout the diaspora to hang figured and embroidered Torah curtains, and no one has been concerned about diminished concentration on prayer as a result. Honouring the Torah [by placing an attractive curtain on the ark] is given precedence, and one praying before such a curtain can avert his eyes in order not to gaze at

23

See above, n. 12.

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the figures. In any case, people do not concentrate properly on their prayers today . . .’ The earliest extant Torah curtains with complex compositions and iconography date from Rabbi Caro’s lifetime. One is a knotted pile carpet created by an Egyptian artist working either in Egypt or Padua ca.1550 (Fig. 8), and the other is an embroidered ark curtain made by Solomon Perlsticker and his wife in Prague in 1547 and refurbished by their son and daughter-in-law in 1592.24 The appearance of complex compositions and iconographical elements on these Torah curtains contrasts with the unembellished appearance of curtains depicted in earlier medieval Hebrew manuscripts.25 This development is probably due to the spread of printed books with their decorated titles pages and illustrations. Caro rejected the opinion that decorated curtains interfered with concentration on prayer, and instead viewed them as contributing to the honour of the Torah and as enhancing the spiritual atmosphere of the synagogue. A positive statement on the role of media in contributing to the spiritual atmosphere of the synagogue appears in a responsum authored by the Ashkenazi rabbi Jair
ayyim Bacharach (1638–1672) to the following question: 26 ‘A congregation had a silver lamp, called a Lampe, which hung before the Torah ark. It was stolen, and the congregation is unable to gather sufficient donations to purchase another silver lamp. Some of the congregants wish to replace the stolen lamp with a brass one, which is called Mess[ing], while others wish to prevent this, saying that hanging a brass lamp in the synagogue [similar to those] found in homes infringes on the “dignity” of the community’. Answer: ‘If the lamp is large and has many nozzles [for wicks] and its brass is gilt The State Jewish Museum in Prague, Synagogical Textiles (Prague, 1984), p. 18. For Ashkenazi examples, see Annette Weber, ‘Ark and Curtain: Monuments for a Jewish Nation in Exile’, Jewish Art, 23–24 (1997/98), p. 92, Figs. 3 and 5 and for an Italian medieval example, see Thérèse and Mendel Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages (Fribourg, 1982), Fig. 97. 26 Jair
ayyim Bacharach,
avvot Ya’ir (Frankfurt am Main, 1699), no. 68. 24 25

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so that it is an unusually attractive type found only in the homes of the nobility and the extremely wealthy, then clearly the law sides with the donors . . . If it is a more modest lamp of the type found in homes, it still seems appropriate (Fig. 9) . . . When [the congregants] become wealthier, they can replace the brass lamp with a silver one, as was recorded in regard to the menorah in the Temple . . . On the other hand, an individual who wishes to donate an expensive lamp requires the congregation’s consent, as does a society within the city [offering a donation] . . . The community should, therefore, grant permission for a lamp to be donated to the synagogue only if it is proper and respectable, and ‘fit to honour the synagogue’ . . . It seems to me, however, that in the case of a synagogue menorah owned by the congregation whose branches are broken, or of a synagogue lamp with similar damage that would be demeaning for a homeowner to keep, then it is a dishonour for the congregation [to retain such lamps]’. Rabbi Bacharach made three important points related to the aesthetics of the synagogue: (1) prima facie, a more expensive material like silver is preferable; (2) the composition and the condition of the ceremonial object are important factors in judging whether or not a work is ‘fit to honour the synagogue’, i.e. to contribute to the spiritual atmosphere of the synagogue; (3) Judaica for the synagogue must meet the community’s aesthetic standards. That a community could hold commonly accepted standards of aesthetics is also an assumption underlying a sixteenth-century decision by Rabbi David ibn abi Zimra of Cairo (1479–1573) concerning the distribution of ceremonial objects between an established congregation and a breakaway group.27 After reviewing various criteria that might be applicable to dividing the art, he stated: ‘In the present case, however, none of these factors [regarding the donation of the works] is present . . . Therefore, the donations of ceremonial objects were made with the implicit consent of the whole congregation, [and] because of that, it seems to me that the two congregations should use ritual objects on alternating weeks. If the works may be appropriately divided, for example, if there are two Torah crowns and

27

David ibn abi Zimra, Sh’ut ha-Radbaz, pt. 8 (Warsaw, 1882), no. 170.

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1. Hanukkah Lamp, Lyons, 12th–13th century, stone (Paris, Klagsbald Collection)

2. Torah Shield, Germany, 1669, silver (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of Dr. Harry G. Friedman, F2563)

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3. Beakers of the Worms Burial Society, left: Johann Conrad Weiss, Nuremberg, 1711/12, right: Unknown Master, Worms(?), ca. 1732 , silver: engraved (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of Michael Oppenheim, Mainz, JM 31-51)

4. Avraham ben Ardon, Plate for Matzah, Jerusalem, 1909-15, copper alloy: engraved (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of Dr. Harry G. Friedman, F 1515)

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5. Fragment of a Garment, Fustat, 12-15th century, cotton: resist dyed (Brooklyn, Brooklyn Museum, Charles Edwin Wilbour Fund, 38.846)

6. Torah Mantle, Prague, 18th century, silk: embroidered with silk and metallic threads (Prague, Židovské Muzeum, 32.105)

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7. Zizit, Gallipoli, 19th Century, silk batiste: embroidered with silver thread washed with gold; wool fringes (New York, Yeshiva University Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Nahman Yohai, 77.157)

8. Torah Curtain, Padua or Egypt, ca. 1550, knotted wool (Padua, Comunità Israelitica)

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9. Hanging Lamp, late 18th century, copper alloy (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of the Danzig Jewish Community, D 94)

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two pairs of finials, each congregation should use one. If one work is more beautiful than the other, they should be shared in alternating use’.28 There are also many references in rabbinic literature to beauty as the imperative factor in the creation of ceremonial objects, as in this passage from Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah: 29 ‘One acts towards a kosher Torah scroll with additional holiness and great honour’ [and after enumerating all the objects necessary for the reading of the Torah he concludes] ‘and the silver and gold finials, and the like, that are made for the beauty of the Torah scroll, are instruments of holiness’. Conclusion Figurative art in the home could interfere with spirituality, since art attracts attention by virtue of what David Freedberg has termed ‘the power of images’.30 It is, therefore, better to pray at home opposite a blank wall. Art in the synagogue, in a public place, may also distract the worshipper if it appears in an inappropriate object like the cantor’s prayer book, or in inappropriate forms or media. Nevertheless, the rabbis saw that art could contribute to spirituality. This is apparent in the citations of beauty as an objective halakhic criterion, and in the many references to works made solely for the sake of beauty. Rabbinic literature reflects what Umberto Eco has written about the Middle Ages: ‘. . . intelligible beauty was in the medieval experience a moral and psychological reality’.31 The most explicit passage on the power of art to inspire spirituality is in Profiat Duran’s Ma’aseh Efod: 32

Italics mine. Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Sefer Torah, 10:4. (Italics mine.) 30 David Freedberg, The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theories of Response (Chicago and London, 1991). 31 Umberto Eco, Art and Beauty in the Middle Ages (New Haven and London, 1986), p. 5. 32 Profiat Duran, whose given name was Isaac ben Moses haLevi, was born in Perpignan and later lived in Catalonia where he died ca. 1414; Sefer Ma’aseh Efod (Vienna, 1891), p. 19. [In Spain, a Bible was referred to as a mikdash me’at or mikdashiah, a lesser sanctuary, in imitation of the Temple in Jerusalem referred to in Hebrew as the Bet haMikdash.] 28 29

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‘Study should always be in beautiful books, pleasant for their beauty and the splendour of their scripts and parchments, with elegant ornament and covers. And the places for study should be desirable, the study halls beautifully built so that people’s love and desire for study will increase. Memory will also improve since contemplation and study occur amidst beautifully developed forms and beautiful drawings, with the result that the soul will expand and be encouraged and strengthen its powers . . . It is also obligatory and appropriate to enhance the books of God and to direct oneself to their beauty, splendour, and loveliness. Just as God wished to adorn the place of His Sanctuary with gold, silver, and precious stones, so is this appropriate for His holy books, especially for the book that is ‘His Sanctuary [the Bible]’.

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NE acts towards a kosher Torah Scroll with additional holiness and great honour . . . A tik [container] that was prepared for a Torah scroll that was laid in it, textile wrappers, the ark and the reader’s desk . . . and also the chair prepared to rest the Torah Scroll on it, and it rested on it, all are implements of holiness . . . and the silver and gold rimmonim [finials], and the like, which are made for the beauty of the Torah scroll, are implements of holiness . . .’ Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Sefer Torah 10:4

Maimonides’ discussion of the sanctity of Torah cases, mantles, arks, reader’s desks, chairs, and finials states that all are sacred because they come into physical contact with the holiest artifact of Judaism, the Torah scroll.1 This scroll is inscribed with the first five Books of the Hebrew Bible, traditionally believed to have been dictated by God to Moses during the forty days the great leader spent on Mount Sinai, and written down at a later

I wish to thank Professor Richard I. Cohen of the Hebrew University for all the constructive comments he made on earlier version of this essay, and to acknowledge the many informative suggestions made by the late Rafi Grafman. 1 A somewhat different version of this essay was previously published as the ‘Introduction’, to Crowning Glory: Silver Torah Ornaments of the Jewish Museum, by Rafi Grafman, ed. by Vivian B. Mann (New York and Boston, 1996), pp. 1–15. A short essay on the subject of this chapter was written by Franz Landsberger and first published in 1952–53, that is fifty years ago. It was reprinted as ‘The Origin of European Torah Decorations’, Beauty in Holiness, ed. Joseph Gutmann (New York, 1975), pp. 87–105.

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date. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy contain the early history of the Jewish people and the laws, precepts, and ethical norms they are commanded to follow. All other types of Jewish ceremonial art, with the exception of tefillin and mezuzot,2 are handmaidens of the performance of religious commandments, but do not have the inherent sanctity defined by Maimonides for Torah ornaments. Given their revered position within Judaism, we may be surprised to learn that the corpus of Torah ornaments has not been static, but has been enriched over time. This essay will describe the process of that development during the two periods for which few actual examples exist, antiquity and the Middle Ages. Torah Ornaments in the Roman Period Although worship was primarily sacrificial throughout the period of the First and Second Temples (950–70 CE), biblical sources record the existence of Torah scrolls used for study.3 We know little of their appearance and appurtenances, however, until the beginning of the first millennium CE when the literary evidence of the Mishnah (redacted at the end of the second century) and the Talmud (compiled by 500 CE) is supplemented by visual evidence found amidst the decoration of early synagogues and tombs, in the reliefs and paintings of early Jewish art. Due to the exalted status of the Torah within Jewish life, its physical form has always been regarded as a sacred object to be protected and honoured. Classical Jewish sources mention protecting the scroll by wrapping it in precious silks, by housing it within a textile casing referred to as a tik, or by placing it within a tevah or ark.4 Talmudic references to Tefillin are a pair of leather boxes containing passages from the Torah that are written on parchment, whose wearing during morning prayers is based on the passage ‘Bind them as a sign on your hand and as a symbol on your foreheads’. (Deut. 6:8, 11:12) Mezuzot are parchment scrolls bearing passages from Deuteronomy that are enclosed in protective cases and affixed to the doorjambs of a house or building owned by a Jew. The objects used to protect the tefillin and the mezuzot derive sanctity from them, as the appurtenances of the Torah derive holiness from the scroll. 3 See, for example, Nehemiah 8:1–9:3. For a comparison between the functions of the synagogue and the Temple see Rachel Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel, pp. 138–39, Fig. 57. 4 For example, BT, Megillah, fol. 7a–b and fol. 14a, for the terms mitpa
at or wrapper, and tevah or ark; fol. 26b for tik. 2

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1. Beit Shean, Samaritan Synagogue, Mosaic Floor: detail, 6th century (Jerusalem, Israel Museum)

2. Gold Glass with Jewish Themes, Rome, 4th century, glass and gold foil (Jerusalem, Israel Museum)

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.3. Kaufmann Hagaddah, Synagogue Scene, Catalonia, end of the 14th century (Budapest, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Ms. A422, fol. 42)

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textile coverings for the Torah scroll far outnumber references to tikim and arks, an indication that textiles were probably the most widely used type of covering until the end of the sixth century.5 During the excavation of caves dated to the period of Bar Kokhba (ca. 135 CE), archaeologists recovered textiles used as scroll wrappers; one of them is a fragment of a striped cloth.6 The Mishnah mentions the use of silks with figurative decorations as wrappers for the Torah scroll (Kelim, 28:4), while the sixth-century mosaic floors of the synagogues at Beit Alpha and Beit Shean demonstrate that Coptic textiles were esteemed enough to be used as Torah curtains, hanging before the Torah shrine (Fig. 1).7 Their rows of evenly spaced motifs on a white background and borders of triangles are closely paralleled in a contemporaneous curtain now in the Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto.8 The third manner of storing Torah scrolls mentioned in the Talmud, the ark, appears as symbolic decoration on gold glasses, funerary reliefs, and frescoes found in the Jewish catacombs of Rome (Fig. 2), and on mosaics, reliefs, and frescoes of ancient synagogues in Eretz Israel and the diaspora.9 A stone relief found in the precincts of the ancient synagogue in Nabratein, dated before 304, affords a glimpse of the richly carved sculpture that decorated ancient Torah arks. A pair of lions flanks the gable of the ark, which encloses a shell,10 a symbolic composition also found on gold glasses in Roman catacombs, where they marked the graves of Jews.11 The arks Samuel Krauss, Synagogale Altertümer (Berlin and Vienna, 1922), p. 384. Yigal Yadin, Bar Kokhba (New York, 1971), p. 67. In conversation, the late Rafi Grafman emphasised the significance of this textile. 7 Coptic curtains also appear in the mosaic of the synagogue at Beit Guvrin (Cecil Roth, Jewish Art. An Illustrated History, revised edition by Bezalel Narkiss [Greenwich, CO, 1971], Fig. 60). 8 Acc. no. 910.125.32. See Veronika Gervers, ‘An Early Christian Curtain in the Royal Ontario Museum, Studies in Textile History in Memory of Harold B. Burnham, ed. Veronika Gervers (Toronto, 1977), Fig. 1. See also Fig. 3, where the triangular motifs appear along the bottom border. 9 Vivian B. Mann, ed., Gardens and Ghettos: The Art of Jewish Life in Italy (Berkeley, 1989), Figs. 53, 66 68–69. For a listing of representations in the decoration of ancient synagogues, see Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel, pp. 167–87. 10 The shell or clipeus was a sign of honour in the ancient world. For the Nabratein fragment, see Eric M. Meyers, James F. Strange, and Carol L. Meyers, ‘The Ark of Nabratein — A First Glance’, Biblical Archaeologist (Fall, 1981), pp. 237–43. 11 Other religious groups buried in the catacombs favored portraiture as the decoration on gold glass. For examples, see Kurt Weitzmann, ed., The Age of Spirituality (New York, 1980) cat. nos. 347–8, 382, 388 and 396. 5 6

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depicted on the glasses are shown with their doors open, allowing a glimpse of their interiors fitted with divided shelves, each position accommodated a single scroll wound about an umbilicus — Latin for the rod used to prevent damage to a rolled parchment. Although the Jewish gold glass from Rome dates to the fourth century CE, the disposition of the scrolls recalls a discussion in the Talmud between Rabba (d. 330) and Rabbi Joseph (d. 333). Both agreed that the Torah read on the Sabbath should be written on only one scroll (instead of on five individual scrolls as had been done previously). It would appear that the scrolls depicted in the arks on the Roman gold glasses reflect an earlier custom, the writing of each book of the Bible as a separate text. Similar arks depicted on reliefs found in the synagogues of Ancient Israel have closed doors. The practice of placing the sacred Torah scroll in an ark or chest recalls similar customs among other religious groups of the ancient world.12 Medieval Torah Coverings: Staves, Tikim, and Arks When the Torah was written on a single scroll, the length of the text and, therefore, the length of the parchment, made it necessary to use two rods or staves for support, one at each end of the scroll, which was then rolled toward the middle.13 Based on literary allusions to the Torah as a source of life and the Tree of Life, the staves became known as azei
ayyim, Trees of Life. They are mentioned in rabbinic literature and depicted in late medieval manuscripts,14 but only one pair survives from the Middle Ages. According to the inscription integrated into their carved decoration, the extant wooden Torah staves belonged to Nathanael Trabot, who worked in northern Italy as a punctuator and copyist of Hebrew manuscripts during the last quarter of the fifteenth and the early sixteenth centuries, after his family had emigrated from France.15 Based on their style, the staves date to the late fifteenth century. The undulating leaf motif along the bottom band For example, Samaritans stored their holy text, the markah in a tevah, an ark or chest. (Z. Ben-Hayyim, Tibåt Mårqe [Jerusalem, 1988], p. 15). 13 Landsberger, ‘The Origin of European Torah Decorations’, p. 89. 14 See below n. 18 for miniatures with depictions of Torah staves. 15 G. Green, ‘Texts and Studies in Italian Jewish History during the Sixteenth Century’ (Ph.D. Diss., The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1974). For the staves from the Gross Family Collection, Ramat Aviv, see Mann, Gardens & Ghettos, cat. no. 115 and Fig. 180. 12

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and the multiple-lancet windows above appear on a Gothic chalice of that period.16 Rabbi Solomon Luria (1534–1572), in a responsum dealing with heirs who wished to reclaim a Torah scroll donated by their father to a synagogue, discussed donors who repossessed silver rods and chains used to roll the Torah scroll and keep it in place.17 This text indicates that, by the sixteenth century, some Torah staves had become expensive decorative elements. A miniature in the Ulm Mahzor (Festival Prayer Book), dated before 1460, shows an ark whose Torah scrolls rest on thin, silver-coloured rods, an illustration of Rabbi Luria’s words.18 Other depictions of azei
ayyim in medieval manuscripts show them as wood-coloured and thicker, the ends of the staves carved in bulbous form to facilitate holding.19 An early, extant group adorns five cylindrical tikim of copper that were made for the Samaritans in the sixteenth century. One in the collection of The Jewish Museum, New York, is inlaid with silver ornaments and an inscription naming Rabbi Abi Uzzi, son of Rabbi Joseph of Damascus, and the date 1568 (Fig. 1, p. 189). Its most prominent decorative motif is a Mamluk medallion that encloses a field of fine tracery, and is set off against a plain ground. This decoration is similar to designs for Mamluk book covers that appeared ca. 1500,20 and may have been adapted from it, as the function of a tik is the same as that of a cover for a book. Three other tikim still belong to the Samaritan community of Israel, and the final example is at the University of Michigan.21 The first mention of copper tikim is a memo dated 1095 that was found in the Cairo Genizah22 that lists the contents of the Jerusalemites’ Synagogue in Fustat. The synagogue’s remaining fifteen Torah cases were of 16 Cord Meckseper, ed., Stadt im Wandel: Kunst und Kultur des Bürgertums in Norddeutschland 1150–1650 (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, 1985), Vol. 2, cat. no. 1130. 17 Solomon Luria, She’elot uTeshuvot haMaharshal (Lemberg, 1859), no. 15. 18 Metzger and Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Fig. 98. 19 Op. cit., Figs. 94, 97, 99, and 105. 20 Johannes Pedersen, The Arabic Book, trans. by Geoffrey French, ed. by Robert Hillenbrand (Princeton, 1984), pp. 106–07. 21 For illustrations of Samaritan tikim still in Israel, see Jacob Pinkerfeld, Bishvilei Amanut Yehudit (Merhaviah, 1957), p. 111; for the example in Michigan see Robert T. Anderson, Studies in Samaritan Manuscripts and Artifacts. The Chamberlain-Warren Collection (Cairo: The American School of Oriental Research, 1978), pp. 62–64. 22 Shlomo David Goitein, ‘The Synagogue Building and Its Furnishings according to the Records of the Cairo Genizah’, p. 91.

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wood, including a tik of wood inlaid with silver. Another was of pure silver. By the eleventh century, then, a new form of tik, rigid and made of a hard material had appeared, that existed alongside the earlier textile tik known from the talmudic period.23 Although there are no depictions of tikim contemporaneous with the Geniza documents, two later miniatures in Spanish haggadot, books for the Passover service, dated to the fourteenth century, include tikim that combine a Jewish function with Islamic decorative traditions. Both the scene of the synagogue service held prior to the Passover seder in the Kaufmann Haggadah (Budapest, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Ms. A422, fol. 42, [Fig. 3]) and that in the Barcelona Haggadah (London, British Library, Ms. Add 14761, fol. 65v) are cylindrical cases with bulbous tops.24 The Barcelona tik appears to be inlaid with vari-coloured woods, a decorative idiom known from mosque furniture like the minbar made in Cordoba in the twelfth century for a mosque in Marrakesh.25 The use of wood for tikim never disappeared among Jewish communities, although metal became a common material. Torah scrolls wrapped in textiles and others placed in tikim were deposited in shrines of various forms during the early synagogue period. Besides the Nabratein shrine discussed above,26 another stone ark was found in the mid-third century synagogue of Dura-Europos beneath a clipeus; above are frescoes of biblical scenes.27 From the late medieval period, fragments of three wooden shrines and one complete Torah shrine from the Jerusalemite synagogue in Cairo (the Ben Ezra), still exist. The first is an inscription that stems from an ark dated (1080?); the second and third are inscription panels from two thirteenth-century arks; and the last is a small

See, below pp. 179–94, ‘The Covered Gospels, The Torah Case, and the Qur’an Box’ for a discussion of this development. 24 For the Barcelona Haggadah miniature, see Bezalel Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts in the British Isles, Vol. 1, The Spanish and Portuguese Manuscripts (Jerusalem and London, 1982), Fig. 241. 25 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Al-Andalus: The Art of Islamic Spain (New York, 1992), cat. no. 115. 26 See above, p. 26. 27 The niche at Dura has been widely published. See, for example, Erwin Goodenough, Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period (Princeton, 1964), Vol. 9, pp. 65–77 and Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel, Pl. 27 passim and pp. 167–87 for a listing of excavated arks. 23

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ark dated to the fifteenth century.28 The oldest extant medieval synagogue, the Altneuschul, Prague, dated ca. 1265, has a Gothic stone ark incorporated into the east wall of the men’s synagogue (Fig. 4).29 Its vegetal decoration matches that over the main portal. Still in Gothic style is a fifth, extant medieval shrine, a wooden cabinet from Modena dated 1472, that is today part of the collection of the Musée de Cluny (Fig. 5).30 The front is divided into rows of squares each carved as an arcade of lancet windows surmounted by flamboyant tracery. In the early sixteenth century, an incident in Candia, Crete, aroused the ire of rabbis all over the Mediterranean world.31 Joseph Caro recounts the story of a powerful and wealthy Candian Jew who sought to place a marble relief of his coat of arms, which included the crowned figure of a lion, above the Torah ark. He was forbidden to do so by the local rabbi, Elihu Capsali, who consulted not only Caro, but also David ibn Abi Zimra, Chief Rabbi of Cairo, Moses Trani of Safed, and Meir Katzenellenbogen of Padua. They were unanimous in their condemnation of the decoration. The donor desisted only after governmental intervention. Another case in southern Italy involved the placement of relief figures of lions at the base of an ark that had been used for a long time in the synagogue of Ascoli and then transferred to Pesaro when the Jews were expelled from the Papal States in 1569. The Pesaro synagogue was frequented by renowned rabbis who did not object to the use of the ark with its lions.32 Although paired lions were found on the ark in the ancient synagogue at Sepphoris,33 and became 28 Menahem ben Sasson, ‘The Medieval Period: the Tenth to Fourteenth Centuries’, Fortifications and the Synagogue. The Fortress of Babylon and the Ben Ezra Synagogue, Cairo, ed. Phyllis Lambert (London, 1994), pp. 219–22. The small ark, now a joint possession of the Yeshiva University Museum, New York, and the Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, was published in Jerusalem, Israel Museum, The Torah (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, [1979]), p. 37. 29 Zdenka Munzer, ‘Die Altneusynagog in Prag’ Jahrbuch der Gesellschaft für Geschichte der Juden in der Czechoslovakischen Republik, 4 (1932), pp. 63–105. 30 Cl. 12237. See Vivian B. Mann, ed., Gardens and Ghettos: the Art of Jewsh Life in Italy (Berkeley, Los Angeles & Oxford. 1989), Fig. 93; Victor Klagsbald, Catalogue raisonné de la collection juive du Musée de Cluny (Paris, 1981), pp. 94–96. 31 Two of the texts which mention the controversy are: Joseph Caro, She’elot uTeshuvot Evkat Rukhal (Jerusalem, 1950), no. 65 and David ibn Abi Zimra, She’elot uTeshuvot haRadbaz (Warsaw, 1882), Vol. 4, no. 1178. For a synopsis of the controversy see Kahan, Me
karim beSifrut ha Teshuvot, pp. 355–56. 32 This case was published by David Kaufmann: ‘Art in the Synagogue’, Jewish Quarterly Review, 9 (1897), pp. 254–69. 33 See above, p. 26.

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common on shrines of the eighteenth century and later, their appearance in association with the Torah ark, the focus of prayer in the synagogue, was initially problematic in the sixteenth century. Medieval Torah Ornaments Silks, tikim, and chests or arks were the three types of covers for the Torah scroll in antiquity and the Middle Ages. According to Maimonides, these were ‘implements of holiness’ (tashmishei kedushah) that had to be treated with proper decorum should they ever become damaged or unusable.34 He accorded the same level of holiness to ornaments for the Torah scroll — for example, silver finials, although their purpose was merely aesthetic, rather than protective. The one difference between a scroll and its ornaments lay in the fact that the silver could be sold to buy a single book of the Bible or a Torah scroll, while the scroll could not be sold. Other rabbis allowed the sale of ornaments for additional purposes: support of the poor or the redemption of captives. The creation of finials as independent objects allowed them to be used for purposes other than ornamenting the Torah, as can be seen in a miniature of the synagogue service in the Sister of the Golden Haggadah (Fig. 6). The reader stands on a desk whose poles are adorned with piriform silver finials similar to those on the twelfthcentury Cordoba almemor. This usage is still followed in Italy, in the former Ottoman Empire, and in other countries of the Sephardi diaspora.35 Rabbi Samuel de Medina of Salonica (1506–89) recorded another custom involving finials: synagogues were decorated with these Torah ornaments on Sabbaths, holy days, and on festive personal occasions such as circumcisions and weddings.36 These texts and others, such as the detailed inventory of the silver, gilt, and niello-inlaid Torah finials belonging to the Jerusalemite Synagogue in Cairo written in 1159, prove that finials were ornaments independent of the Torah and its staves by the mid-twelfth century.37 It is unclear at what date

Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Sefer Torah, 10:2. See, for example Mili Mitrani and Ersi Alok, Anatolian Synagogues (Istanbul, 1992), pp. 48–49, 146–47, 190–91. 36 Morris S. Goodblatt, Jewish Life in Turkey in the XVIth Century as Reflected in the Legal Writings of Samuel De Medina (New York, 1952), p. 64 and n. 28. 37 Goitein, ‘The Synagogue Buildings and its Furnishings’, p. 91. 34 35

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the independent finial developed. Some of the earliest references are in Christian texts, one of Saint Severus and the other in the writings of Gregory of Tours dated 598, both of which mention the robbery of a synagogue, but they are ambivalent about whether or not the ornaments were attached to the rods.38 An eleventh-century text of Rabbi Judah Cohen, who lived near Mainz, refers to a patron who commissioned a zipui zahav for the top portion of a Torah scroll.39 The literal meaning of the phrase, gold plating, seems to refer to gilt ornaments for the staves rather than finials, since the text mentions that the owner placed the plating on the staves. It is important to note that the plating of Torah staves continued even after the adoption of removable finials. One indication is the illumination in the Ulm Mahzor dated before 1460, that was cited above, and the second is a responsum of Meir of Rothenburg: a man who had commissioned gold plating later claimed that he had been cheated by the silversmith who had supplied gilt silver instead.40 Aside from the Haggadah miniatures, the only information on the appearance of medieval rimmonim comes from Spanish archival records concerning the expulsion41 and a single extant pair used on Sicily that date to the late fifteenth century (Fig. 7).42 Now in the Cathedral Treasury of Palma de Majorca, where they are employed as verge or stave heads, the finials are in tower form in Mudejar style, overlaid with delicate filigree and inlaid with semiprecious stones.43 The finials clearly demonstrate the use of a common artistic vocabulary by Jews, Christians, and Muslims on the Iberian peninsula during the Middle Ages. The double arches of the towers are commonly found among the buildings of the Alhambra, and vermiculée 38 Krauss, Synagogale Altertümer, p. 391. The robbery of removable finials continued to be a problem in the later Middle Ages. For example, see Yom Tov ben Abraham Ishbili, She’elot uTeshuvot, ed. Joseph Kaplan (Jerusalem, 1959), no. 159. 39 Avraham Grossman, The Early Sages of Ashkenaz (Jerusalem, 1981), p. 7, n. 25 (Hebrew). 40 Meir of Rothenburg, She’elot uTeshuvot (Prague, 1608), no. 879. 41 Miguel Angel Motis Doladar, La Expulsion de los Judios del Reino de Aragon, Vol. 2 (Saragossa, 1990), pp. 84–86. 42 F. Cantera y J. M. Millas, Las Inscripciones Hebraicas de España (Madrid, 1956), pp. 389–93. 43 For a comparison of the verge or stave ends and the finials, see Braha Yaniv, ‘Nisayon leShikhzur Itzuvam shel Rimmonei Migdal miMorocco alpi Degamim miSefarad’, Pe’amim 50 (1992), pp. 73–76. For similar verge heads of the period, see E. Arnaez, Orfebrería Religiosa en la Provincia de Segovia hasta 1700 (Madrid, 1983), Vol. 1. p. 49, Fig. a; p. 79, Fig. 32.

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filigree has a long history in Spanish metalwork. It appears, for example, on the twelfth-century altar frontal of Santo Domingo de Silos.44 Translated into pen drawings, vermiculée designs appear in Hebrew manuscripts from Spain.45 A number of tower-form verge heads were made for Spanish churches in the late fifteenth century. It is only their Hebrew inscriptions that attest to the original use of the pair in Palma de Majorca. In the century after the Majorcan finials were created, another pair was made in Pest, then part of the Ottoman Empire.46 They are spherical in form, reminiscent of the terms used in Spanish rabbinic texts for these ornaments: rimmonim (pomegranates) and tapukhim (apples). The Pest finials bear an inscription date of 1601/2 and a dedication to the Sephardic synagogue of Pest. The custom of using crowns to adorn the Torah scroll may be even older than that of using finials. Inscriptions indicate the deposit of honourific crowns, arms, and shields in ancient synagogues, a practice analogous to those followed by pagans who deposited trophies in temple treasuries.47 By the eleventh century, according to the gaon Hai ben Sherira (939–1038), one of the leading scholars of Babylonian Jewry, the Torah scrolls in the synagogue were adorned with crowns composed of silver, gold, myrtle or women’s jewellry on the holiday of the Rejoicing over the Law (Sim
at Torah).48 ‘It was asked of him [Hai Gaon] whether the use of women’s jewellry in the following customs was permissible or not. They make a crown for the Torah, of gold, or of silver, or of myrtle, or of women’s jewellry, such as earrings, rings and the like, hanging such jewellry on to this crown, and then they place the crown on the Torah scroll when it is not in the case (tik), or they place it on top of the case, on the day of the Rejoicing of the Law,

44 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Art of Medieval Spain A.D. 500–1200 (New York, 1993), cat. no. 134, there the older literature. 45 For an example of a Hebrew manuscript with vermiculée decoration see Vivian B. Mann, Thomas F. Glick and Jerrilynn D. Dodds, eds., Convivencia; Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain (New York: Braziller, 1992), Fig. 43. 46 Alexander Scheiber, Jewish Inscriptions in Hungary (Budapest and Leiden, 1983), no. 153. 47 Krauss, Synagogale Altertümer, p. 163. 48 Isaac ben Judah ibn Ghayyat (eleventh century), Sha’arei Sim
ah (Fürth, 1862).

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He answered: ‘It is permitted to place them on the Torah scroll . . . for they were prepared as a temporary measure . . . but it is forbidden to place this crown . . . on the head of the bridegroom [of the Law],49 for in holy matters we ascend but do not descend’. The jewellery was subsequently returned to its owners, a practice followed still in the early thirteen century and condemned by Rabbi Abraham of Lunel who urged a synagogue to commission a silver crown for the Torah, instead of using materials that were returned to their owners after use.50 A twelfth-century document attest to the existence of such crowns in Egypt. The 1159 inventory of property belonging to the Palestinian Synagogue in Fustat, found in the Cairo Geniza, lists four Torah crowns, each of a different type of metal.51 In the next century, Rabbi Solomon ibn Adret of Barcelona (1235–1310) wrote in a responsum that when he was a child, it was customary during the holiday of Sim
at Torah to place Torah crowns on the heads of young children and of those honoured with readings in the Torah (aliyot).52 He saw nothing wrong with these practices, which he said honoured the Torah and were sanctioned by the crowns’ donors. His text indicates that silver Torah crowns were used in Barcelona, a major city in the Crown of Aragon ca. 1245. The most complete description of a medieval Torah crown appears in a contract written on March 24, 1439, between leaders of the synagogue in Arles and the silversmith Robin Asard of Avignon.53 The contract specifies an hexagonal crown of silver fitted with an internal copper support. Each angle of the hexagon was to be decorated with pillars adorned with the head of a lion from whose mouth would emerge three chains bearing bells. The 49 The Bridegroom of the Law is a congregant who is honoured on the Feast of the Rejoicing of the Law. 50 Abraham of Lunel, Sefer ha-Manhig (Berlin, 1855), no. 59. A translation appears in Landsberger, ‘Origin of European Torah Decorations’, pp. 95–96. 51 Goitein, ‘The Synagogue Buildings and its Furnishings’, p. 90–95. 52 Solomon ibn Adret, Teshuvot u-she’a lot (Rome, 1470), no. 73. 53 The text of the contract, from the French archives, was first published in [Georges Stenne], Collection de M. Strauss, Description des objets d’art religieuse hébrai’ques exposés dans les galeries due Trocadero, à l’Exposition Universelle de 1878 (Poissy: 1878) pp. viii–x.

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sides between the pillars were to appear as masonry portals topped by crenellations, so that the whole resembled the foundation of a fortress. Above this foundation rose six towers. All remaining surfaces of the crown were to be ornamented with ‘the most beautiful’ gilt silver leaves that the silversmith could make. Five pillars like those on the new crown were also to be attached to an old crown owned by the congregation. Members of the synagogue were responsible for supplying the materials, and Asard was enjoined from working on Jewish Sabbaths and holy days. The Arles contract is significant, first of all, for the clause indicating Robin Asard’s responsibility to refurbish an old crown owned by the synagogue with new iconographic elements, pillars with lions’ heads and bells. The practice of refurbishing used Torah ornaments continues into the modern era. Second, the detailed account of the Arles synagogue commission suggests that the new Torah Crown resembled in form and concept a monumental type of church candelabrum commissioned for the Stiftskirche in Gross-Komburg ca. 1130 and for the Palace Chapel at Aachen by Frederick Barbarossa in 1166. These elaborate architectural compositions symbolised heavenly Jerusalem, a meaning underscored by accompanying inscriptions. It was a suitable concept for the form and decoration of a crown to adorn the Torah Scroll. Although the literary passages cited above discussed finials and crowns as distinct ornaments, there exists one important piece of evidence that they were used together to adorn the Torah scroll, at least by the fourteenth century. A miniature in the Sarajevo Haggadah (Sarajevo, National Museum), written and decorated in Barcelona in the second quarter of the fourteenth century, shows the congregation leaving the synagogue as the sexton closes the doors to the Torah ark (Fig. 8).54 Within are three scrolls covered with fringed silk mantles and decorated with crowns and finials, the finials projecting from the centre of the crowns. This usage was later followed in countries of the Sephardi diaspora: Italy, Holland, and the Ottoman Empire.55 Rabbi Obadiah de Bertinoro, who visited Palermo in 1487, may refer to this practice in a letter to his father: [The synagogue] ‘contains rolls of the Law that are ornamented with crowns and pomegranOn the Sarajevo Haggadah, see Cecil Roth, The Sarajevo Haggadah (Sarajevo, n.d.). Mann, ed. Gardens and Ghettos, Figs. 197 and 205; Esther Juhasz, ed., Sephardi Jews in the Ottoman Empire. Aspects of Material Culture (Jerusalem, 1990), Figs. 23 and 33; Yeshiva University Museum, The Sephardic Journey 1492–1992 (New York, 1992), Fig. 45. 56 Elkan Nathan Adler, ed. Jewish Travellers in the Middle Ages (New York, 1987), p. 211. 54 55

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5. Torah Ark, Modena, 1488, wood: carved, stained and gilt (Paris, Musée de Cluny, Cl.12237)

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6. Sister of the Golden Haggadah, Synagogue Scene, Spain, 14th century (London: British Library, Add. Ms. 27210)

7. Torah Finials, Sicily, late 15th century (Palma de Majorca, Cathedral Treasury)

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8. Sarajevo Haggadah, Synagogue Scene, Barcelona, first half of the 14th century (Sarajevo, National Museum)

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9. Torah Shield, Frankfurt, 1587, silver (location unknown)

10. Torah Pointer, Florence, 1488, silver (Jerusalem, Umberto Nahon Museum of Italian Art)

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ates [rimmonim] of silver and precious stones’.56 The two remaining types of Torah ornament, shields and pointers, are both latecomers, inventions of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. They may have arisen from a confluence of Jewish needs and the development of Gentile silver forms that could be appropriated for Jewish purposes. In the mid-fifteenth century, Rabbi Israel ben Petaiah Isserlein (1390–1460) was asked if it were permissible to use the poles from which the ark curtain hung to make plates on which would be written the name of the lection to which the Torah scroll was turned.57 The question indicates that silver Torah shields did not yet exist. In his answer, Rabbi Isserlein remarked that such plates did nothing to beautify the appearance of the Torah scroll. Approximately seventy years later, a convert’s account of Jewish worship, first published in Augsburg in 1530, Anton Margaritha’s Der Gantz Jüdisch Glaub, records the hanging of silver plates with attached silver chains over the mantles of Torah scrolls.58 The plates bore inscriptions indicating which scroll should be read and also phrases such as ‘Crown of Torah’ or ‘Dedicated to God’. Margaritha did not specify whether the shields he saw were fitted with a box of interchangeable plaques engraved with the names of holy days, which would represent the mature version of the shield, widely used from the late sixteenth century through the nineteenth. Another written testimony to the existence of shields in the sixteenth century are records of the Frankfurt Goldsmith’s Guild, Probierbuch der Frankfurter Goldschmiedezunft für alle die zu Frankfurt in der Zeit von 1512–1576 hergestellten goldenen and silbernen Geräte (Frankfurt, Stadtarchiv Ugb. C.30 D), that included three entries dated mid-sixteenth century that could signify Torah shields.59 In 1545, Rudolf Kolb made a Judentafel, a Jewish plaque, and in 1557, Karl von Sandt made a Tabul Moisi darzu die gespott gestochen (a Moses plaque engraved with the Ten Commandments), and in 1563, Heinrich Heidelberger made two silver covers over a Jewish Torah scroll.60 A single extant example from the end

Israel ben Petahiah Isserlein, Sefer Terumat haDeshen (New York, 1958), no. 225. Antonius Margaritha, Der Gantz Jüdisch Glaub, pp. 267–68. 59 On Jewish ceremonial silver from Frankfurt, see below, ‘The Golden Age of Jewish Ceremonial Art in Frankfurt. Metalwork of the Eighteenth Century’, ch. XIV. 60 Wolfgang Scheffler, Goldschmeides Hessens (Berlin-New York, 1976), pp. 92, 96, 106. Scheffler’s transcription of the Probierbuch corrects older readings such as those found in Landsberger, ‘Origin of European Torah Ornaments’, p. 100. 57 58

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of the sixteenth century satisfies the aesthetic requirement of Rabbi Isserlein. This silver shield made in Frankfurt and used in Bingen dates 1587 (Fig. 9). It is rectangular in form and has a relatively large rectangular opening for inscribed plaques that signified the reading to which the scroll was rolled. Once Rabbi Isserlein’s injunction—that the plaque marking the reading should beautify the scroll — was accepted, Christian models could serve as the basis for the new type of Judaica. One was the guild emblem: shield-shaped with a central motif and pendent elements; 61 another was the coat of arms shield of reigning nobles like that Johann Sigismund von Brandenburg dated 1599 (Berlin, Schloss Charlottenberg). It was but a short step from these to the mature forms of seventeenth and eighteenthcentury Torah shields.62 There is no mention in early texts of the mishnaic and talmudic periods of a special rod or pointer used to follow the sacred text.63 The injunction against touching the parchment with a ‘naked’ hand was expressed in the Talmud by the phrase: Whoever touches a Torah naked will lie naked when buried (Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 32a). The need for covering was presumably met by wrapping one’s hand in silk or in one’s prayer shawl, a custom still followed in the sixteenth century according to Margaritha.64 The oldest pointer known was made in Ferrara in 1488 and is today in the Nahon Museum, Jerusalem (Fig. 10).65 It ends in a hand, the most popular terminal found on pointers until the present day. Archival sources indicate that in 1581, the Jewish community of Prague ordered pointers with hand terminals from Christian silversmiths attached to the imperial court whose work was considered superior to that of the poorly-trained Jewish silversmiths.66 None of these Prague pointers is extant. Rabbi Moses Isserles of

Landsberger, op. cit. p. 99. See Grafman, Crowning Glory, cat. no. 2, ff. 63 Krauss, Synagogale Altertümer, p. 384, n. 2. 64 Margaritha, Der Gantz Jüdisch Glaub, p. 268. 65 Dora Liscia Bemporad, ‘Jewish Ceremonial Art in the Era of the Ghettos’, in Mann, ed., Gardens and Ghettos, p. 111; Umberto Nahon, Ornamenti di Sefer Tora (Jerusalem, 1966), Fig. 23. 66 Josef Hrasky, ‘La corporation juive d’orfèvrerie à Prague’, Judaica Bohemia, 2,1(1966), p. 26; Tobias Jacobovitz, ‘Die jüdischen Zunfte in Prag’, Jahrbuch der Gesellschaft für Geschichte der Juden in der Czechoslov. Republik, 8(1936), p. 129. 61 62

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Cracow (1525/30–1572) noted that wooden pointers were used during his lifetime; actual examples survive only from later centuries.67 With the turn of the seventeenth century, silver Torah pointers were made in large numbers, as were other type of silver Torah ornaments, a consequence of the greater amounts of silver available in Europe after the discovery of the New World. Jewish participation in the vogue for owning silver pieces is expressed, as a community, by the creation of new silver appointments for the Torah scroll. Conclusions By the year 1600, then, a complete corpus of Torah ornaments existed including covers (silks, tikim, and arks), finials, crowns, shields, and pointers. Although their materials are often known, and a few examples remain, only an occasional text is detailed enough to allow a vision of what their forms and decorative elements might have been. Still, the consideration of all types of evidence — literary sources, representations in various media, and the few extant examples — can create a fuller picture of the corpus of medieval Torah ornaments.

67 Moses Isserles, Commentary on Joseph Caro’s Shul
an Arukh, Orakh
ayyim, 154:6. For later examples, see Vivian B. Mann, ‘Community Life’, The Precious Legacy, cat. nos. 65–72, fig, 128; Grafman, Crowning Glory, nos. 529, 557, 682, 744, 764a, 889, 891a, 893–94, 896, and 898.

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‘New’ Examples of Ceremonial Art from Medieval Ashkenaz In memory of Rachel Wischnitzer (1885–1989) Introduction

A

MONG Rachel Wischnitzer’s outstanding contributions to the field of Jewish art were her early and persistent efforts to publish articles on Hebrew manuscripts, Jewish ceremonial art, paintings and graphics by Jewish artists, and synagogue architecture. Her 1913 article on the old synagogue in Lutzk, which appeared in the Russian periodical Novy Voskhod, was the first of these publications and was followed by hundreds of others in German, Hebrew, Yiddish, and English. Professor Wischnitzer’s aim was to make the material of Jewish art known, at a time when few recognised the existence of the subject, and most thought the Second Commandment had precluded the creation of any art by Jews.1 So prolific were her efforts and so wide-ranging her interests, that historians of Jewish art today are constantly confronted by the need to consult Dr. Wischnitzer’s writings and to take her opinions into account. The present study is offered in the spirit of her early pioneering efforts at establishing a corpus of Jewish This chapter is a revised version of an article by the same title published in Artibus et Historiae, 17 (1988), pp. 13–24. 1 On the occasion of her 95th birthday, a complete bibliography of Professor Wischnitzer’s writing, including works on non-Jewish art and cultural topics was published in the Journal of Jewish Art, 6(1979), pp.158–64. In 1985, her article, ‘Picasso’s Guernica. A Matter of Metaphor’ was printed in Artibus et Historiae, 12 (1985), pp. 153–72.

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art, and is an attempt to enlarge the known body of Jewish ceremonial art stemming from medieval Ashkenaz, the Jewish community of northern France and the Rhineland and areas under its influence. Recent archeological excavations in the countries along the shores of the Mediterranean and in Israel have led to the recovery of numerous ancient synagogues of the classical and early medieval periods. Occasionally, ceremonial objects are found within their precincts, such as the spectacular discovery of the gable of a third-century Torah ark in the synagogue of Nabratein,2 in the Galilee, or the menorah found in the synagogue at Ein Gedi.3 However, a gap of several centuries separates these early works from the High Middle Ages, when a continuous history of Jewish ceremonial art might be said to begin. Our knowledge of late medieval Judaica derives from several sources: rabbinic writings, depictions in illuminated Hebrew manuscripts, and a small body of extant works. Taken together, this evidence indicates that the twelfth to fourteenth centuries constitute a creative period in the history of Judaica during which specifically Jewish types of objects appeared and others were adapted from surrounding cultures for Jewish use. Uniquely Jewish Forms Among the extant works whose form was used exclusively by Jews is the Hanukkah lamp, consisting of eight lights in a row, plus a ninth light that was the servitor from which the others were lit. The holiday of Hanukkah commemorates the victory of the Maccabees, a priestly family, over the Greco-Syrians who were oppressing the people of Israel. With their victory in 165 BCE came the opportunity to cleanse and rededicate the Jerusalem Temple and its menorah, which had been defiled by the invaders. By the first century CE, the holiday celebrating these events was marked by kindling an increasing number of lights for each of eight days. The earliest known lamp specifically for Hanukkah is a 12th–13th century stone lamp (Fig. 1, p. 11).4 The source of the stone in the Pyrenees and the carved

Meyers, Strange, Meyers, ‘The Ark in Nabratein, pp. 237–43, illn. p. 238. See Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel (Leiden and New York, 1988), Fig. 57. 4 Isidro G. Bango Torviso, ed. Memoria de Sefarad (Toledo, 2003–2004), p. 132. For a later stone lamp from the same region, see op. cit, p. 132. 2 3

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horseshoe arches that serve as the oil containers suggest the lamp belongs in the orbit of Sephardi Judaica. A much more common Spanish type was the Hanukkah lamp consisting of a row of pinched lamps made of ceramic.5 A century later, an innovative type of Hanukkah lamp appeared both in Spain and Ashkenaz: it was of copper alloy and was made to hang on the wall (Fig. 1). The backwall was fashioned as an architectural form. Both the stone lamp and the wall-hung examples mark the beginning of an association of Hanukkah lamps with architectural motifs that is probably based on the practice of placing the lamp at the facade or in a window to publicise the miracle that underlies the holiday.6 Three very similar brass alloy hanging lamps were made in northern France or the Rhineland.7 All have a row of interlaced arches at the base of the backwall, above which is a sentence from Proverbs (6:23): ‘For the commandment is a lamp, and the teaching is light’, a reference to the Torah and its commandments. Above are three roundels with heraldic animals or grotesques. A date in the thirteenth century for all three lamps is indicated by the presence of interlaced arcades found in twelfth and thirteenth-century architecture; the widespread appearance of griffins and dragons in thirteenth-century manuscripts; and the form of the Hebrew lettering. In addition, Meir of Rothenburg (ca. 1215–1293), the leading rabbi of Ashkenazi Jewry in the thirteenth century, was the first reported to have hung a metal Hanukkah lamp on the wall.8 Another ceremonial object specifically associated with Jewish usage is the wedding ring whose bezel is in the form of a small building inscribed mazal tov, Hebrew for good luck (lit. a good sign) and the wish commonly expressed at weddings. Integral to the first part of a Jewish wedding, the erusin or betrothal, is the groom’s placement of a ring on the second finger of the bride’s right hand as a sign of her consecration to him. In Jewish lore, marriage has been equated with the establishment of a household since the time of the Mishnah (redacted 200 CE): for example, ‘His wife is his house’. (Yoma 1:1). The same idea underlies this quotation from the ethical

Op. cit., cat. nos. 139–42. See Israel Museum, Architecture in the Hannukah Lamp (Jerusalem. 1978), for comparative photographs of lamps and buildings. 7 Susan L. Braunstein, ‘The Hanukkah Lamp’, Sigmund Freud’s Jewish Heritage (Binghamton and New York, 1991). 8 Mordecai ben Hillel, Responsa (Riva di Trento, 1559/60), no. 96. 5 6

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will of Joseph ibn Caspi (1297–1340): ‘When you are twenty years of age, build thy house. Marry a wife . . .’.9 The equivalence drawn between wife and house in the texts could explain the architectural shape of these rings. Those in the shape of a rectangular gabled building allude as well to the rectangular Temple in Jerusalem, as another phrase associated with the household established by the bride and groom is mikdash me’at or the small sanctuary (in comparison with the Beit haMikdash, the Jerusalem sanctuary.) The earliest securely dated example was excavated in 1826 in Weissenfels, now in Halle, (Fig. 2) along with other jewellry datable to the first half of the fourteenth century, including a brooch with David playing his harp.10 The same date may be ascribed to the ring, as well as to a similar example found in Buda.11 Another wedding ring represents a unique adaptation of architectural forms; its bezel is formed as a turreted castle. The ring, probably because of its unusual shape, is mentioned in the 1598 inventory of the Munich Kunstkammer, which provides a terminus ante quem for its fabrication.12 Although the more typical Weissenfels ring was first published twenty years after its discovery, it had never appeared in discussions on the history of Jewish ceremonial art prior to the first publication of this article. A rare Ashkenazi text concerning Torah ornaments attests to the existence of a third uniquely Jewish ceremonial object by the thirteenth century. In one of his responsa, Meir of Rothenburg discusses the case of a Jewish silversmith in Mainz who made gold covers for the staves of a Torah scroll.13 Many years later, the patron accused the silversmith of falsifying the material employed. In comparison to the paucity of Ashkenazi texts on Torah ornaments, there are numerous literary references from Cairo and Spain beginning in the twelfth century attesting to the existence of silver finials for the Torah scroll. And one fifteenth-century From the ethical will of Joseph ibn Caspi (1297–1340), quoted in P. and H. Goodman, The Jewish Marriage Anthology (Philadelphia, 1965), p. 45. 10 M. Sauerlandt, ‘Ein Schmuckfund aus Weissenfels von Anfang des 14. Jahrhunderts’, Cicerone 11(1919), p. 520; J. M. Fritz, Goldschmiedekunst der Gotik im Mitteleuropa (Munich, 1979), p. 50. 11 Ilona Benoschofsky and Alexander Scheiber, eds., The Jewish Museum of Budapest (Budapest, 1987), nos. 34–5. 12 Kölnischen Stadtmuseum, Monumenta Judaica. 2000 Jahre Geschichte and Kultur der Juden am Rhein (Cologne, 1964), no. E. 162. 13 Meir of Rothenberg, She’elot-uTeshuvot (Sedilkov, 1835), no. 879. The term used for the ornaments is zippui zahav. 9

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pair from Spain still exists. It is possible that the Ashkenazi Torah finial may have been a later development, the result of the immigration of Sephardim after 1492. This was the case in Budapest, where the earliest Ottoman finials were found (Fig. 3). Of spherical form with pomegranate-shaped ornaments, they each bear the same Hebrew inscription.14 On the upper part of the spheres: ‘Zvi Hirsch, son of David, may his Rock and Redeemer guard him, [in the year] 362 (=1601/2)’; on the lower portions: ‘Of the holy community of the Pest Sephardim’. With the withdrawal of the Ottomans from Pest in 1699, these finials were left behind, perhaps to serve as models for Ashkenazim. Another Sephardi usage known from the Sarajevo Haggadah, the simultaneous placing of both a crown and finials on the Torah scroll, reappears in many communities of the Sephardi diaspora, and also in Budapest.15 It may have been another artistic legacy of Ottoman rule. Adaptations Other medieval Ashkenazi ceremonial objects are adaptations of Christian and secular forms whose functions were similar to those required by the celebration of Judaism. Several texts mention that Ephraim of Regensburg (1110–1175) used a glass container to hold the spices for havdalah, the ceremony marking the close of Sabbaths and festivals and their separation from the workaday week.16 A few centuries later, the spice container was made of metal and shaped as a tower, and was, therefore, similar to censers and other ecclesiastical vessels. Sixteenth-century records from the Frankfurt silversmiths’ guild underscore the formal relationship between the Jewish spice containers and the Christian censer by listing the Jewish commission as a Hedes oder Rauchfass (a spice box or a censer).17 The earliest Ashkenazi tower-form container dates ca. 1550. In the Jewish Museum, New York, it is Gothic in style and is dated on the basis of comparison with a table ornament made for a wedding in 1543 (Fig. 6) The second is known from the records of a Frankfurt court case of 1556 in

Alexander Scheiber, Jewish Inscriptions in Hungary. (Budapest-Leiden, 1983), pp. 402–7. 15 Benoschofsky and Scheibers, eds., The Jewish Museum of Budapest, no. 20. 16 Isaac ben Moses of Vienna, She’elot uTeshuvot ‘Or Zaru’a, (Zitomir, 1862), II, no. 92. 17 Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, pp. 86, 106. 14

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which a Jew, Joseph Goldschmidt, sued the silversmith Heinrich Heidelberger for failing to make a spice container similar to that owned by the plaintiff ’s father. A model drawing submitted as evidence shows a Gothic tower form.18 This case reflects the strong sense of traditionalism in Jewish art that is part of a broader cultural attitude, the significant and sacred character of custom.19 The star-shaped hanging lamp is another example of adaptive use. Jews mark the onset of Sabbaths and festivals by kindling lights in the home. Talmudic law is concerned with the nature of the oil and wick to be used, but is indifferent to the form of the lamps themselves.20 From the many manuscript illuminations and a few excellent examples depicting Jewish homes and synagogues, it is apparent that during the High Middle Ages both Ashkenazi and Sephardi Jews, like their Gentile contemporaries, used star-shaped hanging lamps suspended by a shaft (Fig. 5).21 However, because the form remained traditional among Ashkenazi Jews for centuries after it had fallen out of disuse by the general population, it became known, by the sixteenth century at the latest, as a Judenstern, or Jewish star,22 even though some Jews adopted more modern types of illumination.23 Several extant medieval examples are thought to have belonged to Jews.24 18 W. K. Zulch, ‘Das Hedes. Ein ratselhaftes Werk der Frankfurter Goldschmiedekunst’, Alt-Frankfurt, 1–2 (1928–29), pp. 61–2. 19 I am indebted to Michael Signer for this observation. 20 Mishnah, Shabbat 2: 1–4; also Solomon Ganzfried, Code of Jewish Law, trans. H. Golden (New York, 1963), ch. 75: 2–3. 21 For a listing of some of these illustrations, see H. G. Meyer, ‘Eine Sabbatlampe im Erfurter Dom’, Studien zur Kunstgeschichte, 16(1982), pp. 7–10. See also the Index of Jewish Art, Vol. II (New York-London-Paris, 1978), Hileq and Bileq Haggadah (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, ms. hebr. 1933), fols. 4v, 5v and 20v; Second Nuremberg Haggadah (Jerusalem, Israel Museum), Yahuda Haggadah (Jerusalem, Israel Museum, ms. 180/50), fols. 4r, 4v, 5r, 6r. See also Mendel Metzger, La Haggada Enluminée (Leiden, 1973), Figs. 77, 96, 105, 107, 108, 278. For a history of hanging lamps, see J. Dudova, ‘Sabbat Lampen aus Messingguss’, Judaica Bohemia, 9(1973), pp. 73–7. London, Hayward Gallery, English Romanesque Art 1066–1200, exhibition catalogue, 1984, no. 258. 22 See Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, pp. 88 and 106, for citations from the Probierbuch der Frankfurter Goldschmiedezunft 1512–1576 (Frankfurt, Stadtarchiv, Ugb. C. 30D). 23 Solomon ibn Abraham Adret of Barcelona (ca. 1235–ca. 1310) was asked if one could use wax candles to kindle the Sabbath lights He replied that it was permissible. (Teshuvot uShe’elot [Rome, 1470], no. 416; reprinted Jerusalem, 1968.) 24 L. Franzheim, Judaica. Kölnisches Stadtmuseum (Cologne, 1980), no. 121; Paris, Petit Palais, Israël à travers les ages, exhibition catalogue, 1968, no. 405. It is doubtful that the Erfurt lamp discussed by Meyer was made for a Jewish patron (see note 21 above).

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Two other popular medieval forms were also used by Jews for ritual observance, but were long ignored in the modern literature on Jewish art. The first is the aquamanile in the form of a lion. An example in the Walters Art Gallery is inscribed with the Hebrew blessing recited upon washing the hands before eating bread (Fig. 8), while another in a private collection was dedicated by a woman named Brakhia Segel, presumably to a synagogue where it would have been used either to wash a worshipper’s hands before prayers or to wash the hands of the Kohanim prior to their blessing the congregation. Two other published examples also belonged to synagogues.25 The lion aquamanile was an elegant solution to the requirements of Jewish ceremony. Equally basic to the practice of Judaism is the need for a drinking vessel to hold wine used in kiddush, literally, sanctification. Kiddush is a ceremony that is performed often in Jewish life. As is true of the regulations regarding Sabbath lamps mentioned above, the rabbinic laws governing kiddush are more concerned with the function of the vessel as a holder for wine and its cleanliness, than with its form.26 As a result, the beakers and goblets used for kiddush may vary widely in appearance as a glance at depictions of the ceremony in illuminated Hebrew manuscripts readily shows.27 There are representations of footed goblets, some with covers, as well as beakers and cups of different materials. Despite the ubiquity of the kiddush ceremony in Jewish life and the frequency of its representation, no actual examples of medieval kiddush cups were discussed prior to the first version of this essay. There are, however, two sets of beakers and several double cups dated to the fourteenth century which can be associated with Jewish ownership and which must have been used for ritual purposes. The first set was discovered in a Gothic house at Kutna Hora, the imperial mining town of the Luxembourg dynasty, and is now in the Germanisches National Museum, Nuremberg (Fig. 7).28 It consists of five

25 Otto von Falke and Erich Meyer, Bronzegeräte des Mittelalters. I. Band. Romanische Leuchter and Gefässe. Giessgefässe der Gotik (Berlin, 1935), nos. 480 and 534. 26 Babylonian Talmud, Pesahim, 108b; Berakhot, 51 a. 27 For examples, see Metzger and Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Figs. 132–6, 151–2, 165, 334–7, 366, and 378. 28 This discussion is based on the article by Gunther Schiedlausky, ‘Ein gotischer Becherschatz’, Pantheon, 33, 4(1975), pp. 300–9.

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nested beakers which range in size from 8.2 to 9.2 cm. in height. The largest cup is distinguished by its heavier weight and the two gilt bands which run around the circumference. From the point of view of style and comparison with other faceted forms, the cups may be dated to the first half of the fourteenth century. A more precise dating is offered by the imperial coats of arms of Austria, Poland, and Bohemia, found at the bottom of three of the cups (Fig. 8). They identify the original owner of the set as Rixa Elizabeth (1288–1335), daughter of King Przemysl II of Poland. Rixa Elizabeth was first married to Wenzel II of Bohemia and later to Rudolf II of Austria. She died in 1335, which establishes a terminus ante quem for the beakers. In the same year, the connection between the royal houses of Bohemia and Poland, both of whose arms appear on the cups, was severed, confirming the date of their fabrication. The last two coats of arms have not been identified. One with three Jews’ hats (Judenhutte ) is similar to the coat of arms on a fourteenth-century double cup now in the Cloisters collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.29 Since both Jews and non-Jews used Jews’ hats on personal and corporate shields of the fourteenth century, this detail does not confirm Jewish ownership or patronage of the beakers, although it does suggest the beakers may have been a gift from a Jew.30 But the fifth coat of arms does confirm eventual Jewish ownership. It shows a rampant wolf facing left above which someone crudely inscribed the Hebrew word ze’ev (wolf ), an unthinkable addition unless the beakers, which were originally made for Rixa Elizabeth, had become the property of a Jew whose name was probably Ze’ev or Wolfe.31 The use of nested beakers as Jewish ceremonial objects is attested to by manuscript illuminations, for example, a page in the Yahuda Haggadah from Southern Germany, ca. 1450.32

29 Timothy Husband, ‘Double Cup’, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Notable Acquisitions 1982–83 (New York, 1983), p. 20. 30 Op. cit. p. 20. Schiedlausky, ‘Ein gotischer Becherschatz’, p. 307. Also Daniel M. Friedenberg, Medieval Jewish Seals from Europe (Detroit, 1987), nos. 69, 70, 73, 76, 78, 83, and 86. 31 Published documents yield only one Jew of the period who might have been the owner. Wolfin von Bamberg was active as a moneylender in Franconia during the 1340s. (Z. Avineri, Germania Judaica, Vol. 2 [Tübingen, 1968], p. 235). 32 Bezalel Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts (Jerusalem, 1969), Pl. 41; also Encyclopaedia Judaica, Vol. 8, colorplate between cols. 300–1.

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The second group of medieval beakers that belonged to Jews was found in the Lingenfeld treasure trove, a group of objects discovered in Lingenfeld, west of Speyer, in 1969 and first published in 1975 (Fig. 9).33 The trove consisted of 2,369 coins and six silver vessels including three faceted beakers, a silver Nuppenbecher, and a double cup, plus rings and broken clothing ornaments. Since all the coins date before 1355, it has been suggested that the trove belonged to a Jew who buried it in 1349, the year of major persecutions of the Jews of Speyer. Two of the faceted beakers are ten-sided, and one is octagonal in cross section. Their workmanship is identical to the Kutna Hora beakers suggesting they came from the same workshop. Given their fine workmanship and precious material, we may presume that both sets of beakers were used for ceremonial purposes.34 Other treasure troves, as well as church treasures, have yielded another type of drinking vessel which should be included in the corpus of medieval Ashkenazi ceremonial art. This is the double cup known in German as the Doppelkopf or Doppelscheuer. As the original names indicate, this vessel is comprised of two footed spherical goblets, one of which serves as a cover when the cup is not in use. The earliest example is the cup of St. Godehard

H. Ehrend, Der Munzschatz von Lingenfeld. Numismatische Gesellschaft Speyer e. V., (Speyer, 1975). 34 Gunter Stein, in his discussion of the beakers and of the double cup to be discussed below, categorically rejects the view that the vessels found at Lingenfeld were used for Jewish ceremonial purposes. (‘Zu vier Gefässen des Lingefelder Munzschatzfundes’, in Ehrend, Der Munzschatz von Lingenfeld, pp. 56–7). He gives the following reasons concerning the beakers: 1) No other fourteenth-century Jewish cult objects like these are known (though he discusses the Kutna Hora set). 2) It is inconceivable that a Jew would profane a ceremonial object by filling it with coins that he wanted to hide since Jews bury ceremonial objects that are no longer being used in the same manner in which a corpse is buried. As for the first objection, we do know from manuscript illuminations that similar beakers were used in home ceremonies. The Kutna Hora examples must have been employed for Jewish purposes, or the owner would not have marred the appearance of the cups by adding a Hebrew inscription. In regard to Stein’s second objection, he has taken regulations which apply only to a certain class of ceremonial objects, principally writings including the name of God and appurtenances for the Torah, mezuzot and tefillin (tashmishei kedushah), and applied them to all ceremonial objects. Other Jewish ritual objects are not considered to possess holiness sui generis, but only by virtue of their function (see, for example, the reference to Maimonides cited in note 15 above). Stein restated his views on the Lingenfeld beakers in ‘Der Schatzfund von Lingenfeld’, Geschichte der Juden in Speyer. Beiträge der Speyerer Stadtgeschichte. Vol. 6 (Speyer, 1981), p. 65. 33

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(d. 1038) in Hildesheim, which was created for his canonisation in 1131.35 It lacks the handle attached to the bottom half that became typical by the thirteenth century. The latest examples date to the seventeenth century. The most interesting double cup from the perspective of Jewish ceremonial art is also one of the most lavish of all extant medieval ones. Now in the Schloss in Erbach, the cup, dated to the second quarter of the fifteenth century, is of jasper mounted in gilt silver; the whole forms an ensemble that is 37 centimetres high (Fig. 10).36 Presently, the cup and its original leather case bear the arms of Dietrich Schenk zu Erbach who served as archbishop of Mainz from 1434–59, but these are later additions. Beneath the archbishop’s arms on the case is an engraved medallion enclosing a running deer framed by a Hebrew inscription indicating the name of the first owner, ‘Isaac, son of the noble Rabbi Zakhariah, blessed be the memory of the righteous’. (Fig. 10).37 This combination of symbol and circular inscription resembles the designs of carved Jewish seals, although no known medieval examples with deer exist.38 The remainder of the tooled decoration on the case consists of birds in foliage (Fig. 10b). On the cup, the archbishop’s arms were carved on the reverse of a medallion originally featuring a battle between a lion and a horned animal.39 The Erbach cup is closely related in form, size and materials to a double cup formerly in the collection of Karl von Rothschild.40 (Fig. 11). Yet the inscription on the 35 Heinrich Kohlhausen, ‘Der Doppelkopf: seine Bedeutung für das Deutsche Brauchtum des 13. bis 17. Jahrhunderts’, Zeitschrift für Kunstwissenschaft, 14, 1–2 (1960), pp. 25–6. 36 I want to thank Dr. Uri Kaufmann for information on the present location of the Double Cup. August Feigel, ‘Das Geheimnis um den Schenkenbecher von Erbach’, Aus Dom und Diozese Mainz. Festgabe Prof. Georg Lenhard (Mainz, 1939), p. 120. 37 Feigel published the drawing of the original Hebrew inscription (Fig. 3.12) which became visible by 1939 due to the flaking of the paint used to depict the arms of the archbishop. Errors in transcription led to an erroneous translation which was repeated by later authors. (Feigel, ‘Das Geheimnis um den Schenkenbecher von Erbach’, p 122; J. M. Fritz, Goldschmiedekunst der Gotik im Mitteleuropa, no. 641). 38 For examples of the period, see Brigitte Bedos, ‘Les sceaux’, in Art et archéologie des Juifs en France médiévale, ed. B. Blumenkranz (Toulouse, 1980), pp. 207–28; and Friedenberg, Medieval Jewish Seals from Europe, nos. 74 and 82. 39 In 1939, Feigel interpreted the scene as a battle between a unicorn and a lion, i.e., between Christianity and Judaism, which he describes as ‘christusfeindlich’ (Feigel, ‘Das Geheimnis um den Schenkenbecher von Erbach’, pp. 123–4). However, the published drawing shows a beast with two horns and the exact significance of the scene is uncertain. 40 Kohlhausen, ‘Der Doppelkopf ’, pp. 37–8, Figs. 11 and 12.

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Rothschild cup clearly indicates Christian ownership. It reads: ‘Help me Maria, with your child help me, who enjoys this will quench his thirst and prolong his life’. These nearly identical works are differentiated only by their inscriptions. Their usage within Jewish and Christian traditions remains to be explored. Three other, earlier double cups may be associated with Jewish patronage or ownership. The first is that from the Lingenfeld treasure trove discussed above (Fig. 12). It is simpler in form and materials than the Erbach cup and resembles other fourteenth-century cups from Southern Germany, the Upper and Middle Rhineland, the Bodensee, Swabia, and Switzerland. In form and style, the Lingenfeld cup is closest to a double cup in the Historisches Museum, Basel, dated to the 1330s, and is presumed to have come from the same workshop.41 Both cups bear medallions with family coats of arms; the one on the Basel cup belonged to the Von Froberg family who died out in 1367, providing a terminus ante quem for its dating; the shield on the Lingenfeld cup, which is partly enamelled, has not been identified although it resembles known heraldic devices.42 However, the Basel double cup bears a second, partly enamelled roundel, whose centre is a deer running left that is remarkably close to the drawing of the original Erbach leather case.43 In place of the Hebrew inscription on the latter, there is a series of four petalled flowers, a motif that appears prominently on one of the Lingenfeld beakers.44 Both the Basel and Lingenfeld double cups must have belonged to members of the nobility because of their coats of arms. However, the combination of medallions on the Basel cup suggests that it may have been a gift from a Jew associated with the Von Froberg family at court, just as the Nuremberg beakers were probably given by a Jew to Rixa Elizabeth.45 The double cup now in the Metropolitan Museum may represent a similar gift,

41 For an illustration of the Basel cup, see Fritz, Goldschmiedekunst der Gotik im Mitteleuropa, no. 356. On the attribution of both cups to the same shop, see Stein, ‘Zu vier Gefässen des Lingefelder Munzschatzfundes’, p. 53 and no. 13. 42 Stein, op. cit., pp. 53–4, and ‘Der Schatzfund von Lingenfeld’, Fig. 48 for an illustration. 43 It is interesting that the coat of arms of the owner of the Erbach double cup does not fit his name. A deer is usually associated with the name Hirsch or Zvi. Perhaps the symbol was inherited from a forebear. 44 Fritz, Goldschmiedekunst der Gotik im Mitteleuropa, no. 374. 45 Schiedlausky, ‘Ein gotischer Becherschatz’, p. 307.

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since it, too, is decorated with both Christian and Jewish elements.46 The inscription mentions the Three Kings, Caspar, Melchior and Waltazar, patron saints of Cologne, but the cup bears two medallions with coats of arms that incorporate three Jews’ hats in a centrifugal arrangement similar to the device on one of the Nuremberg beakers. In sum, there exist one double cup made for a Jew (Erbach), one eventually owned by a Jew (Lingenfeld), and two apparent gifts from Jews to nobles (Basel and New York). For what purpose were they used? The custom of ceremonial drinking was widespread in the classical and pagan Germanic world and was gradually assimilated into Christian usage.47 Germanic toasts to the goddess Minne were reinterpreted and dedicated to saints and even to Jesus and Mary. Among the saints who were the objects of ceremonial toasts were the Three Kings, mentioned in the inscription on the Metropolitan Museum cup. Toasts or Minnetrinken were offered on saints’ feast days and also on other occasions like the onset of journeys and bridal feasts. It was believed that Minnetrinken made men virile and women beautiful. Double cups were often used for Minnetrinken, and the appearance of its mature form with handle by the thirteenth century coincides with a rise in popularity of the toasts.48 The double cup was thus intimately connected to ritual, and was often presented as a wedding gift and used for display purposes.49 That Jews owned double cups and employed them for ceremonial uses is amply demonstrated by numerous depictions in medieval Ashkenzi haggadot, the service books used on Passover. The cups are either held by the head of the household or placed on the seder table, as on several folios of the Yahuda Haggadah, dated ca. 1450.50 An interesting watercolour of ca. 1460 shows Jews kashering silver drinking vessels, that is, rendering them fit to Timothy Husband’s suggestion that the Three Kings inscription is merely an apotropaic device, and that the cup was commissioned by a very wealthy Jew for his own use, seems untenable given the state of Jewish-Christian relations during the Middle Ages (Husband, ‘Double Cup’, pp. 19–21). 47 Kohlhausen, ‘Der Doppelkopf’, pp. 39–42, 47. 48 Kohlhausen, op. cit., p. 55. 49 See H. M. von Erffa with D. F. Rittmeyer, ‘Doppelbecher’, Reallexikon zur Deutschen Kunstgeschichte, Vol. 4 (Stuttgart, 1958), cols. 168–9 for documents recording the giving of double beakers as wedding presents. 50 Other depictions are published in the Index of Jewish Art (New York, London, Paris, 1976–8), Vol. 1, The Birds Head Haggadah, Upper Rhine, ca. 1300 (Jerusalem, Israel Museum, 180/57), fol. 5v, where it is mistakenly described as a spice box, and fols. 28r, 30r 46

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1. Hanukkah Lamp, 13th century, copper alloy, Germany (New York, Congregation Emanu-el of the City of New York)

2. Ring from Weissenfels, Germany, 14th century (Speyer, Historisches Museum der Pfalz)

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3. Torah Finials, Ottoman Empire, 1601/2, silver (Budapest, Jewish Museum)

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4. Spice Container, probably Frankfurt, ca.1550, repairs and additions, 1651, silver: hammered, cast, engraved, and gilt (The Jewish Museum, New York, Jewish Cultural Reconstruction, JM 2352 )

5. Sabbath/Festival Lamp, Germany, 14th century, copper alloy: cast and engraved (New York, The Jewish Museum, JM 200-67)

57

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6. Aquamanile, Germany, 14th century, copper alloy: cast and engraved (Private Collection)

7. Beakers, Prague, first half of 14th century, silver (Nuremberg, Germanisches Nationalmuseum)

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8. Interiors of Beakers, Prague

9. Beaker, Germany, first half of 14th century, silver (Speyer, Historisches Museum der Pfalz)

59

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10. Erbach Double Cup and Case, Germany, second quarter of the 15th century, silver and jasper; leather (Erbach, Schloss)

10a. Details of the Erbach Double Cup and Case

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10b. Detail of the Erbach Double Cup and Case

11. Rothschild Double Cup, Germany, 15th century (London, British Museum)

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12. Double Cup, Konstanz (?), first half of the 14th century, silver (Basel, Historisches Museum)

13. Jews Kashering Utensils for Passover, Lucerne, ca. 1460, watercolor

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use on Passover (Fig. 13); the figure at left is placing a double cup in the large pot before him. Can one assign a specific Jewish ceremonial purpose to these double cups which would account for their frequent appearance in medieval German haggadot? The analogy of later inscribed eighteenthcentury double cups of barrel form owned by Jews suggests two possibilities: the cups were used at circumcisions or at weddings. However, the widespread medieval German custom of using double cups as wedding presents (since the form symbolises the union of two into one)51 favours an interpretation of these Jewish examples as wedding gifts.52 Further, the appearance of the double-cup form in the twelfth century and its dissemination in the thirteenth century coincides with a major transformation of the Jewish wedding ceremony that necessitated the use of two cups. In the talmudic period and for centuries thereafter, the ceremony of betrothal (erusin), which involved the drinking of wine, occurred twelve months prior to the nissuin, or marriage, at which seven blessings are recited and more wine is drunk. For various reasons, one of which was the influence of Christian weddings, the Ashkenazi Jews of France and Germany began to combine the two ceremonies in the twelfth century.53 When this change occurred, the rabbis became concerned with the number of cups to be used for the combined ceremony. Jacob ben Asher (ca. 1270–1340), who migrated from Germany to Spain, ruled that two cups were needed and his opinion was accepted in later medieval

and 46v, where the figures hold the bottom half of a thirteenth-century type; Erna Michael Haggadah, Upper Rhine, ca. 1400 (Jerusalem, Israel Museum, 181/18), fols. 4v, 6v, 7v, 10r, 40r, and 45r; Hileq and Bileq Haggadah, South Germany, 1450–1500, (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Ms. hebr. 1933), fols. 4r, 5v, 19v (?) 20v and 23r; Second Nuremberg Haggadah, Upper Rhine, ca. 1450 (Jerusalem, Schocken Library, Ms. 24087), fols. 6v, 25r, 25v; Yahuda Haggadah (Jerusalem Israel Museum, Ms. 180/50), fols. 4r, 6r, 22r, 26r (?), see also T. and M. Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Fig. 112. 51 R. Pechstein, ‘The ‘Welcome’ Cup. Renaissance Drinking Vessels by Nuremberg Goldsmiths’, Connoisseur, CXCIX, 1978, p. 181. 52 In 1939, Feigel reported the suggestion of Professor Kalt of Mainz that the Erbach cup was a Jewish wedding cup because a Jewish marriage involves drinking wine twice (Feigel, ‘Das Geheimnis um den Schenkenbecher von Erbach’, p. 122). That there was a definitive use for the cup in Jewish ceremony will be seen below. There is, therefore, no basis to Stein’s objection to viewing the Lingenfeld double cup as a Jewish ritual object (Stein, ‘Zu vier Gefässen des Lingefelder Munzschatzfundes’, pp. 56–7). 53 On the development of the Jewish wedding ceremony, see Ze’ev W. Falk, Jewish Matrimonial Law in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1966), pp. 35–6, 43–4, 64.

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codes.54 According to Jacob ben Moses Moellin of Mainz (ca. 1360–1427), chief rabbi of the Jewish communities of Germany, Austria and Bohemia in the period under discussion, two cups were used at weddings.55 Later, Moses Isserles of Cracow (1525–72), who emended the Shul
an Arukh (Code of Jewish Law) for use by Ashkenazim, required the use of two cups during the Grace after Meals following the wedding banquet stating, ‘This is an old custom in these lands’ (i.e., Ashkenazi Europe).56 Concurrently with the fusion of the ceremonies of betrothal and marriage in medieval Ashkenaz, a second change took place in the Jewish marriage ceremony during the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries. As the result of Christian influence, it became, in its entirety, a public affair attended by officials of the community, family and friends.57 Since these two developments, the fusion of two ceremonies requiring the drinking of wine and their public enactment, occurred at least in part because of Christian influence, it is not all that surprising that Jews also adopted a distinctively Germanic medieval form, the double cup, a form associated with ritual toasts, bridal feasts and ceremonial display. The actual examples we discussed, made of silver and precious metals, were obviously owned only by wealthy Jews, just as their Christian counterparts were owned by the nobility and wealthy burghers. From the same class of patrons came the commissions for lavishly illuminated manuscripts, whose genre scenes of Passover rituals reflect their owners’ possessions including double cups. The remaining medieval works of Ashkenazi ownership are secular objects. The most interesting of these is a Minnekästchen decorated with a zodiac cycle ordered according to the Jewish year that was probably presented as a New Year’s gift by one Jew to another.58 That so little remains of Jewish ceremonial art from the medieval period is not surprising given the recurrent persecutions and the fact that works in precious metals were ready sources of capital. Yet another factor affected the number and character of the extant works. Since Jewish law emphasises the function of ceremonial objects over their form, Jewish ritual objects are often indistinguishable

Jacob ben Asher, Arba’ah Turim, Hilkhot Kiddushin, 62. Jacob ben Moses Moellin, Sefer Maharil (Jerusalem, 1969), p. 64. 56 Joseph Caro, Shul
an Arukh, Hilkhot Kiddushin, 62: 10. 57 Falk, Jewish Matrimonial Law in the Middle Ages, pp. 45, 82–4. 58 On a Jewish Minnekästchen, see below ch. VIII. For Jewish owned objects found in Sefarad see Bango Torviso, Memoria de Sefarad, cat. Nos. 56–76, 87–8, 91–105. 54 55

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from works intended for Christian purposes and could easily be adapted for Gentile use, as was the Erbach double cup. Unless some sign remains of the work’s original function or owner, the once Jewish ritual object becomes anonymous, losing its particularity. The recovery of more evidence concerning extant medieval works, as well as increased archaeological investigations, will undoubtedly further enlarge the corpus presented here.

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Sephardi Ceremonial Art: Continuity in the Diaspora

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ASIC to any understanding of continuities between the Jewish ceremonial art of the Iberian peninsula and the ceremonial art of the Sephardic diaspora is a reconstruction of the corpus of peninsular Judaica. Unlike the hundreds of Hebrew manuscripts that were carried into exile,1 only a few works of ceremonial art are extant, many the result of planned or chance excavations. Still a larger corpus is discernible on the basis of four types of evidence: 1. A small group of extant objects. 2. A series of genre illustrations in fourteenth-century haggadot depicting Passover rituals in the home and synagogue.

This essay was first published in Benjamin R. Gampel, ed., Crisis and Creativity in the Sephardic World 1391–1648 (New York, 1992), pp. 282–99. 1 Gabrielle Sed-Rajna emphasises the many manuscripts that were saved, by being carried into exile (‘Hebrew illuminated Manuscripts from the Iberian Peninsula’, in Vivian B. Mann, Thomas F. Glick, and Jerrilyn D. Dodds, eds., Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christian in Medieval Spain [New York, 1991], p. 133. Others were saved on the Iberian peninsula, in churches and libraries. Fragments of Hebrew manuscripts continue to be found in the bindings of medieval and later books. Haim Beinart drew attention to the many losses due to confiscation and forced sale (‘Books from Sefarad, An Exhibition Commemorating the Five-Hundredth Anniversary of the Expulsion from Spain’, Books from Sefarad, ed. Rafael Weiser [Jerusalem, 1992], p. x, also xi.

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3. Texts of Spanish responsa and archival notices that mention ritual objects.2 4. Types of objects common only to the communities of the Sephardi diaspora and unknown in Ashkenazi congregations of the same period. Often, the existence of a particular sort of object is attested to by more than one type of evidence, providing a fuller picture of its appearance and use by the Spanish community. Extant Objects Only five types of ceremonial objects remain from Jewish Spain. The earliest is a fifth-sixth-century water trough found in Tarragona that is decorated with symbols commonly found on Jewish ritual objects dating from the Roman Empire: the menorah, the tree of life, and a shofar (Fig. 1).3 The presence of these symbols and the hole carved in the back right corner suggest that the trough had a ritual purpose as a basin for ablutions. At the entrance to a synagogue, it would have enabled worshippers to wash their hands before praying. With one exception, the remaining works are all late, dated to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and most are made from inexpensive 2 In addition to the responsa cited below (nn. 22, 31, 33, 37), the following are a sampling of other Spanish responsa pertaining to ceremonial art: Asher ben Ye
iel (1250–1327), She’elot u-Teshuvot Rabbenu Asber (New York, 1954), 2-:8 (on the materials to be used for a tallit (prayer shawl) and zizit ritual fringes placed on a four-cornered garment). Judah ben Asher (1270–1349), Zikhron Yehudah (Jerusalem, 1972), no. 2–1 (on the issue of using decorated rugs in the synagogue). Yomtov ben Abraham Ishbili (1250–1330), She’elot u-Teshuvot ha-Ritba (Jerusalem, 1958), no. 34 (on the making of a Torah and crown according to a bequest); no. 159 (the case of two men who attempted to steal silver Torah finials (tapu
im) and a silver crown from the Torah ark); no. 161 (mentions a tik, a binder, and a silver crown for the Torah). Solomon ben Abraham ibn Adret (1235–1310), She’elot u-Teshuvot ha-Rashba. First Printing Rome, ca. 1470 (Jerusalem, 1976), no. 73 (on the use of Torah crowns); no. 93 (concerning the reuse of a gravestone); no. 128 (the description of a Torah scroll); no. 416 (on the use of wax candles for the Sabbath lights). Simon ben Zema
Duran, Sefer Tashbez, 3 Vols. (Lemberg, 1891), Vol. 1, no. 6 (on illuminated ketubbot); Vol. 2, no. 135 (on using Torah ornaments to raise money); Vol. 3, no. 301 (on illuminated ketubbot). 3 Bango Torviso, Memoria de Sefarad, cat. no. 4, there the older literature. For a large corpus of similar symbols, see Erwin Goodenough, Jewish Symbols of the Greco-Roman Period, Vol. 3 (New York, 1953).

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materials. The exception with regard to date is a twelfth-century horizontal stone Hanukkah lamp whose material was quarried at St. Beat in the Pyrenées.4 Its oil and wick channels are in the shape of horseshoe arches. A bronze Hanukkah lamp, also of northern Spanish or southern French manufacture, was discovered in the old Jewish quarter of Lyons (and must date from before 1394, when the Jews of that city were expelled). It represents a new type, made to hang from the wall rather than sit on a surface, which is first mentioned in rabbinical texts of the thirteenth century. Various fragments of ceramic Hanukkah lamps have been found in the Kingdom of Aragon: three in Teruel during excavations of the Judería conducted in 1977 (Fig. 2),5 one in Saragossa,6 and three found in the church of Santa Maria la Blanca in Burgos, formerly a synagogue.7 All have the same shape — a row of pinched lamps, a form known since antiquity — that were made to sit on a surface, and all date to the fifteenth century. A unique survivor of this type of lamp from the Sephardi diaspora was found in Buda.8 Along with the Ottoman soldiers who occupied Buda from 1541 to 1699 came Jews, some of whom were descendants of émigrés from Spain and Portugal. They prayed in an early fifteenth-century synagogue, on whose walls they wrote Hebrew inscriptions and drew motifs in red paint.9 One of them may have owned the fragmentary bronze Hanukkah lamp found in 1936,10 whose form is similar to the ceramic hanukkiot made in Aragon in the fifteenth century. Even the dimensions of the Spanish and Hungarian Sephardi lamps are similar.11 It is, therefore, likely that the Hungarian lamp was made at an early date during the Ottoman occupation. Finally in the fifteenth century, an unusual Hanukkah lamp was made of The Hanukkah lamps are discussed in the following: Narkiss, ‘Un objet de culte: la lampe de Hanukah’, 191 and Fig. 5. 5 Bango Torviso, Memoria de Sefarad, cat. no. 139, there the older literature. Also, P.A[trian Jordan], ‘Informe sobre las excavaciones realizadas en la Plaza de la juderia’, Boletin informativo de Teruel 53(1979), p. 46. 6 José Maria Castille, ‘Materiales procedentes de la synagoga de Monzon (Huesca) en el Museo Provincial de Zaragoza’, Asociación Española de Orientalists, 15 (1984), pp. 307–15. 7 Bango Torviso, Memoria de Sefarad, cat. nos. 140–42. 8 Alexander Scheiber, Jewish Inscriptions in Hungary (Leiden and Budapest, 1983), pp. 396–97. 9 Op. cit., pp. 183–4. 10 Op. cit., pp. 396–98. 11 The depth of the ceramic lamps from Aragon range from 6–6.8 cm. (Bango Torviso, Memoria de Sefarad, cat. nos. 139–42). That found in Buda is 6.5 cm. (Scheiber, Jewish Inscriptions in Hungary, p. 396.) 4

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1. Ritual Water Trough, Tarragona, 5-6th century, marble (Toledo, Museo Sefardi)

2. Hanukkah Lamp, Teruel, 15th century, ceramic (Teruel, Museo de Teruel, nº inv. 7167)

3. Fragment and Reconstruction of a Hannukah Lamp from Puigcerdà, 15th century, stone (Puigcerdà, Museo Cerdà).

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4. Passover Plate, probably Valencia, ca. 1480, ceramic (Jerusalem, Israel Museum)

5. Seder Plate, Teruel, 15th century, ceramic (Barcelona, Museu de Ceramica)

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stone in Puigcerdà (Fig. 3).12 In contrast to the almost naturalistic shapes of the ceramic lamps, whose surfaces reveal the touch of the potter, the Puigcerdà lamp is composed of regular geometric forms whose effect is one of abstraction. Another type of Spanish Judaica is the ceramic Seder plate. One, in the Israel Museum (Fig. 4), is similar in form and decoration to other fifteenth-century plates made for Christians and Muslims.13 The late Leila Avrin drew attention to the similarity between the form of the Israel Museum plate and that depicted in a scene of the so-called Sister Haggadah (London, British Library, Or. 2884, fol. 17r), which shows the distribution of matzot by a householder prior to the Seder.14 She also noted that Christian examples of the same ceramic form inscribed Exsurge Domine were used for the distribution of candles. The same-shaped dish appears in Spanish Bible illustrations of the implements of the Temple for the same generic purpose, to hold bread, i.e., the twelve shewbread.15 Many of these plates bear bastardised inscriptions, perhaps due to the ignorance of the potters or for some deliberate purpose. Also extant is an intriguing Teruel ceramic plate that is today in the Museu de Ceramica in Barcelona (Fig. 5).16 It was not scientifically excavated, and does not bear Hebrew inscriptions; nor is any plate of this type depicted in the haggadot. Still, its origin in Teruel and its unique form, without parallels in Islamic or Christian art, indicates it may have been a Seder plate. Five small containers, a suitable number for the symbolic foods of the Passover ritual, rise from the surface, each decorated with a
amsa.17

Bango Torviso, Memoria de Sefarad, p. 132. Iris Fishof, ‘Lusterware Passover Plate’, in Jay A. Levinson, ed., Circa 1492 (Washington D.C., 1991), cat. no. 54 (there the older literature); Weiser, Books from Sefarad, cat. no. 39. For comparable Christian and Muslim examples, see Mann, Glick, and Dodds, Convivencia, nos. 78, 86, also p.169 and Fig. 66. 14 Leila Avrin, ‘The Spanish Passover Plate in the Israel Museum’, Sefarad 39 (1979), 44. 15 For examples, see Bezalel Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts in the British Isles Vol. I (Jerusalem and London, 1982), Figs. 310 and 32. 16 Mann, Glick, and Dodds, Convivencia, no. 85. 17 A less convincing case for Jewish usage of a museum object has been made for a tower-form receptacle, without known provenance, that has been in the Victoria and Albert Museum since 1855. (Michael E. Keen, Jewish Ritual Art in the Victoria and Albert Museum, 12

13

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Literary sources, in particular responsa, aid in identifying another rare work from medieval Spain as a synagogue furnishing. An unusual rug, found in a church in the Tyrol in 1880 is the oldest relatively complete Spanish rug in existence (Fig. 7).18 Today measuring 125 3 37 inches, its main decoration is the ‘sacred tree’ composition, well-known from Islamic art. What is unusual are the forms of the flowers: gabled, horned shrines with paneled bivalve doors. There are no parallels for this motif in Islamic art, but there are in Jewish art, particularly the synagogue mosaics of the Byzantine period, such as the one at Beit Alpha.19 Although this parallel was long cited in art historical literature, some Islamicists were reluctant to ascribe Jewish patronage to the rug, since they could not imagine any use for such an object in the synagogue.20 A responsum of Rabbi Asher of Toledo,

(London 1991) no. 48, there the older literature.) Its horseshoe arches indicate an Iberian origin; but it may have been a monstrance or a reliquary, rather than a Jewish spice container for havdalah, the ceremony that separates Sabbaths and holy days from ordinary workdays. The several depictions of the havdalah ceremony in Spanish haggadot do not include such a container, and the only literary source prior to the thirteenth-century date ascribed to the type is an Ashkenazi one. (The two illustrations of havdalah in the extant Spanish haggadot are both in the same manuscript: on fols. 24v and 26r of the Barcelona Haggadah [Narkiss, Manuscripts in the British Isles, Figs. 215, 217]. In contrast, illustrated Ashkenazi Haggadot contain depictions of tower-form containers or depictions of the havdalah ceremony set within the frame of a tower (e.g., the Yahuda Haggadah [Jerusalem, Israel Museum, MS 180/50], fol. 5r; and the Second Nuremberg Haggadah [Jerusalem, Schocken Institute, MS. 2407] fol. 5v.). According to several sources, Ephraim of Regensburg (d. 1175) kept spices for havdalah in a glass container (Isaac ben Moshe of Vienna, ‘Or Zarua, (Zhitomer, 1862), 2:92). But the Sephardi custom was to use aromatic myrtle branches for havdalah, rather than dried spices. The lack of a tradition to support Keen’s interpretation of the object in the Victoria and Albert Museum as a spice container was noted by Braha Yaniv (‘Nisayon le-Shi
zur Izuvam shel Rimmonei Migdal mi-Morocco, al pi Degamim mi-Sefarad’, Pe ‘amim, 50(1992), 75, n. 24). She concluded, however, that the container must represent a localized usage not followed elsewhere, which is one possibility but not the only one. 18 Mann, Glick, and Dodds, Convivencia, no. 107, there the older literature. 19 For an illustration see, Lee I. Levine, ed., The Galilee in Late Antiquity (New York and Jerusalem, 1992), Fig. 6. 20 The comparison was first made by Friedrich Sarre in 1930, ‘A Fourteenth-Century Spanish Synagogue Carpet’, Burlington Magazine, 56(1930), pp. 89–90. For a negative view of synagogue usage see, for example, Kurt Erdmann, Seven Hundred Years of Oriental Carpets (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1970), p.143, Fig. 181, where the rug is described as the ‘so-called Synagogue Carpet’.

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however, dated between 1304 and 1327 (the dates of his arrival in Spain and his death), discusses the use of rugs in the synagogue for two purposes: hanging beside the Torah ark as decoration and for seating.21 ‘You inquired about the matter of the small mat that is called sajjada in Arabic, on which it is the custom of the Muslims to pray and that bears an image resembling a black weight, whether it is permitted to hang it in the synagogue next to the ark . . . In Toledo, they were accustomed to forbid placing such a rug in the synagogue in order to sit on it; certainly it is forbidden to hang it at the side of the ark’.22 The long, narrow shape of this rug suggests it was used for seating, as were similarly shaped Muslim rugs of the fifteenth century.22 Without its Hebrew inscription, it would be difficult to recognise a work in the Cluny Museum, Paris, as a piece of Sephardi Judaica (Fig. 8). Its form and material are similar to mortars made by Muslims,23 but the Ladino inscription carved into the stone mentions the year 1319–1320, Queen Esther, and King Ahasuerus, suggesting that this may have been a container for the alms collected as part of the ritual requirements of the holiday of Purim.24 Hebrew inscriptions also distinguish a pair of fifteenth-century silver Torah finials (Fig. 7, p. 37 above) (now set atop processional staves in the Cathedral Treasury of Palma de Mallorca25) from other stave ends like these later examples from Valencia in the Victoria and Albert Museum (Fig. 9). In late fifteenth-century Spain there appears to have been a fashion for stave

21 Asher ben Ye
iel, Shelot u-Teshuvot Rabbenu Asher (New York, 1954), no. 5. This text confirms Friedrich Sarre’s supposition, made by analogy with the Beit Alpha mosaic, that the carpet was spread on the pavement of a synagogue. 22 Donald King and David Sylvester, The Eastern Carpet in the Western World, Hayward Gallery, exhibition catalog (London, 1983), Fig. 30. 23 For example, a twelfth-century mortar in the Museo Nacional de Arte Hispanomusulman, Granada, no. reg. 380 (Mann, Glick, and Dodds, Convivencia, no. 94). 24 Op. cit., cat. no. 104, there the older literature. The legible inscriptions read: sh’nat et (Hebrew: in the year 79 [=1319–20]; Rey Ahashveros y la Reyna Esther (Judeo-Spanish for King Ahasuerus and Queen Esther); another Hebrew phrase seems to be ‘[in] remembrance of the miracle’. 25 Cantera Burgos and Millás Vallicrosa, Las inscripciones hebraicas de España, pp. 389–93.

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ends made in architectural tower forms symbolic of heavenly Jerusalem.26 Perhaps their similarity to church silver ensured the survival of the Palma de Mallorca finials; 27 following the Expulsion they were easily integrated into ecclesiastical furnishings. Finally, there are decorated Jewish marriage contracts (ketubbot) in a number of Spanish archives, both entire documents and fragments, that we will count as one type in this census of extant Spanish Judaica because of their similarity of form and decoration.28 The oldest is a contract of 1300 written in Tudela (Fig. 10). Its decoration, though crude, is noteworthy in light of a responsum of Simon ben Zema
Duran (1361–1444), who praised the practice of decorating ketubbot because it limited the possibility of later tampering with the text.29

26 See, for example, E. Arniez, Orfeberia religiosa en la provincia de Segovia hasta 1700 (Madrid, 1983), p. 49, Fig. 1 and p. 79, Fig. 32. Similar forms continued to be made in the seventeenth century. (See M. Segui Gonzales, La plateria en las catedrales de Salamanca (siglos xv–xx), (Salamanca, 1986), nos. 31–32). 27 Braha Yaniv published a detailed comparison of the finials and the verges or stave ends, and concluded that Jewish ceremonial objects like the finials could easily have been modeled on Christian forms, given the close professional relationships between Jewish and Christian silversmiths. (Bra
a Yaniv, ‘Nisayon le-Shi
zur Izuvam shel Rimonei Migdal mi-Morocco ‘al pi Degamim mi-Sefarad’, pp. 74–76. 28 Following is a partial list of Spanish marriage contracts, which is regularly augmented as the result of new finds in records from the Cairo Geniza and research projects in Spanish libraries, such as that now being pursued in Girona. Francisco Cantero Burgos was the first to draw attention to a Navarrese group including Teruel, 1300; Milagro, 1309; Tudela, 1324; and Tudela 1356 (Gobierna de Navarra, Departamento de Educación Cultura, y Deporte, Archivo Real y General, Pamplona, Cámara de Comptos, Caja 192, nos. 2, 54, 1 and 64). He also noted two fragments in the same collection and three ketubbot discovered by Millas: Barcelona, 1177; Mallorca, 1380 (a fragment); and Barcelona 1386, in the royal Aragonese archives (perg, 191 bis caja 1 de documents hebreus). Another contract, now lost, came from Trijeuque (province of Guadalajara) and is known from three copies (Francisco Canters Burgos, ‘La ‘Ketuba’ de D. Davidovitch y las Ketubbot espagnolas’, Sefarad, 33 [1973], pp. 375–86). Shalom Saber added to this list Mallorca, c. 1428 (Barcelona, Biblioteca a de Catalunya, manuscript no. 254) (Ketubbah [Philadelphia and New York, 1990], p. 9.) Another was published in Elena Romero, ed., La Vida Judia en Sefarad (Toledo, 1991–1992), no. 102: Torrelobaton, 1479 (Valladolid, Archivo de la Real Chancilleria, Pergaminos, Carp. 13, num. 11). Two examples of undecorated contracts are illustrated in the same catalog, nos. 100–01. A fragmentary example is in Weiser, Books from Sefarad, no. 90, p. 155: Segura, 1480–1489 (Jerusalem, Jewish National Library 80 901/36), and another fragment is in a private collection. 29 Epstein, The Responsa of Rabbi Simon b. Zema
Duran, pp. 83–84.

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The expulsion was, of course, the major factor in the loss of all other Jewish ceremonial art from Spain. Forbidding Jews to exit with gold and silver affected not only individuals and families but also communities.30 Communal property, including synagogue furnishings, was confiscated by crown commissions who often ceded a portion to local authorities as compensation for lost revenue. Spanish responsa and archival records refer to Torah ornaments, finials, and crowns as being of silver.31 Sources from Saragossa refer to the melting of such objects as well as the melting of synagogue textiles embroidered with gold and silver in order to extract the bullion.32 Another factor affecting the survival of Judaica was the common nature of many of the objects, the result of a lack of specificity in relevant halakhot (Jewish laws). For example, the halakhot concerning kiddush cups require that they contain a certain volume, but their form is not mentioned.33 Their material and decoration are likewise unspecified. The Seder scenes of the Spanish Haggadot show people using metal or glass goblets or beakers.34 There are no Hebrew inscriptions evident on the cups that would identify them as kiddush cups for later generations. A responsum of Solomon ben Abraham Adret (c. 1235–c. 1310) indicates that Spanish Jews used the same cups, or tazza (the term used in the text), on Passover as they did during the year. To render them fit for use on the holiday, when eating leavened bread

30 F. Fita, ‘Edicto de los Reyes Catolicos (31 Marzo, 1492) desterrando de sus estados a todos los judios’, Boletin de la Real Academia de la Historia (1887), 518; and Henry Kamen, ‘The Expulsion: Purpose and Consequence’, in Elie Kedourie, ed., Spain and the Jews (London, 1992), p. 89. 31 See Franz Landsberger, ‘The Origin of European Torah Decorations’, in Gutmann, Beauty in Holiness, pp. 94–96 and Motis Delader, La Expulsion de los Judios de la Reino de Aragon, pp. 79–86. 32 Eleazar Gutwirth, ‘Toward Expulsion, 1391–1492’, in Kedourie, Spain and the Jews, p. 72. 33 Babylonian Talmud, Pesa
im 108; Berakhot 51a. For a discussion of the relationship between Jewish law and Jewish ceremonial art, see Vivian B. Mann, ‘Introduction’, A Tale of Two Cities. Jewish Life in Frankfurt and Istanbul 1750–1870 (New York, 1983), pp.17–23. 34 Narkiss, Manuscripts in the British Isles, Figs. 188, 209, 210, 222, 295, 296, 304; Mann, Glick, and Dodds, Convivencia, Fig. 52. For color plates of some of these scenes, see Romero, La Vida Judía en Sefarad, pp.194 and 260, no. 34; Metzger and Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Figs. 10–1, 165, 378; R. Loewe, The Rylands Haggadah (London, 1988), fol. 19b.

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was forbidden, the cups had to be boiled in scalding water to remove any traces of leavened food.35 Despite their use for everyday drinking throughout the year, the cups could be used for ritual purposes on Passover. This text suggests one interpretation of the kiddush cups in the haggadot illustrations and may explain why no Spanish kiddush cups have survived. In effect, there were no cups used exclusively for benedictions, so that at the time of the Expulsion cups that had been used for kiddush could easily be taken over by the general population, much as the Nazis confiscated the silver candlesticks of Jewish families.36 It is also important to remember that the size of the corpus of Spanish Judaica is smaller than might be expected because various forms of Jewish ceremonial art were not invented until after the expulsion; the Torah shield, for example appeared only in the sixteenth century.37 Individuals, similarly, owned few material goods during the Middle Ages compared with later centuries, so that it is not surprising to find few objects represented in seder scenes or in the eating scenes of Christian art from the same period.38 Continuity in the Diaspora Of the eleven types of Judaica extant, only four continued to be produced in the Sephardi diaspora: the bronze Hanukkah lamp with architectural backplate,39 the tower-form Torah finials,41 rugs used in a ritual

35 Ibn Adret, She’elot u-Teshuvot ha-RashBa, no. 371. See Fig. 3. for a scene of German Jews boiling silver to be used on Passover. 36 From the 153 prewar Jewish communities of Bohemia and Moravia, fewer than forty pairs of Sabbath candlesticks remain in the Jewish Museum in Prague. 37 See above, pp. 40–41. 38 A refectory scene dated ca.1300 in the old Cathedral of Lérida shows the following objects on the table: circular bread (identical in shape to the matzot of seder scenes), knives, a small ewer, and two bowls holding long, narrow forms. (Montserrat Blanchi, Gothic Art in Spain (Barcelona, 1972), pp. 204–5.) The closest parallel in a seder scene is in the Rylands Haggadah, fol. 19b, dated to the 1330s, which additionally shows goblets, an essential feature of the seder service. (Metzger and Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Fig. 165.) 39 Suzanne Landau, ed., Architecture in the Hanukkah Lamp (Jerusalem, 1978.) It is important to note that lamps with architectural backplates are not limited to lands of the Sephardi diaspora; they also appear in Germany, Italy, and Poland. 40 Yaniv, ‘Nisayon le-Shi
zur’, Mann, ed., Gardens and Ghettos, pp. 73–76, Figs. 97, 107, 112.

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context,41 and decorated marriage contracts.42 The lamp type is found, for example, in Italy and Morocco, in both cases reflecting local architecture, while the tower-shaped finials are found in Italy, Holland, and Morocco.43 Italian church traditions similar to those in Spain and the existence of Italian silver workshops producing commissions for both Catholics and Jews encouraged continuity with the late Sephardi pair that were made in Sicily while it was under Spanish rule.44 Italian tower-form finials then became a model for those of North Africa. The history of rugs made for Jewish ritual purpose is an interesting one, a case of artistic development dependent on the art of the majority. The next extant Jewish rug after the Spanish example is a transitional Mamluk-Ottoman Torah Curtain45 (Fig. 8, p. 14 above) that appears to have been created by a craftsman from Cairo who worked with a Paduan model either in Padua, where the synagogue still owns the rug, or in Egypt. The gate depicted on it is based on the frontispiece of a Hebrew book printed in Padua in 1567 and the inscription from Psalms (118:20), ‘This is the gate of the Lord; the righteous shall enter here’, is commonly found on other Hebrew books printed in Italy in the sixteenth century, as is the motif of the menorah. The remainder of the decoration is derived from Mamluk and Ottoman sources. The commissioning of such a Torah curtain may have been inspired by the general European ‘passion’ for oriental rugs or as the result of an immigrant Sephardi patron wishing to re-create the synagogue furnishings of Spain.46 Since knotted pile rugs were not part of the Italian artistic tradition, their manufacture in Italy was short-lived among Jews. The Sephardim who 41 Vivian B. Mann, ‘Jewish-Muslim Acculturation in the Ottoman Empire: The Evidence of Ceremonial Art’, in Avigdor Levy, ed., The Jews of the Ottoman Empire (Princeton, 1994), pp. 559–71; Esther Juhasz, ed., Jews of the Ottoman Empire, (Jerusalem, 1990), pp. 97–113. 42 Sabar, Ketubbah, p. 9. 43 Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, cat. nos. 190–91 for lamps and cat. nos. 192–98 for finials. Examples in Morocco may be seen in Vivian B. Mann ed., Morocco: Jews and Art in a Muslim Land (New York, 2000), cat. nos. 11–12 for finials and cat. nos. 29–32 for Hanukkah lamps. 44 Dora Liscia Bemporad, ‘Jewish Ceremonial Art in the Era of the Ghettos’, in Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, pp. 120–21. 45 Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, cat. no. 141, there the older literature. 46 J. Mills, Carpets in Paintings (London, 1983); King and Sylvester, The Eastern Carpet in the Western World.

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immigrated to the Ottoman Empire, however, found a rich artistic genre with the result that rugs for Jewish purposes continued to be produced there into the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. One of the first is also the finest, the early seventeenth-century rug now in the Textile Museum (Fig. 5, p. 209 below).47 It was produced in an Ottoman court atelier similar to that which created the late sixteenth-century Ballard Prayer Rug in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.48 Following Muslim usage, Ottoman Jews of the eighteenth century also commissioned rugs as bier covers, for example, a rug dated 1789–1790 (Fig. 7, p. 211 below). In the Ottoman Empire, then, rugs used for Torah curtains and other ritual purposes had a long history because the artistic tradition to which they belonged was supported by the host culture. A similar development took place in Italy in regard to decorated marriage contracts. Shalom Sabar has shown that the earliest decorated Italian contracts can be tied to the settlement of the Sephardim in Venice in 1589.49 At first, the decoration resembles Spanish manuscripts, as can be seen in a comparison of a 1614 contract written for a groom from the Abravanel family and a bride from the De Paz family, all prominent Sephardim (Fig. 11), with the decoration of Spanish Hebrew Bibles.50 Gradually, the painters adopt motifs and subjects from Italian baroque art. The decorated ketubbah had a long history and rich development in Italy until the present day, whereas in other countries in which the Sephardim settled ketubbah decoration tends to be repetitive and uninventive.51 The different history of Italian ketubbah decoration may be ascribed to the Italian practice of elaborately decoration all kinds of documents, both personal and official, for example, medical school diplomas.52 Extensive evidence for the continuity of Sephardi ceremonial art in the diaspora comes from a comparison of the genre illuminations in fourteenth-century haggadot with the Judaica of diaspora communities. 47 Washington, Textile Museum, Prayer Rugs, exhibition catalogue (Washington, 1974–75), no. v, there the older literature. 48 Mann, ‘Jewish-Muslim Acculturation’, pp. 566–67, Fig. 8. 49 Shalom Sabar, ‘The Beginnings of Ketubbah Decoration in Italy: Venice in the Late Sixteenth to the Early Seventeenth Centuries’, Jewish Art, 12–3(1986–1987), pp. 96–110. 50 Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, cat. no.10 51 See Sabar, Ketubbah: Ketubbot Italiane (1984); Sabar, ‘Decorated Ketubbot’, in Juhasz, Ottoman Empire, pp. 218–37. 52 For example, Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, no. 53.

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1. The Split Skirt Torah Mantle In all settlements of the Sephardic diaspora where mantles are used to cover the Torah scroll, the mantle flares outward from the top, is split up the back, and fringed along the edges. Examples from Italy, the Ottoman Empire, Holland, and England are known and suggest a prototype in medieval Spain.53 Three such mantles are depicted on folio 34r of the Sarajevo Haggadah whose subject is the departure from the synagogue after the reading of the Haggadah on the eve of Passover (Barcelona, second quarter of fourteenth century; Sarajevo, National Museum; Fig. 8 on p. 38 above).54 2. Crown and Finial Sets The same miniature depicts the scrolls adorned with both crown and finials, the opposite of Ashkenazi usage, but the custom followed in the Sephardic diaspora, for example, in Italy and the Ottoman Empire. Actual diaspora examples were made as units, with crown and finials linked by common decorative motifs, materials, and forms.55 3. Fruit-Form Finials and Finials for the Reader’s Desk Another synagogue scene of the reading of the haggadah on Passover eve in the Sister of the Golden Haggadah56 centres on the lector atop the wooden almemor (reader’s desk), whose posts are covered with silver, piriform finials (Fig. 6 on p. 37 above). Rabbinic texts from Spain refer to Torah finials as tapu
im (fruit) suggesting that their shape was bulbous.57 The oldest Ottoman finials, which date 1606–1602 and were found in Budapest, are of this form and bear an inscription stating they were dedicated to the Holy Community of the Pest Sephardim.58 Later examples can be found throughout the Sephardi diaspora. Piriform finials are a variation of 53 Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, Figs. 92, 111; A Tale of Two Cities, no. 200 (colour plate); Sephardic Journey, Yeshiva University Museum, exhibition catalog (New York, 1992), Figs. 40, 51. 54 Cecil Roth, The Sarajevo Haggadah (London, 1963), fol. 341. 55 Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, cat. nos. 197, 205; Juhasz, Ottoman Empire, Figs. 23, 33; Yeshiva University Museum, Sephardic Journey, Fig. 45. 56 Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, pp. 58–59. 57 Yaniv, Nisayon le-Shi
zur, p. 72 and n. 12. 58 Scheiber, Jewish Inscriptions in Hungary, no. 153. See above, p. 33.

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7. Synagogue Rug, 14th century, wool (Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Museum für Islamisches Kunst, I. 27)

8. Alms Box, Spain, 1319, stone: carved (Paris, Musée de Cluny, Cl. 12974)

9. Verge Heads, Spain, 15th century, silver (London, Victoria & Albert Museum)

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10. Marriage Contract, Tudela, 1300, ink and gouache on parchment (Pamplona, Arachivo General de Navarra (Cámara de Comptos, Caja 192, no. 2)

11. Marriage Contract, Venice, 1614, ink and gouache on parchment (The Jewish Museum, New York, Gift of Jacob Michael, JM 68-60)

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this type; that they existed in Spain can be seen from this miniature. The form was particularly popular in the Ottoman Empire.59 In the Sister of the Golden Haggadah, finials decorate the almemor, possibly reflecting Muslim influence, through works like the minbar from the Kutubiyya Mosque in Marrakesh, which was made in Cordoba in 1125–1130.60 The practice of decorating the reader’s desk with finials was followed in both the Ottoman Empire and Italy. The almemor of the Ohrid Synagogue, established in Constantinople before the conquest of 1453, was adorned with piriform finials prior to its recent restoration. In the Spanish synagogue of the Venice ghetto, the practice is to adorn the reader’s desk prior to the reading of the Torah and to remove the finials once the reading was completed. 4. Tikim (Torah Cases) Two haggadot include miniatures showing an officiant of the synagogue holding a Torah scroll encased in a tik (a rigid cylindrical container for the Torah): the Barcelona Haggadah (London, British Library, Add. 14761, fol. 651) and the Kaufmann Haggadah (Budapest, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Kaufmann Collection, Ms. 422, p. 72; Fig. 15). Tikim also appear in retables in representations of the Temple.61 This alternative method of protecting the Torah is especially widespread among Jews of Arab lands and reflects the Islamic practice of storing the Koran in a box or other rigid container.62 One of the oldest published tikim is a Samaritan example in Mamluk style dated 1565 that is now in the collection of the Jewish Museum, New York (S21).63 Whatever population figures are accepted for the Jews of Spain,64 it is obvious that the surviving works of ceremonial art are but a minuscule percentage of what must have existed. Objects made of precious materials, gold, silver, or silk woven with metallic threads or decorated with metallic Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, colorplate p. 14; Juhasz, Ottoman Empire, Fig. 35. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Al-Andalus. The Art of Islamic Spain, no. 115. 61 For example see Blasco de Grañén y Martín de Soria, Retablo de San Salvador, 1438–54 in Joyas de un Patrimonio (Diputación de Zaragoza, 1991), p. 32. 62 See below, Chapter X. 63 Stephen S. Kayser and Guido Schoenberger, Jewish Ceremonial Art (Philadelphia, 1955), no. 4. 64 Kamen, ‘The Expulsion: Purpose and Consequence’, p. 91. 59 60

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embroidery were particularly vulnerable to the depredations of pogroms and the expulsion.65 The fact that all of the extant works of Sephardi religious art, with the one exception of the fifth-century trough, date to the last three centuries of Jewish life on the peninsula suggests that the late Middle Ages was the beginning of a creative period in the history of Jewish ceremonial art. The factors behind this development can only be surmised: perhaps an increase in wealth in the middle and upper classes, the same groups able to commission elaborately illuminated manuscripts like the haggadot, or the increased influence of the now more prevalent Christian culture, which had a greater number of ceremonial objects in comparison with Islam. Similarly creative developments occur among Ashkenazim in the mid-sixteenth century, and continue in the seventeenth century and later. In one sense, Sephardi ceremonial art continued in the diaspora. We can point to types of objects used in places like Italy and Rhodes that are the same as those known to have been used in Spain. But their style changed over time, losing the unique mixture of Islamic, Jewish, and Christian elements that constituted the Mudejar art of the peninsula. At some point, the object ceased to be Sephardi and became Italian, Moroccan, Ottoman, or Dutch. New types of Judaica were invented, enlarging the body of ceremonial art in use at one time. In the diaspora, the Sephardi portion of that corpus became smaller but never disappeared.

65

Gutwirth, ‘Toward Expulsion’, p. 72.

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Toward an Iconography of Medieval Diaspora Synagogues Introduction

I

N 1942, the great architectural historian Richard Krautheimer published a seminal article titled ‘Introduction to an “Iconography” of Medieval Architecture’, which explored the ways in which churches were considered to be copies of earlier buildings.1 According to Krautheimer, medieval ecclesiastical architecture was judged not only according to its satisfaction of construction requirements, but by the building’s accommodation of necessary liturgical functions, and its expression of an intended symbolic content. Church buildings were thought to convey a meaning that transcended the architectural fabric of the structure. Until the thirteenth century, when the emergence of analytical methods in the natural sciences encouraged more exact copying in architecture, according to Krautheimer, medieval buildings that imitated others could be based on selective aspects or singular characteristics of the model. Particular forms were considered to have symbolic value. For example, a circular shape — as exemplified by the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem — signified virtue and perfection (Fig. 1), but exact imitation was not required

The original version of the present article was first delivered as a paper at the conference on ‘The Jews of Europe in the Middle Ages’, Speyer, October, 2002. 1 Krautheimer’s article was first published in the Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 5(1942), pp. 1–33. It was reprinted in a volume of his collected essays (Studies in Early Christian, Medieval and Renaissance Art [New York and London, 1969], pp. 115–150).

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for the copy to serve its intended purpose. As a result, various circular or polygonal churches built from the ninth to the twelfth centuries with differing architectural features were all considered representations of the church on the site of Jesus’ death, Entombment, and Resurrection, making it the most frequently copied building in the Middle Ages.2 The incorporation of a single physical characteristic based on number, such as the model’s measurements or its total of columns, could also signify the intended relationship between model and copy. A copied dedication, perhaps linked to a relic or to the visual representation of some part of the original, sufficed to relate two buildings. The result of both selective or comprehensive imitations of a model by means of material or architectural elements, wrote Krautheimer, was to remind ‘the faithful of the venerated site, [to evoke] his devotion and [to give] him a share at least in the reflections of the blessings which he could have enjoyed if he had been able to visit the Holy Site in reality’.3 In his study, Krautheimer limited his discussion to Christian monuments, despite having written his Habilitationsschrift on medieval synagogues.4 Still, his analysis of the typology of relationships between model and copy in medieval architecture suggests a method for analysing medieval rabbis’ understanding of the kinship between synagogues and the archetype of all Jewish houses of worship, the Herodian Temple in Jerusalem. Although the number of extant medieval synagogues is small in comparison with those estimated to have existed, the relationship between Temple and synagogue is additionally attested to by extant dedicatory inscriptions, and by other types of literary evidence, including biblical commentary, codes of law, and rabbinic responsa. Some of the relationships between Christian architectural models and their copies hold true for the nexus between Temple and synagogue. Jewish houses of worship were considered to symbolise the Temple by their rectangular shape or an approximation of one. The inclusion of furnishings patterned on those of the sanctuary in Jerusalem were akin to a copy’s 2 Robert Ousterhout, ‘Meaning and Architecture: A Medieval View’, Reflections, 2,1(1984), p. 37. (I want to thank William Clark for drawing my attention to this article.) 3 Krautheimer, Introduction to An Iconography of Medieval Architecture, p. 127. 4 Richard Krautheimer, Mittelalterliche Synagogen (Berlin, 1927). As noted by Margaret Olin, Krautheimer later referred to this work as ‘not a good book’. (Margaret Olin, The Nation without Art [Lincoln and London, 2001], p. 241 no. 14.)

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possession of relics related to the model in Krautheimer’s schema, although in synagogues, the situation of the furnishings within the interior space was also meaningful in symbolising their placement in the Temple. An additional factor linking synagogue and Temple, similar to that relating a church and its copies, is the language of dedicatory inscriptions. The Shape of the Synagogue Early halakhic sources like the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmudim do not mention an exterior shape considered to be characteristic of synagogues; the subject arises only in the High Middle Ages. Rabbi Solomon ibn Abraham Adret of Barcelona (ca. 1235–ca. 1310) was asked to rule on the proposed joining of a nearby house to the eastern side of a synagogue. ‘Reuben had a beautifully built house next to the sanctuary of a synagogue. He now wishes to connect his home to the synagogue in order to expand the synagogue. The congregation restrained him [from doing so] because a number of seats would have been devalued . . .’5 Since the width of the house was less than that of the eastern wall of the synagogue, its addition would allow fewer seats along the new eastern wall, and would also lessen the value of seats whose present worth depended on their placement relative to the existing ark and the reader’s desk. Rabbi Adret allowed the house to be joined to the synagogue, despite the problem of the revaluation of the seats, and the change in the shape of the synagogue from a four-sided building to an eight-sided one with six interior angles. Obviously, the eccentric contour of the resulting synagogue did not pose a halakhic issue despite its deviation from the quadrilateral norm of the Temple. The medieval synagogues whose plans are known are all rectangular or trapezoidal, and sometimes nearly square as at Erfurt. In the eighteenth century, Rabbi Adret’s responsum was cited by Ezekiel Landau (Rabbi of Prague and Chief Rabbi of Bohemia [1713–1793]), in his own book of responsa, Nodeh bi-Yehudah, as a precedent allowing the construction of an octagonal synagogue. ‘ . . . Regarding your question as to whether a synagogue may be octagonal or whether it must be four-sided and rectangular, I am surprised at the question! What made him think it should forbidden [to build an octago5

581.

Solomon ibn Abraham Adret, She’elot uTeshuvot haRashba, Pt. 1 (Lemberg, 1811), no.

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nal synagogue]? And you sir answered him well in saying that this [matter] is nowhere mentioned in the Shulhan Arukh. I would add to your words that in all the early codes and in the two Talmudim, ‘we have not seen any image’, i.e. that a synagogue need not have a particular shape . . .’6 Rabbi Landau concluded his answer, however, by questioning the appropriateness of designing a synagogue in the circular form characteristic of palaces, suggesting his own awareness that the shape of a building symbolised its function. An example of a contemporaneous cylindrical synagogue is that at Wörlitz (Fig. 2), which was commissioned in 1789 by the reigning duke for his Jews, rather than by the congregation itself.7 Had no texts on the shape of synagogues existed, one would have to infer that medieval Jewry was aware of the symbolism associated with building types, because of their avoidance of the commonly built cruciform church plan, whose significance was repeatedly emphasised by Christian writers.8 A number of synagogues whose plans are known appear to be modelled on lesser ecclesiastical buildings such as chapels or chapter houses. The synagogues of Worms (1174/5), the Altneuschul in Prague (1260/5), Buda (thirteenth–fourteenth centuries), and others all had a row of columns dividing the space into two naves, each consisting of two or more vaulted bays (Fig. 3). This plan was preferred despite the problems created by the placement of the reader’s desk between two of the columns: the view of the Torah ark was obscured, and the architectural focus of prayer became of secondary emphasis for many of the worshippers (Fig. 4). Instead, the centrally-placed reader’s desk became the primary visual focus. The Symbolism of Synagogue Furnishings and their Placement Maimonides (1138–1204) directed that the reader’s desk be situated in the centre of the synagogue for a practical reason. The position of the desk allowed the entire congregation to hear the reading of the Torah equally well, ‘. . . We build the reader’s desk in the middle of the synagogue . . . so Ezekiel Landau, Noda bi-Yehudah, Vol. 1, Ora
ayyim, no. 18. Carol Herselle Krinsky, Synagogues of Europe. Architecture, History, Meaning (Cambridge, MA and London, 1985), pp. 40, 72, Figs. 8–9, there the older literature. For the significance of the complex at Wörlitz of which the synagogue was a part, see Thomas Da Costa Kaufmann, Court, Cloister, and City. The Art and Culture of Central Europe 1450–1800 (Chicago, 1995), pp. 407–11. 8 Krautheimer, Introduction to An Iconography of Medieval Architecture, p. 121. 6 7

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that everyone can hear . . .’9 Second, the central focus of the reader’s desk transformed it into a symbol of the altar for incense in the heikhal in the Temple (the main hall used for divine services).10 The reader’s desk functioned, as it were, akin to a relic from the Holy Sepulchre placed in buildings that were its copies; it transformed the synagogue into a version of the Temple. The interpretation of a synagogue as a reflection of the Temple is a concept that also appears in numerous discussions on the placement of the Hanukkah lamp in the house of prayer. These were summarised in a responsum of Israel ben Petaiah Isserlein (1390–1460) of Neustadt.11 He wrote that Rashi (1040–1105) prescribed that the Temple menorah be oriented on the east-west axis as was the custom in Vienna, Kremsmunster, and his own city of Neustadt, but that Maimonides and Moses of Coucy (thirteenth century) advocated a placement along the north-south axis, closer to the south, in remembrance of the position of the Temple menorah on the south side of the heikhal. Maimonides’ decision was adopted by Jacob ben Asher in his fourteenth-century Code of Jewish Law, the Tur: ‘And in the synagogue, we place [the menorah] in the south in remembrance of the [Temple] menorah’.12 A southern placement of the lamp emphasised the identification of the diaspora synagogue with the ancient centre of Jewish worship. The Hanukkah lamp is always referred to as a menorah in rabbinic literature, although its form may have differed from that of the seven-branched Temple lampstand. Of interest in this regard is whether the custom of having a Hanukkah lamp in the late medieval synagogue represents a continuation of ancient practice, or whether it was a medieval innovation. The mosaics of early synagogues in the Land of Israel that depict their appurtenances usually include a pair of seven-branched menorot flanking the Torah ark (Fig. 5), and actual synagogue examples were found at sites such as the sixth-century synagogue at Ein Gedi.13 Centuries, however, separate the seven-branched menorot of antiquity from the first mention of a Hanukkah Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tefillah, 11:3.
atam Sofer, Responsa. Part 1. Ora
ayyim, no. 28 quoting Rashi in Parashat Terumah on the analogy of the reader’s desk to the incense altar. 11 Israel ben Petaiah Isserlein, Terumat haDeshen, no. 104. 12 Jacob ben Asher, Tur, Hilkhot Hanukkah, 671:6. 13 Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel, pp. 238–41, Figs. 54 a–b and 57. 9

10

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lamp in the synagogue during the eleventh century. These lamps were said to have been introduced to accommodate travellers, whose needs likewise inspired the public recitation of kiddush, the sanctification over wine before the Sabbath.14 Other reasons given were pirsumei nisah, publicising the miracle of Hanukkah, and teaching congregants the correct order of the blessings.15 None of these rationales, however, account for the timing of the appearance of Hanukkah lamps in medieval synagogues. In the Carolingian period, Christians began to place large menorot in their churches, and through this appropriation of the prime symbol of the ancient Temple signified that the Church was the successor to Judaism.16 The earliest extant example is that dedicated to the Essen Minster by Abbess Mathilda, granddaughter of Otto the Great, around the year 1000 (Fig. 6). As the number of church menorot multiplied, over fifty are known today, medieval Jewry may have felt inspired to reappropriate this primary Jewish symbol by placing large Hanukkah lamps in synagogues beginning in the eleventh century. The Language of Dedicatory Inscriptions Both the Jews of Spain and Ashkenaz expressed their synagogues’ relationship to the Temple in Jerusalem in the language of their dedicatory inscriptions. Ca. 1360, Samuel HaLevi Abulafia referred to his synagogue’s ‘windows like the windows of Ariel’ (i.e., Jerusalem), and stated that the appearance of his synagogue was like the work of Bezalel.17 Isaac Mehab described his synagogue in Cordoba, completed in 1314/5, as a ‘lesser’ sanctuary (mikdash me’at; Fig. 7) i.e. in comparison with the Temple, the Beit haMikdash. The same term appears in the earliest dedicatory inscription from the Worms synagogue that was built in 1034.18 These dedications quote from Ezekiel 11:16, on which Rashi had commented that the phrase

Jacob ben Asher, Tur, Hilkhot Hanukkah, 671:6. Mordecai Jaffe, Levush Ora
ayyim, Hilkhot Hanukkah, 671:8. 16 Peter Bloch, ‘Siebenarmige Leuchter in christlichen Kirchen’, Wallraf-Richartz Jahrbuch, 23(1961), pp. 55–190. 17 Mann, Glick, Dodds, eds. Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain, p. 216. 18 Otto Börcher, ‘Die alte Synagoge zu Worms’, Die Wormsgau, 18(1960), p. 101 for a photograph of the Hebrew inscription and a German translation. 14 15

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mikdash me’at refers to synagogues, which were secondary in importance to the Beit ha-Mikdash, the Temple. David Kimi (?1160–1235?) remarked on the same sentence in Ezekiel that if the children of Israel were distanced from the great sanctuary they would have lesser ones, that is, synagogues, in their lands of exile. Conclusion Krautheimer had suggested that the imitation of revered buildings, such as the Holy Sepulchre in local churches, afforded the Christian worshipper a sense that he would receive some of the same benefits accruing from an actual pilgrimage to a religious site. Most copies of the Holy Sepulchre date to the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a period that saw increased travel from Europe to the Middle East by crusaders and pilgrims.19 These architectural copies of the Holy Sepulchre allowed the faithful to make pilgrimages to Jerusalem ‘by proxy’, especially in periods of disruption when travel was difficult. One might argue that the many ways in which the synagogue was linked to the ancient Temple likewise served as a substitute for pilgrimage. Although accounts of medieval Jewish travellers to the Land of Israel are known, their numbers are minuscule in comparison to the total Jewish population, the majority of whom never achieved the spiritual goals of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or of settlement in the Holy Land.20 Maimonides was one of those who criticised himself as a sinner for never settling in the Land of Israel, although he lived most of his life in nearby Fustat. Yet, the longing for Zion was often tempered in medieval Hebrew literature by a sense that living in the diaspora was not, by definition, ‘bad’.21 Judah Halevi’s famous lament, ‘My heart is in the East and I am at the edge of the West’ can be read as acceptance of a life outside of the Land of Israel, rather than as a rallying cry for return to the ancestral homeland.22 Similarly, Nahmanides account of his Disputation in Barcelona in 1263 posits that exile is bad, but surmounting its difficulties prepares the Jew for entry into Ousterhoot, ‘Meaning and Architecture’, p. 39. For a sample of accounts by medieval Jewish travellers, see Elkan Nathan Adler, ed., Jewish Travellers in the Middle Ages (New York, 1987). 21 Marc Saperstein and Nancy E. Berg, ‘ Arab Chains and the Good Things of Sepharad’, AJS Review, 26, 2(2002), p. 302. 22 Op. cit., p. 305. 19 20

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the World to Come, for the achievement of spiritual immortality.23 This interpretation of two well-known texts from Sepharad is supported by other types of literary evidence. Rabbinic writings of the thirteenth century express the value of the diaspora in an increased identification of the synagogue with the Temple, and of the diaspora with the Land of Israel. This emphasis may have been due to the persecutions resulting from the Crusades that began in 1096. An early text linking the community of Mainz with Zion and the Second Temple shows the beginning of the process. In a chronicle of the First Crusade, a Jew of Mainz mourns his community’s destruction with the following words: ‘Gone from Zion are all that were her glory — namely Mainz’.24 The German community had become, metaphorically, part of the Holy Land. Mordecai ben Hillel haKohen (1240?–1298) commented on the talmudic tractate Shabbat that ‘Our lesser sanctuary is to be regarded as having a sanctity essentially similar to that of the Temple’.25 Menaem ben Solomon, known as the Meiri, who lived in Perpignan from 1249 to 1316, wrote the following in his commentary on the talmudic tractate Ketubbot: ‘Every place where wisdom and fear of sin are found has the status of the Land of Israel. Thus the rabbis said: “Anyone who lives in Babylonia lives, as it were, in the Land of Israel”’.26 Later, Chief Rabbi David ibn abi Zimra of Cairo (1480–1573) emphasised this relationship by noting ‘. . . And in a synagogue, it is better to place the menorah on the south side, since it is comparable to the menorah [of the Temple]’.27 In this worldview, the local synagogue — with its reader’s desk representing the Temple altar of incense, and its Hanukkah lamp placed at the southern end of the building — became equivalent to the Temple. In the eyes of medieval man, the Temple was, as the art historian Walter Cahn has written, ‘the persistent image of a fabulous creation, which could only be . . . duplicated piecemeal’,28 that is through selected elements. For medieval Jews in Europe, these symbols served to collapse the time and space separatOp. cit., p. 311. Alfred Haverkamp, ‘Connections of Jews in Medieval Towns of the Latin Christian Diaspora’, Conference on ‘The Jews of Europe in the Middle Ages’, Speyer, October, 2002. 25 Mordecai ben Hillel haKohen, Beit ha-Beirah, Ketubot, ed. M. Cohen (Jerusalem, 1976), p. 433. 26 Meiri on Talmud Yerushalmi, Berakhot 5:1. 27 David ibn abi Zimra, Responsa Radbaz, no. 510 = 945 (Italics mine.) 28 Walter Cahn, ‘Solomonic Elements in Romanesque Art’, The Temple of Solomon. 23 24

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1. Arculf of Gaul, Plan of Holy Sepulchre, ca. 680

2. Friedrich Wilhelm von Erdmannsdorf, Synagogue at Wörlitz, Exterior, 1789/90

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3. Altneuschul, Cross-Section, Prague, ca. 1260

4. Synagogue, Interior, Worms, 1134

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5. Menorah, Lubeck Minster, 1436, copper alloy

6. Cordoba, Synagogue, Wall with Dedicatory Inscription, 1314/5

7. Cordoba, Synagogue, detail: Dedicatory Inscription, 1314/5

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ing them from the remains of the Temple in Jerusalem, without necessitating the hardships of a long and dangerous journey. They affirmed the value of the diaspora. This paper has discussed architectural features of the medieval synagogue that transformed it into a mikdash me’at, a lesser sanctuary, symbolically linked to the Herodian Temple. The Amora’im (the sages) of the talmudic period (250–600) had drawn other links between the two institutions. They said that the order of the synagogue liturgy was analogous to the order of sacrifices in the Temple, an analogy repeated by Maimonides in the twelfth century;29 that a contribution to the synagogue was analogous to a sacrificial offering; and that it is forbidden to destroy any part of the synagogue, because it was forbidden to tear down any part of the Temple. These earlier equations between Temple and synagogue reinforced the architectural references explicated by late medieval rabbis and assured the medieval Jew of God’s presence in his synagogue, a building that embodied both the architectural and spiritual traditions of the Jerusalem Temple. A similar process occurred in the Church during those periods when it was difficult to go on pilgrimages to the holy sites in Jerusalem. There were buildings whose architecture was modelled on the ancient and famous shrines of Jerusalem. An alternative process allowed the identification of sites in Europe with those in the Holy Land through the reinterpretation of the landscape of the European shrine by literary means: by incorporating references to biblical passages and pilgrims’ descriptions of Jerusalem.30 The process of copying the places associated with the life and passion of Jesus and the reinterpretation of older sacred sites created substitutes for the loci sancti of Jerusalem that were near at hand.

Archaeological Fact and Medieval Tradition in Christian, Islamic and Jewish Art, ed. Joseph Gutmann (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1976), p. 58. 29 On the comparison of the liturgy to Temple sacrifices, see: Rashi on Berakhot, 26b and Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tefillah, 1:5; on the analogy of synagogue contributions to sacrifices, see BT, Baba Bathra, Tosefot on 8a, ‘yahib’; and on the prohibition against destroying a synagogue, see BT, Megillah, 28a. For later sources that cite the prohibition against ‘tearing down’, see Ezekiel Ha-levi Grubner, ‘A Review of the Sources’, The Sanctity of the Synagogue, ed. Baruch Litvin, 2nd ed. (New York, 1962), p. 214. 30 See John Charles Arnold, ‘Arcadia Becomes Jerusalem: Angelic Caverns and Shrine Conversion at Monte Gargano’, Speculum, 75,3 (2000), especially, pp. 581–88.

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Recent scholarship on Islamic architecture indicates that the imitation of distinctive elements of previous religious buildings occurred as early as the Umayyad period (661–750), predating the Christian and Jewish practices we have discussed. The earliest mosques are no longer viewed as mere mélanges of late antique elements, but as buildings that incorporate original symbolism. Estelle Whelan reinterpreted the first semicircular mihrab, that in the Mosque of the Prophet at Medina (in the part of the building reconstucted by al-Walid in 707–709), as the point toward which Muhammad had faced when leading prayers.31 The semicircular niche became a powerful symbol of the prophet’s life in Medina that was repeated in later buildings. Similarly, Finbarr B. Flood has explained the black disk found on the Umayyad mihrab beneath the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem as a representation of the onyx marking the place where Muhammad prayed in the Ka’ba mosque of Mecca.32 Like the onyx, the black disk in Jerusalem served to commemorate the prophet’s performance of the prayer ritual. This imitation of a feature of the Mecca shrine was followed by the building of mosques imitating the specific form of the Ka’ba Mosque, either by repeating an architectural form or the dimensions of the model, the same means later adopted by Jews and Christians when copying a holy site. One need hardly emphasise the centrality of shrines in Jerusalem to the architectural copies of all three monotheistic religions and to consider what that focus, among other causes, augured for history.

Estelle Whelan, ‘The Origins of the Mirāb Mujawwaf: A Reinterpretation’, Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 18(1986), pp. 214–17. 32 Finbarr B. Flood, ‘Light in Stone. The Commemoration of the Prophet in Umayyad Architecture’, Bayt al-Maqdis. Jerusalem and Early Islam, ed. Jeremy Johns (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 319 and n. 59. 31

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Between Worshipper and Wall: The Place of Art in Liturgical Spaces Introduction: Maimonides’ Responsum

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HE title of this paper is drawn from a phrase of Maimonides (1135–1204), bein adam ve-hakir (between worshipper and wall), which appears in a responsum1 discussing art in liturgical spaces in the context of the need to concentrate during prayer.2 Maimonides treated the subject more fully in his code of Jewish law, the Mishneh Torah,3 where he wrote, ‘All prayer, [that is said] without concentration, is not prayer. The words bein adam vehakir (between worshipper and wall) paraphrase a discussion in the Babylonian Talmud, Berahkot 5:b: ‘From what do we learn that nothing should project between a worshipper and the wall (Shelo ye-heh davar hozeiz beino ve-hakir)? It is said, [in a sentence from Isaiah (38:12)], ‘and Hezekiah turned his face to the wall [and prayed to the Lord]’.

The questioner in the responsum addressed to Maimonides sought to know what constitutes a forbidden projection between worshipper and wall, and for what reason is it forbidden? He asked:

A responsum is a question posed to a rabbinical authority and his answer. Maimonides, Teshuvot haRambam, ed. Joshua Blau (Jerusalem, 1960), no. 215. 3 Idem, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tefillah, 4:15–18. 1 2

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‘Are a Torah curtain [that hangs before the ark for the Torah] and objects like it included in the ban? Is the Torah curtain to which we direct ourselves during prayer — which incorporates images that do not project and these are at the sides [of the curtain] — or the covers placed on walls of the house to beautify them, forbidden?’ Maimonides answered: [It is not a matter of a prohibition, but] ‘of what is preferable. Coming near the wall allows for concentration. The Torah curtain doesn’t prevent concentration, but cupboards, boxes, sacks and household utensils, or similar things confuse one’s concentration. Turning toward images during prayer, even those that do not project, distracts us into looking at them and our kavanah, or concentration, is lost. Our practice is to avert our eyes if we happen to pray opposite a fabric or a wall with drawings on it’. Maimonides’ concern for the necessity of concentrating on prayer led him to consider the place of art in a liturgical space, that is a space used for prayer either in the synagogue or the home. In the process of reading the above responsum, we learn that the Jewish community in twelfth-century Egypt used art in several ways. The first was the placement of curtains on the Torah ark,4 that is, the scroll was not placed in an uncovered ark or niche. The curtains did not survive, only fragments of carved wooden arks used in the Ben Ezra Synagogue, Fostat, between the eleventh and the thirteenth centuries remain.5 All of the extant fragments bear carved or painted Hebrew inscriptions, which led to their being deposited in the geniza of the synagogue when the ark was no longer in use. In addition, a small fifteenth-century ark door from Cairo was

The curtain may have hung over the doors of the ark, or within them directly in front of the scrolls. 5 For a recently published account of the fragments from the geniza, see Menahem ben Sasson, ‘The Medieval Period. The Tenth to the Fourteenth Centuries’, pp. 218–23. An additional, painted inscription was discovered in 1992 when the Torah ark fabricated under Solomon Schechter’s direction was dismantled, and the individual pieces placed on view in the exhibition The Cairo Geniza: Jews & Muslims in the Mediterranean World 800–1500 at New York’s Jewish Museum. 4

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recently acquired by two American museums.6 A second point indicated by the responsum is that at least some twelfth-century Torah curtains had imaged borders on either side. What the centre of the curtain looked like is not specified. Finally, we learn the interesting fact that Jews hung figured covers, that is textiles, in their homes out of appreciation for their aesthetic beauty, and that they also had murals painted. Joseph Caro (1488–1575), the author of the Shulan Arukh (considered the definitive Code of Jewish Law), cited the above responsum of Maimonides, but his variant text contains additional details on the art under discussion: ‘Maimonides was asked: What constitutes [a barrier] ‘between oneself and the wall [during prayer]; why is one restrained from praying in front of such a barrier; and is the fine wool screen that is hung on the wall of a house for beauty, which contains non-projecting images, included in this prohibition or not?’7 In the first text of Maimonides’ responsum, the questioner mentioned covers placed on the wall of the house to beautify them. Maimonides stated that the problem was ‘figured walls’, which could refer to walls painted with murals or to walls hung with textiles woven with images. Caro’s text, however, cites only the ‘fine wool screen that is hung on the walls of a house for beauty’. He may have been referring to woven textiles8 or to knotted pile rugs. The latter is an Islamic art form with a long history; the earliest documents mentioning prayer rugs come from the documents of the Cairo Geniza, for example, an order to ship prayer rugs from Kairouan to Cairo in the eleventh century’.9

6 The door was purchased jointly by the Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore, and the Yeshiva University Museum, New York. See below p. 122. 7 Joseph Caro, Responsa Avkat Rokhel (Jerusalem, 1959), no. 66. Translation from Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, p. 53. 8 Decorated textiles dated to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have been recovered from Muslim graves in Egypt. (See, for example, Schulze, Alte Stoffe, pp. 19–21, Fig. 10). 9 Richard Ettinghausen, ‘The Early History, Use and Iconography of the Prayer Rug’, in Washington, The Textile Museum, Prayer Rugs, exhibition catalogue, 1974–75, p. 15.

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Eliakim of Mainz on Stained Glass in the Synagogue Another, very interesting responsum written near the end of Maimonides’ lifetime by the Ashkenazi rabbi Eliakim ben Joseph of Mainz (b. ca. 1170) concerns the same issue of distraction during prayer.10 What is most interesting about this text is the type of figures discussed: The synagogue of Cologne was decorated with stained glass bearing images of lions and snakes. Rabbi Eliakim had them removed. ‘They drew images of lions and snakes in the windows, a custom which the early sages were not accustomed to [do] in all the places of their exile11 . . . You may not say: Because permission was given to make images for the Temple, I can do so in the synagogues and study halls . . . even though we learn that images are permitted, except for the image of man. The forms of the sun and the moon and the dragon are prohibited because they are cult images, as is the serpent . . . It is also [prohibited] because one who is praying is commanded that there should not be anything interposed between him and the wall.12 Moreover, when one bows during [the recitation of ] his blessings, it would appear as if he bows to those images . . .’ This text is frequently cited in later responsa, but none of their authors explore the art-historical context of Rabbi Eliakim’s words.13 Stained glass windows with figurative subjects first appear in German churches at the beginning of the twelfth century. The earliest glass includes a large number of subjects drawn from the Hebrew Bible, for example the standing prophets from Augsburg Cathedral.14 A recurrent theme was snakes or serpents, sometimes in the context of a biblical subject, e.g. the transformation of Moses’ staff into a serpent (Fig. 1).15 In Cologne, twenty-eight 10 Isaac ben Moses of Vienna, Or Zaru’a, Avodah Zarah, par. 203; Kahan, Mekarim beSifrut haTeshuvot, pp. 352–3. 11 The translation of this quotation and the following addendum by Isaac ben Moses of Vienna are from Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, pp. 74–76. 12 Italics mine. 13 See Kahan, Mekarim beSifrut haTeshuvot, p. 353, for texts recording the incident in the Cologne synagogue. 14 Sarah Brown, Stained Glass: An Illustrated History (London, 1994), p. 39. 15 Brown, Stained Glass, 38; Museum für Kunst und Gewerbe Hamburg, Meisterwerke mittelalterlicher Glasmalerei aus der Sammlung des Reichsfreiherrn von Stein, exh. cat. (Hamburg: Museum für Kunst und Gewerbe Hamburg, 1966), cat. nos.1–5; Werner Schafke, Kölns romanische Kirchen: Architektur, Ausstattung, Geschichte, 2nd ed. (Cologne, 1985), pp. 158–61, Figs. 28–30.

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new churches were built ca. 1150–1250 and others were remodelled, an extraordinary amount of architectural creativity in one city during a single century.16 The furnishings of many of these churches may have inspired the Jews of Cologne to refurbish their synagogue windows with stained glass; their choice of animals was probably determined by the neutral, purely ornamental value attributed to lions and snakes in church decoration. Around 1230, Lucas, Bishop of Tuy wrote: ‘The forms of animals, birds, and serpents, and other things depicted in the church are only for ornament and beauty’.17 The discussion in Rabbi Eliakim’s text concerns a new art form, but the principles he cites in forbidding figurative stained glass are older: certain images are impermissible because they were considered idolatrous; a person facing images during prayer might appear to be saying his devotions to them; and lastly, the principle mentioned by Maimonides: nothing should be placed between worshipper and wall that could serve to disturb his concentration during prayer. Rabbi Eliakim’s responsum on stained glass was published in the book Or Zaru’a of his slightly younger contemporary Isaac ben Moses of Vienna (ca. 1180–ca.1250), who added the following short text at the end of Rabbi Eliakim’s words:18 ‘And I remember that when I . . . was a youth in Meissen, they used to draw birds and trees in the synagogue, and I determined that it is forbidden to do so from what we learned: ‘One [should not] stop his study and say, ‘How beautiful is that tree!’19 Consequently, it appears to me that he who pays attention to a beautiful tree does not concentrate on his study and interrupts it. All the more so during prayer, which requires greater concentration; one cannot concentrate as required when he looks at trees drawn on the wall’. One of the earliest extant examples of synagogue frescoes of birds and leafy branches are on the corbels of the Pinkas Synagogue, Prague, rebuilt

Schafke, Kölns romanische Kirchen, p. 17. Creighton Gilbert, ‘A Statement of Aesthetic Attitude around 1230’, Hebrew University Studies on Literature and the Arts 13, 2(1985), p. 151. 18 Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, p. 72. 19 Mishnah, Avot 3:7. 16

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between 1520 and 1535 (Figs. 2 and 3).20 In the twentieth century, the large expanses of glass windows in synagogues, made possible by modern technology, renders the issue of distraction from prayer due to trees relevant, and suggests a new application of the talmudic prooftext cited by Rabbi Isaac ‘One [should not] stop his study and say how beautiful is that tree!’ Meir of Rothenburg on Figurative Illustrations in Prayer Books The same issues discussed in the responsa of Maimonides and Eliakim of Mainz regarding wall decorations in the synagogue or place of prayer were cited in conjunction with the use of illuminated Hebrew Bibles and festival prayer books in medieval Ashkenaz. Decorated Hebrew manuscripts appeared toward the middle of the thirteenth century, probably in imitation of contemporary Latin manuscripts and in response to the secularisation of scriptoria, which previously had been located in monasteries and convents (Fig. 4). The appearance of this new artistic genre in the Ashkenazi community led to the question of their permissibility, as in the following responsum posed to Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg (1215–93).21 Rabbi Meir begins by repeating the question of his respondent: ‘You asked concerning the forms of animals and birds that are in prayer books, and are surprised that I do not object to them, since it has been taught: ‘You shall not make yourself a sculptured image’ (Ex. 20:4) even of animals and fowl, nor an engraving. One might say, you may make a two-dimensional representation. Therefore, Scripture states you shall not make any likeness: even of cattle, animals, birds, fish, grasshoppers; and even images of water animals’. He then answered, ‘It seems to me they are not acting properly, since when they look at these forms, they do not concentrate [during their prayers] on their These frescoes were photographed by the author, but have not been published. On the history of the synagogue see Hana Volavková, The Pinkas Synagogue, trans. Greta Hort (Prague, 1955). 21 Meir of Rothenburg, Responsa Maharam of Rothenburg (Jerusalem, 1986); translation from Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, pp. 110–11. 20

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Father who is in heaven. However, in this case, there is no prohibition because of [idolatry] . . . There is no substance at all to pictures that are made merely from paints. We are suspicious [of idolatry] only with a projecting [relief ] seal, but not with an intaglio, and certainly not with an image that does not project and is not sunken, but is merely painted . . .’ St. Bernard of Clairvaux (1091–1153), founder of the Cistercian Order, articulated the same concerns in his famous diatribe against sculptures in a monks’ cloister: ‘In the cloister, under the eyes of the brethren who read there, what profit is there in those ridiculous monsters, in that marvellous and deformed beauty, in that beautiful deformity? . . . So many and so marvellous are the varieties of shapes on every hand, that we are more tempted to read in the marble than in our books, and to spend the whole day wondering at these things rather than in meditating the law of God’.22 Meyer Schapiro, in commenting on St. Bernard’s text, noted that it reveals a highly developed appreciation of art on the part of its writer.23 A similar sensitivity underlies Rabbi Meir’s response to his questioner. He lists all the reasons the manuscript images cannot be judged idolatrous, but then prohibits them on the basis of an implied recognition of their aesthetic appeal when he states that images were capable of distracting the worshipper from prayer. Joseph Caro on Torah Curtains with Images A responsum of Joseph Caro reveals a shift in rabbinic opinion concerning the use of images in the synagogue. In the following text, Caro was asked about the permissibility of hanging curtains for the Torah ark that were made of textiles woven with birds.24 Cloths of that description were

22 Meyer Schapiro, ‘On the Aesthetic Attitude in Romanesque Art, ‘ In Selected Papers: Romanesque Art (New York, 1979), p. 6. 23 Ibid., pp. 8–9. 24 Joseph Caro, Responsa Avkat Rokhel, no. 66; translation from Mann, Jewish Texts on the

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produced in centres as diverse as Byzantium, Italy, Regensburg, and Spain from the sixth century onward, so that it is impossible to specify the exact appearance of the curtain in question.25 But we can assume that it was produced before 1575, the year Caro died. ‘One cannot argue from Maimonides’ words . . . [that one should not hang a Torah curtain with figures on it] because he had said that it is not proper that figured textiles should create a barrier between oneself and the wall. It is the custom throughout the diaspora to hang figured and embroidered Torah curtains, and no one has been concerned about diminished concentration on prayer as a result. Honouring the Torah [by placing an attractive curtain on the ark] is given precedence, and one praying before such a curtain can avert his eyes in order not to gaze at the figures. In any case, people do not concentrate properly on their prayers today . . .’ Joseph Caro’s statement that figured and embroidered Torah curtains were in widespread use in his day confirms what is known from extant works. The Torah curtains depicted in earlier, medieval illuminated Hebrew manuscripts lack embroidery or imagery.26 But, at least two curtains with iconographic elements were fashioned during Caro’s lifetime: one is a knotted pile rug now in the Synagogue in Padua made by an Egyptian weaver ca. 1550 (Fig. 8, p. 14 above), and the second is an embroidered silk and silk velvet curtain made by Solomon Perlsticker and his wife in Prague in 1590 (Fig. 5). They are the earliest extant examples of the figured Torah curtains that Caro discusses.

Visual Arts, pp. 51 and 53. An English translation was previously published by Solomon Freehof (A Treasury of Responsa [Philadelphia, 1963], pp. 108–12). 25 For examples of medieval textiles whose main motifs are birds, see Anton Legner, Ornamenta Ecclesia: Kunst und Kultur der Romanik in Köln und Siegburg. Weltbid und Kunst im höhen Mittelalter, exh. cat. (Cologne: Schnütgen-Museum, 1985), no. E31; Ibid, Monumenta Annonis: Köln und Siegburg. Weltbild und Kunst im höhen Mittelalter, exh. cat. (Cologne: Schnütgen-Museum, 1975), nos. D22b, 22c, 22e, 22j; Barbara Makovsky, Europäische Seidengewebe des 13.–18. Jahrhunderts: Katalog des Kunstgewerbemuseums Köln, 8(1976), no. 3. 26 For reproductions of late medieval curtains depicted in manuscripts, see Metzger and Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Figs. 97–98.

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Samuel Archivolti on Mural Paintings in the Synagogue Samuel Archivolti (1515–1611) was a younger contemporary of Joseph Caro. He headed the rabbinical court in Padua and wrote the following opinion: ‘In answer to those who ask me whether or not it is permitted to paint the walls of the synagogue with pictures of grass, trees, and calyxes, we researched the question and our answer is as follows: At first glance, it would seem that it is permitted because Maimonides wrote . . . “One may form images of animals and other living creatures, except human beings, and forms of trees, grass, and the like, even if they are relief images”. If you argue that the above applies only to places other than the synagogue, this is not so . . . On the other hand, however, it appears that such drawings are forbidden. Maimonides wrote, “. . . It is not proper to pray opposite wall hangings containing images, even if not in relief . . . so that one will not be distracted . . . and not concentrate on his prayers”. Additionally, we see in many places, particularly throughout the east, that it is not the custom to paint images in synagogues . . . We are not concerned that images of the ark or of the Torah curtain will distract [the cantor] . . . or that the Torah ark or the reader’s desk or the ambo on which he places his prayer book will project between him and the wall [i.e. will distract the cantor during prayer]’.27 Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen (1670–1749) on Torah Curtains with Figurative Imagery A text written in the late seventeenth century or first half of the eighteenth concerning Torah curtains with figurative imagery resulted from the availability of printed textiles in Germany after 1685.28 In that year, the Huguenots were expelled from France. Some took their expertise in fabricating printed textiles to German cities, among them Hamburg, where they established new manufactories. The appearance of the new technology for printing complex subjects on textiles in Hamburg led to the following 27 The Hebrew text is in David Kaufmann, ‘Art in the Synagogue’, pp. 266–9; translations from Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, pp. 84–86. Italics in text are mine. See above, figure 6.2 for an example of sixteenth-century wall murals in a synagogue. 28 Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen, Responsa Keneset Yeezkel (Sedlikov, 1834) no. 13.

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1. Master Gerlachus, Moses and the Burning Bush, Arnstein Cloister, ca. 1160, stained glass (Westfalisches Landesmuseum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte, Nr. 74.2.25/3)

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2. Prague, Pinkas Synagogue, Men's Section, 1535

3. Prague, Pinkas Synagogue, Men's Section, detail: corbel

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4. Elia ben Mordecai, scribe, Prayer Book for Festivals (Mazor), Bamberg, 1279, ink on vellum (New York, The Jewish Theological Seminary, mic. 4843)

5. Solomon Perlsticker and his Wife, Torah Curtain, Prague, 1590, renewed 1592 (Prague, Jewish Museum)

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6. Textile with David and Bathsheba, Holland, 17th century, damask

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7. Torah Curtain with Star of David, 20th century, velvet: embroidered (New York, The Jewish Museum F 5197).

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query addressed to Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen, rabbi of the three unified communities of Hamburg, Altona and Wandsbeck. Rabbi Katzenellenbogen was asked to rule on whether it was suitable to use printed textiles as material for Torah curtains. ‘ . . . You asked me to express my opinion . . . concerning a curtain with multicolored images that was designated a Torah curtain, and which has been used for some time for that holy purpose. Someone arose and said that some of the images represent sun worshippers (there are also representations of Noah’s Ark and the Covenant between David and Jonathan) . . . From the point of view of [Jewish] law, you spoke correctly when you argued that these images are merely paintings and not reliefs [and are, therefore, permitted] . . . Clearly this is so in the case of the fine textiles in question, which according to what I have heard, are produced in long bolts from which shorter lengths are cut and sold. There are piles and piles [of textiles] . . . The images are printed . . . These fabrics are sold in bulk in shops and are cut according to measure. If the end of the measure bisects one of the images, the cloth is cut through at that point without regard for the integrity of the image. Certainly, there can be no greater nullification [of its significance] than this . . . If one wants to object to the images because they distract from prayer . . . this is also not a reason for concern, because this curtain has been hanging in the synagogue for a long time. The case is similar to the ruling that a priest with a blemish on his hands or lower face may, if he is a long-time resident, recite the blessing [because we assume people are accustomed to his blemish and will not be distracted]. For all these reasons, it appears entirely permissible [to keep the Torah curtain]’. The two subjects cited by Katzenellenbogen, Noah’s Ark and the Covenant between David and Jonathan, do not appear on published examples of seventeenth–eighteenth-century printed fabrics. Surviving textiles with decorations drawn from the Hebrew Bible are composed of the following themes, generally paired: The Three Angels Appearing to Abraham at Mamre (to tell Abraham and Sarah of the impending birth of their son) together with the later event of the Offering of Isaac; 29 Moses and Agnes Geijer, A History of Textile Art (London: Sotheby Parke-Bernet, 1979), Figs. 172, 211–2. 29

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a depiction of Hebron; Joshua and Caleb Returning from Scouting the Land of Israel carrying a large Grape Cluster together with a different depiction of Hebron; 30 Jacob Tending Flocks and Wrestling with the Angel.31 Another biblical textile, a damask, features David Watching Bathsheba in her Bath, with the two figures arranged vertically, one on top of the other (Fig. 6).32 An interesting feature of this textile is the rendering of two pairs of finials for the Torah staves, set like standards on either side of the king. It is unlikely that Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen was mistaken about the subjects he saw, since most of the textile scenes are accompanied by rubrics giving their textual source. Conclusion The issue discussed in this article, the potential for art to interfere with a worshipper’s concentration on prayer, whether at home or in the synagogue, first arose in the twelfth century. The textiles discussed in the medieval responsa are described as figured, which in modern parlance would be ‘patterned’, that is, they had an overall pattern that may have included birds and/or foliate forms. Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen’s responsum represents a shift to a concern over narrative representations, i.e. images on textiles including human figures. In our own day, Moshe Feinstein (1895–1990) answered a query on whether it was permissible to have a Star of David on a Torah curtain given the symbol’s association with Zionism (Fig. 7).33 For better or worse, we have reached the point where even an abstract form that has served as a Jewish symbol for centuries is viewed askance, as inappropriate to a place for prayer.

New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, acc. no. 09.13.20. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, acc. no. 09.50.1472. 32 Geijer, loc. cit. 33 Moshe Feinstein, Responsa Iggerot Moshe, Ora
ayyim, Part 3 (New York, 1959), no. 30 31

15.

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The Unknown Jewish Artists of the Middle Ages Introduction

I

HAVE often heard a speaker or writer declare that only with the Emancipation in the nineteenth century did Jews become artists. A related assumption is that in the Middle Ages — which I will define for the purposes of this essay as ending ca. 1600 — most Jews earned their living by lending money or by engaging in the related occupation of pawnbroking. Many of those who admit Jews functioned as artists in the medieval period assume that the writing and decorating of Hebrew manuscripts was the only artistic genre they practiced. None of these statements is accurate, however, because they are based on a narrow Eurocentric view of the Jewish community and its position within the general population, and on a similarly narrow definition of medieval art.1 During the medieval period, most of the Jewish population lived in Muslim lands, rather than in countries ruled by Christians. Mark Cohen has compared the legal and economic status of medieval Jews who lived as dhimmis under Muslim rulers, that is people of the Book who were considered to have a revealed Scripture, with those who lived under Christian rule in Europe.2 The greater consistency by which Islamic law treated the The subject of this essay was first discussed by Franz Landsberger over sixty years ago in an article titled ‘Jewish Artists before the Period of Emancipation’, Hebrew Union College Annual, 16,1(1941), pp. 321–414. 2 Mark R. Cohen, Under Crescent & Cross. The Jews in the Middle Ages (Princeton, 1994), chs. 3 and 4. 1

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dhimmi contributed to the continuity of Jewish life in Muslim lands; in many countries their history predates the Arab conquest and lasted until the mid-twentieth century. In contrast, the frequent changes in the law and status of Jews in Christendom yielded greater uncertainty and more frequent persecutions and expulsions. Northern Spain was a unique cosmopolitan area in the late Middle Ages as the result of immigration from Almohad domains, from France, Central Europe, and North Africa. In Aragon, for example, Jews lived both in rural areas where they engaged in agriculture, and in larger cities where they were investors, merchants and moneylenders. The despised ‘usurer’ of northern Europe became a businessman in Mediterranean countries.3 The narrower issue, the range of Jewish artistic activity in the medieval world, varied from country to country and was determined by the laws of the predominant religion and the rulers who governed in its name. As William Brinner has written, ‘In the absence of European-type guilds . . . there was a great deal of cohesion and cooperation within trades and professions; thus at all levels Jews interacted with their Muslim and, to a lesser extent, their Christian counterparts’.4 In Germany, until the emergence of guilds in the fourteenth century, and in the Muslim West (North Africa, Greater Syria, Spain and Sicily) until the sixteenth century, when Ottoman conquerors brought with them the organisation of the arts into corporations, Jews were able to engage in the same arts and crafts as non-Jews.5 In considering the historical question of whether Jews were artists during the Middle Ages, one must first consider the genres of art that were important in Muslim countries, and those that were significant in Christian lands of this period. In most medieval Arab lands, the so-called ‘decorative arts’ or ‘treasury arts’ predominated. The designers and weavers of textiles and carpets, woodcarvers, calligraphers, jewellers, and silversmiths were praised for their skill, the beauty of their compositions, and the colours they used; they were the artists of Muslim society. In the medieval Christian Robert I. Burns, Jews in the Notarial Culture. Latinate Wills in Mediterranean Spain, 1250–1350 (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1996), p. 12. 4 William Brinner, ‘The Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Communities in Egypt’, Fortifications and the Synagogue, pp. 14–15. 5 Guido Kisch, Jews in Medieval Germany, (Chicago, 1949), pp. 344–46. For the influence of the Ottomans on the organisation of the arts, see S. D. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society. The Jewish Comunities of the World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, Vol. 1 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1999), p. 83. 3

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world, men were painters and sculptors, artistic categories still predominant today, but silversmiths and ivory carvers were their peers, as Hans Swarzenski showed in an influential work titled Monuments of Romanesque Art.6 Consisting entirely of reproductions of small-scale works but presented in large-format photographs, the book made a convincing case for the monumentality of the art of the ivory carver, of the silversmith, and the illuminator. Monumentality and complicated iconographic programmes were not a function of size, but the product of the imagination and knowledge of the artist and the patron.7 In the Middle Ages, the silversmith or goldsmith was as significant an artist as the sculptor and painter who worked on the walls of churches. Similarly, the medieval illuminator who decorated manuscripts with elaborate miniatures was on a par with the artist of panel paintings or frescoes. Occasionally the same artist worked in more than one genre. For example Meir Jaffe created a bookbinding in cuir ciselé for the City Council of Nuremberg in 1468 (Figs. 1 and 15), and was also the scribe and illuminator of the Cincinnati Haggadah of ca. 1480–90.8 The distinction between the so-called ‘fine arts’ and the ‘decorative arts’ was a product of the later European Renaissance, and was connected to a shift in emphasis on the artist’s skill and away from the contractual definition of his work — its subject, media, and composition.9 As a result the professional status of painters and sculptors, and goldsmiths, those who produced the fine arts, rose in esteem. In the Middle Ages, however, silversmithing and manuscript painting were among the most important artistic genres; their practitioners were not grouped with craftsmen like shoemakers and tailors, as they so often are in books on Jewish history.10 This mistaken classification of the arts in Jewish historiography is one factor contributing to current perceptions that Jews were not active as artists before the modern period.11 Another factor leading to the denial of Jewish participation in the arts was the linking of nationalism and art history in the

Hanns Swarzenski, Monuments of Romanesque Art, second edition (Chicago, 1967). Op. cit., Figs. 87–88 and 438. 8 Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, pp. 130–31. 9 Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy (Oxford and New York, 1986), p. 23. 10 Mark Wischnitzer, A History of Jewish Crafts and Guilds (New York, 1965), p. xvi; Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia, 1896), pp. 245–49. 11 Landsberger, ‘Jewish Artists’, pp. 358–59. 6 7

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1. Meir Jaffe, Bookbinding for a Bible (Humash) for the Nuremberg City Council, Nuremberg, 1468, leather: cuir ciselé, (Munich, Staatsbibliothek, Cod. hebr. 212)

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2. Moshe ben Asher, Book of the Prophets, Tiberias, 895, ink and gold on vellum (Cairo: Karaite Synagogue)

3. Solomon ben Levi haBouya'a, First Leningrad Bible, Egypt, 929, Ink and gold on parchment (Leningrad, Public Library, Cod. II, 17)

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4. Doors from an Ark of the Ben Ezra Synagogue, Fustat, 15th century, wood: carved (Baltimore: Walters Art Gallery and New York: Yeshiva University Museum, YU 2000.21)

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nineteenth century.12 Without a country of their own, Jews were deemed to lack an artistic sensibility. On the basis of the following premises, however: 1. for the large medieval Jewish population living in the Muslim world, significant art forms were works in gold and silver, ceramics, textiles, and calligraphy, 2. that medieval Europe included silversmithing, painting, and manuscript painting among its most important artistic genres, we can now turn to an examination of the evidence for the role of Jewish artists in medieval art. As Jonathan Alexander has remarked, the existence of the artist is proved by his work,13 and this is especially true in the case of the medieval Jewish artist, many of whose works seem not to have been signed or hallmarked and so are lost in anonymity. Our knowledge of medieval Jewish artists is based on three types of evidence: works whose nature presumes Jewish authorship; works signed by Jewish artists; and texts mentioning or describing works made by Jews. An example of the first type is the decorated Hebrew manuscript, produced throughout the medieval Jewish world. Some manuscripts were signed by their calligrapher or their miniaturist, or both. But Jews also signed other types of work such as elaborate leather book covers and retablos, large compositions set behind the church altar. The texts that mention Jewish artists range from internal Jewish texts like rabbinic responsa, to regulations imposed by government decrees and legal codes, and papal pronouncements. The Muslim West Our knowledge of individual Jewish artists in Muslim countries of the West depends, in part, on a few signed illuminated manuscripts, the testimonies of medieval Jewish travellers, and the abundant records found in the

12 13

Olin, The Nation without Art, pp. 1–31. Jonathan J. Alexander, Remarks, Institute of Fine Arts, 2002.

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Cairo Geniza, the study of which has led to a rewriting of medieval history in the lands around the Mediterranean littoral. The first extant signed and decorated Hebrew codex written under Arab rule is a Book of the Prophets from Tiberias dated 895, which was written and decorated by Moshe ben Asher. The columns of the biblical text are adorned with designs in micrography that contain the masora magna and parva, notes governing the transmission of an accurate text, the spelling, and pronunciation of the Bible (Fig. 2). The fidelity with which Ben Asher wrote this manuscript made it a model for later copies.14 Its decoration consists of artistic forms and compositions shared with contemporaneous Qu’rans.15 One is micrography (the use of texts to create designs); another is the inclusion of carpet pages (miniatures whose composition imitates those of textiles and were probably intended as a replacement for cloths placed between illuminations to preserve their surfaces). Their motifs are geometric or floral. A slightly later manuscript known as the First Leningrad Bible was created in 929 by Solomon ben Levi haBouya’a in Egypt, who also wrote the Aleppo Codex of 930. He included a new composition whose iconography was repeated in Spain until the Expulsion. It is a page of the Temple Implements (Fig. 3), which became a symbol for Spanish Jewry of the hope and belief in the rebuilding of the ancient centre of Jewish worship.16 Other artist-calligraphers of early, decorated Hebrew codices are known only by their work. Nevertheless the close parallels between the early Qu’rans and the earliest decorated Hebrew Bibles indicate knowledge of each other’s artistic practices. Many of the features of early manuscripts written in the Land of Israel and North Africa, later reappear in the Hebrew and Arabic manuscripts of Spain. Some of the earliest decorated Hebrew manuscripts were found in the Cairo Geniza. A second type of artwork found there is carved wood, mostly parts of Torah arks dated from the eleventh to the thirteenth century.17 Nearly all the fragments feature Hebrew inscriptions, which presumes that their carvers were Jewish. Conservation of the inscriptions in the collection of The Jewish Museum, New York, eleven years ago revealed a trial inscrip-

Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, p. 44. Joseph Gutmann, Hebrew Manuscript Painting (New York, 1978), p. 16. 16 Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, p. 42. 17 See above p. 99. Menahem ben Sasson, ‘The Medieval Period. The Tenth to Fourteenth Centuries’, Fortifications and the Synagogue, pp. 219–23. 14 15

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tion painted on the back of one of the carved examples, an indication of artistic planning to assure the inscription would fit the board. Although the size of most of the extant inscriptions indicate they were made for Torah arks, one smaller piece whose right end is closed by a border design may have been made for a cabinet to hold charitable donations.18 A more complete piece of carved wood from the Ben Ezra Synagogue is one half of a bivalve door from a small ark that dates to the fifteenth century (Fig. 4). Its central decorative motif is a Mamluk roundel bordered by Hebrew inscriptions at the top and bottom. The use of inscriptions as architectural decoration and as decoration for architectural furnishings was widespread in Islamic architecture; the Hebrew inscriptions from the Cairo Geniza are customised examples of a Muslim artistic tradition. Geniza documents have also yielded information on goldsmiths active in the twelfth century, who lived in the area of the Ben Ezra Synagogue in Fostat, where the geniza was located.19 One consequence of Jewish involvement in the arts was the development of cooperative relationships between Jewish and Muslim artisans in Egypt and the formation of interreligious partnerships. A responsum of Maimonides explores some of the consequences of these mixed workshops: ‘What does our Master say with regard to partners in a workshop, some being Jews and some Muslims, exercising the same craft. The partners have agreed between themselves that the [gains made on] Friday should go to the Jews and those made on Saturday to the Muslims. The implements of the workshop are held in partnership; the crafts exercised are in one case goldsmithing, in another the making of glass’.20 Maimonides allowed the arrangement as long as the Jewish craftsman did not benefit from revenues earned on Saturday. Although the text is not specific, the Jew was in all likelihood the goldsmith, as the hadith (Muslim legal traditions) viewed these professions as unclean, better left to the 18 Two cupboards of stone are in the antechamber to the Altneuschul, Prague, which is dated ca. 1260. For an illustration, see Carol Herselle Krinsky, Synagogues of Europe. Architecture, History, Meaning (Cambridge MA and London, 1985), Fig. 5. 19 Moshe Gil, ed., Documents of the Jewish Pious Foundations from the Cairo Geniza (Leiden, 1976), p.1443, n. 17 and p. 160, n. 13. 20 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, Vol. 2, p. 296; see also Cohen, Under Crescent & Cross, pp. 95–96.

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dhimmis, such as the Jews. In his description of Morocco published in 1556, Jean-Léon Africain wrote that the majority of the goldsmiths in Fez were Jewish.21 In the same period, an average of eight or ten men out of the small population of Jews in Jerusalem were silversmiths who made jewellry and religious items.22 They sold not only to residents, but also to the numerous pilgrims who journeyed to the Holy City. These Jewish silversmiths belonged to the same guild as Christian and Muslims; occasionally a Jew was its chief officer. In the medieval Muslim world, their occupation was an important one as jewellry signified more than ornament and was a significant artistic genre. It represented the savings and investment of its owner, as well as the dowry of a woman.23 Throughout Islam, both Jews and Muslims were active in all phases of the silk industry.24 Another mixed shop mentioned in a Geniza document was that of a Jewish silk weaver who employed Muslims, a Jew, and a Jewish convert to Islam.25 A document of 1040 likewise mentions a Jew who was a professional weaver;26 other sources state that such a weaver would have owned between twenty-nine and thirty-two pieces of equipment.27 According to Benjamin of Tudela, who travelled widely between 1159/1167 and 1172/73, Jews were engaged in the manufacture of silk in several cities.28 He reported that the Jews of Thebes were the most eminent manufacturers of silk and purple cloth in all of Greece, and that the Jews of Constantinople likewise engaged in silk weaving.29 Elijah of Ferrara who visited in 1434 wrote that ‘the Jews ply their trades side by side with the Ishmaelites, and no jealousy between them results, as I have remarked in other places’.30 Originally, Muhammed had forbidden the wearing of silk clothes and gold jewellry as inappropriate for believers in this world,31 but Jean-Léon Africain, Description de l’Afrique, (Lyons, 1556). Amnon Cohen, ‘Jewish Goldsmiths in the Early Ottoman Period, Pe’amim, 11(1982), pp. 46–50 (Hebrew). 23 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, Vol. 1, p. 108. 24 Op. cit., p. 104. 25 Op. cit., p. 297. 26 Gil, Documents of the Jewish Pious Foundations, p. 71. 27 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, Vol. 1, p. 86. 28 E.g. Adler, Jewish Travellers in the Middle Ages, p. 41. 29 As quoted in Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, p. 217. 30 Op. cit., p. 153. 31 Yedida Kalfon Stillman, Arab Dress from the Dawn of Islam until Modern Times, pp. 30–31. 21 22

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by the Ummayad period (661–750), this stricture was abandoned, creating a great demand for silk garments. A related occupation for Jews was embroidering finished garments as noted in a Geniza document of 1107.32 Fine clothes were costly and were often the principal part of trousseaux,33 or were bequeathed to family members as an inheritance.34 As a result, textile production was the most important industry in the medieval Islamic world. Medieval Spain That Jews were artists in medieval Spain is known from both Jewish and Christian sources, but no example of their work survives until the thirteenth century when the Reconquest was underway. A unique, surviving contract written on Majorca in 1335 between the patron, David Isaac Cohen, and the artists, Abraham Tati and Bonnim Maymo, stipulates that Maymo will provide three books with illuminated letters: a Bible with gold letters, Maimonides’ Guide to the Perplexed, and a second Maimonidean treatise.35 Maymo was a minor at the time that the contract was written, which explains the involvement of Tati who was a silk maker, rather than an illuminator. Other Spanish Hebrew manuscripts have colophons naming their creators, which augment the knowledge of Jewish illuminators known from documents. In 1260, Menahem ben Abraham ibn Malik recorded in the colophon of a manuscript that he had finished it in Burgos in 1260 (Fig. 5).36 It is the first Spanish Hebrew Bible whose decorative scheme of carpet pages both reflects the earlier manuscripts from Palestine, and represents a model for later Bibles produced until the Expulsion. The floral motifs of these carpet pages are drawn from Islamic stucco. The designs are surrounded by large and small framing inscriptions, a decorative system found in many Hebrew manuscripts and marriage contracts from Spain. Another signed manuscript is the Farhi Bible written from 1366 to 1382 by Elisha ben Abraham ben Benveniste ben Elisha, called Crescas. It includes the double page of Temple Implements (Fig. 6) first seen in the Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, Vol. 1, p. 363, no. 7. Stillman, Arab Dress, p. 132. 34 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, Vol. 1, p. 101. 35 J. N. Hillgarth and Bezalel Narkiss, ‘A List of Hebrew Books (1330) and a Contract to Illuminate Manuscripts (1335) from Majorca’, Revue des Études Juives, 3rd Series, 3 (1961), pp. 304–08, 316–320. 36 Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, pp. 50–51. 32 33

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First Leningrad Bible, that appears in most later Hebrew Bibles and in some Christian ones like that belonging to San Isidor, Léon, dated 1161–62 and a Bible written in Guadalajara in the fifteenth century.37 In 1299, Joseph the Frenchman worked as an illuminator for the scribe of the Cervera Bible leaving a colophon in zoomorphic letters, a feature derived from Latin manuscripts (Fig. 7). This text served as a model for the colophon of the Kennicott Bible illustrated by Joseph ibn
ayyim, in 1476.38 Other Jews worked on manuscripts for Christian patrons. Vidal Abraham illuminated a Book of Privileges for the government of Marjorca in 1341, fragments of which still exist showing that the artist created large initials (some with gold), smaller ones of red and blue ink, plus chapter markings,39 a decorative scheme common to both Hebrew and Christian Bibles.40 Another work by a Majorcan Jewish scribe and artist, but more specialised, was the Catalan Atlas drawn and illustrated by Abraham Cresques (1325–1387) in 1375; it was recorded as having been in the library of Charles V of France five years later.41 Numerous illustrations of human figures, animals, flora and cities appearing throughout the map are akin to manuscript decoration. Two letters written by the Infante of Aragon, Juan, in 1381 mention ‘Cresques lo juheu, a leading master of maps of the world and of compasses’. In 1422, Rabbi Moses of Arragel was asked by Don Guzman, Master of the Order of Calatrava, to translate the Hebrew Bible anew into Castilian, and to produce commentaries and illustrations for the text.42 Rabbi Moses demurred, citing the biblical prohibition against images. To accommodate the rabbi, Don Guzman hired

For the Léon Bible, see Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Art of Medieval Spain, AD 500–1200 (New York, 1993), cat. no. 150; for the Guadalajara Bible, see Romero, La Vida Judia, p. 119. 38 Op. cit., p. 187. 39 Hillgarth and Narkiss, ‘A List of Hebrew Books’, p. 306. 40 See for example, Consuelo Herrero Gonzáles, Codices Miniados en el Real Monasterio de Las Huelgas (Barcelona, 1984), Fig. 71. For a twelfth-century Christian Bible from Burgos see New York Public Library, Tesoros de España. Ten Centuries of Spanish Books (New York, 1985), p. 48. 41 Jean Michel Massing, ‘Abraham Cresques. Catalan Atlas’, Ca. 1492, no. 1 (there the older literature). 42 Moses of Aragel, trans., La Biblia de Alba, ed. Jeremy Schonfeld (Madrid, 1992), there the older bibliography. The iconography of the scenes was discussed by Carl-Otto Nordström, The Duke of Alba’s Castilian Bible: A Study of the Rabbinical Features of the Miniatures (Uppsala: Almquist and Wiksells, 1967). 37

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artists from Toledo to produce the miniatures. The history of the commission is related in a lengthy preface to the text of the Bible. When finished, the manuscript included 334 miniatures that were modelled on a manuscript from the Cathedral in Toledo, which is astonishing testimony to the Christian preservation of a large body of scenes from the Hebrew Bible.43 In effect, Rabbi Moses and the Christian illuminators with whom he worked formed a mixed shop, such as the one mentioned in Maimonides responsum cited above. In the thirteenth century, when scriptoria in Christian Europe began to be secularised, Jews could patronise Christian illuminators who worked together with Hebrew scribes responsible for the text. An example of this kind of cooperative artistic venture is evidenced by two Aragonese manuscripts from the same workshop, a Maimonides Guide to the Perplexed of 1324 written in Hebrew, and a Latin manuscript made for Pedro IV, the Ceremonial de consagración y coronación (Figs. 8 and 9). The compositional scheme of both pages is the same as are the decorative forms. Both miniatures inserted into the texts are surrounded by a rectilinear frame that sprouts vegetation (principally clusters of blue leaves), and supports small frames enclosing either blazons or birds. Millard Meiss named the workshop as that of The Master of St. Mark; it was active in Catalonia during the fourteenth century.44 Another miniature of the Maimonidian Guide shows strong Christian artistic influence. It is a composition developed initially in Byzantium and then found in the West in works like the English Bury Bible of the twelfth century: four symbols of the Evangelists, each in a roundel are placed in the four corners of a square frame. In the Maimonides’ Guide, the figures represent their original literary source, the Four Beasts of the Chariot in Ezekiel’s vision (Ezekiel ch.1, Fig. 10). In 1432, a lavishly decorated manuscript of Maimonides’ Guide was produced for Gomes Suares de Figueroa, Master of the Order of Santiago.45 It was the first translation of this Jewish classic into Castilian.

43 An earlier example of the Christian transmission of biblical iconography is the hundreds of scenes in the eleventh-century Pamplona Bibles, some of which preserve the compositions of wall paintings in the Dura Europos Synagogue, dated ca. 244 CE. (François Boucher, The Pamplona Bibles (New Haven and London, 1970). 44 Gabrielle Sed-Rajna, ‘A Hebrew Manuscript of Fourteenth-Century Catalonia and the Workshop of The Master of St. Mark’, Jewish Art, 18(1992), pp. 117–128. 45 Romero, La Vida Judia, no. 127.

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But manuscript illumination was not the only type of painting in which Jewish artists engaged in medieval Spain. Notarial documents dated 1316 to 1416 published by Asuncíon Blasco Martínez reveal the existence of several Jewish painters who worked on a larger scale, for example, Abraham de Salinas who signed a contract with the See of Saragossa in 1393 to produce a retablo, or painting behind the altar, on the theme of the life of the Virgin.46 Another contract records the employment of Bernart de Alfarin, a Jewish silversmith, to create a frame for Abraham’s retable that was to include six cartouches on the theme of the Annunciaton to Mary. From the notarial texts, we know that Abraham de Salinas painted at least four retables for churches in the See of Saragossa, but he may also have produced others whose records are lost. A retablo in Tarragona is signed by a Jewish artist named Juan de Levi.47 Another Aragonese retablo, The Disputation between Moses and St. Peter (Fig. 11), presumes a Jewish artist since a well-written Hebrew text fills the scroll of Moses, while the scroll of St. Peter is blank, suggesting the artist did not know Latin but knew Hebrew. The broad nature of Jewish participation in the art of painting on the Iberian Peninsula is indicated by a treatise on colours, the Libro de Como se Fazen as Cores, written by Abraham ibn
ayyim in 1262.48 Abraham wrote his manuscript in Judeo-Portuguese, which presumes that there was an audience of other Jewish artists who could understand the text. At the time Abraham composed his Libro, the first translations of the earliest treatise to describe techniques of painting, glassmaking and metalworking, the monk Theophilus’ early twelfth-century Various or Divers Arts, began to appear. The greater number of colour recipes in Abraham’s book, recorded in twenty-eight chapters, indicates that the author used at least one source in addition to Theophilus for his thirteenth-century book on colours. In all regions and cities of Spain whose medieval archives have been studied, documents indicate that silversmithing was a preferred profession among Jews, first under Islamic rule, when it was considered an undesirable art for Muslims, and then in Christian Spain. Jewish artists worked both for

Blasco Martinez, ‘Pintores y Orfebres Judios en Zaragoza (Siglo XIV), pp. 116–118. Information from Professor Esther Da Costa Meyer, Princeton University. 48 S. Blondeim, trans., ‘An Old Portuguese Work on Manuscript Illumination’, Jewish Quarterly Review, 19 N. S. (1928–29), pp. 97–135. See Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, pp. 134–37. 46 47

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their own communities and for non-Jews, and were even hired by the Church. They must have been working within the stylistic norms of contemporaneous non-Jewish artists for their wares to be sought by nonJewish patrons. Visual representations of Jews as silversmiths appear in the Vidal Mayor, the law code of James I of Aragon dated to the second half of the thirteenth century (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 83. MQ.165, Ms. Ludwig XIV 6). The recorded cases include four involving Jews. They are shown as merchants of metalwork (Fig. 12), and as pawnbrokers (accepting metalwork as surety for a loan (Fig. 13), and as litigants before the king in a case involving metalwork. Among the works made by Jewish silversmiths were numerous objects for the church, to the extent that Pope Benedict XIII, at the beginning of the fifteenth century, prohibited Jews from fashioning chalices, crucifixes, or the bindings of holy books. That Jewish silversmiths were able to fulfil these commissions may have been partly due to the pawning of church vestments and sacred vessels,49 which then served as models. Knowledge of the art of silversmithing was passed from father to son, resulting in generations of artists whose names are documented in the archival records, for example the Amali Family of Saragossa who flourished during the fourteenth century.50 The Jewish silversmiths of Spanish cities formed their own guilds and confraternities, and sometimes had their own synagogues: there were three such in Saragossa.51 When the Jews of Lyons were expelled in 1496, they moved to nearby Trevoux where they reestablished themselves as silversmiths.52 Another guild of Jewish artists was that of the woodworkers of Palermo; one member participated in decorating the royal palace of that city in the period when Sicily belonged to Spain.53 A Hebrew source reveals another métier of Jewish artists in medieval Spain. Solomon ibn Abraham Adret wrote in a responsum:

Gemma Escribà, Bonnastre Maria Pilar, and Frago i Pérez, eds., Documents dels Jueus de Girona (1124–1595) (Ajuntament de Girona, 1985), no. 106. 50 Blasco Martinez, ‘Pintores y Orfebres Judios’, pp. 121–24. 51 Yom Tov Assis, ‘Introduction. The Jews of the Crown of Aragon’. The Jews in the Crown of Aragon. Regesta of the Castas Reales in the Archivo de la Corona de Aragón. Part II. 1328–1493, ed. Gemma Escribà (Jerusalem, 1995), p. VIII. 52 Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, p. 221. 53 Wischnitzer, ‘Jewish Crafts and Guilds’, p. 83. 49

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‘Those images of crosses that women weave in their silks [made] for non-Jews should be forbidden. Nevertheless, they can be deemed permissible because non-Jews do not worship their deity in this way. The [women] make nothing with their looms but [designs] for beauty in the manner of drawings. Even though the same images are worshiped on other articles, since it is not customary to worship them in this manner, [the images are] permissible’.54 Solomon Adret’s responsum is noteworthy for the information that the Jewish women of Toledo were weavers of deluxe silk textiles in the thirteenth century. Muslims had introduced the production of silk cloth to Spain in the early tenth century, three centuries prior to its manufacture in the rest of Europe.55 The silks produced by Muslims and Jews in Spain, the primary silk producing area of the Muslim West, were highly admired even by the Catholic kings and queens.56 Jews also predominated in the production of silk in Sicily, which in 1282 became part of the Kingdom of Aragon.57 A Jewish traveller, Elijah of Ferrara, sent a letter home from Jerusalem in 1434 in which he wrote that Jewish women weave silks (as did the Jewish women of Spain), which their husbands sell.58 The sum of all these accounts is that Jewish involvement in the weaving and trade of silk textiles was widespread in Muslim countries and in Spain and its possessions, even after the Reconquest was underway. In sum, Jewish participation in the artistic life of the Iberian Peninsula was significant and varied. Jews were probably artists during the period of Muslim domination, when the Moors probably ceded to Jews the roles of gold- and silversmiths — as they did later in Morocco — because of the negative view of these occupations in the hadith, the body of Muslim tradition. There is no question that Jewish painters of manuscripts had an intimate knowledge of Arabic books, including the Qur’an, because so much of the Muslim decorative system is taken over in Spanish Hebrew This quote was included in a responsum of David ibn abi Zimra (Responsa Radbaz, Vol. 4 [Warsaw, 1882], no. 107). 55 Juan Zozaya, ‘Material Culture in Medieval Spain’, in Mann, Glick and Dodds, Convivencia, p. 159. 56 Concha Herrero Carretero, Museo de Telas Medievales. Monasterio de Santa María la Real de Huelgas (Burgos, 1988). 57 Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, p. 220. 58 Adler, Jewish Travellers, p. 153. 54

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manuscripts.59 The Reconquest did not result in the replacement of Muslim artists by Christians, rather Muslim art was esteemed by the new rulers for its quality and beauty. Many of the works of Jewish artists in this period, such as the woven silks of Toledo, should be considered Mudejar art, the art and architecture produced for Christians by Muslims and Jews. In the later period of Christian rule, the few extant works by Jewish artists are supplemented by more numerous archival records. Jews as Mediators of the Arts Jewish artists and traders participated in transmitting artistic models and techniques from one land to another. In peaceful times, this cultural interchange took place as the result of trade. In the eleventh century, for example, a Jewish trader shipped Muslim prayer rugs from Kairouan to Spain, according to a record found in the Cairo Geniza that is the earliest written documentation of prayer rugs.60 Times of persecution, like the pogroms of 1391 and the Expulsions from Spain in 1492 and from Portugal in 1497, also resulted in the diffusion of artistic genres. For example, one third of the Jewish refugees from Spain who settled in Safed at the end of the fifteenth century engaged in the manufacture and weaving of wool. They had been familiar with textile manufacturing processes on the Iberian Peninsula, and encountered an established wool and silk industry in Safed on which they could build.61 The role of Jews as transmitters of culture can be seen in the appearance of Spanish artistic genres in lands of the Sephardi diaspora after the arrival of exiles from the Peninsula. One example is the introduction to Morocco of Spanish medieval weaving patterns by Jewish refugees. These patterns often appear in belts, and may reflect the imposition of distinctive clothing for Andalusian Jews. A rope-like belt, the zunnar, which was also worn by the slaves of dhimmis, assured recognition when outer garments were removed and guaranteed that non-Muslims would be recognisable both

Katrin Kogman-Appel, ‘Hebrew Manuscripts in Late Medieval Spain: Signs of a Culture in Transition’, Art Bulletin, 84, 2 (2002), pp. 246–272. 60 Ettinghausen, ‘Introduction’, Prayer Rugs, p. 115–18. 61 Samuel Avitzur, ‘Za’fat mercaz le-ta’asiat arigei zemer bemeah ha-15’, Sefunot 6 (1962), pp. 41–69. 59

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outside and indoors.62 As Janina M. Safran has written: [the] ‘insistence that Jews and Christians wear the distinguishing piece of cloth or belt required of them is an instance of a legally defined sartorial differentiation being reconfirmed in a context of identity confusion’.63 The wearing of a distinctive sign was later required of Jews in the Crown of Aragon. Clothing was a medium through which political values could be expressed and the hierarchical order of society made manifest.64 When the Jews left Spain and immigrated to Morocco, they took with them medieval weaving patterns that were recreated in ‘Fez belts’ until the mid-twentieth century. From being a discriminatory item of clothing, the belts became a distinguishing element of Jewish dress, for example, as part of el-keswa el kbîra, the grand bridal costume worn by women of Sephardi ancestry.65 The production of lusterware was an art form introduced by the Arabs to Spain. By the mid-fifteenth century, these ceramics were imported into Italy from Majorca, which led to their being called majolica. Some of the first manufacturies in Italy were established by Jews from Spain, for example, that in Savona near Genoa, established by the Salamone family who used the Star of David as their symbol from the mid-fifteenth century until the twentieth, long after the family had converted to Christianity.66 None of the extant ceramics from medieval Spain can be attributed to Jewish ateliers, although some pieces appear to have been made exclusively for Jews by reason of their iconography or form. The wares excavated in the juderías can be presumed to have been used by Jews, but these works cannot be differentiated from the pottery of other population groups, unless they are of a particular Jewish form, like the Hanukkah lamp.67 Fragments of ceramic Hanukkah lamps found in the Jewish quarters of Teruel, Burgos, and Saragossa that date to the thirteenth-fourteenth century are the most

Stillman, Arab Dress, p. 53. Janina M. Safran, ‘Identity and Differentiation in Ninth-Century Andalus’, Speculum, 76, 3(2001), p. 582. 64 W. W. Clifford, ‘Review of Thomas Allsen, Commodity and Exchange in the Mongol Empire. A Cultural History of Islamic Textiles’, Speculum (2003), p. 992. 65 Mann, Morocco. Jews and Art in a Muslim Land, cat. nos. 146–48. 66 Carlo Varaldo, ‘I Salamone Ceramisti Savonesi, Note Storiche’, Centro Ligure per la Storia della Ceramica Albisola. VII. Convegno alla Ceramice (Albisole, 1974), pp. 204–05. 67 Bango Torviso, ‘El Menaje del hogar’, Memoria de Sefarad, p. 132. 62 63

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commonly excavated Jewish form (Fig. 14).68 In addition, there is a ceramic plate from Teruel with five affixed containers that appears to have been a seder plate, that is a plate used on Passover to hold symbolic foods.69 Another ceramic, a large platter with a broad border and deep centre, bears a Hebrew inscription naming the three most important symbols of the ritual Passover meal and appears to have been used to hold matzot that the head of a household distributed to others.70 A second art form that arrived in Italy with the expelled Sephardim was the fabrication of corami, or painted leather hangings that functioned much as did medieval tapestries.71 Hung on the walls, they protected from the cold and damp and provided a luxurious shimmering surface. The centre of Renaissance corame production was Venice, and portions of one set of Renaissance leather hangings made for the Scuola Spagnola in that city are still extant.72 The tradition of hanging corami in Sephardi synagogues can be seen in the decorated leather lining of the ark in the later Bevis Marks Synagogue of London. Other corami were made for patrons who used them in their palaces or homes (Fig. 15). Jews in Rome both sold corami and rented them for special occasions. Similar links to the artistic traditions of Spain existed in the Ottoman Empire where many Jews found refuge after the Expulsion in 1492, according to Nicolas de Nicolay who travelled there in 1551: [The Jews] ‘have amongst them workmen of all artes and handicraftes moste excellent, and specially of the Maranes [Conversos] of late banished and driven out of Spaine and Portugale, who to the great detriment and damage of the Christianitie, have taught the Turkes divers inventions . . .’73

Op. cit., cat. nos. 139–142. For the Saragossa example, see above Ch. IV, n.6. Mann, Glick and Dodds, Convivencia, cat. no. 84. 70 Op. cit., Fig. 66; and Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts in the British Isles, Fig. 186. 71 The art of corami began to be practiced in Italy ca. 1500 and is believed to have been introduced by Sephardi immigrants. (Letter from Fiorenza Scalia, Director, Museo Bardini, Florence, 1988.) See Fiorenza Scalia, ‘L’arte dei corami Apunti per una ricerca lessicale’, Convegno Nazionale sui lessici tecnici del sei e settecento (Pisa, 1980); and ‘Corami’, Palazzo Vecchio committenza collezionismo medicei ([Florence], 1980), pp. 157–60. 72 Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, cat. no. 102. 73 de Nicolay, The Navigations, Peregrinations and Voyages, 130b. 68 69

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5. Menahem ben Abraham ibn Malik, Damascus Keter, Burgos, 1260, ink and gouache and gold on parchment (Jerusalem: Jewish National and University Library, Ms. Heb. 4°790, fol. 310)

6. Elisha Crescas, Farhi Bible, Hispano-Provençal, 1366-82, Ink, gouache and gold on vellum. Sassoon Collection, No. 368.

133

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7. Joseph the Frenchman, Cervera Bible, Cervera, 1300, ink, gouache, and gold on parchment (Lisbon, National Library, Ms. 72)

8. Workshop of S. Mark's, "A Scientist Teaching with an Astrolabe," Maimonides' Guide to the Perplexed, Barcelona, 1324, ink and gouache on vellum (Copenhagen: Royal Library, Cod. Heb. XXXVII, fol. 114r)

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10. Workshop of St. Mark's, “The Four Beasts of the Chariot,” Maimonides' Guide to the Perplexed, Barcelona, 1348, ink and gouache on vellum (Copenhagen: Royal Library, Cod. Heb. XXXVII, fol. 202r)

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11. Retablo: The Disputation between Moses and St. Peter, Aragon, 15th century (Tarragona, Cathedral) 12. Michael Lupi de Candiu, "Jews Selling Metalwork," Vidal Mayor, second half of the 13th century, ink, gouache and gold on parchment (Los Angeles: Collection of the J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms.

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13. Michael Lupi de Candiu, "Jews Receiving Metalwork as a Pawn," Vidal Mayor, fol. 114r.

14. Fragments of Hanukkah Lamps, Burgos, 14th century, ceramic (Burgos: Museo de Burgos (no. inv. 8.796/19.1-3)

137

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15. Corame, Venice (?), 16th century, leather: painted, gilt, incised (Florence: Bardini Museum)

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Christian Europe (Ashkenaz) As mentioned before, it is a commonplace that the Jews of Ashkenaz engaged in a limited range of occupations, agriculture and trading, at first, then principally moneylending and pawnbroking after the establishment of Jewish settlements along the Rhine in the ninth century. There are sources, however, that indicate Jews were also artists. Admittedly, their artistic endeavours were more limited than those of their co-religionists in Spain and Muslim lands. There were Jewish bookbinders in Erfurt and Nuremberg (Meir Jaffe), a painter in Munich, and goldsmiths in Cologne, Nuremberg, Prague and Mainz,74 as well as miniaturists who decorated Ashkenazi Hebrew manuscripts. A responsum of Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg (1215–1293) discusses a case of possible fraudulence on the part of a goldsmith. That the goldsmith was Jewish, as was his client who commissioned a gold plating for the staves of a Torah scroll, may be presumed from the fact that the case was brought to a rabbi and not to a Christian judge. The goldsmith worked in Mainz, a large city that would have afforded him the stimulus of working in a centre with other artists, while the client came from a village that probably lacked a silversmith.75 Another interesting aspect of the text is that the patron furnished the goldsmith with the material (gold) for the fabrication of the plating on the staves, a common practice during the Middle Ages. A contract written by the Jewish community of Avignon with the Christian silversmith Robin Asard in 1439 also specified that the community furnished the silver and copper for the crown.76 An example of a Jewish bookbinder’s artistry is the 1468 cover of a Bible belonging to the City Council of Nuremberg (Fig. 1). On the reverse, it bears a Hebrew inscription indicating that the City Council owned the
umash and the artist’s name, Meir Jaffe. In the centre of the top cover is

74 Dean Phillip Bell, Sacred Communities. Jewish and Christian Identities in FifteenthCentury Germany (Boston and Leiden, 2001), Appendix E. 75 On Rabbi Meir’s responsa as a historical source, see Simha Emanuel, ‘Responsa of R. Meir of Rothenburg as a Source for Jewish History’, The Jews of Europe in the Middle Ages (10th–15th Centuries) (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 283–92. 76 [Stenne], Collection de M. Strauss, pp. vii–viii. For an English translation, see Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, pp. 112–14.

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one of the three shields of the city, the so-called divided shield. That Jaffe received this commission from the Christian City Council affirms the esteem in which his art was held, as does the fact that he was allowed to live in the city of Nuremberg.77 The style and decorative motifs (like the running deer) of this cover suggests a relationship to a slightly earlier work of Jewish patronage, the Erbach Doppelkopf and its leather case (Figs. 10 and 11 on p. 82 above). The cup was originally owned by Isaac son of Zekhariah whose symbol, a running deer, is engraved within an enamelled roundel formed by his name, a composition common to medieval Hebrew seals.78 The decoration of the leather case includes the owner’s symbol, a deer, and birds amidst dense foliage, in a composition marked by horror vacui similar to the decoration of the Bible cover. The engraved plaques, also, had to have been made by Jewish artists, who were known to be active as seal carvers. Noting the difficult relations between Jewish goldsmiths and Christian guilds in the early modern period, many historians have assumed that no Jewish artists could have existed in the Germanic lands during the medieval period. But documents like Rabbi Meir’s responsum and the works discussed indicate the fallaciousness of extrapolating from one period to another in regard to the role of Jewish artists. Neither can one extrapolate from a later period in regard to the significance of earlier artistic genres. Instead, we need to reexamine our assumptions regarding Jews and art in the Middle Ages.

Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, p. 130. Early literature mentions Isaac ben Zekhariah as the artist of the Double Cup and its case. It seems unlikely that the artist would have placed his name in such a prominent position, without a corresponding enamel identifying the owner. If Isaac were indeed the owner, then he was an unusually wealthy artisan. (See above Ch. IV for illustrations of the cup.) 77 78

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A Fifteenth-Century Box in the New York Jewish Museum and its Transformation

I

N the Jewish Museum of New York is a wooden box (JM 35–66) measuring 24 3 5.5 3 4.5 cm. (Fig. 1). It entered the collection in 1966 outfitted with a knife and various other items used in performing the ritual of circumcision.1 These contents will not be part of our discussion for reasons which will become clear later. Instead, we will concentrate on the box itself, seeking to discover its date of fabrication and original purpose. The entire surface of the box is covered with carved decoration. Along the front are a series of six roundels containing signs of the zodiac; these are separated by vases filled with flowers. Two additional motifs flank the central clasp: a running deer and a squirrel cracking a nut. The series of zodiac signs with intermediate floral motifs continues on the back, where it is more widely spaced, leaving room for only one additional figure, a small bird at the extreme left (Fig. 2). The gable-shaped cover consists of five panels running the length of the box, each of which is treated as a single decorative unit. Four of these are carved with continuous flowering vines inhabited by human and animal forms such as a cherub’s head, running quadrupeds, a peacock, a boar, birds, a unicorn, and so forth. The fifth panel forms the lower back section of the lid cover, which is tripartite. A centralised Hebrew inscription consists of a mnemonic device and a date:

This article first appeared in the Journal of Jewish Art, 9(1982), pp. 54–60. The knife has a silver, filigree handle that is unmarked. Also included in the box were a small sharpening stone, a glass flask with silver cover (unmarked) and a small, oblong, piece of glass ornamented with painted flowers (New York, Jewish Museum, JM 35–66 a–e). 1

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the first letters of the blessing recited at circumcisions and [5]498, the Hebrew equivalent of the year 1737/8. The carving of the two end panels differs from that of the other surfaces in style, theme, and composition (Figs. 3 and 4). Here cover and box are combined to form a single field at each end, one decorated with a short-necked bird, the other with a long-necked specimen. The side reliefs are much flatter than those of the remainder of the box, and, on the left side, there is no indication of a frame defining the field, as is the case elsewhere. To first appearances, then, the Jewish Museum box is a rare enough work: a wooden box outfitted with a circumciser’s knife bearing an eighteenth-century inscription, whose carved decoration appears to be in complete accord with its purpose. After all, zodiac signs are commonly found on Torah binders embroidered with quotations from the same circumcision service which forms the basis of the box’s inscription.2 On the binders, zodiac signs appear in connection with the Hebrew phrase nolad be-mazal tov (born under a good sign), and it would, therefore, seem appropriate for a complete series of such signs to decorate the box of a mohel (circumciser). Even the motif of inhabited vine scrolls which decorates the cover of our box is found on Torah binders, for example, on a group of binders painted with sepia coloured ink which are dated ca. 1750, three of which are in the collection of the Jewish Museum.3 One of these dated 1753 shows the same scroll-like treatment of the descender of the letter lamed found on the box inscription. However, several puzzling features of the box seem to contradict the assumption that the box was carved in the eighteenth century for use by a circumciser. First, the inscription appears on the back, and not on the front, a much more prominent place. Another puzzling feature is the wooden piece inset in the cover which was hollowed out to hold the circumcisor’s knife (Fig. 5). Had the box originally been made to hold the knife, then it would have been much easier to carve its shape out of the still solid block of wood. An ancillary question is the relationship between the inset and

For examples of Torah Binders with zodiac signs see Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Fabric of Jewish Life (New York, 1977), nos. 148, 150, 157–158 and 160; R. Hagen, D. Davidowitch and R. Busch, Tora-Wimpel (Braunschweig, 1978); also, Ruth Eis, Torah Binders of the Judah L. Magnes Museum (Berkeley, 1979). 3 F 3563, F 3564, F 5036. (Fabric of Jewish Life, no. 149). 2

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another visible alteration: the replacement of part of one end panel of the fruitwood box with an oak patch (Fig. 4). And finally, how does one explain the differences in style between the end panels and the remainder of the box? Despite the iconographical similarities between the box and eighteenth-century Torah binders and despite the inscription, formal and stylistic aspects of this wooden box suggest that it was made and decorated prior to the date of the carved inscription. First, the shape of the box and the composition of its decoration bear comparison to some of the late medieval boxes with carved or painted decoration known as Minnekästchen, literally love caskets, which were produced in what is now Switzerland and Germany between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries.4 As the name implies, Minnekästchen were often given as a gift from a man to the woman he loved, or as a bridal gift, while others were given on the occasion of the New Year.5 In comparison with the varying shapes and sizes of most of the extant Minnekästchen, the Jewish Museum box is closest in shape and proportion to two other published examples, one of which is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (1976.327; Fig. 6).6 The Metropolitan box dates from ca. 1300 and is decorated in a manner similar in motifs and composition to the carved box we are discussing. As was true of the Jewish Museum box, the front and back of the Metropolitan box are decorated with a series of roundels separated by floral motifs each containing a single figure, and the panels of the cover are likewise considered separate units filled with one continuous motif. The end panels of the Metropolitan box bear single roundels so that the decoration is continuous around the box and appears to have been done at one time. Other Minnekästchen, however, were decorated in stages so that the styles of The major work on Minnekästchen is Heinrich Kohlhausen, Minnekästchen im Mittelalter (Berlin, 1928); see also Horst Apphun, Briefladen (Dortmund: Museum für Kunst, 1971). 5 Kohlhausen, Minnekästchen, nos. 11, and 13. 6 Kolhausen, Minnekästchen, nos. 18 and 21. The Metropolitan box was also published in the following works: Die Sammlung Dr. Albert Figdor-Wien (Berlin, 1930), Vol. 1, no. 312, Pl. 124 and in Carmen Gomez-Moreno, Medieval Art from Private Collections (New York, 1968), no. 215, Fig.; Ibid., ‘Medieval Art’, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Annual Report 1976–77, p. 57. I am grateful to Ms. Gomez-Moreno for making materials relating to the Metropolitan box available to me and for our discussion of both boxes. A fourth box of similar shape and proportions is illustrated in a miniature dated 1396 of the Giving of the Law to Israel, which was reproduced by Kohlhausen, Minnekästchen, Fig. 2. 4

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carving found on the various faces differ. For example, a casket once in the Kunstgewerbe Museum, Berlin, consists of a top, front and sides carved in the sixteenth century (1540), while the back of the same casket is decidedly different in subject and style and can be dated to the fifteenth century (Fig. 7) 7 It is this panel which is the closest stylistic comparison to the end panels of the Jewish Museum box (cf. Figs. 3 and 4). Both works show the same flat relief and handling of the details of the birds’ forms: the same pricked bodies, incised wings and similarly shaped heads. In contrast, the style and motifs of most of the remaining carvings on the Jewish Museum box can be compared to sixteenth-century carvings from Germany, that is with works contemporaneous with the late Minnekästchen. For example, the inhabited vine scrolls on a wood panel from the Marienkirche in Lübeck, dated to the end of the sixteenth century, are similar to those on the box in theme and in the relationship of the animals to the background vine (Fig. 8).8 In contrast, the animals on eighteenth-century Torah binders inhabit the interstices of the flowering vines rather than dynamically overlapping the vegetation as on sixteenth century examples (cf. Fig. 5). Also, the painted binder vines are constant in their width and, therefore, lack the sense of organic growth provided by the expanding vines of the sixteenth-century carved panel and the Jewish Museum box. The motif of the cherub’s head turned to the side on the box lid also occurs on a stone relief of a Madonna and Child by Loy Hering dated 1515–20,9 and similar flowering vines with abstract scroll-shaped tendrils and tulip-shaped flowers appear on a carved wooden panel from Cologne dated to the mid-sixteenth century.10 The flowers in vases which separate the roundels on the front and back of the box appear on a wooden Deposition relief dated 1516,11 while the motif of a boar-like animal can be found on a playing board dated 1537, which also bears a peacock and another motif of the Jewish Museum box.12 7 J. Lessing, Holzschnitzereiien des Fuenfzehnten und Sechszenten Jahrhunderts in Kunstgewerbe-Museum zu Berlin (Berlin, 1882), Pls. 15 and 28. 8 G. Hirth, ed., Die Formenschatz (Munich, 1896), no. 44. 9 Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, Katalog der Sammlung für Plastik and Kunstgewerbe. II. Teil. Renaissance (Vienna, 1966), no. 317. 10 Lessing, Holzschnitzereien, Pl. 36. 11 Staatliche Museen, Deutsche Skulpturen im Deutschen Museum (Berlin, 1937), Pl. 73. 12 Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, Katalog der Sammlung für Plastik and Kunstgewerbe. II. Teil. Renaissance, no. 294, Pl. 49.

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Some relationships to the equipment used in the playing of games in the medieval period is suggested by the subject and composition of the main motifs found on the Jewish Museum box. Zodiac signs were often used to decorate medieval gaming pieces.13 The Metropolitan Museum box whose decoration is likewise organised as a series of roundels containing animals found on gaming pieces was, in fact, once used to hold playing stones.14 It still contains traces of the wooden inserts which served to separate the playing pieces. In fact, the closest stylistic parallel to the zodiac signs on the Jewish Museum box is a series of three carved wooden gaming pieces in the Bayerischen Nationalmuseum in Munich dated ca. 1530–40 (Fig. 9)15 The same stocky figures which fill their frames — which have enlarged arms, broad flat cheeks and small facial features — can be seen on the box and the playing pieces, although the box reliefs are somewhat flatter, and less modelled than those on the gaming pieces. This investigation has revealed that the wooden box in the Jewish Museum is decorated with a series of motifs which can be found on Torah binders contemporaneous with the 1737/8 inscription on the back, but that might equally be found on earlier works. Moreover, the carved decoration of the front, back and cover has close stylistic parallels in sixteenth-century woodcarvings, and the shape and treatment of the box as a whole resemble late medieval Minnekästchen. The end panels appear to have been carved in the fifteenth century. The history of the box became clearer after a conservator’s examination.16 The inset for the knife proved to be rhomboid in cross-section, while the original cover was accurately hollowed to form a semi-circular cross-section (Fig. 5). An even glue coating still covers the hollow, suggesting that a fabric was once applied to cover the fasteners for the handle and to provide a smooth inner surface. The careful hollowing, the glue covering, and the handle mounting marks on the inside of the

13 E.g. Adolph Goldschmidt, Die Elfenbeinskulpturen aus der romanischen Zeit XI.–XIII. Jahrhundert, Vol. 3 (Berlin, 1923), nos. 215, 265b; Vivian B. Mann, ‘Romanesque Ivory Tablemen’ (unpublished dissertation; New York University October, 1977), nos. 236, 66, 68, 72, 73; Vivian B. Mann, ‘Mythological Subjects on Northern French Tablemen’, Gesta, 20, I (1981). 164–166, esp. Fig. 8a. 14 Gomez-Moreno, Medieval Art from Private Collections, no. 215. 15 Georg Himmelheber, Spiele. Gesellschaftsspiele aus einem Jahrtausend (Munich, 1972), nos 60–62, Pl. 75. 16 I am grateful to Mr. Victor von Reventlow for his careful examination of the box and for his analysis and suggestions.

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hollow, prove that the box was once used without the inset. An examination of the cotter pins presently holding the handle further revealed that brass extensions were soldered onto the original silver cotter pins to enable them to pass through the inset as well as the lid. The repair in the end panel was a consequence of adding the inset. Thus, the conservator’s examination revealed three phases in the history of the box which may be linked to the phases of its decoration. The original box, dating to the fifteenth century, was decorated only at its ends with the large bird carvings. Then, in the sixteenth century, the box was carved along the front and back with zodiac signs and decorative motifs, and four of the five panels of the cover were carved with inhabited vine scrolls. These sixteenth-century carvings are all stylistically homogeneous. Compare for example the deer at the front and the running quadruped on the top; or the bird at far left on the back with those on the cover, or the forms of the vines and flowers on box and cover (Figs. 1 and 10). When the box was modified in the eighteenth century, the inscription and its framing scrolls were added. These are more regular and more abstract than those on the cover, lacking the flowers and tendrils of the other, inhabited vines (Figs. 2 and 10). The transformation of an existing box into a circumciser’s box explains why the blessing inscription was placed on the back and not on the front. The eighteenth-century carver was able to add the inscription because the Jewish Museum box must have had a plain back panel, as does a similarly-shaped Minnekästchen of the late thirteenth century from Schwarzwald which was given as a gift by a group of knights to the bride of one of their companions.17 One naturally wonders about the original purpose of the Jewish Museum box. As was already mentioned, the inscription on some extant Minnekästchen indicate that these were New Year’s gifts presented by one friend to another. The sentiment Ein gut self jor solt und mich darin is carved on a fifteenth-century box, and fourteenth- and fifteenth-century German literary sources also mention the exchange of gifts such as boxes at the New Year.18 The order and arrangement of the zodiac signs on the Jewish Museum box suggest that it may have been commissioned as a New Year’s gift from one Jew to another. When viewed from the front, the sequence of Kohlhausen, Minnekästchen, no. 18. Kohlhausen, Minnekästchen, no. 113; see also no. 62 for a similar inscription and the discussion on p. 13. 17 18

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1. Carved Box, Germany, 15th-16th century, later additions 1737/8, fruitwood: carved and painted; silver: engraved (New York, Collection of The Jewish Museum, New York JM 35-66a, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Norman Zeiler in memory of Mrs. Nana Zeiler)

2. Carved Box, back

147

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3. Carved Box, right end panel

4. Carved Box, left end panel

5. Carved Box, Dissasembled

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6. Box with Vegetal and Animal motifs, Upper Rhine, late 13th century, lindenwood: tempera on gesso; iron (New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1976.327, Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan by exchange)

7. Casket, Lower Rhine, 15th century and 1540, wood: carved, (Berlin, Kunstgewerbemuseum)

8. Panel, end of the 16th century, wood: carved (Lubeck, Marienkirche)

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9. Tablemen, Germany, 1530-40, lindenwood: carved (Munich, Bayerischen Nationalmuseums, R 1995-7)

10. Carved Box, detail of front, right end.

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zodiac signs begins with Libra, the sign for Tishrei, the first month of the Hebrew year. Furthermore, the sequence reads from right to left, rather than from left to right. Finally, nearly all the signs which face sideways are oriented from right to left with the single exception of Scorpio which is oriented from left to right. This consistency of orientation from right to left suggests that the carvings were based on a model found in a Hebrew manuscript. Cycles of zodiac signs often appear in medieval Prayer Books for Festivals where they accompany the prayers for dew, some of which mention the signs themselves.19 Others are found in haggadot. In the First Nuremberg Haggadah of 1492 (Jerusalem, Schocken Library, no. 24076), zodiac signs appear in roundel frames. Another miniature of the same manuscript shows animal and human forms in a circular arrangement, all of which are oriented from right to left.20 A similar composition made entirely of zodiac signs may have served the carver of our box as his model. The earliest complete zodiac cycles extant in Jewish art are those found among the mosaic floors of ancient synagogues. Michael Avi-Yonah interpreted their meaning (in the light of contemporaneous literary sources) as symbols of the celestial order obeyed by the stars which corresponds to the immutable order of divine worship during the liturgical year.21 In illuminated medieval Prayer Books for Festivals, the cycle as a whole also has the meaning of an orderly passage of time through the year, during which God provides the blessings of moisture. In the post-medieval period, the printers of ma
zorim continued to use cycles of zodiac signs in conjunction with prayers for dew, although the woodcuts they employed lack many of the classical details and the consistency of orientation found on the box.22 A rubric appearing before the prayer for dew in a printed Sulzbach Haggadah of the mid-eighteenth century makes explicit the symbolism of the zodiac For example, on folios 80b–88a in a German Passover Prayer Book of the 14–15th century now in the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America (Mic. 4809). See Vivian B. Mann, The Book and Its Cover: Manuscripts and Bindings of the 12th through the 18th Centuries, exhibition brochure [1981]. New York: The Jewish Museum, 1981), no. 17; T. Freudenheim, M. Schmelzer, A. Kleban, Illuminated Hebrew Manuscripts (New York:, 1965), no. 37 and bibliography. Also, ‘Zodiac’, Encyclopedia Judaica, Vol. 16, col. 1191, Fig. 1. 20 Rachel Wischnitzer, Gestalten and Symbole der jüdischen Kunst (Berlin-Schõneberg, 1935), Fig. 75. 21 M. Avi-Yonah, ‘La Symbolisme du Zodiaque dans l’art Judeo-Byzantine’, Art in Ancient Palestine (Jerusalem, 1981), p. 397. 22 E.g. Wischnitzer, Gestalten and Symbole, Fig. 80. 19

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signs.23 It notes that the successive verses of the prayer compare the names of the months, the zodiac signs, and also hint at the names of righteous men in order to express the wish for a good year. Jewish writers also associated the 12 zodiac signs with the 12 tribes, with the 12 stones of the ‘urim ve-tumim (the high priest’s breastplate) and with the 12 loaves of shewbread in the Temple.24 Various exegetes associated individual signs with biblical events, the ram of Ares with the ram of the Offering of Isaac, for example, a literary development which has its parallels among Christian and pagan writings.25 However, in the light of the medieval German practice of giving boxes as New Year gifts, and the unusual placement of the sign for Tishrei at the beginning of the sequence on the box, one may assume that the zodiac cycle on the box is the pictorial equivalent of the scripted messages on other Minnekästchen, and that it expresses the patron’s wish that the recipient enjoy an orderly and full year. The evidence of the decoration for Jewish patronage would explain how the Jewish Museum’s box came to be transformed into a mohel’s box some two hundred years after its original fabrication.

Seder haMa
zor:
elek rishon keminhag Ashkenazim (Sulzbach, 1758), fol. l0la. For example, the Yalqut Shim’oni (Lev. 4:18). 25 Midrash Rabbah, Esther, VII, 11; Hyginus, Poetica Astronomica, II, 24. See E. Panofsky and F. Saxl, ‘Classical Mythology in Mediaeval Art’, Metropolitan Museum Studies, 4(1932), p. 232; Jean Seznec, The Survival of the Pagan Gods (New York, 1961), pp. 37–47. 23 24

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IX

The Samson and Hercules Tablemen: A Case for Jewish Patronage in Twelfth-Century Cologne Introduction

O

VER twenty years ago, during a visit to the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary in the company of the chief Librarian, I saw the Chancellor Emeritus, Louis Finkelstein (1895–1991), deeply engrossed in a manuscript. The Librarian explained, in words couched in awe, that Dr. Finkelstein had resumed work on a study he had begun fifty years before. The scene was impressive for the intellectual vitality of the elderly scholar and for his willingness to continue his earlier work. In a pale imitation of Dr. Finkelstein’s example, this article represents a reconsideration of a portion of my dissertation, ‘Medieval Ivory Tablemen’, an analysis of Romanesque ivory gaming disks with figurative representations, that was completed twenty-six years ago.1 Then the corpus of tablemen carved with scenes or individual figures consisted of 213 pieces. Since, more than sixty additional pieces with figurative decoration have been discovered. The published examples include an entire set of thirty 1 Vivian B. Mann, ‘Romanesque Ivory Tablemen’ (Ph.D. dissertation, Institute of Fine Arts, 1977). A list of the 213 pieces discussed in the dissertation was published in Antje Kluge-Pinsker, Schach und Trictrac. Zeugnisse in Mittelalterlicher Spielfreude in Salischer Zeit (Sigmaringen, 1991), pp. 197–214. The iconography of the Samson and Hercules scenes is the subject of Vivian B. Mann, ‘ Samson vs. Hercules: A Carved Cycle of the Twelfth Century’, The High Middle Ages, ACTA, 7(1980), pp. 1–38.

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dated before 1120, which was found within the Norman area of Gloucester in 1983.2 Thirty is the number needed for a game of backgammon, while other board games could be played with fewer pieces of a set.3 The carver of the Gloucester set, who worked in a rude style, seems to have based his pieces on models of disparate origins. Among the various subjects are some found on previously known tablemen, while others, including two scatological scenes, have no parallels among known ivories of this type. The sides of the set are differentiated through materials: one side is made from antler, the other from a deer’s skull. Three partial sets among the known corpus are distinguished by more skillful carving. All are characterised by their unifying iconographic themes, their material, and size. One is a series based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses that stems from northern France.4 The second partial set consists of contrasting episodes from the lives of Samson and Hercules that are differentiated by both theme and colour. The Samson scenes are stained dark red; while the Hercules tablemen were left the natural colour of the ivory.5 All are of elephant ivory and over 6 centimetres in width. This set was carved in the Cologne pricked (gestichelte) ivories workshop between 1140–50. Twentynine herbaceous and carnivorous animals in the British Museum form opposing groups of a third, nearly complete set created between 1185 and 1200, late in the period when the pricked ivories workshop was active.6 Like the earlier Samson-Hercules set, the two sides are differentiated by contrasting themes and colours. The herbaceous animals are stained a dark red as were the Samson pieces, while the carnivores were left the natural colour of the ivory, as were the scenes of the pagan hero, Hercules. The Samson and Hercules Cycle from Cologne Thematically related pieces were made in Cologne before the emergence of the pricked ivories atelier (e.g. Fig. 1), or were modelled on the set depicting the two ancient heroes at a later date. Some of these works suggest

Kluge-Pinsker, Schach und Trictrac, pp. 188–91. On medieval gaming pieces, see Himmelheber, Spiele, pp. 38–60. 4 Vivian B. Mann, ‘Mythological Subjects on Northern French Tablemen’, Gesta, 20,1 (1981), pp. 161–71. 5 Mann, ‘ Samson vs. Hercules’, pp. 1–38, there the older literature. 6 Mann, ‘Ivory Tablemen’, cat. nos. 152–180, there the older literature. 2 3

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the subjects and compositions of episodes missing from the Cologne group. As a result, the Samson and Hercules pieces known in 1977 were sufficient to suggest the iconographical content of the opposing sides: the Passion of Samson and other biographical scenes contrasted with the Labors and other events from the life of Hercules. Since then, another Samson piece was published that consists of two scenes: Samson Led to Prison and Turning the Millstone (Judges 16:21, Fig. 2),7 and a second fragmentary piece of Hercules and the Erymanthian Boar was sold at auction (Fig. 3).8 Two extant scenes from the infancy of Hercules, one of which shows the Prophecy of Tiresias on the Birth of Hercules (Fig. 4), and the other, Alcmene Nursing Hercules and his Twin Iphicles (Fig. 5), indicate that two analogous scenes probably existed illustrating the infancy of Samson. Since the seer Tiresias’ Prophecy has the character of an Annunciation, it could have been paralleled by the Annunciation of the Birth of Samson to his Mother, or the subsequent Annunciation to his father, Manoah. These are known from other twelfth-century works, the Hansa Bowl with Samson scenes in the Kunstgewerbemuseum, Cologne (Fig. 6) and the Byzantine Octateuchs, whose iconography influenced other western works.9 The concluding scene of each side would have been a depiction of the death of the hero, although only The Mourning over Samson survives (Judges 16:31, Fig. 7). In this episode, the body of Samson is completely covered in shrouds, an iconographic element identical to that found in the Octateuchs (Fig. 8). The death scenes of all other judges in the Byzantine manuscripts show their bodies covered only as high as the neck with their faces still visible. The complete shrouding of Samson may be a delicate reference to the mutilation of his face through blinding. Hercules’ death appears on the twelfth-century Cadmus Bowl in the British Museum,10 and may have been depicted in a similar fashion on a lost tableman.

7 Christie’s, London, Important European Sculpture and Works of Art, Tuesday 16 December 1986, no. 84. 8 Christies, London, European Sculpture and Works of Art, Wednesday 3 July 1985, no. 18. 9 For a review of the material, see Harvey Stahl, ‘The Iconographic Sources of Old Testament Miniatures: Pierpont Morgan Library M638’, Diss. Institute of Fine Arts,1974, p. 69 ff.; although Lawrence Nees disputes the significance of influence of the Octateuchs on western medieval works (A Tainted Mantle. Hercules and the Classical Tradition at the Carolingian Court [Philadelphia, 1991], pp. 86, 298, n. 86). 10 J. Weitzmann-Fiedler, Romanische Gravierte Bronzeschalen (Berlin, 1981).

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The remaining pieces from each side correspond to the canonical number of the Labors of Hercules, twelve, and were presumably mirrored by twelve similar exploits from the life of Samson. Hercules and the Nemean Lion and Samson and the Lion (Judges 14:5–6, Fig. 9), which appears on several extant tablemen, are missing from those of the pricked ivories workshop.11 Hercules’ Capture of Cerberus, which is missing, would have opposed Samson Tearing Out the Gates of Gaza (Judges 16:3, Fig. 10), since both subjects had the meaning of the Harrowing of Hell. Two scenes that emphasise the hair of the victim and have similar compositions may have opposed one another. Hercules holding the Amazon queen Hippolyte by her hair has the hero standing at left and his opponent at right (Fig. 11). This composition is paralleled by Delilah Shearing Samson (Judges 16:19; Fig. 11), in which she, who is in power, sits at left while Samson kneels with his head in her lap. Another two episodes are likewise related compositionally. The Philistines Coming upon the Fettered Samson (Judges 16:9; Fig. 12) shows the helpless hero at left, his three attackers at right. In Hercules Feeding Diomedes to his Man-Eating Horses, the helpless Diomedes held by Hercules is at left, the attacking beasts are at right (Fig. 13). The need to parallel Hercules Struggling with Achelous to win the hand of Deianara may have occasioned the creation of the scene of Samson’s Love for Delilah (Judges 16:4).12 Hercules and the Apples of the Hesperides might have been paralleled by Samson Uprooting a Tree, a scene appearing in several eleventh and twelfth-century works of art as part of the ‘Passion’ of Samson but absent among the Cologne tablemen.13 Other episodes from the Labors of Hercules that survive are Hercules Shooting the Centaurs, Hercules Killing Geryon, Hercules Killing Cacus, and Hercules Vanquishing the Cretan Bull. 14 Five additional deeds of Samson are also extant: Samson and the Foxes (Judges 15:4–5, Fig. 14), Samson Slaying the Philistines with the Jawbone of an Ass (Judges 15:14–17), Delilah Accusing Samson of Mockery (Judges 16:13), and the single piece with two scenes

11 Two tablemen carved with the Scene of Samson and the Lion are associated with the pricked ivories shop, and a third is derivative in style. One of the first two probably resembles the lost original of the Samson/Hercules set. (Mann, Tablemen, cat. nos. 97, 128, and 186.) 12 Mann, ‘Tablemen’, cat. nos. 107 13 Op. cit., no. 103 (Apples of the Hesperides). 14 Op cit., nos. 104, 107, 118.

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mentioned earlier: Samson Led to Prison and Samson Grinding the Millstone (Judges 16:21, Fig. 2). From their distinctive carving techniques, the majority of the Samson and Hercules scenes can be attributed to the ‘pricked (gestichelte) ivories’ workshop in Cologne that was active from ca. 1130 until the close of the twelfth century. Its works were distinguished by small strokes that ran counter to the length of drapery folds, in order to give a sense of threedimensionality to the cloth. The major extant carvings produced in the workshop were all intended for Christian use, for example the eleven panels for antependia (Fig. 15) and six book covers for Gospels.15 In my earlier writings on this subject, I considered the Hercules and Samson tablemen in the context of the other ivory carvings from the shop, discussing their basis in classical and Christian written sources and iconographic models. I never considered their patronage. I now believe a case can be made for a Jewish patron, although admittedly, it is one that is based on circumstantial evidence. The Jews of Twelfth-Century Cologne Although it has long been supposed that Jews settled in Cologne during the Roman period, the existence of an early community is now considered doubtful.16 The first Jewish settlers arrived at the beginning of the eleventh century, and by 1012, a synagogue was established in a former church.17 The community survived until its expulsion in 1424. Most of its members lived among Christians in the parish of St. Lawrence.18 When the Schreinskarten, the recording of real estate transactions, was established in the parish during the 1130s, the records included transactions by both

Adolph Goldschmidt, Die Elfenbeinskulpturen aus der Romanischen Zeit XI.–XIII. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 1972), pp. 2–3, cat. nos. 1–17. 16 Michael Toth, ‘Dunkle Jahrhunderte’: Gab es ein jüdisches Frühmittelalter?, Kleine Schriften des Arye-Maimon Instituts, 4(2001), p. 12, especially fn. 26. 17 See Julius Aronius, Regesten zur Geschichte der Juden im Fränkischen und Deutschen Reiche bis zum Jahre 1273 (reprinted: Hildesheim and New York, 1970), par. 114 on the various datings of the synagogue. The transformation of a church into a synagogue during the Middle Ages is unusual; the reverse is much more common. For example, see Solomon Grayzel, The Church and the Jews in the XIIIth Century, edited and revised by Kenneth R. Stow (New York and Detroit, 1989), p. 303. 18 Toth, ‘Dunkle Jahrhunderte’, loc. cit. 15

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Christians and Jews.19 This practice indicates that the community was integrated with the majority, as does the fact that they were responsible for the defence of the city in wartime, as were Christians. The positive relationship between the Jewish community and Christians is further indicated by an event of 1096. The invading Crusaders plundered the house in which the community had hidden its Torah scroll, taking its ornaments.20 The archbishop agreed to keep the scroll in his palace and each week, the Jews of Cologne retrieved the scroll for services. Later, in 1122–23, a document describes the friendliness that Abbot Rudolf of St. Pantaleon showed to the Jews of the city.21 In gratitude, Jewish women provided for his sustenance. The institution of the Schreinskarten continued until the middle of the thirteenth century, when the Jews of Cologne established their own records. Property transfers recorded for the years 1139–52 indicate that Christians sold and rented their properties to Jews, and that the opposite was also true. The Canons of St. Peter, for example, rented a house on the Judengasse to one Elyakim Gottschalk and his wife Bela.22 Later, between 1165–90, Gerard, son of Nathan, and his wife bought a house from Gottschalk that was adjacent to the Michaelskapelle.23 Gerard and his wife Heilswinda sold a house adjacent to the Martinskirche to the Christian Emug, the son of Aprus.24 What is most striking about these transactions is the proximity of Jewish homes to the churches of Cologne. Jewish Knowledge of Church Art That Jews in medieval Europe knew church furnishings and Christian art is indicated by several types of evidence. First are the papal interdictions against pawning church objects and vestments with Jews, which are matched by rabbinic rulings on the way church objects taken as pledges

19 Matthias Schmandt, ‘Zur Nachbarschaft bon Juden- und Pfarrgemeinde in Kölner Kirschspiel St. Laurenz (12./frühes 13. Jh.), Jüdische Gemeinden und ihr christlicher Kontext in kulturräumlich vergleichender Betractung (5.–18. Jahrhundert)’, Kleiner Schriften des Arye-Maimon Instituts, 2(1999), pp. 23–24. 20 Aronius, Regesten, par. 182. 21 Op. cit., par. 219. 22 Op. cit., par. 271. 23 Op. cit., par. 327. 24 Op. cit., par. 278.

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could be used by Jews. For example, Pope Alexander IV wrote to the archbishops and bishops of France in 1258: ‘We request Your Fraternity and order you to command each one of the clergy of your dioceses ever hereafter to dare, under pain of excommunication and the loss of office and benefice, to pledge vestments, ornaments, and vessels with Jews’.25 This and other pronouncements like it presume that Jews were already doing that which was being forbidden. Some Jews in Cologne visited churches as indicated by the writings of Judah of Cologne ca. 1130: ‘When I looked around carefully, I discovered among the various artistic hangings and paintings a monstrous idol. I made out a man who was at the same time humiliated and exalted, despised and held up, ignominious and glorious; below he was hanging miserably from a cross, and above he was painted in a mendacious painting, beautiful and enthroned as if deified. I admit that I was deeply shocked, believing this image to be the simulacra which the gentiles, deluded by various errors, were wont to compose’.26 In his disputation with Rupert of Deutz, Judah said: ‘For as I have seen with my own eyes, you exhibit in your shrines great images, both in sculpture and in painting, which are to be adored. Oh if only you adored the likeness of any other thing, but not the likeness of a crucified man to complete your perdition!’ When Judah visited the church, he was still a member of the Jewish community; he had not yet converted to Christianity.

25 Grayzel, The Church and the Jews, pp. 62–64. See there footnote 1 for other, similar edicts. Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg was one of the rabbis who forbid the re-use of church vestments for synagogue textiles. (See above, p. 2) 26 This passage and the following quotation were translated by Eva Fromovijc from Hermannus quondam Judaeus, Opusculum de conversione sua, ed. G. Niemeyer (Weimar, 1963), p.75. Judah later converted to Chrisitanity.

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Some time between 1135 and 1152, a Jew named Solomon and his wife Rachel bought two houses and the courtyard between them that lay opposite the bourgeois home of Gerard Birkelin, the Canon of St. Gereon.27 They also bought other houses. Two of the houses are documented to have remained in the family until at least 1197; one of them was sold in the period 1197–1215.28 One can only wonder if the Canon in residence in 1172, following the pattern of Abbot Rudolf by showing friendship to Jews, told his neighbours of the new mosaic floor with scenes of David and Samson that had been installed in the choir of St. Gereon.29 The mosaic consisted of twelve scenes from the lives of David and Samson, following a tradition in Christian lore of opposing biblical figures to Jesus. The Samson scenes include: his Battle with the Lion, Samson taking the Honey from the Carcass of the Lion, Samson and the Foxes, Samson Battling the Philistines, Samson Tearing Out the Gates of Gaza, and Samson in Delilah’s Lap (Fig. 16).30 Interestingly, none of these scenes parallel the iconography of the tablemen from the pricked ivories shop produced a few decades earlier. There is also a rabbinic responsum that presumes that the Jews of Cologne had first-hand knowledge of church decoration. It addresses an issue unique to Cologne and a type of synagogue decoration not cited elsewhere. The text was recorded by Rabbi Isaac ben Moses of Vienna (ca. 1180–ca.1250) and tells of an incident in the life of his teacher, Rabbi Eliakim ben Joseph of Mainz (b. ca. 1170):31 ‘There was an incident in Cologne. They drew images of lions and snakes in the windows of the synagogue and asked Rabbi Eliakim. He answered, and here is his response to the renovation of the north wall of the synagogue of Cologne:

Aronius, Regesten, par. 256–58. Op. cit., par. 400–401. 29 In the seventeenth century, the mosaics (in fragmentary condition) were transferred to the crypt. They were heavily restored in the nineteenth century. (Werner Schafke, Kölns romanische Kirchen: Architektur, Aussstatung, Geschichte, 2nd ed. (Cologne, 1985), p. 126.) 30 Figure 16 shows the mosaic of Delilah Shearing Samson after restoration in the nineteenth century. 31 Isaac ben Moses of Vienna, Or Zaru’a (Jerusalem, 1887), Avodah Zarah: par. 203. English translation from Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, pp. 74–75, discussion pp. 71–74. 27 28

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“They drew images of lions and snakes in the windows and I was greatly astonished by what they had done there. . . You may not say: Because permission was given to make images for the Temple, I can do so in the synagogues and study halls . . . Even though we learn that images are permitted except for the image of man, the forms of the sun and the moon and the dragon are prohibited because they are cult images, as is the serpent, which is . . . similar to the forbidden dragon . . . It is also [prohibited] because one who is praying is commanded that there not be anything interposed between him and the wall32 . . . Moreover, when one bows during [the recitation of ] his blessings, it would appear as if he bows to those images . . .”’ Rabbi Eliakim’s negative decision was grounded in biblical and rabbinic texts. Significant for our discussion is that he deemed the serpent to be analogous to the forbidden image of a dragon. Images of snakes occur in the earliest medieval German stained glass ca. 1100, by themselves or as part of a scene such as ‘Moses and the Serpent’.33 In contrast to Rabbi Eliakim’s view, Lucas, Bishop of Tuy, writing ca. 1230, viewed animals, birds, and serpents depicted in a church as intended only for ornament and beauty, without symbolic significance.34 The other point stressed by Rabbi Eliakim is that the Jews of Cologne drew the stained glass themselves, a more egregious act according to Jewish law than acquiring something preexistent. He may have read in a literal manner the account sent or told to him, with the verb ‘to make’ interpreted to mean that the Jews of Cologne made their own stained glass windows.The word fecit in medieval Latin means, however, not only made but also ‘commissioned’. To suppose that the Jews of Cologne had their own stained glass atelier, at a time when workshops existed to furnish the city’s churches with elaborated stained

32 See above, Ch. VI, ‘Between Worshipper and Wall’, for an expanded text of this responsum. 33 See above, Ch. VI, Fig. 1. 34 See Ch. VI,, n. 17.

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glass programmes, seems unlikely.35 The installation of the synagogue glass took place in 115236 during a period of intense building and refurbishing of the city’s ecclesiastical architecture that exceeded that of other German cities.37 From the mid-twelfth century through the mid-thirteenth, twenty-eight new churches were built in Cologne; two existing churches were enlarged and four were rebuilt including St. Gereon whose choir was refurbished in 1172.38 The Jewish community could not help but be influenced by all of this Christian building activity to enhance the appearance of their synagogue.39 The Patronage of the Samson-Hercules Ivories Shorter cycles from the life of Samson were created in other cities during the twelfth century: on the doors to Augsburg Cathedral, on the portal of St. Gertrude in Nivelles, on the doors of Gneissen Cathedral in western Poland, and on individual church capitals and on small-scale works like the Erfurt Hanging Lamp. But cycles of events from the life of Hercules are extremely rare; the last example preceding the ivory tablemen is that which decorates the Carolingian Cathedra Petri in the Vatican.40 And no other artwork combines the two themes of the lives of Samson and Hercules, although the opposition of the biblical hero and the mythological one, both possessing great strength but weak in their moral fibre, occurs in medieval literature. Medieval Jewish lore on Samson recalls both the positive and negative sides of his character: Samson was called after a name of God, ‘sun and shield’, to indicate that just as God protected the world so Samson protect-

35 In antiquity, Jews were glassmakers in Syria and Palestine, and are thought to have followed the same profession in Roman Cologne by those who accept the existence of a Jewish population there in the ancient period. (e.g. Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, p. 246.) For a summary of the debate on the continuity of the Cologne community, see Matthias Schmandt, Judei, cives et incole: Studien zur jüdishcen Geshichte Kölns im Mittelalter (Hanover, 2000), p. 9, n. 1. 36 Schmandt, op. cit., p. 13 37 Hans Erich Kubach, ‘Die Kirchenbaukunst der Stauferzeit in Deutschland,’ Die Zeit der Staufer. Geschichte-Kunst-Kultur, Vol. 3 (Stuttgart, 1977), p. 180. 38 Schafke, Kölns romanische Kirchen, pp. 17 and 114. 39 Schmandt, Judei, cives et incole, p. 10. 40 See Nees, A Tainted Mantle, for a discussion of the Hercules cycle on the Cathedra Petri.

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1. Delilah Shearing Samson, Cologne, 1120-40, walrus (Florence, Museo Nazionale, Carrand no. 59)

2. Samson Led to Prison and Grinding the Millstone, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory (location unknown)

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3. Hercules Killing the Erymanthian Boar, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory (Private Collection)

4. Teiresias Prophesying the Birth of Hercules and the Infant Hercules Strangling the Serpents, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory (London, British Museum, no. 1291,6,4,1)

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5. Alcmene Nursing her Twins, Cologne, 1120-40, bone (Northampton, Northampton Museums and Art Gallery)

6. Hansa Bowl with Scenes from the Life of Samson, Germany, 12th century, copper alloy (London, The British Museum)

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7. The Burial and Mourning over Samson, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory (London, British Museum, Dalton no. 166)

8. The Burial of Samson, Octateuch, 12th century (Vatican Library, gr. 747)

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9. Samson and the Lion, Cologne, 1140-50, walrus (Hanover, Kestner Museum, no. 416)

10. Samson Tearing Out the Gates of Gaza, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory (London, British Museum, Dalton no.162)

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11. Hercules Killing Hippolyte, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory (formerly Berlin, Kaiser-FriedrichMuseum)

12. Philistines Coming Upon Samson, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory: stained (Florence, Museo Nazionale, Carrand no. 52)

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13. Hercules Feeding Diomedes to his ManEating Cattle, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory (Florence, Museo Nazionale, Carrand no. 59)

14. Samson and the Foxes, Cologne, 1140-50, elephant ivory: stained (Paris, Musée du Louvre, no. DA 10003)

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15. Adoration of the Magi, Cologne, ca. 114050, walrus (London, Victoria and Albert Museum, 144.46)

16. Delilah Shearing Samson, Cologne, Saint Gereonkirche (originally in crypt), 1174, mosaic.

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ed Israel; a spring gushed forth between his teeth as a blessing.41 Yet, Samson was like a snake whose intelligence is all in his head and his eyes were wounded because he had sinned with them. Hercules is mentioned only briefly in the Josippon, a ninth-century history of the world in Hebrew that was written in southern Italy. The text mentioned that he was born to Alcmene. According to Christian thinking, for example in the writings of Theodolf of Orléans, Hercules was likewise a ‘strong man, whose virtue of fortitude is finally . . . outweighed by his vices of lechery and pride’.42 The Ecloga, a ninth-tenth century parody of Virgil’s work, opposes the Labors of Hercules with history according to the Hebrew Bible, particularly with the story of Samson who is seen as the more admirable figure.43 The numerous surviving manuscripts of this medieval text attest to its popularity. Other twelfth-century texts that contrast the heroes include Abelard, Gottfredus, and school books on classical lore.44 In the Christian exegetical tradition, Samson epitomises triumph over adversity and over death through prayer. According to this reading, the biblical hero parallels Jesus. Although the might of Hercules has been used since antiquity to symbolise the power of the ruler, in the context of the backgammon set, he is the negative opposite of the biblical hero.45 The Samson pieces are stained dark red just as were those of the peaceable herbivorous animals in the later British Museum set indicating the association of coloured ivories with virtue; Hercules and the carnivorous animals remain the natural colour of the material. There is also a difference in the carving of the two figures. Samson figures are modelled to show minor planes of the face, like the cheekbones, and his appearance is always expressive of the action that is the subject of the ivory, for example the strain entailed in great physical exertion (e.g. Figs. 9 and 11). Hercules’ face is rarely detailed and generally lacks expression, which indicates the vacuousness of the classical strong man. The 41 For a summary of medieval sources on Samson, see Moshe David Gross, Ozar haAggadah, Vol. 3 (Jerusalem, 1936), pp. 1319–20. 42 Nees, The Tainted Mantle, p. 31. 43 Ibid., pp. 279 and 297–98, n. 79. 44 Ilene Forsyth, ‘Samson as a Tragic Hero’, Branner Forum, Columbia University, December, 1987. 45 The possibility of such an interpretation for the tablemen was raised by Nees on the basis of literary texts, but not analyzed in terms of the artistic means employed by the carver. (The Tainted Mantle, p. 281).

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artistic emphasis on Samson is expressive of his superiority over the pagan hero. Although he, too, was swayed by desire, Samson redeemed himself by praying to God. The elevation of Samson over Hercules could indicate that the set was made for someone named for that biblical figure. The set of ivory backgammon pieces produced in the pricked ivories atelier must have been a special commission, since the combination of an extensive Hercules cycle with a similar one for Samson does not appear in any earlier work of medieval art. No Christians bore the name Samson during the Middle Ages,46 but various Jews in Germany did at the time the pricked ivories atelier was carving the backgammon set ca. 1140.47 Solomon ben Samson wrote an account of the slaughter and suicide of the Jews of Mainz in reaction to the depredations of the Crusade in 1096.48 Samson of Wurzburg inherited property in his native city in 1119, but could have visited or lived in Cologne afterwards, as many Jewish householders are referred to as coming from elsewhere.49 Another possible owner of the backgammon pieces may have been Rabbi Eliezer, the son of Rabbi Samson ben Gerschom who was martyred in Cologne during the Crusade of 1096.50 Eliezer was born ca. 1100. He studied in Speyer and Mainz, then became rabbi in Cologne in 1132. A contemporary described him as tender toward his relatives, but a ‘lion’ in the Jewish community. Rabbi Eliezer’s halakhic decisions are recorded in the works of his contemporaries Mordecai ben Hillel and Isaac ben Moses of Vienna. As the most prominent member of the Cologne community, Eliezer ben Samson could well have been the recipient of a set of de luxe backgammon pieces that recalled his father, Samson ben Gerschom. The opposition of Samson and Hercules would also have brought to mind their common identification as heroes of great strength who were morally weak, so that the set contained a moral message in addition to recalling the rabbi’s father. The possibility of Jewish patronage rests on a number of circumstances: the cordial relationships between the Christians and Jews of Cologne during the eleventh and twelfth century; that the city’s Jews had ample opportuni-

I want to thank Dr. Christoph Cluse of the Universitat Trier for this information. Aronius, Regesten, par. 722. 48 Marcus, The Jew in the Medieval World, p. 115 49 Aronius, Regesten, par. 1199. 50 Germania Judaica.Von den ältesten Zeiten bis 1238, Vol. 1 (Tübingen, 1963), p. 74. 46 47

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ty to know Christian art; and that they patronised a Christian stained glass atelier by 1152. Perhaps most important is that the creation of a backgammon set, whose combination of opposing themes is unknown prior to the making of the pricked ivories series, suggests a special commission. The emphasis on Samson as the hero implies a patron who bore that name. In twelfth-century Germany, he could only have been a Jew.

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The Covered Gospels, the Torah Case and the Qur’an Box Introduction: the Reverence for Scripture

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HE subject of this paper is the development by medieval Christians, Jews, and Muslims in North Africa of distinctive cases to protect Scripture, in the physical sense, and the cross-cultural influences at work in the development of these protective devices. It is important to note that all three monotheistic religions ascribe sanctity to the physical form of Scripture. Jewish law specifies the treatment of the Torah scroll from the preparation of its parchment or leather, through its use during the liturgy, and its permanent storage when the scroll becomes unfit for use.1 Among early Christians, the adoption of the codex form for Scripture was intimately connected to the spread of monasticism in Egypt, a development that, in the words of Stephen Emmel, ‘brought

* In preparing this article, I have benefited greatly from conversations with Dr. Stefano Carboni of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and with Professor Yaakov Elman of Yeshiva University, who were kind enough to read this paper. Dr. Heather Ecker, Dr. Marilyn Jenkins-Madina, Dr. Layla Diba, Dr. Jonathan Bloom, Professor Priscilla Soucek, and Dr. Paul Walker were kind enough to answer my queries. To all of them, I owe my thanks. 1 For an English synopsis of the laws concerning the treatment of the Torah scroll as a physical object, see Solomon Ganzfried, Code of Jewish Law, trans. Hyman E. Golden, rev. ed. (New York, 1963), Vol. 1, pp. 89–91. A Torah scroll that is no longer kosher (fit for liturgical use) — because letters of the text are erased or partial, or because of a tear in the parchment or leather — is buried in a Jewish cemetery or hidden in a geniza, a repository for worn sacred books.

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with it a reverence for books both as texts and objects’.2 In the Early Christian period, a Gospels adorned with decorated covers was placed on the altar as an announcement of salvation.3 By the Early Byzantine period, the sanctity accorded Scripture was expressed in the ceremony of the First Entry during which the deacon carried the Gospels at the head of a procession and placed it on the altar ‘as a way of enthroning Christ, the Word of God.’4 The adornment of the Gospels with decorated covers of worked wood or metal, the latter often inlaid with precious and semiprecious stones, added to the aura of the holy text. Islamic legal discussions concerning the holiness of the Qur’an focus on the disposal of worn copies,5 perhaps because a written text was not used for the transmission of God’s word in the mosque. The oral mode of transmission by Muslims did not, however, preclude ascribing holiness to the written version of the Qu’ran. After its redaction under Caliph Uthman (644–56), a controversy arose over whether the written Qur’an could be considered to have emanated from God. It was concluded, ‘what was between the two covers was God’s word.’6 Not only did this statement accord divine status to written versions of Islamic Scripture, it defined the Qur’an as a codex protected by covers. One explanation for the sanctification of holy Writ in all three monotheistic religions is ancient Judaism’s substitution of veneration of the

2 Stephen Emmel, ‘The Christian Book in Egypt’, The Bible as Book. The Manuscript Tradition, ed. by John L. Sharpe III and Kimberly van Kampen (London and New Castle, DE, 1998), p. 35. 3 Victor H. Elbern, ‘Altar Implements and Liturgical Objects’, in Weitzmann, The Age of Spirituality, pp. 594–95. 4 Thomas Matthews, The Early Churches of Constantinople, pp. 141–42. 5 In a lecture given in 1995, Joseph Sadan enumerated various ways Muslims ‘disposed’ of used Qur’ans: for example, by placing them in a standing receptacle, or in a special space, or by burying them between two walls. (‘On the Custom of Geniza’, A Mediterranean Society: in the Footsteps of S. D. Goitein’s Geniza Research, Jerusalem, March, 1995.) Other types of books were destroyed by burning, erasure, washing off the script, tearing the paper, or burying. (Franz Rosenthal, ‘’Of Making Many Books There Is No End:’ The Classic Muslim View’, The Book in the Islamic World. The Written Word and Communication in the Middle East, ed. by George Atiyeh, [Albany, 1995], p. 39. I want to thank Professor Brinkley Messick of Columbia University for this reference.) 6 Pedersen, The Arabic Book, p. 102; on the sacred character of Arabic letters, see Annemarie Schimmel, Calligraphy and Islamic Culture (New York, 1984), p. 82.

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Bible for the veneration of cult statues, the ancient Near Eastern practice. In late Israelite religion and in early Judaism, books came to be treated as images were. In the words of Karel von Toorn, ‘The canon [became] an icon. Both the sacred image and the holy book cater[ed] to the human need for the absolute, a refraction from the other world.’7 Passages from Scripture replaced the figurative amulets once worn on the body, and the cult images formerly placed at the entry to homes. The ark, in which Torah scrolls were housed, could be taken out of the synagogue and processed in times of peril or war, just as idol-worshippers brought their images to the people under similar circumstances.8 Finally, the holiness of the Torah was elevated by attributing to it a heavenly origin. It was given to Moses and miraculously recovered in the First Temple by the High Priest Hilkiah during the reign of King Josiah (640–610 BCE; II Kings 22:8). In the Midrash, the Torah was stated to be preexistent and was God’s blueprint for creating the universe.9 For Christianity, the concept of the divine Logos in the Gospel of John, and for Islam, the belief that what was written between the covers was Allah’s word, likewise ascribed a heavenly origin to Christian and Muslim Scriptures and attributed to them a prior heavenly existence.10 According to von Toorn, ‘The Book [like the icon] became both a medium and an object; as a medium, it referred the reader to a reality beyond itself, whilst as an object it was sacred in itself.’11 The Tik or Case for the Torah The earliest mention of a covering for Scripture, the tik or casing used in conjunction with the Torah scroll, appears in Mishnah Shabbat (16:1), a text of the first-second centuries; but its material is not specified. Shmu’el ben Nahman, a talmudic authority who lived in the first half of the third century, spoke of laying the Torah scroll on the tik,12 indicating that the tik 7 Karel van der Toorn, ‘The Iconic Book. Analogies between the Babylonian Cult of Images and the Veneration of the Torah’, The Image and the Book. Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East (Leuven, 1997), p. 232. 8 A movable Torah ark is depicted among the reliefs from the ancient synagogue at Capernaum. (Gabrielle Sed-Rajna, L’Art juif (Paris, 1995), Pl. 61. 9 See Louis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, Vol. I (Baltimore and London, 1909) for an example. 10 Pedersen, The Arabic Book, p. 15. 11 Van der Toorn, The Iconic Book, p. 242. 12 Italics mine.

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was a textile.13 Two early textile fragments from archeological sites, one of flax from Qumram dated to the end of the first century CE and one of wool from the Bar Kokhba caves, dated 120–135 CE, may have been wrappers for scrolls or fragments of cloth tikim.14 Although numerous writers have likened the ancient tik to the Roman capsum, the rigid cylindrical container for scrolls depicted in Roman art,15 not a single capsum has been found at an Israeli archeological site dated to the periods of the Mishnah and the Talmud, that is from the first through the sixth centuries. Nor has a capsum been depicted in any of the representations of synagogue furnishings that have been found at these sites.16 The lack of archeological remains together with the statement of Rabbi Shmu’el argue that the tikim of antiquity were fabric bags.17 By the eleventh century, however, the term tik was also used to signify a rigid, presumably cylindrical, case in which the Torah scroll was placed (Fig. 1). An inventory of the Babylonian Synagogue in Fustat dated 1075, found in the Cairo Geniza and published by Shlomo Dov Goitein, mentions copper tikim, while a later, twelfth-century inventory lists a tik of wood with silver [plating] and one of pure silver.18 Maimonides (1138–1204) likewise described a tik that was a rigid, wooden case in his commentary on Mishnah Shabbat (16:1). The appearance of a rigid tik in the eleventh century raises questions as to its model or stimulus, and whether the appearance of this new form reflects an internal development or an influence from the art of Others.

Jerusalem Talmud, Killa’im, ch. 9, 3. For illustrations, see Braha Yaniv, Ma’ase
oshev: Tik leSefer Torah (Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, 1998), p. 18. 15 For depictions, see Yaniv, op. cit., pp. 16 and 22. 16 For examples of representations of synagogue furnishings, see Fine, The Sacred Realm, Pls. XXX, XXXII, and XXXVI. 17 The employment of the term tik in the eleventh and twelfth centuries to signify a rigid cylindrical metal or wooden case for the Torah scroll does not prove that ancient examples were similar in form or medium. (See Yaniv, Ma’aseh
oshev, p. 24 for this earlier view). Rabbi Joel Sirkes (1540–1631), who lived in Poland, mentions that cloth bags were still used to cover the Torah scroll in his lifetime. 18 Goitein, ‘The Synagogue Building and its Furnishings’, pp. 82–93, and 94–96. For an eleventh-century document recording expenditures for repair of a tik, see Gil, Documents of the Jewish Pious Foundations from the Cairo Geniza, pp. 310–11. 13 14

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Coptic Book Covers The codex form, in which both the Gospels and the Qur’an were written, was invented in the first century of this era and by the fourth century had become the most prevalent book type.19 The Roman poet Martial, writing ca. 85 CE, portrayed the covered codex as an oddity, as most codices of his time were used for mundane purposes.20 The majority of the known codices of the first through the fifth centuries were preserved in the dry climate of Egypt, and most are Christian in content. According to J.A. Szirmai, eighty-three percent of these Christian texts dated to the first through the fourth centuries are codices.21 Various reasons have been offered for this choice of book form: that early Christians preferred the codex to distinguish the Gospels from the scroll forms of the Torah and of pagan texts; or that they chose it for its utilitarian advantages — the ease of finding the various passages used in the Mass,22 and its convenience in carrying and storage.23 To Christians for whom the codex was the only form used for sacred texts, the need for a means of protection was more urgent. The earliest extant Coptic book covers are believed to date to the second half of the fourth century, and were found near the village of Nag Hammadi, close to the site of an ancient monastery.24 They were made of papyrus ‘boards’ formed of leaves pasted together and then sheathed in leather. The resulting covers were decorated by incision, by cut-outs over coloured parchment, and by punching, or tooling.25 Although most of the Paul Needham, Twelve Centuries of Bookbindings 400–1600 (New York, 1979), p. 4. Duncan Haldanes, Islamic Bookbindings (London, 1983), p. 6, for a discussion of the references in Martial’s Epigrammata to codices. 21 J. A. Szirmai, The Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding (Aldershot, Burlington U.S.A., Singapore, Sydney, 2002), p. 3. 22 See Matthews, Early Churches of Constantinople, p. 148 on the Gospels’ readings included in the early Byzantine liturgy. 23 Malachi Beit Arié, ‘How Hebrew Manuscripts are Made’, A Sign and a Witness: 2,000 Years of Hebrew Books and Illuminated Manuscripts, ed. Leonard Singer Gold (New York and Oxford, 1998), p. 36; A. Wouters, ‘From Papyrus to Papyrus Codex. Some technical aspects of ancient book fabrication’, Manuscripts of the Middle East, 5 (1990–91), p. 9; Walter Lowrie, Art in the Early Church, 2nd ed. rev. (New York, Evanston, and London, 1965), p. 180. 24 Szirmai, Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding, p. 7. See also, Berthe van Regermorten, Some Early Bindings from Egypt in the Chester Beatty Library (Dublin, 1958), p. 7. 25 Theodore C. Petersen, ‘Early Islamic Bookbindings and their Coptic Relations’, Ars Orientalis, 1(1954), p. 53. 19 20

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methods used by the early Copts to decorate their book covers are rather standard leatherworking techniques, their covers are distinguished by a particular method for creating repoussé designs.26 Cords were glued to the wood and the leather stretched over both, forming a raised motif. The Copts also created devices for protecting the exposed fore edges of their religious texts. These were often wrapped in a long strip of leather; on some of the earliest covers the strips are still attached to manuscripts: for example, on the thirteen Gnostic codices found at Nag Hammadi.27 A second method was to cut the leather of the cover longer than its wood or papyrus base so that sections could be folded down to form a box.28 Numerous late Coptic covers of the ninth-eleventh centuries show the use of this method, as do many of the early Islamic bindings of the same period.29

Irish Christian Book Shrines The first examples of independent book cases or boxes come from early Christian Ireland and date to the seventh century, for example, the oldest portions of the ‘Domnach Airgid’ Shrine (Fig. 2).30 They served both to protect the Gospels and to facilitate its being carried in procession. The form continued to be made in Ireland until the sixteenth century. Like many other aspects of Irish monastic culture, these earliest book boxes may reflect Coptic prototypes.

For a discussion of the use of this techinique on Coptic bookcovers from Egypt, early Christian covers from Ireland, and on early Islamic bookcovers, see Richard Ettinghausen, ‘Near Eastern Book Covers and their Influences on European Bindings. A Report, ‘Ars Orientalis 3 (1959), pp. 114–19. 27 Needham, Twelve Centuries of Bookbindings, pp. 5–6, no. 1; Szirmai, Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding, pp. 8–9. 28 T. W. Arnold and A. Grohmann, The Islamic Book: a Contribution to its Art and History, from the VII–XVIII Century, (Leipzig, 1929) pp. 37–38, 44–45. 29 For Coptic examples, see Arnold and Grohmann, op. cit., p. 45 and Pl. 37; for Islamic covers, see Petersen, ‘Early Islamic Bookbindings and their Coptic Relations’, pp. 41–45. 30 The original portions of the ‘Domnach Airgid’ book box are of tinned bronze sheets with interlace patterns similar to those that decorate the folios of the Book of Durrow, a Gospels dated 680. See G. Frank Mitchell, ‘‘Domnach Airgid’ Book Shrine’, Treasures of Early Irish Art 1500 B.C. to 1500 A.D. (Dublin and New York, 1977), cat. no. 66. 26

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St. Patrick, the first missionary to the Irish, was succeeded by numerous monks from Egypt, Byzantium, and Armenia, 31 who established monastic foundations that became the institutional core of Irish Christianity. Monks in Irish monasteries produced works of art that reflected Coptic and early Islamic motifs, compositions and artistic practices, for example, patterns of interlace and page lay-outs.32 The top cover of the Stonyhurst Gospels, written in 698 to mark the translation of St. Cuthbert’s bones to a reliquary, is decorated in repoussé designs created by means of cords glued to the underlying wood of the cover, the same technique used in Egypt by Coptic and Islamic binders.33 The enclosed manuscript is link-stitched, another Coptic technique.34 The Ragyndrudis codex written in the first half of the eighth century was covered in two layers of leather separated by a layer of gold leaf;35 the ajouré designs in the top panel allowed the gold underneath to be seen. This decorative technique was also used in Coptic Egypt.36 Just as these and other aspects of early Insular art reflect Coptic works, the eighth-century Irish book shrines in box form may indicate that book boxes for Scripture were made in Egypt centuries before the earliest extant examples. Early Islamic Book Covers and Book Cases The Qu’ran was written as a codex as early as the seventh century, its pages kept between two boards.37 The largest cache of early Islamic 31 According to Françoise Henry, the martyrologies of Irish monasteries record the deaths of monks from Egypt, Byzantium, and Armenia (Early Christian Irish Art, [Dublin, 1963], p.24). In addition, Coptic vessels were found in Anglo-Saxon graves. (Roger Powell, ‘The Binding of the Stonyhurst Gospel’, Relics of St. Cuthbert, ed. C. F. Battiscombe [Oxford, 1956], p. 369.) 32 See for example, Jacques Guilmain, ‘An Analysis of Some Ornamental Patterns in Hiberno-Saxon Manuscript Illumination in Relation to their Mediterranean Origins’, The Age of Migrating Ideas, pp. 92–4; Harry Bober, ‘On the Illuminations of the Glazier Codex: a Contribution to Early Coptic Art and its Relation to Hiberno-Saxon Interlace’, Homage to a Bookman: Essays on Manuscripts, Books, and Printings for Hans P. Kraus on his Sixtieth Birthday, Oct. 12, 1967, ed. H. Lehmann-Haupt (Berlin, 1967), pp. 31–49; Martin Werner, ‘The Madonna and Child Miniature in the Book of Kells’, Art Bulletin 54 (1972), pp. 1–23; 129–39. 33 Roger Powell, ‘The Binding of the Stonyhurst Gospel, pp. 362–74; Szirmai, Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding, p. 96. 34 Szirmai, op. cit., pp. 95–6. 35 Szirmai, op. cit., p. 97. 36 Walters Art Gallery, History of Bookbinding 525–1950 (Baltimore, 1957–58), Pl. XI. 37 Haldanes, Islamic Bindings, p. 9.

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bindings, about one hundred and seventy-five, was found in a storeroom of the Mosque of Kairouan where they had been deposited after becoming worn and unfit for ritual use.38 Many of these ninth-thirteenth-century covers exemplify a continuation of Coptic bookbinding techniques and decoration such as hot and cold tooling and repoussé created using traditional methods of laying leather over cords.39 Some of the bindings have elongated leather pieces on three sides that form a box. Similar box bindings were later used to cover Hebrew manuscripts in medieval Iberia.40 That independent protective boxes for the Qur’an, analogous to Irish book shrines, were in wide use by the eleventh century is indicated by a description of the looting of the Fatimid Library in Cairo in Hijri 461, which mentions 2,400 boxed Qur’ans among its holdings.41 According to later literary sources, a box of gold and silver outfitted with enamels was made for portions of a very early Qur’an brought to Marrakesh from Cordoba during the 1150s and installed in its Great Mosque.42 The box was then placed in a cabinet that was a mechanical marvel, opening at the turn of a key.

Georges Marcais and L. Poinsot, Objets Kairouanois IXe au XIIIe siècle. Les reliures. (Tunis, 1948). 39 Szirmai, Archaeology of Medieval Bookbinding, pp. 59–60. Another ninety-five book covers were discovered in a ceiling space of the Great Mosque of Sanaa in 1972, but they have not been published in detail. (Szirmai, op. cit., p. 52.) Interestingly, Ashkenazi Jews in southern Germany followed the same custom of placing worn sacred texts and objects in the ceiling spaces of their synagogues. (See Falk Wiesemann, Genizah — Hidden Legacies of the German Village Jews (Vienna, 1992). 40 Richard Ettinghausen linked the Kairouan box bindings to the appearance of the same form in Iberia (‘Near Eastern Book Covers and their Influence on European Bindings . . .’, p. 127). See also Leila Avrin, ‘The Box Binding in the Klau Library of the Hebrew Union College’, Studies in Bibliography and Booklore, 17(1989), pp. 26–35. Not all the box bindings covered liturgical texts. A miniature example in the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America encloses a Hebrew translation of Hippocrates’ Medical Aphorisms and Centriloquium. (V. B. M[ann], The Book and its Cover: Manuscripts and Bindings of the 12th through the 18th Centuries [New York, 1981], no. 5). 41 Paul Walker, ‘Fatimid Institutions of Learning’, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt, 34 (1997), p. 195. (I thank the author for this reference). 42 A. Dessus Lamaré, ‘Le Mushaf de la mosque de Cordoue et son mobilier mecanique, Journal asiatique, 230 (1938), pp. 468–73, 552. (I want to thank Jonathan Bloom for this reference). 38

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The two earliest extant Qur’an boxes, one dated ca. 1330 (Fig. 3), are in Cairo; another early example is in Berlin.43 This Cairo box was made for a thirty-volume Qur’an and is of wood plated with brass that is inlaid with silver and gold. Its principal decoration is inlaid verses from the Qur’an in two different scripts: Kufic on the cover and Tuluth on the side. That boxes were also fashioned of carved wood is shown by a rare example now in the Kuwait National Museum that is dated to the 23rd of November in the year 1344 (Fig. 4).44 Verses of the Qur’an carved in various scripts are again the major decorative motif, exemplifying the ‘role of calligraphy in enshrining the sacred’ in the arts of Islam.45 The Kuwait case is also important as evidence for the use of wood as the sole medium of some Qur’an boxes in the fourteenth century. The Parallel Development of Book Cases in Judaism and Islam The popularity of independent book cases for the Qur’an in the eleventh century coincides with the appearance of the rigid tik for the Torah scroll. That Jews and Muslims in the Maghreb favoured cognate forms to protect Scripture in the same period raises interesting questions of the impact of internal religious developments and influences from one religious culture to another. These eleventh-century developments may have related causes. First, both religions relied on a mix of orality and textuality in the study of religious treatises well into the Middle Ages. For example, the Mishnah and the Talmud were studied orally in Mesopotamia through the tenth century, while other genres of rabbinic literature, like the Tosefta, were studied orally in both Babylonia and the Palestinian sphere, despite a generally greater reliance on texts in the West.46 The study of the Qur’an and its commentaries continues to be primarily oral until the present day. Although the

For the box of 1330, see Esin Atil, Renaissance of Islam: Art of the Mamluks (Washington, D.C., 1981), no. 25 and p. 87, nn. 1–3 (for references to other early boxes). 44 Marilyn Jenkins, Ed., Islamic Art in the Kuwait National Museum. The al-Sabah Collection (London, 1983), p. 110. 45 Lucy-Anne Hunt, ‘Cultural Transmission: Illustrated Biblical Manuscripts from the Medieval Eastern Christian and Arab Worlds’, The Bible as Book, p. 131. 46 Yaakov Elman, ‘Orality and the Redaction of the Babylonian Talmud’, Oral Tradition, 14,1 (1999), p. 6. 43

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earliest Qur’an text, found in Yemen, is dated to 715,47 the written text coexisted with an oral tradition of transmission. Not only did the prevalence of oral modes of study in both Islam and Judaism delay the appearance of written versions of religious texts, but practical considerations must have played a role as well. The extraordinary length of some of the principal Hebrew and Aramaic texts of the Jewish tradition, such as the Babylonian Talmud with its approximately 1.6 million words, discouraged change from oral methods of study to learning from a written text.48 The costs of the parchment or papyrus required for written versions of these texts were prohibitive.49 Only with the transmittal of papermaking technology to the Arabs in 751, and its production in North Africa by the eleventh century, did the writing of lengthy works become feasible in the Maghreb. The availability of paper did not, however, eliminate parchment as a medium of writing in the late Middle Ages. Jewish law, for example, requires the writing of the Torah on a scroll of parchment or leather, and documents such as marriage contracts and writs of divorce, as well as secular texts, continued to be written on parchment even after the appearance of paper; as were Islamic texts. Nevertheless, with an increased supply of paper in the eleventh century, the literary cultures of Islam and Judaism that had been predominantly oral were, to a lesser or greater extent, transformed into text-based cultures. In Islam, the written text was primarily an aid to memory,50 rather than an independent composition to be studied, as became the practice in Judaism. Other changes in Scripture occurred in the same period. Muslim scribes began to write the Qur’an using the broken cursive script, rather than relying solely on Kufic. Broken cursive had previously been employed for documents, correspondence, and other mundane texts.51 Jews, however, retained the traditional script and media for the Torah, the Ashuri script written on a parchment or leather scroll as mandated by Jewish law. But, for writing lesser religious treatises, Jews seem to have borrowed the codex form Dar al-Makhtutat, San’a, Inv. No. 20–33.1. (Richard Ettinghausen, Oleg Grabar, Marilyn Jenkings-Madina, Islamic Art and Architecture 650–1250 (New Haven, 2001), p. 74. 48 Elman, ‘Orality and the Redaction of the Babylonian Talmud’, p. 18. 49 Jonathan Bloom, Paper Before Print: The History and Impact of Paper in the Islamic World (New Haven and London, 2001), p. 79. 50 Bloom, op. cit., pp. 94–98. 51 Robert Hillebrand, ‘The Qur’an Illustrated’, Art History 17,1(1994), pp. 117–19. 47

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from the Arabs, since the term that appears in Hebrew literature ca. 800, mizhaf, derives from the Arabic mushaf. 52 The earliest extant Hebrew codices date to the tenth century.53 By that time, it became common in the Jewish community to commission two types of books: the parchment or leather scrolls for Scriptural texts used in the liturgy and the paper or parchment codex for study. As the result of these parallel developments in Judaism and Islam, the sacred scrolls used in the synagogue and the codices of the Qur’an used in the mosque lost their distinctiveness as the only written texts. The change to a mundane script for the Qur’an, together with the appearance of nonscriptural treatises written as codices in both Islam and Judaism, may have stimulated a change in the outward appearance of Scripture to distinguish it from other religious texts. The Torah scroll was ensconced within a rigid decorated cylinder of wood and/or metal and the codices of the Qur’an were placed within decorated cases of carved wood or precious metals. Just as the idols of Mesopotamia — of a wood or clay core covered in precious metals — had dazzled the worshippers during processions, and the Gospels, bound in precious materials inlaid with jewels, impressed those in attendance at Mass, so would the parading of Scripture in splendid cases inspire the awe of Muslim and Jewish worshippers. In the synagogue, the encasement of the Torah scroll was accompanied by a very significant alteration in the mode of storage and reading. The adoption of a cylindrical tik required that the Torah scroll be read and stored vertically. The totality of these changes effectuated a visual distinction between the word of God (Torah shebiktav or commonly, the Torah) and the commentaries on it (Torah she-be ’al-peh) that were housed in Hebrew codices that were read and stored horizontally. The eleventh century saw the creation of an important type of ceremonial art in both Islam and Judaism. The decision to adorn Scripture by surrounding it with a case of sumptuous materials was innovative, but its aim was traditional — to set apart the God-given text of Scripture from all other religious texts.

Malachi Beit Arié, ‘How Hebrew Manuscripts are Made’, p. 36. Malachi Beit Arié, Email Communication, 8/31/2002. See also Malachi Beit Arié, Hebrew Manuscripts of East and West. Toward a Comparative Codicology. The Panizzi Lectures (London, 1992), p. 11. 52 53

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Epilogue: Inlaid Wood Tikim and the Sixteenth-Century Qur’an Boxes During one century, the sixteenth, the Jewish and Islamic artistic traditions for encasing Scripture appear to have fused in a series of wood inlay Qur’an cases that were made for Ottoman sultans. They were fashioned of inlaid wood in the domed polygonal form of Spanish tikim. The first was made for Bayezid in 1505/6 to house an early thirty-volume Koran (Fig. 6). His successors in the sixteenth century followed suit in commissioning inlaid wood Koran boxes of polygonal form for their religious foundations. During the Expulsions of the Jews from Spain and Portugal in the late fifteenth century, their gold and silver were confiscated, including those that were used in synagogues,54 but Jews were allowed to leave with manuscripts, including Torah scrolls.55 Many immigrated to the Ottoman Empire whose Sultan Bayezid (1481–1512) ‘took pity on them, and wrote letters and sent emissaries to proclaim throughout his kingdom that none of his city rulers may . . . refuse entry to the Jews or expel them. Instead, they were to be given a gracious welcome’, according to the Jewish chronicler Elijah Capsali (ca. 1490–ca. 1555).56 Might not the Jews who came to Istanbul have brought with them tikim in wood inlay that had been used in Iberia? A miniature of a synagogue scene in the mid-fourteenth century Barcelona Haggadah clearly shows a tik of wood inlaid in a checkerboard pattern (Fig. 5).57 It is the form of Spanish

Eleazar Gutwirth, ‘Toward Expulsion, 1391–1492’, Spain and the Jews. The Sephardi Experience 1492 and After, ed. Elie Kedourie (London, 1992), p. 72. 55 For an optimal assessment of the number of Spanish Hebrew manuscripts carried into exile, see Gabrielle Sed Rajna, ‘Hebrew Illuminated Manscripts from the Iberian Peninsula’, Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain (New York, 1992), p. 133. For a more modest estimate see Rafael Weiser, ed., Books from Sefarad, (Jerusalem, 1992), pp. x–xi. 56 Elijah Capsali, Seder Eliyahu Zuta (Jerusalem, 1975), p. 218. 57 One tik is represented in the Barcelona Haggadah. (For a reproduction and description of the manuscript, see Bezalel Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts in the British Isles. A Catalogue Raisonné (Jerusalem and London, 1982), no. 13. A second is found in the Kaufmann Haggadah. (Alexander Scheiber, The Kaufmann Haggadah. Facsimile edition of Ms. 422 of the Kaufmann Collection in the Oriental Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences [Budapest, 1957]). Two tikim are represented in scenes taking place in the Jerusalem Temple in the Retablo de San Salvador, Ejea de los Caballeros, Aragon. 54

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1. Samaritan Tik, Damascus, 1565/6, copper alloy: inlaid with silver (New York, The Jewish Museum, S 21)

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2. “Domnach Airgid" Book Shrine, Ireland, 7th century (original portion), tinned bronze over wood: engraved (Dublin, National Museum of Ireland, R. 2834)

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3. Qur'an Box, Cairo, ca. 1330, wood: plated with brass, inlaid with silver and gold; interior faced with paper (Cairo, Museum of Islamic Art, 183)

4. Box for a multi-volume manuscript of the Qur'an, Iran, November 23, 1344, wood: dadoed, mitred, dovetailed, and painted (Kuwait, National Museum, LNS 35W)

191

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5. Barcelona Haggadah, "Synagogue Scene," Barcelona, 14th century, ink and gouache on parchment, fol. 65v (London, The British Library, Add. Ms. 14761, fol. 65v)

6. Ahmad ibn Hasan, Qur'an Case of Sultan Bayezid, Istanbul, 1505/6, walnut: inlaid with ivory and ebony (Istanbul, Museum of Turkish and Islamic Arts)

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tikim as known from the manuscript illuminations (polygonal with a domed top, and all of inlaid wood) that could explain the sudden appearance of a new form of Qur’an box in Istanbul at the beginning of the sixteenth century.58 No need to look for foreign sources for the new combination of form and technique,59 the models were close at hand in wooden tikim brought from Spain, and in the artistry of Sephardi craftsmen who settled in the Ottoman empire.60 Numerous Jews had daily contact with the Ottoman court during the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.61 One of the earliest, Yakub Hekim (d. 1484), served Mehmed II (1451–81) as chief physician of the palace.62 Moses Hamon (1490–1554) served both as doctor and diplomat to the sultans Selim I (1512–20) and Suleyman the Magnificent (1520–66). Joseph of Naxos (d. 1579) became a diplomat and governor under Selim II (1566–74). The Hakham Bashi, the chief rabbi, Elijah Mizrahi was a courtier of Bayezid, Selim I and Suleiman the Magnificent. Another group of Jews having access to the court were vendors like Esther Kyra who exerted political influence during the reigns of Suleyman the Magnificent, Selim II, and Murad III by virtue of her relationships with women of the harem. The specific type of contact between sultans and their Jewish subjects that could have led to the transmission of an artistic form like a tik is an occasion during which the Jews of Istanbul would have paraded a Torah scroll before their ruler or given him one as a gift. Unfortunately, no records of such an interaction have been published. In the West, however, the papal adventus that developed in the twelfth century, as an expression of the papacy’s view of itself as the heir to the Roman imperium,63 soon included the presentation of a Torah to the newly elected pope.64 Together with the

For the Qu’ran boxes under discussion, see Bloom and Blair, Islamic Arts, pp. 334–36, Fig. 178; Filiz Çagman, ‘Ottoman Art’, The Anatolian Civilisations. III Seljuk/Ottoman (Istanbul, 1983), nos. E19, 76, 147–48, 151; Esin Atil, The Age of Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent (Washington, D.C., 1987), pp. 167–72, Figs. 109–111. 59 For this opinion, see Bloom and Blair, Islamic Arts, pp. 335–36. 60 Capsali, Seder Eliyahu Zuta (Jerusalem, 1975), p. 218. 61 Ibid, p. 81ff. 62 Rhoads Murphy, ‘Jewish Contributions to Ottoman Medicine’, Conference: Jews in Turkey, Five Hundred Years of Shared History, Istanbul, May-June, 1992. 63 Susan Twyman, Papal Ceremony at Rome in the Twelfth Century (London, 2002), pp. 8–9. 64 Twyman, op. cit., p.197. 58

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display of crosses and reliquaries, the parading of a Torah scroll continued and reinterpreted the pagan custom of carrying images of the gods in processions. This ritual served simultaneously to indicate recognition of the papal ruler by his Jewish subjects and to demonstrate his respect for the Torah. Constantine’s conversion to Christianity had altered the meaning of imperial rituals such as the adventus. The semi-divine pagan emperor became the vice-regent of God on earth.65 Still, the staging of adventus processions that began outside the walls was not practiced in Constantinople after the fifth century, since Byzantine emperors seldom left their capital. In the provincial city of Tiberias, however, an adventus in which the Jewish inhabitants participated was staged for the Emperor Heraclius ca. 627. It is known that Muhammed was presented with Torah scrolls on several occasions.66 A similar ceremony before Sultan Bayezid in the early sixteenth century could have resulted in the transmission of a new form of book case from medieval Iberia to an Ottoman Empire poised on the threshold of a century of greatness in the arts.

Twyman, op. cit., pp. 11–2. Jacques Berque, ‘The Koranic Text: from Revelation to Compilation’, The Book in the Islamic World. The Written Word and Communication in the Middle East, ed. by George Atiyeh, [Albany, 1995], p. 21. 65 66

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Jewish-Muslim Acculturation in the Ottoman Empire: The Evidence of Ceremonial Art

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HE minority status of Jewish communities in the diaspora has had a profound impact on their history and development. In the artistic sphere, minority status has resulted in the shaping of Jewish art by the art of dominant cultures. Stylistic elements like form, composition, or iconography have been borrowed and adapted for Jewish purposes. For example, the importance of figurative imagery in church art influenced Jewish communities resident in Christian Europe to admit human forms to works of religious art, even those destined for use in the synagogue,1 whereas the Jews of Muslim lands commissioned aniconic religious art similar to that of their neighbours.2 That these influences could occur is due to the second major determinative factor on the character of Jewish ceremonial art, namely Jewish law

The research for this paper was supported by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. I would like to thank Dr. Layla Diba for the many fruitful discussions we have had concerning the rugs in the Jewish Museum’s collection and for reading this paper prior to its publication. This paper was published in Avigdor Levi, ed., The Jews of the Ottoman Empire (Princeton, 1994), pp. 559–73. 1 See below, Ch. XIV, n. 6 for an example of a three-dimensional figure on a ceremonial object made for an Ashkenazi synagogue. 2 A striking example of the contrast in cultural attitudes of Jewish minorities resident in Christian rather than Muslim countries is the incorporation of narrative cycles influenced by Latin manuscripts into medieval Ashkenazi manuscripts, but their absence in decorated Hebrew manuscripts from Yemen or from areas in Spain under Muslim influence. (Compare Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, Pls. 5, 29, 31; and Gutmann, Hebrew Manuscript Painting, Pls. 1–2 ff.)

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(halakhah). Halakhic issues regarding art used in the service of religion are largely iconographic, that is, concerned with imagery prohibited by the Second Commandment and the need to avoid idolatry, or concerned with distraction during prayer, or the sanctity of God’s name.3 There is also some discussion of the materials used to create ceremonial objects and a few strictures as to form, but halakhah is silent on the subject of style,4 hence the receptivity to outside artistic influences if these did not conflict with Jewish law or interfere with the primary function of the work within Jewish ritual. Like other diaspora communities, Jews resident in the Ottoman Empire adopted art forms and styles of the dominant culture to Jewish purposes. Sometimes this meant the appropriation of a common object for a Jewish function. A ewer and basin that is dated 1840–60 on the basis of comparisons with similar works were used by the Benguiat family of Izmir at their Passover seder (Fig. 1).5 This set is identical in form to a silver ewer and basin now in the Topkapi Museum that are inscribed with the name of the owner, Zenniye Felek Hanim, and the Muslim date 1256, equivalent to 1840/41.6 The Benguiat set likewise bears the name of its first owner, Ahmed Pasha Kerim ibn Serif, and the year 1266 (1859/60). Presumably, both sets were originally used by their Muslim owners for ritual ablutions or domestic purposes. When the Benguiats acquired the first set, they used it for the same generic function, ritual ablutions. The Benguiat set is of a type of ware called tombak, which is of a copper alloy gilt to achieve a high lustre. An early documentation of the Jewish ritual use of this ware is a geniza document of 1080 that mentions gilt copper alloy vessels in the possession of the Jerusalemite Synagogue in Cairo.7 Later, tombak became a specialty of craftsmen working for the Ottoman sultan’s court and remained popular through the nineteenth century. A tombak ewer and basin with a decorative scheme similar to that

3 See above Ch. VII; David Kaufmann, ‘Art in the Synagogue’, Jewish Quarterly Review, 8 (1897), pp. 254–69; and Kahan, Me
karim be-Sifrut haTeshuvot, pp. 349–94. 4 For a discussion, see Mann, ‘Introduction’, A Tale of Two Cities, pp. 13–21. 5 Ibid., no. 161, where the laver and basin are tentatively dated early nineteenth century and Norman L. Kleeblatt and Vivian B. Mann, Treasures of the Jewish Museum, New York (New York, 1986), pp. 46–47, where the redating is discussed. 6 Çağman, The Anatolian Civilisations III. Seljuk/Ottoman, no. E355. See Fulya Bodur, Türk Madan Sanati (Istanbul, 1987), nos. A56, A997 and A100 for similar examples. (I thank Dr. Layla Diba for this reference.) 7 Goitein, ‘The Synagogue Building and its Furnishings’, p. 93.

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of the Benguiat pieces were dedicated to an imperial mausoleum in 1869/70.8 Like the Benguiat pieces, they are embellished with an overall repeat pattern, and both ewers are topped by bud and leaf finials typical of the mid-nineteenth century. The decoration of the Benguiat set is, however, much richer and more naturalistic. It consists of serpentine trees growing from hillocks. The polished forms of the hills and trees stand out against the more matte, punched ground, resulting in a rich play of textures. Another example of the impact of Muslim art on the Jewish art of the Ottoman Empire is the emphasis on richly embroidered textiles in Ottoman Jewish life, a reflection of the imperial concern for the production of decorative works of high quality for mosques, palaces, and public buildings. The sultans established workshops for the creation of metalwork, carpets, manuscripts, embroideries, and the like, under the auspices and control of the court.9 Influenced by this cultural environment, the sultan’s Jewish subjects incorporated a wider variety of embroidered textiles into their ceremonial life than did their Ashkenazi coreligionists. One example is the bedspread that formed part of the dowry and was later used to decorate the bridal or birth chamber.10 Often these works, especially those richly embroidered with gold and silver threads, passed from ceremonial use in the home to synagogue use.11 Torah curtains made from elaborate dowry bedspreads are an example of this type of transformation. Sometimes, as was the case with the ewer and basin just discussed, a common Ottoman embroidery type could be given a specifically Jewish function. For example, delicately embroidered towels of a kind worn by wealthy women at the baths were made by Jewish women for use at the mikveh or ritual bath.12 More interesting, however, are the works whose decoration is enriched by Jewish iconographic motifs, such as a cushion cover made in Istanbul in the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century, which exemplifies the Jewish assimilation of Ottoman artistic norms (Fig. 2). The composition of the

Çağman, The Anatolian Civilisations III: Seljuk/Ottoman, no. E344. Ibid., pp. 97–100. 10 Esther Juhasz, Golden Textiles and their Use by Jews in Sephardi Communities in the Ottoman Empire (The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, M.A. Thesis 1979), p. 20 (Hebrew); Idem., Sephardi Jews in the Ottoman Empire, Figs. 6, 7. 11 Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, no. 192. 12 For an example, see Mann, op. cit., no. 194, from the collection of the Skirball Museum, Los Angeles. 8 9

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cover is distinctive. Narrow bands filled with series of discrete flowers border the cover on three sides and divide it into two horizontal fields. Three large flowers dominate the lower field, and floral sprays occupy the corners of the upper section. Similar elements in the same arrangement decorate two saddle cloths produced in an Istanbul court atelier that were presented to King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden in 1626.13 The same ‘checkerboard’ stitch used on the flowers of the cover also appears on the saddle cloths. However, several elements of the cushion cover embroidery indicate a later date: the use of tinsel, and the character of the composition, which is less dense, more open. To the basic composition, the embroiderer of the cover added two Jewish motifs, a Star of David enclosing a stylised menorah. Executed at the same time as the remainder of the cushion embroidery, the presence of these symbols indicates that the cover was intended, from the first, to serve a ritual function. Nineteenth-century travellers’ accounts and historical records suggest two possible uses: for carrying an infant to the synagogue for circumcision14 or for the Passover seder, when it is customary to recline as a sign of ease and freedom.15 Jewish acculturation to Muslim art in the Ottoman Empire reached its zenith in specifically Jewish objects that nevertheless reflect typical Ottoman artistic modes and incorporate Ottoman symbols. An outstanding example is a tallit or prayer shawl made in 1897/98 and decorated with inscriptions and symbols rendered in gold embroidery (Fig. 3 a,b). This form of tallit decoration was practiced in Egypt in Maimonides’ lifetime, according to a responsum of David ben Salomon ibn abi Zimra (1479–1573), the official leader of Egyptian Jewry after the Ottoman conquest of 1517, who decried the continuance of the practice in his own day.16 Biblical verses run along the top border of the present example.17 The name of the owner, Jamil Abraham Ezekiel Shem-Tov, is inscribed in the medallion and the date within the two hands. Although paired hands are a 13 Agnes Geijer, Oriental Textiles in Sweden (Copenhagen, 1951), nos. 104 and 105, Pls. 44 and 51. 14 Marc Angel, The Jews of Rhodes (New York, 1978), p. 118. Elaborately embroidered pillow covers for use at circumcision are also known among Ashkenazi Jews. (Cf. Kleeblatt and Mann, op. cit., pp. 98–99). 15 L. A. Frankl, The Jews in the East, trans. P. Beaton (London, 1859), Vol. 1, p. 122. 16 David ibn abi Zimra, Teshuvot haRadbaz, Part IV (Warsaw, 1882), no. 1118 (Hebrew). This responsum was cited by Israel Goldman, The Life and Times of Rabbi David Ibn Zimra (New York, 1970), p. 124. 17 The inscriptions were published in Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, no. 195.

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Jewish symbol alluding to the priestly blessing, which begins the inscription along the upper border, they are also found on Muslim prayer rugs to indicate the placement of the worshipper’s hands during prostration.18 There is no mistaking the purely Ottoman character of the second symbol on the tallit, the star and crescent. This symbol also appears on Jewish metalwork of the period, for example, on rimmonim or finials for the Torah scroll made in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.19 There is one genre of Ottoman art, however, that seems to represent a rare case of reciprocal acculturation: the rugs whose central motif is a niche. These were used as prayer rugs by Muslims and as Torah curtains by Jews. Like the other examples of Ottoman Judaica discussed, the Jewish rugs share with their Muslim parallels similar compositions, common iconographical motifs, and identical techniques of manufacture.20 It is the identity of purpose shared by some Muslim and Jewish rugs (to lend sanctity to a space), and the identical meaning ascribed to their common motif, the niche (which in both traditions was interpreted as a gate to Paradise),21 that may have resulted in the mutual interchange of artistic ideas. Islam requires that the place of prayer be ritually pure, just as Judaism requires the

Schuyler V. T. Cammann, ‘Symbolic Meaning in Oriental Rug Patterns: Part I’, Textile Museum Journal, 3 (1972), p. 20. 19 Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, nos. 203 and 204. 20 Following is a list of Ottoman rugs with Hebrew inscriptions whose central motif is a niche, and whose composition is similar to those found on Muslim prayer rugs: (1) Italy or Ottoman Empire, mid-sixteenth century: Comunità Israelitica di Padova (Fig. 8, p. 14 above). (2) Istanbul or Cairo, early to mid-seventeenth century: Textile Museum, Washington, D.C., inv. no. 8.16.4.4. (Fig. 5). (3) Chalcis, seventeenth century: Israel Museum, Jerusalem. (Anton Felton, Jewish Carpets (Antique Collectors’ Club, Ltd., 1997), no. 99. (4) Gördes, nineteenth-century copy of an early seventeenth-century rug: The Jewish Museum, New York, F5812A (Fig. 6). (5) Gördes, 1779/80: sold in Zurich (Fig. 7). (6) Anatolia, mid-nineteenth century: The Jewish Museum, New York, F3409. (Juhasz, op. cit., Pl. 18a). (7) Anatolia, nineteenth-twentieth century: The Jewish Museum, New York, JM7-56. (Juhasz, op. cit., Pl. 18b). (8) Anatolia (?), nineteenth-twentieth century: The Jewish Museum, New York, F3494. (Juhasz, op. cit., Pl. 18c). 21 Esin, Atil, The Age of Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent (Washington D.C., 1987), p. 224 and p. 233, n. 117. 18

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placing of the Torah scroll on a ‘cloth of honour’.22 To accommodate these requirements, Jews spread a cloth over the desk on which a Torah is laid for reading, while the Muslim worshipper spreads a cover over the floor or ground. Rugs used for Muslim prayer are first mentioned in an eleventh-century source, a document from the Cairo Geniza containing an order for textiles and carpets sent from Kairouan, Tunisia, to Cairo.23 This document not only attests to the early use of rugs for Muslim prayer, but also to the fact that Jews then traded in prayer rugs and, therefore, had first-hand knowledge of them. The document does not, however, include a description of the rugs. A twelfth-century Iranian source uses the traditional Muslim term sajjáda,24 prayer rug, which is the same term appearing in a responsum of Asher ben Yeiel that must date between 1304 and 1327, that is, after his arrival in Spain and before his death.25 ‘You inquired about the matter of the small mat that is called sajjada in Arabic, on which it is the custom of the Muslims to pray and which bears an image resembling a black weight, whether it is permitted to hang it in the synagogue next to the ark, one on each side of the ark, and to pray in front of it’. In his answer, Rabbi Asher informs us that: ‘In Toledo, they were accustomed to forbid placing such a rug in the synagogue in order to sit on it. Certainly it is forbidden to hang it at the side of the ark, since it is said that the black form [woven] in it is a depiction of the place to which they go to celebrate in their land [i.e. Mecca].

Walter B. Denny, Oriental Rugs (New York, 1979), p. 44; James Dickie, ‘The Iconography of the Prayer Rug’, Oriental Art,18 (1972), p. 41; Cammann, ‘Symbolic Meanings’, p. 17. For the Jewish practice, see Meir ben Barukh of Rothenberg, She’elot u-Teshuvot Maharam (Lvov, 1860), no. 496, where a twelfth-century text is quoted concerning the custom of placing a cover on the reader’s desk ‘in honour of the Torah’. This opinion is cited by Kahan, Me
karim beSifrut haTeshuvot, p. 355. 23 Richard Ettinghausen, ‘ Prayer Rug’, p. 15. 24 Ettinghausen, ‘Prayer Rug’, p. 17. The noun sajjáda derives from the Arabic verb sajada, which means ‘to bow down, to bow and worship, to prostrate’. (Hans Wehr, Arabic-English Dictionary, ed. J. Milton Cowan [Ithaca, 1976], p. 397.) 25 Asher ben Yeiel, She’elot u-Teshuvot leha-Rav Rabeinu Asher (New York, 1954), V:2 (Hebrew). The translation is my own. 22

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There are also those who say it contains an image of a markolis and it is their custom to sit on it and to prostrate themselves on it during prayer, and it has further been said to me that the mat is therefore called sajjáda, because they prostrate on it. Rabbi Asher’s description of the iconography of the rug as a black form, which is the image ‘of the place to which they go’, and a markolis (the rabbinic term for a roadside marker dedicated to Mercury, consisting of two stones placed side by side and a third resting on top, half on one and half on the other)26 is early evidence both for the depiction of the Ka’ba on a prayer rug and of the attempt to hang such rugs in association with a Torah ark. A related text, a responsum of Asher’s son Judah (1270–1349), indicates the existence of another rug with the same iconography towards the middle of the fourteenth century.27 The questioner, Asher ben Shlomo, grandson of the first Asher and a nephew of Judah, tells that the congregants of a synagogue in Toledo hung a rug with an image of the Ka’ba, which he and Rabbi Nathan had removed because of his grandfather’s ruling. The congregants had the image replaced with that of a rose and rehung the rug in the synagogue. Asher ben Shlomo asks his uncle if the renovated rug could remain. These two rabbinic texts provide documentary evidence that prayer rugs were decorated with images of the Ka’ba in fourteenth-century Spain, evidence that predates the earliest extant examples produced in the late seventeenth or eighteenth century.28 The responsa of Asher ben Yeiel and his son Judah are no less significant for the information they provide on the use of rugs with symbols in fourteenth-century Spanish synagogues, and both point to an early stage in the development of synagogue rugs. Rabbi Asher wrote of two functions for such rugs, for seating and for placement on either side of the ark. He does not mention their use as curtains in front of the ark or as reader’s desk covers; these functions are mentioned in an Ottoman text of the eighteenth

26 On the markolis, see Babylonian Talmud, Bava Metzi’a 25b and the commentary of Rashi on the relevant passage. 27 Judah ben Asher, Zikhron Yehudah (Berlin, 1846), no. 21. 28 Ettinghausen, ‘Prayer Rug’, p. 18 and Fig. 9.

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century.29 Further, both Spanish responsa discuss hanging rugs with Muslim motifs; Judah also mentions a flower. Neither Asher nor his son hint at the existence of rugs with Jewish iconography, that is, created for Jewish use; rather, they are both ruling on rugs made for Muslim purposes and reused in the synagogue. Synagogue rugs woven with specifically Jewish symbols appeared by the fourteenth century as is evidenced by a rug of that date now in Berlin, which bears an image interpreted as multiple Torah shrines superimposed as if they were flowers on the branches of a tree (Fig. 7, p. 81 above). Friedrich Sarre, who first suggested that the iconography was based on ancient synagogue mosaics and Hebrew manuscripts, thought that the rug was placed on a synagogue floor as were Muslim prayer rugs.30 The long and narrow shape of the rug suggests that this was indeed its use, which is attested to by numerous rabbinic responsa that mention sitting on rugs in the synagogue. Sarre was unaware of the alternative practice of hanging imaged rugs in synagogues, a usage that may have been brought to the Ottoman Empire by Sephardi Jews after their expulsion from Spain in 1492. In the middle of the sixteenth century, there appeared the first in a series of rugs with Hebrew inscriptions whose central motif, the arcuated niche, developed in tandem with Muslim prayer rugs bearing the same iconography. A manuscript illumination dated to the second quarter of the fourteenth century documents the early use of the popular architectural motif for prayer rugs, the arcuated niche, which represents the mihrab and in the words of Richard Ettinghausen, ‘establishes a spiritual connection with Mecca and its cube-shaped shrine, the Ka’ba’.31 Extant examples of rugs with a mihrab niche date to the fifteenth or sixteenth century.32 In time, the basic iconography was elaborated to include other elements like flowers

David Amado, Einei David. Likutei Dinim (Izmir, 1871), no. 72. Amado discusses rugs whose decoration consists of a portal to which Muslims pray (i.e. a mihrab). His book was written in 1715. 30 Friedrich Sarre and Ernest Fleming, ‘A Fourteenth Century Synagogue Carpet’, Burlington Magazine, 56 (1930), pp. 89–95; Kurt Erdmann, Seven Hundred Years of Oriental Carpets (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1970), p. 143, Fig. 181, where the rug is described as ‘the so-called synagogue carpet’. 31 Ettinghausen, ‘Prayer Rug’, p. 18 and Fig. 2, which reproduces a page from Bal’ami’s Persian translation of Tabari’s History. 32 Maurice S. Dimand, ‘Turkish Prayer Rugs’, in the Textile Museum, Prayer Rugs, p. 26; Çağman, Anatolian Civilisations III, nos. D183 and 184; Atil, Age of Suleyman, p. 224. 29

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whose presence transforms the niche into a gateway to paradise.33 Some rare iconographic elements of prayer rugs may perhaps be attributed to Jewish influence. These are the placement of ‘heavenly pavilions’ in the cross-panel and the hanging of multiple lamps within the niche.34 The same iconographic motifs occur on Jewish rugs from the Ottoman Empire. The earliest known example of a Jewish rug with a niche is today in Padua (Fig. 8, p. 14 above).35 Dated to the mid-sixteenth century, this rug is a transitional Mamluk-Ottoman work that has been heavily influenced by Italian art, for example, in the illusionistic perspective used to depict the arch and in the form of the menorah within. Alberto Boralevi was the first to suggest that these elements were modelled on the frontispieces of Hebrew books printed in Italy during the sixteenth century, while Braha Yaniv later identified the precise model, a text printed in Padua in 1557.36 Numerous documentary sources demonstrate the heavy involvement of Ottoman Jews in the Italian trade, which would account for the cultural interchange the rug represents.37 A passage from Psalms appears on the cross-panel of the Padua rug and on nearly all Jewish rugs from the Ottoman Empire: ‘This is the Gate of the Lord; the righteous shall enter through it’ (Psalm 118:20); it also appears on the lintel above the arch on Hebrew title pages. This liter-

33 Walter B. Denny, Oriental Rugs, p. 46; James Dickie, ‘The Iconography of the Prayer Rug’, p. 44; Cammann, ‘Symbolic Meanings’, pp. 18–19; Atil, Age of Suleyman, pp. 226–27. 34 See Dickie, ‘Iconography’, pp. 48–49. Louise W. Mackie commented in her catalogue entry for the Synagogue Rug in the Textile Museum: ‘Two features without any known parallels are immediately apparent: the large cup in which nine lamps are suspended and the Hebrew inscription which reads, ‘This is the gate of the Lord through which the righteous enter’, Psalm 118, verse 20 (Ettinghausen, Prayer Rugs, p. 40). 35 Alberto Boralevi, ‘Un tappeto ebraico italo-egiziano’, Critica d’Arte, 49,2(1984), pp. 34–47, there the older literature. Also Alberto Boralevi, ‘Three Egyptian Carpets in Italy’, Oriental Carpet & Textile Studies. Carpets of the Mediterranean Countries (London, 1986), especially pp. 211–20; Mann, Gardens and Ghettos, no. 141. 36 Boralevi, ‘Un tappeto ebraico..’., pp. 40–41; idem, ‘Three Egyptian Carpets’, pp. 211–12. Braha Yaniv, ‘Sixteenth-Eighteenth Century Bohemian and Moravian Parokhot with an Architectural Motif ’, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, The Hebrew University, October, 1987, Vol. 1, p. 96 (Hebrew). Ottoman documentary sources attest to the sending of designs from Cairo to Venice as models for textiles (Atil, Age of Suleyman, p. 183 and p. 231, n. 41). 37 Aryeh Shmuelevitz, The Jews of the Ottoman Empire in the Late Fifteenth and the Sixteenth Centuries, Adminsitrative, Economic, Legal and Social Relations in the Responsa (Leiden, 1984), pp. 128–30, 165.

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ary allusion to Paradise is reinforced on some of the Ottoman rugs with Hebrew inscriptions by the inclusion of flowers in the lower portion of the niche (Fig. 6), the equivalent to the paradisical flowers on Muslim prayer rugs.38 The theme of Paradise as a garden, which has a long history in Jewish literature,39 would have facilitated Jewish borrowing of the Muslim motif. Some Muslim rugs, on the other hand, replace the biblical inscription of the cross-panel on Jewish rugs with ‘architectural motifs that signify the divine nature of the entrance, expressing symbolically the same sense as the inscription that occupies the same position on the [synagogue] rugs’ in the words of Charles Grant Ellis.40 On both Muslim and Jewish examples, the niche of the rug became the gate to Paradise, which one entered through prayer and righteous deeds. The combination of iconographic elements on the Padua rug, the niche with inscription in the cross-panel and the multiple lamps within, are incorporated into a series of Jewish rugs that date from the early seventeenth century on, but rendered in Ottoman style. Boralevi drew attention to the similarity between the compositions of these motifs on the Padua rug and those on an early prayer rug now in Berlin (Fig. 4).41 On the Muslim rug, a bush and a ewer occupy the position parallel to that of the menorah on the Padua example, and their stylised forms recall the branches of the Jewish candelabrum. On a synagogue rug now in the Textile Museum, Washington, the menorah has been rendered as a grouping of mosque lamps (Fig. 5).42 A more distant reflection of these multiple lights appears on a nineteenth century Gördes prayer rug now in Cairo.43 Generally, a single suspended lamp appears in the niche on Muslim rugs, although not as if in an actual mihrab. Multiple lamps appear only on rugs, tiles, and the

An early carpet with this motif is the Ballard prayer rug now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, no. 22.100.51 (Ettinghausen, Prayer Rugs, no. 1). 39 For example, Genesis 2:8 ff. 40 Charles Grant Ellis, ‘The Ottoman Prayer Rugs’, Textile Museum Journal, 2,4 (1969), p. 13. 41 Boralevi, ‘Un tappeto ebraico . . .’, p.45; idem, ‘Three Egyptian Carpets’, pp. 216–17. See also Hayward Gallery, ‘The Eastern Carpet’, no. 19. 42 For a discussion of the Washington rug, see the Textile Museum, Prayer Rugs, no. V, there the older literature. An early association of hanging glass lamps and the menorah appears in a mosaic floor of the ancient synagogue at Na’aran. (Lee L. Levine, Ancient Synagogues Revealed [Jerusalem and Detroit, 1982], p. 136.) 43 Ettinghausen, Prayer Rugs, Fig. 10. 38

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like, leading art historians to suggest that the lamps on the rugs represent a conflation of two architectural elements, the mihrab and the mosque lamp hung in front of it, or that the lamp is inspired by literary sources, like this passage in the Qur’an (24:35): ‘Allah is the light of the heavens and the earth; a likeness of His light is as a niche in which there is a lamp, the lamp is in a glass and the glass is as it were a brightly shining star, lit from a blessed olive-tree’.44 The notion of a lamp symbolic of the light of God was further popularised by medieval religious treatises such as the Mishkát al Anzuár (The Niche for Lights), which elaborated on the mystical meaning of Allah as light. An interesting parallel to this literary identification of Allah with ‘a niche in which there is a lamp, the lamp is in a glass’ is a Torah curtain in the Jewish Museum, New York, that is a late eighteenth century copy of an early seventeenth-century original (Fig. 6).45 Here the lamp is labelled with the tetragrammaton, making explicit the equation of God with a lamp in a glass within a niche found in Islamic sources.46 However, the general motif, a hanging lamp in an arch, has a long history in Jewish art and need not be due to Muslim influence.47 As we have seen on the Padua rug, biblical verses appear on Jewish rugs from the very beginning. The Jewish Museum curtain also bears a poignant personal dedication in memory of a daughter and the information that the rug was donated to the Seville congregation of Istanbul. A similar combination of biblical and personal inscriptions appears on a rug that was

See Ettinghausen, op. cit., p.19; Dickie, ‘Iconography’, pp. 42–43. See Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, no. 197 for a transcription of the inscriptions; and Kleeblatt and Mann, Treasures of the Jewish Museum, pp. 44–45, there the older literature. 46 A general association of God or the Shekhinah (the Divine Presence) with light also appears in Jewish literary sources, e.g., Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 39a. 47 See Nahman Avigad, Beth She’arim, Volume III: Catacombs 12–23 (New Brunswick, N.J., 1972), p. 211 and Fig. 100 for a discussion of a mid-fourth century glass plate decorated with an arcade enclosing various symbols, one of which is a hanging lamp. Avigad lists related parallels, which suggest that this combination of motifs was used to signify a Torah ark and its associated lamp. In thirteenth-century Islamic manuscripts, the same combination of motifs was used to signify a mosque; thus, the same generic motif served to indicate holy space in both Jewish and Islamic art. (See H. Buchthal, ‘Hellenistic miniatures in early Islamic manuscripts’, Ars Islamica, vol. 7 [1940], Figs. 13 and 16.) 44 45

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auctioned in Zurich (Fig. 7).48 The text begins at the top right corner of the inner border and runs continuously on all four sides: ‘He who lived blamelessly lives safely, But he who walked a crooked path will be found out’. [Prov. 10:9] ‘Praised be the Lord who has granted a haven to his people Israel’. [I Kings 8:56] ‘on the holy Sabbath day’. [from the Sabbath Morning Prayers] ‘I have sprinkled my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon’. [Prov. 7:17 ] ‘A fruitful bough by a spring’. [Gen. 49:22] ‘Moses ha-Levi’. ‘For wisdom [is better] than rubies, No good can equal her’. [Prov. 8:11] ‘Do not love sleep lest you be impoverished, Keep your eyes open and you will have plenty of food’. [Prov. 20:13] There are two misspellings in the woven words, and the letters are awkwardly formed, suggesting that the rug was made by a weaver who did not know Hebrew well.49 However, one curious addition, a period after the word nafti (‘I have sprinkled’) in the left border, which follows the phrase ‘on the holy Sabbath day’, separates nafti from the rest of the verse to which it belongs. This may have been a deliberate attempt to indicate the date of the rug. The numerical value of the Hebrew letters forming this word is [5]550, equivalent to the Gregorian years 1789/90, which is an appropriate date for the rug on stylistic grounds. If this additional meaning is correct, then the Zurich rug joins a small group of dated rugs from the late eighteenth century. Moses ha-Levi must be the donor’s name. The biblical

48

Zurich Uto Auktionen, Liebhaberfahhrzeuge, Uhren, Varia, 11–14 May 1987, no.

2842. The same observation has been made about the Washington rug. (Ettinghausen, Prayer Rugs, no. V.) 49

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1. Ewer and Basin used during Passover, Istanbul, 1840-60, copper: gilt, repoussé, punched and engraved (New York, The Jewish Museum, The H. Ephraim and Mordecai Benguiat Family Collection, S 77 a-c)

2. Cushion Cover, Istanbul, late 17th century, silk: embroidered with metallic threads and braid (New York: The Jewish Museum, F5463)

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3 a, b. Prayer Shawl, Istanbul, 1898, silk: embroidered with tinsel (Collection of Irwin Schick)

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4. Prayer Rug, Mamluk Empire, 16th century, wool (Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Museum für Islamisches Kunst, no. 127)

5. Torah Curtain, Cairo, early 17th century, wool (Washington, DC, Textile Museum)

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6. Torah Curtain, Ottoman Empire, early 19th century, wool and cotton (New York, The Jewish Museum, F 5182)

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verses that comprise this rug’s inscription represent unusual choices that do not conform to those commonly found on rugs used as Torah curtains. Instead, the references to a haven, sleep, a bed, and the living of a blameless life suggest that this rug was used at funerals, perhaps to cover the dead.50 It represents a parallel to another category of Muslim prayer rugs, mezarliks, or funerary rugs, likewise green in colour, whose iconography refers to life in the world to come and which were dedicated to mausoleums.51 Extant Muslim prayer rugs with biblical inscriptions are late, and even then they are rare, despite the significance of calligraphy as an art form in the Ottoman Empire.52 The incorporation of such inscriptions into rug design was probably too alien to Muslim thinking to have ever become popular, since prayer rugs are placed on the ground and stepped upon. This last point underscores the fact that the process of acculturation as applied to ceremonial art of the Ottoman Empire always involves a process of filtering. Religious law, both Muslim and Jewish, established boundaries of acceptable iconography and use. To fill similar religious needs, such as the needs for ritual ablutions or for ritually appropriate ‘space’, Jews and Muslims utilised the same type of object. Where parallel ideas existed (Paradise as a garden, God as light), the same motifs could be incorporated into rugs for synagogues or rugs for mosques. But if the concept was alien, borrowing was rare. Just as Rabbi Asher could forbid hanging a representation of the Ka’ba in a Spanish synagogue, so Muslim weavers of the Ottoman Empire were never as free to incorporate biblical verses as their Jewish neighbours.

I am indebted to Dr. Menahem Schmelzer for this observation. The motif of the large border is similar to that in a Gördes rug now in St. Louis that is dated late eighteenth/early nineteenth century (The Textile Museum, Prayer Rugs, no. XIV), while the treatment of the center and the coloring is closely paralleled by a rug in Springfield, Mass., dated 1800–85 (Denny, Oriental Rugs, colour plate 9). 52 May H. Beattie, ‘Coupled-Column Prayer Rugs’, Oriental Art, 14 (1986), p. 251 and Fig. 23 dated 1788; Erdmann, ‘Dated Carpets of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries’, in Seven Hundred Years . . ., pp. 171–72. Dr. Erdmann observes that when letters indicate dates on Turkish carpets, they are ornamentalized and, therefore, ‘hidden’. 50 51

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Memory, Mimesis, Realia: Jews and Art in Morocco

F

IGURATIVE art of a secular nature, recording the deeds of rulers and the lives of the people, was produced in many Muslim countries. But, in the far west of the Islamic world, in Morocco, Muslim artists and patrons and most of their Jewish colleagues seem to have adhered to iconoclastic orthodoxy (although a paucity of medieval remains, aside from architecture, makes an absolute judgment impossible). How, then, can the appearance of the Morocco of the past and visual memory be remembered and preserved? Through texts and oral history, certainly, but these are often minimal in their descriptions of costumes and objects, and the spatial contexts in which they were used. We read them and hunger for more detail. Some of the Islamic art and architecture of Morocco from the Middle Ages and the centuries following remains, affording glimpses of past grandeur. The same is not true of Moroccan Jewish art and architecture. Synagogues were usually less substantial than mosques: many were the humble work of carpenters, rather than architects (Fig. 1). The monumental mud-built synagogues in the south, devoid of their congregants, are in a deteriorated state. Rare, too, are works of Jewish ceremonial art or personal artifacts that predate the eighteenth century. Those who owned antique metalwork seem to have melted it down in order to fabricate new pieces, rather than conserving and repairing that which was old. This practice may reflect the religious customs of the majority, since Islam requires few ceremonial objects and eschews the cult of relics, with its inherent preservationist tendency, that was so important to Christianity. Nor did the Roman and the later Renaissance tradition of collecting works of art and thereby saving them penetrate North

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Africa prior to the modern period. Only outside developments served to make Moroccan history and memory visible. A few of the foreigners who visited Morocco in the eighteenth century created images of its inhabitants, but it was only in the early nineteenth century that interest in Morocco became more widespread, particularly among French artists.1 For them, this portion of the Orient was part of France’s overseas empire, and, therefore, more accessible.2 This artistic development began as an offshoot of political events, namely the French annexation of Algeria in 1830, the problems of which resulted, two years later, in Count Charles de Mornay’s expedition to Tangier to negotiate a non-intervention treaty with the government of Moulay Abderrahman. De Mornay invited the artist Eugène Delacroix (1798–1863) to join his entourage. After the French arrived in Tangier in February, 1832, the Moroccans temporised, leaving Delacroix time to observe the people and the landscape of northern Morocco. Unlike the voyages abroad that were undertaken by artists to study the classical art of Greece and Rome, Delacroix’s trip to Morocco was a confrontation with a living civilisation that was unknown to Europeans. He constantly stated in his notebooks how different North Africa was from Europe: how Morocco was the paradigm of ‘a lost, true classicism’ characterised by the ideal of noble simplicity.3 ‘They are closer to nature in a thousand ways: their dress, the form of their shoes. And so beauty has a share in everything that they make. As for us, in our corsets, our tight shoes, our ridiculous pinching clothes, we are pitiful . . .’4 Perhaps owing to his concept of the noble Moroccan, many of Delacroix’s compositions, such as A Street in Meknes (Fig. 2), are classical compositions, possessing a sense of gravitas and timelessness, despite the inclusion of observed, ethnographic detail. The artist used stylistic elements that had previously been employed for religious and historical paintings to This essay was first published in Vivian B. Mann, ed., Morocco: Jews and Art in a Muslim Land (New York, 2000), pp. 125–38. 1 Alfred Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume, 2nd rev. ed. (London, 1981), Fig. 88.2 Lynn Thornton, The Orientalists. Painter-Travellers (Paris, 1994), p. 4. 3 Mary J.Harper, ‘The Poetics and Politics of Delacroix’s Representation of the Harem in ‘Women of Algiers in the Apartment’, Picturing the Middle East. A Hundred Years of European Orientalism. A Symposium (New York, 1996), p. 61. 4 Donald A. Rosenthal, Orientalism. The Near East in French Painting 1800–1880 (Rochester, 1982), pp. 44–5.

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render the daily life of Morocco, transforming the quotidian into the archetypal. Although Delacroix painted a wide range of subjects, Muslim women are absent from his works, due to their seclusion in accordance with Islamic custom. But no such religious strictures pertained to Jewish women, who became the focus of many paintings by Delacroix and those artists who followed him to North Africa. ‘Nous passons notre temps à parcourir la ville [he wrote] . . . les precautions interdisait la visite ‘des maisons de Maures . . . l’interieur des maisons juives . . . offraient en dédommagement le caprice et grace du génie moresque . . . et les femmes que nous y rencontrons n’en étaient pas le moindre ornement. Ces femmes sont à la foies belles et jolies et leurs habits ont une certaine dignité qui n’exclut ni la grâce ni la coquetterie’. The depiction of Jewish women was due to positive factors its well: the relationships that linked a painter like Delacroix to the dragoman Abraham Benchimol, employed by the French Consulate in Tangier, who served as guide, mentor, and host to the artist; and the fact that foreigners were often housed in the mellah (the Jewish quarter). William Lemprière, a French army physician who journeyed through Morocco in 1789, stayed exclusively in the homes of Jews.5 The oeuvres of the Orientalists who painted scenes of Morocco are, therefore, particularly rich in representations of Jewish life. Nevertheless, the Jewish women depicted are atypical of Moroccan society as a whole. Delacroix’s Jewish women — serene, attractive, and comfortable — are similar to those of other Orientalist painters, a myth that mirrors the artists’ ideal of the exotic East.6 A much more seductive view of Jewish women appears in the works of Charles-Émile Vernet-Lecomte (1821–1900): for example, the Femme juive de Tanger (Fig. 3); its patent eroticism is a familiar strain in the paintings of Orientalists.

Lamprière, William, A Tour from Gibraltar to Tangier, Sallee, Mogodore, Santa Cruz and Tarudant, and thence, over Mount Atlas to Morocco, 3rd ed. (Philadelphia, 1794); A. Joubin, E. Delacroix, Voyage au Maroc. 1832. Lettres, aquarelles, et dessins (Paris,1930), p. 71. 6 Ilene Susan Fort, ‘Femme Fatale or Caring Mother? The Oriental Woman’s Struggle for Dignity’, in Picturing the Middle East, p. 41. 5

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Delacroix filled seven notebooks with sketches and descriptions of Morocco. More than a third of these record Jewish life in Tangier and Meknes, including not only observations of Abraham Benchimol’s immediate family, but also depictions of his extended family and of prominent Jews in the two cities. His notations record the constraints on Jewish life in Morocco, but also marvel at the unity of the community and the closeness of family ties: ‘Le juif retrouve une patrie sous son toit au milieu de sa famille’.7 Delacroix also painted watercolours, including several of the Benchimol family (Fig. 4), which he later presented to Count de Mornay at the end of their journey. Back in Paris, Delacroix used the notebook sketches as the basis for oil paintings, which were shown in various Parisian Salons. His canvas of a Jewish wedding, La Noce juive au Maroc, was the centre of attention at the Salon of 1841. Smaller compositions were produced to satisfy the demands of patrons (Fig. 5). His stay in Morocco, although only six months in duration, furnished Delacroix with subjects for the next three decades of his career, although by the 1850s his compositions were less anchored in the reality of his journey twenty years before, and became more imaginary.8 Delacroix’s Moroccan experience was also significant for its influence on other painters who were inspired to follow his path southward.9 After Delacroix came Charles-Émile Vernet-Lecomte (1821–1900), Edmé-Alexis-Alfred Dehodencq (1822–1882), Francisco Lameyer y Berenguer (1825–1877), Théo van Rysselberghe (1862–1926), Raymond Crétot-Duval (1895–1986), and others. Another French artist whose oeuvre includes many depictions of the Jewish community was Alfred Dehodencq who came to Morocco in 1853 and stayed until 1864, the longest stay among the first group of European artists to work in Morocco. While sketching Muslims in public was risky, no such danger attended Dehodencq’s depicting of Jews. Some of the artist’s works refer to historical events. He sketched and painted the martyrdom of Soleika Hachuel (1817–1834), a beautiful Jew of Tangier who was accused of reciting the Muslim declaration of faith and then of refusing to abjure Judaism. She was executed in Fez and buried in its Jewish cemetery, where her tomb became a focus of pilgrimages and a locus of miracles.10 The paintEugène Delacroix, ‘Une Noce juive au Maroc’, La Magasin pittoresque (1842). Thornton, The Orientalists, p. 69. 9 Op. cit., p. 66. 10 Issachar Ben Ami, Saint Veneration among the Jews in Morocco (Detroit, 1998), pp. 62, 315–18. 7 8

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ing was destroyed under mysterious circumstances the night after it was finished in 1860, nineteen years after Dehodencq’s first stay in Morocco; only the preparatory sketches remain in the collection of the Israel Museum.11 They reveal a sombre, strong, sometimes caustic rendering of this subject, true also of other Jewish themes in Dehodencq’s oeuvre, a reflection of his awareness of the humiliations suffered by this minority in Morocco. His vision of Jewish life was darker than Delacroix’s, perhaps because Dehodencq spent many more years in Morocco. Even his paintings of Muslims are marked by ‘strident and brutal colours with a heavy use of black’.12 Once Orientalist artists created their paintings, black-and-white versions appeared in popular continental journals and newspapers, thereby disseminating images of a foreign and exotic way of life to a wider European public.13 The same was true for photographs of Morocco, the first of which were taken as late as 1859–60, partly because Morocco lay outside the itinerary of the Grand Tour, which was elsewhere a major stimulus to photography.14 As was the case for European painters, photographers found Jewish subjects more compliant about having their pictures taken (Fig. 14), while their Muslim neighbours saw photography as an invasion of their integrity and their faith. The same model was often photographed several times, dressed in different costumes or placed in various surroundings. Photographs subsequently appeared in the popular press and were reproduced on postcards, both avenues of wide circulation, which served to make the exotic Orient more familiar to Europeans.15 Although Morocco lacked an indigenous artistic tradition for the depiction of people and events, owing to religious restrictions, the opening of the country to Europe and her painters and photographers allowed for a visual understanding of Morocco outside her

Israel Museum nos. 304.71. 305.71, and 512.71. Thornton, The Orientalists, p. 62. 13 For example, Charles Yriarte’s ‘Une Famille riche du Maroc’ was published in Le journal illustré, 6, no. 124(1866), p. 200, with commentary on p. 199; and Henriette Browne’s ‘Judenschule in Morocco’ was printed in Ost und West, 2 (1902), along with J. Portael’s Juden aus Tetouan. Later numbers of Ost und West contain additional illustrations of European paintings of Moroccan Jews. 14 On the early history of photography in Morocco, see Tahar Benjelloun, Alain d’Hooghe, and Mohamed Sijelmassi, Le Désir du Maroc (Paris, 1999). 15 For numerous postcards of Moroccan Jewish life, see André Goldenberg, ed., Les Juifs du Maroc. Images et Textes (Paris, 1992). 11 12

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borders. The works of these European artists evoke a culture never before recorded, and provide a context for understanding the artistic creations of Moroccans themselves. In Muslim lands, the principal art forms were metalwork, jewellry, textiles, calligraphy, and ceramics. In the West, these genres have been disparagingly termed the minor or decorative arts and are now known as treasury arts, but they were the major forms of Islamic art, into which Muslims and Jews poured their artistic energies. Small size is no barrier to beauty, monumentality, or technical excellence. The creation of metalwork and jewellry in Morocco was largely the work of Jews. Some writers have cited the qur’anic prohibition against taking usury (Sura 2:198), which could apply to metalsmithing if residual materials were left to the artist, as the reason for Muslim avoidance of the art and Jewish dominance of it. This rationale appears in one of the earliest descriptions of Jewish life in Morocco, Jean-Léon Africain’s Description de L’Afrique, published in Lyons in 1556.16 Jean-Léon wrote that most of the goldsmiths of Fez were Jewish; they worked in the new part of Fez and sold their wares in the old, Muslim section. But the Qu’ran contains no prohibition against working with metals, and lists ‘bracelets of gold’ as one of the rewards of Paradise.17 In the hadith (Islamic traditions), however, the profession of metalsmithing is viewed negatively: its practitioners are accused of being liars, counterfeiters, and swindlers. Rather than any outright prohibition, it may have been the Islamic disdain for metalworking that discouraged Muslims from becoming practitioners of the art. The Jews of Arab lands filled a lacuna left by the Muslims, just as their coreligionists elsewhere in the Diaspora filled marginal professions that were avoided by the majority.18 This interpretation of the dominant role of Jews as metalsmiths and jewellers in Morocco is reflected in the events of the twentieth century. Muslims trained with Jewish artisans and then replaced them following the emigration of the majority of the Moroccan Jewish community in the 1950s and 1960s. The related profession of trading in precious metals and stones was another Jewish occupation associated with goldsmithing. Prior to the

I thank Labelle Prussin for this reference. Rachel Hasson, Later Islamic Jewellry (Jerusalem, 1987), p. 7. 18 In Italy, for example, during the Renaissance, Jews were musicians, dance masters, and dealers in second-hand clothes. In the seventeenth century, the Jews of Venice took over the Ottoman trade, which by then was considered uneconomical by the doges. 16 17

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discovery of the Americas, the Jews of pre-Saharan Morocco engaged in the gold trade, the paths of which lay through the desert to southern Africa. The making of jewellry and metalwork is a natural outgrowth of such trade, and it is not surprising, therefore, to find gold jewellry made by the Jews of the Tafilalet region, the technical composition and design of which reflect that which was made in the south of the continent (Fig. 6). Paths of conquest and migration likewise influenced the jewellry and metalwork of northern and central Morocco. In areas once under Byzantine control, like Greater Syria, older forms and techniques continued to be used in jewellry and metalwork made after the Islamic conquest.19 These included crescent-shaped earrings, filigree, openwork, biconical beads for necklaces, and motifs such as birds, which were then carried westward by victorious armies or sent as gifts throughout the Islamic world. During the Fatimid period (979–1171), one of the most creative periods for the making of jewellry, new types and motifs appeared in Egypt and Syria, where many ateliers were located. One example is the eagle with spread wings, which was later popular in the art of Morocco in the form of a pendant or as part of a bridal crown (Fig. 7). Knowledge of eastern models came to Morocco directly, or indirectly from Spain, following the expulsions of the Jews and the Muslims that began in the late fifteenth century. Fatimid jewellry was imitated in Spain, and examples of openwork, filigree, champlevé enamel, and basket-shaped earrings are extant.20 Another type of Moroccan jewellry, the hoop earring with pierced spherical stones, reflects jewellry known to have been worn by Jews in Spain.21 The Muslim artists of medieval Spain had also excelled in the weaving of silk in complex compositions and varied colours. Even following the Reconquista, Mudejar silks were considered to be objets de luxe by the highest echelons of Christian society. Kings and queens buried in the royal pantheon of Santa María la Real de Huelgas in Burgos are clothed in Mudejar textiles.22 But it is possible that some of these fabrics were made by

Hasson, Later Islamic Jewellry, p. 10. Metropolitan Museum, Al-Andalus, cat. nos. 67–68, 70–72. 21 Mann, ed., Morocco, cat. nos. 57–58. 22 See Herrero Carretero, Museo de Telas Medievales. 19 20

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Jews. In one of his responsa, Solomon ibn Adret (c. 1235–1310) of Barcelona described silk textiles whose designs included crosses that were woven by Jewish women of Toledo.23 A number of known Spanish weaves might fit his description. Their multifaceted involvement with textile production in medieval Spain explains the emergence of Jews as weavers of textiles in Fez, one of the principal cities settled by those expelled from Iberia. The sashes and belts of Fez repeat Spanish medieval textile designs (Figs. 8 and 9), while larger cloths woven in Tetuan and Chefchaouen incorporate designs executed in metallic threads, based on the same Spanish textiles or on similar designs on tile (Fig. 10). Another type of textile made by the Jews in Morocco is the red embroidery of Azzemour, a small coastal town that belonged to Portugal in the sixteenth century (Fig. 11). As a result, peninsular influences were particularly strong in Azemmour and can be seen in compositions like the paired birds drinking from a krater that derive from classical art. During the Middle Ages, Jews also traded in textiles of various sorts throughout the Maghreb as is known from texts found in the Cairo Geniza. The other textiles made and used by the Jews of Morocco in their homes are no different from those used by Muslims. Only the costumes show some deviation, often to indicate the lower status of dhimmi Jews.24 Jallaba worn by Jewish men were of sober colours like black and blue;25 and the akhnif, the dark, woolen, embroidered cape worn by males in Berber villages, was worn by Jewish men with the embroidery inside out (Fig. 12). Jewish women’s dress, worn largely in private spaces, was often outstanding, particularly el keswa el-kbira, the elaborate and rich wedding costume worn by brides in the cities in which Sephardim settled (Fig. 13). It consisted of a long skirt, a bodice, and a jacket (each part called by its Spanish name), usually of silk velvet embroidered with gold metallic threads that parallel the materials from which Torah mantles are made (Fig. 16), and lend a sense

23 Adret’s text is quoted in David ibn Abi Zimra, Responsa Radbaz, Vol. 4 (Warsaw, 1882), no. 107 (1178). For an English translation, see Mann, Jewish Texts on the Visual Arts, p. 57. 24 See Stillman, Arab Dress, pp. 52–53, 101–16; José Luis Lacave, Sefard, Sefarad. La España Judia (Madrid, 1984), p. 146. 25 Aviva Lancet-Muller and Dominique Champault, La vie juive au Maroc (Jerusalem, 1986), pp. 218–19.

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of ceremony to the costume.26 The embroidery symbolises aspects of marriage: concentric curves rising from the hem represent fertility, and golden circles on the waistcoat represent the sun or infinity (eternal life). The jacket has seven silver filigree buttons, signifying the seven blessings of the wedding ceremony that are repeated for an entire week following the wedding at the close of festive meals. The dressing of the bride is done by a woman knowledgeable in tradition. At various moments, Spanish sayings are recited by those assembled. When the family goes to bring the bride from her father’s home to that of the bridegroom, the assembled say, ‘Daimos a la novia que por ella venimos. Sino nos la dan, a la ley volveremos’. (‘Give us the bride because we are here for her. If you do not give her to us we will return to our holy studies’.) After receiving his bride, the groom escorts her to a throne, where his mother awaits her daughter-in-law. Candles placed before the throne serve to illuminate and enlighten the bride in her new life. Following the owner’s wedding, the bridal costume was reserved for special occasions. Foreign writers, struck by its sumptuous beauty, often described the keswa el-kbira. J. Goulven wrote the following description in 1927: ‘The bride has to remain motionless as a doll while the maids hand her the ktef, a kind of velvet chemise worn over the breast, and the gonbaiz which is a claret or green velvet corsage [bodice] embossed with gold stripes and silver buttons. She is then wrapped in a wide velvet skirt (jelteta) of the same colour, which usually is richly ornamented with gold braid . . . There is a choice of two belts: the endema, the same colour as the dress, embroidered with gold thread and fastened with a silver clasp (lezim) or the hezam a stiff, wide belt of gold embroidered velvet. Added to the principal articles of this curious costume are silk stocking and gold embroidered slippers called kheaya el kebira or baboutcha. There remain now such details as the wide separate sleeves of white voile, lekmam detsmira, which are stitched to the shoulders in such a way that the remainder of the material floats bell shaped’.27

I want to thank Rica Cohen Knafo of Caracas for providing the detailed account of the berberisca ceremony (the dressing of the bride in the Grand Costume the night before the wedding ceremony) on which this description is based. My deepest gratitude to Sonia Azagury, who taught me about the costume in its many varieties. 27 J. Goulven, La mellahs de Rabat-Salé (Paris, 1927), pp. 32–33. 26

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Women wearing the keswa el-kbira were painted and photographed by numerous European artists (Fig. 14). Jean Besancenot (1904–1992), who photographed and painted watercolours of Moroccan costumes, published his works in elaborate folios that included ten depictions of Jewish women various regional costumes, including the keswa el-kbira. The prevalence of the elaborate costumes in cities with Sephardi populations and the Spanish terms used suggest that Spanish customs lie behind the wedding dress. A Spanish origin is confirmed by the takkanot or by-laws enacted by the Jewish community of Valladolid in 1432: ‘No woman unless unmarried or a bride in the first year of her marriage shall wear costly dresses of gold-cloth . . . nor shall they make wide sleeves on the Moorish garments of more than two palms in width. . .’28 The community outlawed dresses with long trains and gold embroidery or made of imported Chinese cloth. The appearance of these costly costumes is indicated by a small miniature on the first page of Psalms in the Spanish Bible in the Hispanic Society, New York (Ms. B. 241). The hand of God or an angel garbed in red silk embroidered with gold lifts a shofar. Forbidden in Spain to wear the deluxe garments cited in the by-laws, the exiles in Morocco fashioned dresses that reflected fashions previously denied them as recorded by Jean-Léon Africain in the early sixteenth century.29 Ceremonial textiles were another area of Jewish creativity. The synagogue service requires the use of a cloth on the Reader’s Desk to provide a ritually clean place on which to lay the Torah Scroll.30 Because of the height of the Reader’s Desk, akin to that of the minbar, to which it is functionally related, it became customary to hang a silk velvet antependium, decorated with embroidered inscriptions and Jewish symbols (Fig. 16). Another commonly used synagogue textile is the mantle for the Torah scroll, which was made of a plain fabric or silk velvet, richly embroidered in gold metallic threads (Fig. 17). These are skirt-type mantles, known from manuscript illumination to have been characteristic of Spain (Fig. 8, p. 38 above).

28 Gutwirth, ‘Towards Expulsion’, p. 64; Alfred Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume, 2nd rev. ed. (London, 1981), pp. 184–85. 29 Quoted in Stillman, Arab Dress, p. 97. 30 See above, n. 22.

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1. Dahan Synagogue, Interior, Fez, 19th century

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2. Eugène Delacroix (1799-1863), A Street in Meknes, Tangier (?), 1832, oil on canvas (Buffalo, Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Elisabeth H. Gates and Charles W. Goodyear Funds 1948)

3. Charles-Émile Lecomte-Vernet (1821-1900), Femme Juive de Tangier, Paris, 1868, oil on canvas (Private Collection)

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4. Eugène Delacroix (1799-1863), Saâda, the Wife of Abraham Benchimol, and Précidia, One of their Daughters, Tangier, 1832, oil on canvas (New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Walter C. Baker, 1971, 1972.118.210)

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5. Eugène Delacroix (1799-1863), La Juive d’Alger, Paris, ca. 1833, oil on canvas (Collection of Samuel J. Lefrak)

6. Disk for a Necklace, Tafilalet, pre-Sahara, early 20th century, gold (Collection of Ivo Grammet and Guy Bellinx)

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7. Medallion (serdokh), southern Morocco, early 20th century, silver, glass, stones (Collection of Dr. Paul Dahan)

8. Belt, Fez, 19th century, silk and metallic threads (Collection of Linda Gross)

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9. Textile, Spain, 15th century, silk (New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 46.116)

10. Cache-matelas brodé (Mattress cover, ‘arid), Tetouan and Chefchouan, 18th century, linen and velvet: embroidered with silk and gold metallic threads (Collection of Isabelle C. Denamur)

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11. Wall Hanging, Azemour, 16th century, silk and embroidered linen (Collection of Isabelle C. Denamur)

12. Akhnif (Man's Cape) Siroua Mountains, c. 1930, wool: woven; silk: embroidered (Collection of Linda Gross)

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13. El-keswa el-kbira (The Grand Costume), Rabat, late 19th century, skirt: silk velvet with gold metallic ribbon and passementerie; lining: polished cotton; bodice: silk velvet with gilt metallic embroidery, leather; sleeves transparent silk chiffon with gold brocade (New York, The Jewish Museum, 1993-195a-e)

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14. Two Jewish Women, Morocco, 1860s, photograph (Collection of Dr. Paul Dahan) 15. Hispanic Society Bible, Seville and Lisbon, 14th century and 1492–97, ink and gouache on parchment, detail of fol. 470a.

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16. Antependium for a Reader's Desk, Fez, 1944/45, silk velvet: embroidered with metallic threads (Collection of Dr. Paul Dahan)

17. Torah Mantle, Morocco, 1900-20, silk velvet: embroidered with gilt metallic threads, metallic fringe, lining: cotton (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of the David Elmaleh family, Marrakesh, 1998-40)

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18. Torah Finials dedicated in memory of Simon Castiel, Meknes, ca.1900, silver (Gross Family Collection, No. 050.001.034)

19a. Hanukkah Lamp, Anti-Atlas, late 17th century, copper alloy: enameled (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of Dr. Harry G. Friedman, F 3804)

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19b. Hanukkah Lamp, Anti-Atlas, detail

20. Tombstone, Essaouira (Mogador), 18th century, stone (Essaouira, Jewish Cemetery)

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Many of the techniques, motifs, and compositions used to manufacture jewellry, were adapted to the creation of ceremonial objects, particularly to the finials used to adorn the Torah scroll and the reader’s desk. Because of the close relationship between jewellry and Judaica, finials can also be assigned to regional workshops. For example, tower-form finials, whose model lies among the ceremonial objects of Christian Spain, stem from cities whose population included large numbers of expellees (cf. Fig. 18 with Fig. 7 on p. 37 above). Examples with enamel inlay were made in Meknes, whose jewellry boasts of the same refined technique. Since all of these works were made by Jews, the correspondences are not surprising. Occasional details of Jewish metalwork provide unexpected glimpses of a turn to representational art. Inlaid or engraved on some metal objects are human forms that contradict the traditional aniconism of Moroccan art. The earliest is on a Hanukkah lamp of the seventeenth or eighteenth century that was made in the Anti-Atlas and decorated with red enamel (Figs. 19a, b). The form of the backplate of the lamp derives from those produced in medieval Spain: a series of horseshoe arches, below which is a framed panel. The major difference between the two types is the absence of a rose window and the presence of red enamel and an inscription on the Moroccan example. Near the top of the backplate is a scene that appears to be the Offering of Isaac, executed in champlevé. In the context of Moroccan art, the scene is an extraordinary intrusion; as a reflection of the Jewish art of Spain, the corpus of which includes biblical cycles in illuminated haggadot its presence is explicable in that the enamel on the lamp imitates the two-dimensionality of painted representations. The schematic figures, without much interior detail, are comparable to those of the Sister Hagaddah (London, British Library, Or. 2884; Fig. 6 on p. 37 above).32 A similar lamp published in 1939 is abraded where the scene should be, suggesting its later removal due to iconoclasm.33 The narrative manuscript illuminations commissioned by Spanish Jews may have served both as models and license for the two-dimensional enamelled scenes created by Moroccan Jews. Other human figures appear engraved on nineteenth- and twentieth-century ceremonial objects. A Torah pointer has the head of a bearded male, accompanied by the abbreviation for the phrase ‘May his soul 31 32

Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts in the British Isles, esp. Fig. 16. M. Narkiss, The Hanukkah Lamp (Jerusalem, 1939), Fig. 41 (Hebrew).

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be bound up with the bonds of eternal life’. It is a strange inscription to be placed without reference to a name, but its memorial character may be linked to the tombstones found in Jewish cemeteries such as those in Essaouira (and nearby Marrakesh), and in Safi, Mazagan, Azemmour, and Salé, with their carvings of human forms (Fig. 20). All are coastal cities, and the presence of anthropomorphic images may represent Phoenician influence, just as the apotropaic hamsa (hand) form came to Morocco with these seafaring conquerors in the seventh century BCE.33 Other instances of similar humanoid depictions are the set of oil holders on a northern Morocco Hanukkah lamp that dates from the end of the nineteenth or the beginning of the twentieth century, and figures on jewellry from the High Atlas.34 Perhaps these late depictions of human forms by Jewish artists were stimulated by new contacts with the art of Europe in the work of artists such as Delacroix. It was the Jews who introduced Morocco to Delacroix, but it may have been Delacroix, and the artists who followed him, who reinforced the impact of figurative art, moving it beyond the cemetery and the amulet. The appearance of these new representations of human forms is another example of the change in orientation toward European culture that marked the life of Moroccan Jewry in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

33 Moscati 1988, pp. 105, 114, 166, 614 (no. 179), 615 (nos. 186, 187), 616 (no. 191), 619 (no. 207). 34 Marie-Rose Rabaté and André Goldenberg, Bijoux de Maroc (Aix-en-Provence, 1996), pp. 78, 79: 107–08. 1 thank Dr. Ivo Grammet for bringing these works to my attention, and for suggesting the link between the Jewish tombstones with anthropomorphic forms and the presence of Phoenician settlers.

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T

HE Torah Ark from Urbino, Italy, that is the subject of this paper (Figs. 1–3, and 7) was first published in a 1916 sales catalogue, Art Treasures and Antiquities from the Davanzati Palace.1 It was purchased from that sale by Mordecai Benguiat and his father, Hadji Ephraim. The elder Benguiat had formed an outstanding collection of Judaica prior to his arrival in the United States in 1882.2 Consisting of over 400 works, the collection was particularly noteworthy for early Judaica from the Ottoman Empire and Italy. The Benguiats’ later acquisition of the Urbino Ark, which was dated 1451 in the Davanzati catalogue, gave them their earliest piece of Italian Judaica. In 1924, the Benguiat Family Collection was purchased for the Jewish Museum, then part of the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary. The Urbino Ark, however, was acquired separately in 1956. It remains to this day the only complete Italian Torah ark in the Jewish Museum and one of its small group of early Renaissance works.3

The original version of this article appeared in the Journal of Jewish Art, 12–13(1986/87), pp. 269–78. 1 American Art Galleries, New York, Art Treasures and Antiquities from the Davanzati Palace, sales catalogue, 1916, no. 322. 2 Vivian B. Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, pp. 21–22. 3 On the ark and other Renaissance works in the Jewish Museum, see Kleeblatt and Mann, Treasures of The Jewish Museum, pp. 52–63. Two new works can now be added to the group. A Torah Curtain that had been dated 1643 is now seen as a work whose border is earlier than its centre piece. (Kleeblatt and Mann, Treasures, pp. 60–61). The central fabric is embroidered with the date traditionally ascribed to the curtain, but the frame is comparable to a Reader’s Desk Cover now in the Nahon Museum, Jerusalem, dated to the late

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But how early is the ark? This was the primary question faced by a number of art historians writing in various museum publications. On the occasion of an exhibition of ceremonial art at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1955, Stephen Kayser and Guido Schoenberger dated the ark to 1451, repeating the reading of the inscription given in the Davanzati catalogue.4 With the reprinting of their work, Jewish Ceremonial Art, in 1959, they revised the date to 1551 without any explanation.5 Nineteen years later, Rachel Wischnitzer prepared an essay entitled ‘Ark of the Torah. Urbino, Italy, dated 1488’, for a handbook to the Jewish Museum’s collection that was never published in its originally projected form.6 She stressed the architectural nature of the ark: its tripartite, two-tiered structure; the fluted pilasters separating the doors; and the classical entablature incorporating a cornice, frieze and moldings. As a result, Wischnitzer dismissed the published date of 1451 on stylistic grounds, noting that the selective emphasis on a portion of a structure through forward projection (visible in the centre section of the ark) had become a popular feature of Italian buildings and architectural decoration only in the 1480s. Simultaneously a new study of the ark’s inscriptions, which are painted in the frieze and on the panels of the doors, was prepared by Professor Shlomo Eidelberg. His readings indicated a date of 1488, thus corroborating Wischnitzer’s stylistic analysis. In 1984, the Jewish Museum received grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and from the New York State Council on the Arts, as well as private funding, for the conservation and cleaning of the Urbino Ark. The result was a dramatic change in its appearance, as well as clarification of its history and inscriptions. (The conservation took place after the printing of Treasures of the Jewish Museum in 1986, in which I had proposed dating the ark to 1553).7 The removal of a thick film of discoloured linseed oil from the surface changed the ark’s colour from black to teal blue and clarified details of the decoration and inscriptions that are contemporaneous with sixteenth century. A mortar by Joseph de Levis (1552–1611/4), one of the few Jewish artists of the Renaissance to have left a recognizable oeuvre, is a promised gift of the Zucker Family in honour of Al and Jean Moldovan. 4 Stephen S. Kayser and Guido Schoenberger, eds., Jewish Ceremonial Art (Philadelphia, 1955), no. 1. 5 Idem, Jewish Ceremonial Art, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia, 1959), no. 1. 6 This essay is now in the Museum’s files, as is the transcription of the inscriptions and their translation by Professor Eidelberg discussed below. 7 Kleeblatt and Mann, Treasures of the Jewish Museum, pp. 52–53.

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the azure paint. Further cleaning revealed that there was a prior stage of decoration, now largely visible on the side panels. Originally, the walnut wood that forms the front and sides was stained a warm siena tone and the frieze was embellished with an inscription, whose gold letters were painted directly on the wood. Only two words of this inscription are now visible in the top left frieze, the Hebrew for ‘You shall be established through righteousness’ (Is. 54.14; Fig. 3). The discovery of an earlier scheme of decoration was not unexpected. Xray photographs of the central doors taken in 1978 had revealed shadows beneath the presently visible gilt arabesques. Although no sense could be made of their appearance, these shadows raised the possibility that the ark was made for another function. The construction of the interior and top portions, however, without any provision for reuse or relocation, such as carcase construction or joiner techniques, suggests that the ark was built in situ.8 Further, the piece has an interior structural feature that would be puzzling in any other type of wood cabinetry, a trap door, level with the top of the podium, which must have served as a geniza, a place to store worn Hebrew writings or ceremonial objects. In type, the Urbino ark is a hybrid work similar to modern ‘built-ins’, a cross between a piece of free-standing furniture and architectural decoration. As such, it has formal and stylistic analogies to both types of works. In her essay, Rachel Wischnitzer drew attention to the similarity between the decorative system of the ark, a series of doors and pilasters, and the inlaid wood paneling from the studiolo in the palace of the Duke of Urbino at Gubbio, carved between 1478–82 (Fig. 4).9 The Gubbio paneling is also two-tiered, with a range of trompe l’oeil ‘open’ cabinets above a series of ‘work benches’. An even more elaborate version of the same paneling system exists in the earlier studiolo for the ducal palace in Urbino completed in 1476.10 Dr. Wischnitzer could not predict, prior to the recent conservation, how close the analogies between the two works would prove to be. The monumental Latin

8 Conservation report by Victor von Reventlow, April, 1986. I wish to acknowledge the many fruitful discussions on the ark which I had with Mr. von Reventlow and his assistant, Ms. Lauren Donner. 9 Olga Raggio and Antoine M. Wilmering, ‘The Liberal Arts from the Ducal Palace at Gubbio’, Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (Spring, 1996), p. 38. 10 Luciano Cheles, The Studiolo of Urbino. An Iconographic Investigation (University Park, 1986), pp. 26–34.

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inscription of the Gubbio paneling is paralleled in the well-proportioned, finely detailed square script of the original Hebrew lettering on the ark (Fig. 3), which is similar to display lettering in late fifteenth-century Hebrew manuscripts and to a stone inscription from a Padua synagogue dated to the second half of the fifteenth century.11 Furthermore, the original colouring of the ark, gilt details contrasted with stained wood, resembles the colouristic effects of the Gubbio room. Placed along the east wall of the small synagogue at Urbino, the ark presented, as it were, an expanse of paneling to the assembled worshippers. The relationship to paneling, which was designed to fill horizontal wall surfaces, may explain the unusual proportions of the Urbino ark designed, together with its flanking cathedra, to fill the east wall of the synagogue. The Urbino Ark is similar in structure to a sixteenth-century ark from Sabbioneta (Fig. 5), which is likewise bi-level with a taller upper tier consisting of fluted pilasters and doors whose central panels are framed by moldings.12 Below are shorter, plain pilasters and doors. Both arks are supported by stepped bases and are topped by cornices which project at a sharp angle from the sides. The Urbino ark is, however, a more elaborate version of this general scheme. Its door panels were decorated and the two tiers are raised on a podium; both features are absent on the Sabbioneta example. The fluting of the Urbino pilasters is also more elaborate, and can be compared to the pilasters on a sacristy cupboard from Tuscany dated ca. 1500, now in the Metropolitan Museum, New York (Fig. 6). On both the Urbino ark and the cupboard, the fluting reverses to astragals on the lower portion of the pilasters. Additional similarities between these two works are the setting of the central door panels within a frame; the circular, turned door pulls; and the broad horizontal proportions. Other sixteenth-century cabinets with broad proportions and classical detailing that are double-tiered were used for writing or book storage, functions similar to that of the ark.13 There exists, then, a series of works in wood dated c. 1500 which provide a stylistic context for the original appearance of the Urbino ark, now best seen on the 11 Compare an inscribed stone dated to the second half of the 15th century from Padua in Umberto Nahon, Holy Arks and Ritual Appurtenances from Italy in Israel (Tel Aviv, 1970), p. 35, and various manuscripts dated to the same period in Bezalel Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts (Jerusalem, 1969), Pls. 52, 55 and 60. 12 Nahon, op. cit., pp. 64–65. 13 For example, see Herman Schmitz, Das Möbilwerk (Berlin, 1927), p. 96; and Wilhelm Bode, Italienischen Haus-Mobil der Renaissance (Leipzig, n.d.), p. 56.

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restored sides (Figs. 2 and 3). The front represents a later redecoration (Fig. 1). The surface was painted teal, and the podium was given a marbelised appearance. In addition, the exteriors of the ark doors were gilt and the interiors of the central doors were decorated with depictions of the Tablets of the Covenant set in a field of flowering vine scrolls (Fig. 7), a common feature on seventeenth-century Italian arks.14 New inscriptions were painted in the frieze and in the pairs of small, framed panels above and below the doors and side panels. In terms of content, these inscriptions fall into two groups: a series of biblical quotations painted in the frieze, portions of which form a chronogram, and a poem of rhymed couplets alluding to the dedication or rededication of the ark in the paired panels. (The accompanying diagram indicates the location of each portion; Fig. 8). No text is visible in the frieze on the right side, so that presently, this inscription begins at right front:

1) ‘. . . know the God of your father 2) and serve Him with single mind and fervent heart [I Chron. 28:9] 3) In all your ways acknowledge Him And He will make your paths smooth [Prov. 3:6] 4) Fear the Lord and shun evil [Prov. 3:7] 5 a[ccording to the] m[inor] c[ounting] m[ay He]come speedily to us 6) Know before Whom you stand [paraphrase of Babylonian Talmud. Berakhot 28b] the eye that sees [. . .] [Prov. 20:12] For examples of similar decoration on seventeenth-century arks, see Nahon, op. cit., pp. 105, 106, 110, and 111. 14

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[7] You shall be established through righteousness (Is. 54:14)] (Original inscription at left side). Of these quotations, the most significant for the history of the ark are numbers three and four whose dotted letters form a chronogram yielding the date [5]383=1623/4.15 On stylistic grounds, this must be the date of the redecoration of the ark, a thesis which is supported by the history of the community to be discussed below. Another interesting fact to arise from a reading of the frieze inscription is the break in meaning between the seventeenth-century inscription of panels one through six and the portion of the original inscription still visible in seven. The later inscription incorporates passages that are admonitory, reminding the worshipper of his duty to God. The incomplete phrase from Proverbs (20:12) which is at the left end of panel six probably continued on seven, just as the text of panel one finishes on panel two, and as the words of panels three, four, and five together form the chronogram. In contrast, the words of the original inscription promise the restoration of Zion and are messianic in intent. Thus, the redecoration of the ark in 1623 or 1624 included the replacement of at least part of the original frieze inscription, if not all of it. The poem inscription which is painted on the door panels represents a much freer use of textual sources.16 Several word combinations allude to Scriptures, but there is only one direct quotation (line 12; see below). Each pair of panels (reading from top to bottom) form a couplet, the last word of which rhymes with aron, the Hebrew word for ark. At present only a single line is illegible, the second line of the fifth couplet. 8) God, Your splendour and Your Shekhinah 17 9) You concentrated between the staves of the ark.18

15 The dots above the two-letter name of God in line 4 are not part of the chronogram, but were the scribe’s way of avoiding the prohibition against writing the name of God, similar to the mutation at the opening of the poem (see below, line 8). 16 I would like to acknowledge the generous help of Professor Menahem Schmelzer of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America in deciphering the poem. I would also like to thank my son Dr. Jordan Mann for clarifying some points. 17 On the concept of the Shekhinah, the divine presence, see Encyclopeadia Judaica, Vol. 14, cols. 1349–54. 18 Cf. Ex. Rabbah on Ex. 25:10; Lev. Rabbah on Lev. 23:24. On the concept of zimzum, see Gerschom Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York, 1946), p. 260 ff.

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You have sanctified the ark of my King like the lamp which he set before you as remembrance [cf. Lev. 24:3] You are the God who does wonders [Ps. 77:15] Announce to all how superior [is light to darkness.] [cf. Eccl. 2:13] Deliver Your son from all evil Who calls and cries out loud. Accept the offering of the people of Urbino [. . .] Champion their cause [Jer.: 50:34], heal their sickness. Answer them and return them to their Fortress [Zech. 9:12]

This poem is an interesting, early example of the well-known Italian-Hebrew literary genre, poems composed for occasions such as marriage, death, the organisation of communal societies, the building of synagogues, or the dedication of a Torah or synagogue furnishings. As with so much Hebrew poetry of this period, it can be given variant readings. The reference to a return

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to the Fortress in the last line may be read as a return to Zion19 in which case the people of Urbino in line 16 would be the Jewish community. The king of line 10 could be given a similar reading as a reference to the king of the Jewish community, i.e. God. However, the city of Urbino was situated on a hilltop that had been fortified with walls as early as the Roman period. In this variant reading the people of Urbino refers to the entire population of the city and the king who dedicated the ark would be the Duke of Urbino. An unusual document indicates that the refurbishment of 1623/4 was more extensive than the present condition of the ark indicates. In February, 1704, Joseph Del Vecchio wrote a thirty-four page booklet for his grandson, Joseph son of Isaac Del Vecchio, which is known as the Sefer Ha-Maftir di Urbino (Jerusalem: Umberto Nahon Museum of Italian Jewish Art).20 The manuscript incorporates prayers recited by a young boy in the synagogue on the Friday evening prior to his first recitation of maftir, the final section from the Torah read on Saturday morning. The Sefer Ha-Maftir also includes moralising quotations from Scripture and a dedication indicating that it was customary in Urbino to write such a pamphlet. All the texts are set within elaborate borders and the manuscript is further embellished with pages of floral decoration common to the decorative arts of the early eighteenth century. Of greatest significance are the two drawings on facing pages 20 and 21. The first is a schematic depiction of the synagogue as seen from above and the second is a frontal drawing of the Torah ark labelled in Hebrew ‘the holy ark from the holy congregation . . . from Urbino’ (Fig. 9). It is an unusually accurate drawing, generally correct in proportions and architectural details. In the drawing, the artist transcribed the opening words of three of the four biblical passages of the frieze inscription (Fig. 9, nos. 1, 3 and 6), but he made no effort to indicate the contents of the poem. Instead, he substituted an abbreviation for Genesis 49:18 (‘I wait for Your deliverance, O Lord!’) and transmutations of that abbreviation which were believed to have apotropaic significance. The 19 I wish to thank Dr. Menahem Schmelzer for this interpretation. In the collection of the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America is a later seventeenth-century broadsheet (no. 204) which bears a poem written by Samuel David Ottolenghi on the occasion of the dedication of the Tempio Grande of Padua in 1682. It offers much interesting information on the construction and financing of the synagogue. The language and structure of the poem have some striking parallels to the earlier Urbino example. For instance, a portion of one verse reads: ‘The splendour of the Shekhinah of our Lord and Refuge/is concentrated in ten new curtains . . .’ The 1682 poem also concludes with the wish for messianic redemption. 20 Umberto Nahon and Gad Sarfatti, ed., Sefer Ha-Maftir di Urbino. Manuscritto ebraico del 1704 (Jerusalem, 1964).

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THE REDISCOVERY OF A KNOWN WORK

1. Torah Ark, Urbino, ca. 1500/renovated 1623, wood: carved, gilt, stained; painted (New York, The Jewish Museum, The H. Ephraim and

3. Torah Ark, Urbino, detail of frieze on upper right side.

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2. Torah Ark, Urbino, detail of lower right side

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4. Francesco di Giorgio Martini of Siena, designer, and Workshop of Giuliano and Benedetto da Maiano, Florence, Studiolo in Ducal Palace, Florence, 1478-83, walnut, oak, beech, rosewood, and fruit woods (New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1939, 39.153)

5. Torah Ark, Sabbioneta, first half of the 16th century, wood: carved (Jerusalem, Beit Strauss)

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6. Sacristy Cupboard, Tuscany, c. 1490-1500, walnut: carved (New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1916, 16.154.12)

7. Torah Ark, Urbino, with center doors open

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8. Torah Ark, Urbino, diagram of inscriptions

10. Torah Ark, Livorno, 17th century, wood: carved and stained (Livorno, Synagogue)

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9. Joseph del Vecchio, Sefer Ha-Maftir di Urbino (Urbino, 1704), ink on parchment (Jerusalem, Nahon Museum)

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drawing also shows that in 1704, the ark bore a domed superstructure consisting of a large central cupola flanked by two smaller ones that were set behind a balustrade with turned posts. The imbrication which fills the cupolas suggests they are roofed with overlapping tiles. The actual appearance of the lost superstructure is suggested by that of an ark from Livorno (Fig. 10).21 The Urbino drawing also shows two chairs of honour (cathedra) flanking the Torah ark, whose style suggests that they, too, belong to the later refurbishment. What could have occasioned this extensive renovation? For most of the fifteenth century, the Jewish community of Urbino was small, consisting of a few families who engaged in banking, trades, and the practice of medicine. There was apparently no synagogue building.22 At the close of the fifteenth century and the beginning of the sixteenth, Urbino (like other cities of the Marche), became the home of Jews expelled from Spain and Portugal. We may presume that the synagogue and its ark were built as a consequence of the increase in size of the community. There were negative effects as well to the change in size. The increased number of resident Jews, the resulting economic competition, and church-fostered anti-Judaism led the ducal government of Urbino to enact a series of repressive measures in the sixteenth century.23 For example, in 1507, Jews were forbidden to sell pledges outside the city. In 1508, all prior privileges were annulled and Duke Francesco Maria required all Jewish residents to wear a yellow badge. Although they had previously been free to live anywhere in the city, the Jews of Urbino were confined to a special quarter in 1570. There were two public burnings of Hebrew books in 1553 and 1570. Despite the impression of difficulties fostered by such negative legislation, other records indicate that Urbino’s Jews continued to flourish, to lend money to Christians, and even to frequent the ducal court on an equal footing with their Gentile neighbours, in part because the Dukes of Urbino used Jewish finance as an instrument of power and autonomy vis-à-vis the papal states.24 A striking change in the character of ducal proclamations occurred in April and May 1624. On 27 April 1624, Duke Francesco Maria II della Rovere Nahon, op. cit., p. 124. Nahon records the tradition that this ark was brought from Spain. Stylistic comparisons and the evidence of the Sefer Ha-Maftir di Urbino, however, show it was made in seventeenth-century Italy. 22 Gino Luzzatto. I banchieri ebrei in Urbino nell’eta ducale (Verona-Padua, 1903), p. 23. 23 Ibid., p. 37. 24 Ibid., p. 42; see, also, Simonetta Saffiotti Bernardi, ‘Gli Ebrei e le Marche nei sec. XIV–XVl: bilancio de studi, prospettiva di ricerca’, Aspetti e problemi della presenza ebraica nell’ Italia centrosettentrionale: (Secoli XIV e XV) (Rome, 1983), pp. 247–8. 21

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issued an edict establishing a fine of 100 scudi plus imprisonment for those who offended or harmed Jews. In May of the same year, he confirmed all privileges and concessions granted to Jews both by him and by his predecessors, praising them for their faithfulness, obedience, and their modest deportment. These favourable decrees coincide with the latter part of the Hebrew year given in the frieze inscription for the refurbishment of the synagogue ark. The dedicatory poem must have been composed at the same time. Its script is similar to that of the 1624 frieze inscription and like it, is executed in more rounded, less carefully executed letters than the original inscription of c. 1500 (Figs. 1 and 2). Further, the restoration of the ark did not reveal any traces of an earlier inscription below the presently visible poem. Finally, while an allusion to the generosity of the Duke of Urbino was appropriate in 1624, the same is not true for the period when the ark was created, c. 1500, a period of repressive legislation. The poem which beseeches the Almighty to bless the people of Urbino may be read, as we have seen, as an expression of the community’s gratitude to Duke Francesco Maria II. However, none of the published records indicates the nature of the Duke’s role regarding this synagogue ark. The 1624 poem cannot be interpreted to mean that he gave the ark to the synagogue, an assertion repeated by many authors,25 since the ark was created c. 1500. It may mean that he participated, in some way, in the refurbishing of 1624. Unfortunately the period of benign rule, signified by the decrees of 1624 and the extensive refurbishing of the synagogue ark in the same year, was extremely short. Duke Francesco Maria II abdicated in 1627, and in 1631 the duchy passed to the control of the papal states, whose treatment of Jews was far more inimical. The decline of the Jewish community of Urbino accelerated. In 1718, just fourteen years after the Sefer Ha-Maftir di Urbino was created, there were only two hundred, mostly poor, Jews in the city.26 However, the Jews of Urbino left behind two works of combined literary and artistic nature that testify to the creativity of the community over a period of two hundred years: the synagogue ark of c. 1500, now in The Jewish Museum, New York, and the Sefer Ha-Maftir of 1704, in the Nahon Museum of Italian Jewish Art in Jerusalem.

25 Cecil Roth, The Jews in the Renaissance (New York, 1959), p. 22; American Art Galleries, New York, Art Treasures and Antiquities from the Davanzati Palace, no. 322. 26 Attilio Milano, Storia degli Ebrei in Italia (Turin, 1963), p. 299).

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The Golden Age of Jewish Ceremonial Art in Frankfurt: Metalwork of the Eighteenth Century

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N 14th January 1711, a fire broke out in the house of Naphtali Cohen, Chief Rabbi of Frankfurt.* It quickly spread, destroying the entire Judengasse. In the words of Judah Michael, author of Koa
Yehudah (The Strength of Judah): ‘All the houses in our streets burned along with the two synagogues and also all of the wealth and precious ornaments amassed by our ancestors . . . precious stones and pearls and silver and gold without number . . .’1 The tragedy of the fire necessitated a period of rebuilding. The cornerstone of a new synagogue was laid on 25th March 1711; by the end of September, High Holiday services could be held in the newly completed building. Johann Jakob Schudt described the participation of the community: ‘It was a joy and pastime to see how every man, young and old, wanted to work at it with great earnestness and zeal, and paid the mason journey-

* I wish to thank Richard I. Cohen and and the late Rafi Grafman of Jerusalem with whom I have had many interesting discussions on the Judaica of Frankfurt am Main. Both were kind enough to read this article in its original form and to offer constructive suggestions. This article was first published in the Leo Baeck Institute Year Book, XXXI (1986), pp. 389–403. 1 Quoted in Zvi Yehoshua Leitner (ed.), Minhagei Frankfurt (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 105. Because of the fire, Rabbi Cohen was imprisoned. He subsequently left Frankfurt and died in Istanbul in 1719 on his way to the land of Israel.

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men generously just to be allowed to help’.2 The tragedy of the fire also made it necessary to replace ‘the treasures and precious ornaments’ described by Rabbi Michael and explains many of the commissions given to Christian silversmiths by members of the Frankfurt Jewish community in the early decades of the eighteenth century. Documentary evidence and a small number of extant works indicate that the Jews of Frankfurt had been active patrons of Christian silversmiths as early as the sixteenth century. In the Probierbuch der Frankfurter Goldschmiedezunft alle die zu Frankfurt in der Zeit von 1512–1576 hergestellten goldenen and silbernen Geräte (Frankfurt, Stadtarchiv Ugb. C. 30 D.), the following types of works, brought to the assay master, are prefaced by the adjective Jewish: lamp, belt, hedes, or heidisch (a corruption of the Hebrew hadas [myrtle], monstrance, star, plate, tablet of Moses with the Ten Commandments, Ten Commandments, and cover for a Jewish Ten Commandments. Other types are described as having been made for Jews: two ferrules for Jewish staffs and a large silver plate.3 We can also assume Jewish patronage for the lamp with nine lights (probably a Hanukkah lamp with attached servitor) and for the listings of Heides, Rauchfass, Hedes, Heddesch, and Hetis,4 all corruptions of hadas, the Hebrew word which was used by the twelfth century to signify a spice box for the ceremony of havdalah that separates Sabbaths and holy days from the workday week. From our knowledge of later works, we can suggest the meaning of many of the ‘Jewish’ items. The Jewish lamp and Jewish star probably signified the same type known as the Judenstern in later centuries, a star-shaped lamp suspended from a vertical shaft. Though it was in general use during the Middle Ages, the Probierbuch tells us that this form was specifically associated with Jews by the sixteenth century. The Jewish belt was probably the Sivlonotgürtel, a belt exchanged as a wedding gift by the bride and groom.5 The plates, tablets, and Ten Commandments may indicate Torah 2 Johann Jacob Schudt, Jüdische Merkwürdigkeiten, Vol. 2 (Frankfurt and Leipzig, 1714), p. 29. 3 Wolfgang Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens. Daten, Werken, Zeichen (Berlin and New York, 1976), p. 37. 4 Ibid., pp. 56, 58. 5 Three seventeenth-century silver belts bearing Frankfurt marks have been published as Sivlonotgürtel, although none bear Hebrew inscriptions. (Historisches Museum Frankfurt am Main, Synagoga. Jüdische Altertumer Handschriften und Kultgeräte, [Frankfurt a. Main,] 1961, nos. 428–430). There are no early Frankfurt examples of the second type of silver belt associated with Jewish ritual use, the belt or buckle for the Day of Atonement.

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shields. The first extant silver example of this type of object dates to the late sixteenth century; used in Bingen, it was probably made in Frankfurt am Main.6 The linking of Heides and the German word for censer, Rauchfass, implies an equivalence of form and usage. In the Probierbuch are numerous references to spice containers: ‘Heides Rauchfass’, ‘Rauchfass der Juden’ and the like. They are supplemented by further documentary evidence. In 1553, Heinrich Heidelberger, a Frankfurt goldsmith, was commissioned by the Jew, Joseph Goldschmidt, to make a spice container, termed Hedes oder Rauchfass, similar to the one owned by Joseph’s father.7 Heidelberger failed to fulfil the commission satisfactorily and was brought to court. A drawing introduced as part of the evidence shows a tower-form receptacle of a type commonly used for censers, monstrances, and reliquaries by goldsmiths during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.8 This case is also interesting because it documents the creative interplay between patron and artist, necessitated by the special nature of the objects being commissioned. There is only one extant spice container from the period, now in The Jewish Museum, New York. It was fashioned in Frankfurt ca. 1550 (JM 23–52, Chapter III, Fig. 4), and belonged to the synagogue of Friedberg, Hesse,9 before the war, and has always been dated on the basis of comparison with a similar Hessian table decoration presented as a wedding gift in 1543 (Fig. 2).10 A heretofore unrecorded hallmark on one of the spires of the spice container shows what appears to be a part of an animate form in a circular field (Fig. 3), a type of mark found in the Probierbuch.11 The container seems to have been sent to Frankfurt for repair, since fleur-de-lis of a type found on other mid-seventeenth-century Frankfurt Judaica were added to

Vivian B. Mann, ‘Torah Ornaments before 1600’, in Rafi Grafman, Crowning Glory. Silver Torah Ornaments of The Jewish Museum, New York (New York and Boston, 1996), Fig. 12. 7 W. K. Zülch, ‘Das Hedes. Ein rätselhaftes Werk der Frankfurter Goldschmiedekunst’, Alt-Frankfurt, I–II (1928–1929), pp. 61–62. 8 Zülch, ‘Das Hedes’, p. 61; Mordecai Narkiss, ‘Origins of the Spice Box’, Journal of Jewish Art, 8 (1981), Fig. 15. 9 A Frankfurt origin is also suggested by the fact that that city was the closest centre of goldsmithing to Friedberg, and the Jewish community of Friedberg commissioned other Judaica from Frankfurt. 10 Rudolf Hallo, Jüdische Kunst aus Hessen and Nassau (Berlin, 1933), no. 71. 11 E.g. Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, mark no.183. 6

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the balustrade.12 Various parts were strengthened, and an inscription added to the back: ‘Rekhala, daughter of Eliezer Dayan [5]411’=1651/2, who was presumably the patron of the renovation. That medieval spice containers were commonly fashioned in tower-form is indicated by the Frankfurt court case, by the one extant example, and by two representations of the ceremony of havdalah, one is in the Yahudah Haggadah, a fifteenth-century manuscript from Southern Germany (Jerusalem, Israel Museum, Ms. 80/50), and the second in the related Second Nuremberg Haggadah (Jerusalem, Israel Museum). Although spices are not required for havdalah recited on the eve of Passover, an enlarged tower in each of the images acts as the setting for the ceremony, emphasising the association of the tower form with havdalah. The language of the Probierbuch referring to these containers, terms like Heides Rauchfass or Rauchfass der Juden, clearly indicate that the tower shape was not chosen randomly from the vocabulary of medieval forms, but was a choice based on the goldsmiths’ understanding of the equivalence in function between a censer and a spice container. Ironically, this choice represents a reassociation of the ceremony of havdalah with its original form, the burning of incense, after a lapse of centuries during which the link with the Hellenistic custom of burning incense after a festival meal was forgotten.13 The listings in the Probierbuch of items made specifically for Jews in the years between 1512 and 1576 are not only noteworthy for their variety and frequency, but also for their omissions. For example, although the recitation of blessings over wine is a ceremony which occurs with great frequency in Jewish life, there are no references to ‘Jewish’ beakers or cups. This can only be because their form in no way differed from those of the drinking vessels that are listed. The validity of this assertion is attested to by the single Jewish example known from sixteenth-century Frankfurt, a gold beaker with Hebrew inscriptions decorated with repoussé decorative motifs and three cartouches bearing representations of animals. It was once the property of the Frankfurt Jewish community and was later in the collection of The

12 13

See Fig. 4 Narkiss, ‘Origins of the Spice Box’, pp. 30–31.

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Jewish Museum, New York (F 3000).14 The beaker should be dated ca. 1590, because of the similarity of its form, decoration, and style to those of another beaker created by Hans Sender in 1585.15 In comparison with the richness of our knowledge of the sixteenth century, the history of seventeenth-century Frankfurt Judaica is more obscure. Only five works are known to be extant, three Sivlonolgürtel that are thought to be Jewish, although none is inscribed,16 a candleholder/spice container for havdalah by Hans Jacob Sandrat (1647–1694), now in the collection of the Yeshiva University Museum (Fig. 3), and a Torah shield in the Israel Museum (No. 148/24; Fig. 4). This paucity of material is due to several causes, not the least among them the plundering of the Judengasse by Vincent Fettmilch and his cohorts on 22nd August 1614 and the fire of 1711.17 Events like these can only have had negative effects on the survival and creation of ceremonial art. The ensuing destruction of personal and communal property meant the immediate loss of ceremonial objects, while the resulting economic reverses would have discouraged patronage. We must also consider the possibility that fewer works were commissioned in the seventeenth century, or rather, that the eighteenth century, in general, was marked by an increased production of fine Judaica as a result of factors such as greater affluence, the settling of Jews in new communities, and the influence of Court Jews and their circles,

Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, Fig. 5. For the earlier cup by Sender, see Scheffler, op. cit., p. 126 and Fig. 4. Both cups were decorated with a centralised composition focusing on a cartouche with an animal in a landscape. Surrounding the cartouches are intersecting and intertwining scrolls, plus floral elements. The foot of the Jewish Museum cup was repaired and changed. 16 For the Sivlonotgürtel, see above note 5. The Torah Shield in the Israel Museum will be discussed below. Two shields in the London Jewish Museum are published as possibly being from seventeenth-century Frankfurt, but this is doubtful. Both appear to be pastiches without close parallels in shields having secure Frankfurt attributions. (Richard D. Barnett, ed., Catalogue of the Permanent and Loan Collections of the Jewish Museum London (London and New York, 1974), nos. 137–138.) In addition, there are two beakers by Caspar Birckenholtz (1633–1690) that were once in private Judaica collections, but the date of their association with Jewish usage is uncertain. A third beaker of the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century is in the collection of the Skirball Museum (No. 18.24), but it is uninscribed and cannot be definitively considered a kiddush beaker. 17 I am grateful to Richard Cohen for his suggestion of the causes for the paucity of seventeenth-century Frankfurt Judaica. 14 15

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who sought to emulate the rich holdings of their Gentile neighbours.18 In Frankfurt the efflorescence of Judaica in this period seems to have been partly stimulated by the fire of 1711, since there are numerous examples of fine metalwork which can be dated to the second and third decades of the eighteenth century. Only in the case of the Torah shield and the candleholder/spice container, however, can we judge how closely these eighteenth-century forms continue artistic traditions established in the previous century. In general, the metalwork of the 1700s evidences a spirit of experimentation, a rethinking of older forms, and a refined symbolism and aestheticism that merit the appellation ‘Golden Age’.19 A spirit of experimentation is most apparent in the Torah shields, whose function was to indicate the lection to which the scroll was turned. This purpose was fulfiled by the cutting of an aperture in a shield, which was then fitted with a box containing interchangeable plaques inscribed with the names of Sabbaths and holy days; an attached chain allowed the shield to be hung from the staves of the Torah scroll. These basic elements appear on the single extant seventeenth-century example in the Israel Museum, an irregularly-shaped cartouche overlaid with repoussé flowering vines and strapwork and two pairs of columns on irregular bases filled with imbrication (Fig. 4). Two larger columns frame the sides of the shield; the smaller pair frames the aperture for plaques. The single iconographic element with Jewish meaning, the applied crown, appears to be a later addition. Although similar to the early shields from other German cities in its shape and ornamentation with secular elements,20 the work in the Israel Museum does not appear to have inspired a Frankfurt tradition, since it is quite different from a closely-knit group of six shields that can be dated to the early eighteenth century.21 See Vivian B. Mann and Richard I. Cohen, From Court Jews to the Rothschilds 1600–1800. Art, Patronage, and Power (Munich, 1996) for this phenomenon. 19 This article will only be concerned with metalwork, since there are few textiles that can be definitely assigned to Frankfurt, and these are not significantly different from other Ashkenazi examples. 20 The shield bears a Frankfurt mark of sixteenth-seventeenth-century form similar to Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, nos. 109 and 114. However, the master mark, AK, cannot be identified. 21 A complete example (F 740) and a fragment (F 4391) in the collection of the Jewish Museum, New York, bear the hallmark of Johann Michael Schüler. A second shield, formerly in the Jacobo Furman Collection (JF 4), is marked with Johann Valentin Schüler’s hallmark. (Susan L. Braunstein, Personal Vision. The Furman Collection of Jewish Ceremonial 18

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Judging from the number extant, a popular Frankfurt type consisted of a rectangle formed of cast openwork sections that framed and supported the box for plaques (Fig. 5). Each section was composed of grapevines, rosettes, and star-shaped ornaments. On four of the six shields of this group, vine-scroll crests of basically triangular shape were affixed to the top and bottom (the bottom ones supporting suspended bells), while the sides were embellished with scrolls terminating in grotesques.22 To this basic form were appliquéd separately cast elements whose purpose was to invest the shield with symbolic meaning. Each shield bears a selection of the appliqués found on the group as a whole. The simplest composition is that of The Jewish Museum’s shield (F 740). A single crown above the plaque box signifies the Crown of the Torah (Ethics of the Fathers 4:17). The flanking half columns may allude to the pillars which stood outside the Solomonic Temple (II Chronicles 3:16), or their intention may have been purely decorative, in the manner of the columns used to frame the texts of title pages in seventeenthand eighteenth-century printed books.23 This shields bears three crowns, references to royalty, priesthood, and Torah (or learning; Ethics of the Fathers 4:17).24 The most complex decorative schemes appear on two shields now in Paris, one in the Cluny Museum, and the second in the Klagsbald Collection, and on a third shield in the Heichal Shlomo Museum, Jerusalem. On these three examples, appliqués with Jewish significance such as lions (emblematic of the tribe of Judah and the people of Israel), deer (a reference to Ethics of the Fathers 5:23), and the winged heads of cherubim, coexist with sheep, full-length figures of angels,

Art, (New York, 1985), no. 3.) A third shield in the Klagsbald Collection, Paris, bears only a Frankfurt mark (Historisches Museum Frankfurt, Synagoga, Fig. 94.) Two other shields of the group are not marked: that in the Musée de Cluny, Paris (Inv.-Nr. 12251; Historisches Museum Frankfurt, Synagoga, Fig. 95) and that in the Heichal Shlomo Museum in Jerusalem (no. 118–0515; Yehudah L. Bialer, Jewish Life in Art and Tradition (New York, 1976), p. 115.) The final example was exhibited in London in 1887; its present location is unknown. (Joseph Jacobs and Lucien Wolf, Catalogue of the Anglo-Jewish Historical Exhibition, Royal Albert Hall, London 1887, [London, 1888], No. 1459.) 22 The Jewish Museum, New York (F740); Klagsbald Collection, Paris; formerly, Jacobo Furman Collection, Santiago (JF 4); and Heichal Shlomo, Jerusalem (no. 118–1515). 23 For examples in Hebrew printed books, see Yosef Hayyim Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History, (Philadelphia, 1975), Pls. 43, 53, 59, 63, 65, 75. For examples in other languages, see Staatsbibliothek Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Kostbare Handschriften und Drücke (Berlin, 1979), nos. 30 and 50. 24 See above n. 20 for references.

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and kneeling putti, whose symbolic meaning is doubtful. The contrasting style of these appliqués suggests that some may be later additions. Close examination of this group of shields indicates that the same molds were used and reused in varying combinations on all the pieces.25 For example, a single mold was employed to form the openwork backgrounds of the Jewish Museum shield, the Cluny, and the Heichal Shlomo shield, and a shield in the Furman Collection (Fig. 5), and a portion of the Klagsbald shield. The same crest appears on four (Jewish Museum, Heichal Shlomo, Klagsbald, and Furman); the same side ornaments on three (Jewish Museum, Heichal Shlomo, and Klagsbald), and the same columns appear on the shield in the Cluny and on the one in Heichal Shlomo. In addition, the background molds were used to form portions of three book covers, one in a private collection, one in the Frankfurt Historical Museum, and a third sold at public auction in 1981.26 The use of identical molds indicates that all these works came from the same shop. Indeed, in 1966, Guido Schoenberger suggested that all these shields and related openwork bookcovers, some of which bore the mark IMS in an oval field, plus three beakers bearing the same initials in a trefoil field, were the work of Johann Matthias Sandra[r]t, despite the awkwardness of having to account for the use of two different hallmarks by the same master.27 Ten years later, Wolfgang Scheffler, noting the close stylistic relationships between a Hanukkah menorah by Johann Valentin Schüler and another marked IMS in an oval, suggested, much more plausibly, that the second master was Valentin Schüler’s younger brother, Johann Michael Schüler, and not Johann Matthias Sandra[r]t.28 Scheffler then reattributed the entire group of I am indebted to Rafi Grafman for making me aware of this relationship. Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, pp. 228 and 256. 27 Guido Schoenberger, ‘Der Frankfurter Goldschmied Johann Matthias Sandrart’, Schriften des Historischen Museums Frankfurt am Main, 12 (1966), pp. 143–70. Two of the three covers bear the hallmark of Johann Michael Schüler. One is in a private collection in Kassel; the other is in the Frankfurt Historical Museum (X-53). (For an illustration, see Schoenberger, op. cit., Fig. 8.) The third cover is unmarked; it was sold in 1981 (New York, Sotheby’s ‘Good Judaica and Related Works of Art’, Wednesday, 13 May 1981, no. 11.) A fourth, similar cover was in the collection of Jakob Michael. Its openwork is of a different pattern from the rest of the group, although its composition is the same. The cover bears a Frankfurt city mark. (Schoenberger, op. cit., no. 8, Fig. 9.) 28 These reattributions leave three works, all beakers, marked with Johann Matthias Sandra[r]t’s master mark, IMS in a trefoil field. (See Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, pp. 255–56 for a listing.) None of these works is demonstrably Jewish. 25 26

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shields and bookcovers to Johann Michael Schüler. The master mark on the Furman shield, that of Johann Valentin, confirms the close relationship between his work and that of his brother already noted by Scheffler in conjunction with the menorot, and suggests strongly that both brothers worked in a single atelier. The four shields and one bookcover in this group without marks can then be attributed to this shop, although we cannot specify which brother was responsible for a particular example. The bookcovers formed of the same molds as the shields offer important evidence for the dating of the group as a whole. The cover in a private collection bears a Hebrew inscription and a date of 1713, while the cover in the Frankfurt Historical Museum encloses a Venetian book printed in 1717. This evidence suggests that the molds were in use, at the latest, by 1713, or two years after the fire which destroyed most of the Judengasse. The method used to make the shields, soldering together portions cast from molds, is quick and inexpensive and would accord well with the needs of a community in the aftermath of the destruction of its synagogues and homes. In creating these shields, the Schülers may have been following older models from other cities, like the openwork shield dated 1610 that was once in the synagogue of Mannheim.29 The aesthetic effect of openwork shields depended in part on the interplay between the silver forms and the coloured textiles of the Torah mantles over which they were hung. Similar effects would have been visible on a finely wrought shield that represents a mature version of the type we have been considering. On this shield, symbolic elements have been integrated into the fabric of the background (Fig. 6). A symmetrical pattern of acanthus leaves emanating from bottom centre supports two confronted lions holding aloft a crown, below which is the box for name plaques edged with fleurs-de-lis, a decorative element appearing on several of the Schüler shields. Apparently as a result of damage, the original openwork shield was set on a backplate having a beaded border and scalloped edge, today the only portion of the shield that bears a hallmark, that of the city of Frankfurt. The applied crown, which is rather rude and heavy in comparison with the other elements, may belong to this reworking. This shield is remarkable for its naturalistic style. Despite the symmetry of the composition, the acanthus

Hans Huth, Die Kunstdenkmäler in Baden-Württemberg Stadtkreis Mannheim (Munich, 1982), p. 654, Fig. 178. 29

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leaves are executed as organic forms, their swelling outlines and exuberant curves transmitting a sense of growth. In several areas the silversmith stippled portions of the foliage to suggest the three-dimensionality of curling leaves. The workmanship of the lions reflects a similar concern for sculptural effects. Delicate stippling models the bodies, and fine engraving indicates texture. The lean, energetic bodies are executed in graceful curves. The same stylistic characteristics are found on works bearing Johann Adam Boller’s hallmark, suggesting he is the author of the shield.30 For example, identical acanthus vines executed in shallow repoussé appear on the catch basin of a hanging lamp in The Jewish Museum (Fig. 1), on the base of a menorah in the same collection (JM 1983–160), and on the base of a havdalah candleholder in the Israel Museum (IM 124/396).31 On the catch basin, the acanthus vines are inhabited by dogs chasing prey, all portrayed in the same naturalistic style as the lions on the shield. Finally, it should be noted that on a second hanging lamp in Congregation Emanu-el, New York, Boller used an openwork acanthus design for the main shaft.32 The design of another openwork shield affixed to a later backplate in the Historisches Museum Frankfurt am Main (X:52:16 H) is similarly based on an openwork acanthus background with added, symbolic forms, but the composition is not as well integrated nor as finely executed as that in The Jewish Museum, and was probably not made by Boller, though certainly under his influence.33 Despite the beauty of the Boller shields and those of the Schüler brothers, they are still works on which ornament vies with symbol for importance. The same may be said of the shields produced by Frankfurt goldsmiths in the mid-eighteenth century. On a piece in the Jewish Museum by Georg Wilhelm Schedel (who became Boller’s father-in-law after the latter’s re-marriage), two columns on elaborately stepped bases, lions and a crown, without organic relationship to one another, float in a field filled with foliate scrolls, flowers and strapwork.34 Although all the 30

Boller (1679–1732) became a master in 1706. (See Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, p.

254). 31 See Vivian B. Mann, The Jewish Museum (New York, 1993), no. 85 for a photograph of the menorah; the candleholder base is illustrated in Narkiss, ‘Origins of the Spice Box’, Fig. 16. 32 Cissy Grossman, A Temple Treasury (New York, 1989), no. 87. 33 Historisches Museum Frankfurt am Main, Synagoga, no. 224. 34 Grafman, Crowning Glory, no. 14.

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iconographic elements of the mature Ashkenazi shield are present, equivalent weight within the composition is given to both symbols and ornament. On two shields by Rötger Herfurth (1722–1776) that are identical in design, the ornament (rococo scrolls, shells, and diaper pattern) overwhelms the symbols, two small lions flanking the box for plaques (Fig. 8).35 Herfurth’s design, set within an oblong cartouche, represents a departure from the oblong shape popular in early eighteenth-century Frankfurt. The design is also innovative in reserving a specific place for the donor’s inscription.36 The achievement represented by Johann Adam Boller’s Torah shield (Fig. 6), a mature, refined statement of a type apparently pioneered by the Schüler brothers, can be seen again in another type of Judaica, the silver Hanukkah menorah for home use (Fig. 9). Early in the eighteenth century, Valentin produced de luxe lamps of another type, as can be seen in a work in the collection of the Jewish Museum, New York (JM 19–64).37 It is an elaborate lamp, consisting of a raised chest for oil and wicks to which is affixed a backplate animated with figures, including Judith holding the head of Holofernes. The story of the beheading, which was associated with Hanukkah, is presented as if on a stage set, a baroque convention with many Christian parallels. Then Valentin and his brother began producing branched lampstands with knops and flowers according to the description of the menorah in the Tabernacle (Ex. 25:33), that were suitable for home use. They may have used as their model representations of the biblical lampstand in medieval Hebrew manuscripts, or they may have known the large-scale menorot that appeared in churches as early as the Carolingian period to symbolise the Christian view of the church as institutional successor to the ancient synagogue.38 Large-scale menorot also existed in synagogues by the high Middle Ages.39 Thus, there was a long artistic tradition behind the form that Valentin and Michael Schüler translated into a size appropriate for the home at the end of the seventeenth or in the early

35 See Grafman, op. cit., no. 17 for the Jewish Museum shield. The Israel Museum Shield is no. 148/35. 36 I thank Richard Cohen for this observation. 37 Mann, The Jewish Museum, no. 82. 38 Peter Bloch, ‘Siebenarmige Leuchter in christlichen Kirchen’, Wallraf-Richartz Jahrbuch, 23 (1961), pp. 55 ff. 39 See above, pp. 89–90.

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eighteenth century.40 To the basic form of the branched lampstand, the Schülers added a cast figure of Judith, warriors, (perhaps Maccabees) and cast rampant lions. They also affixed other decorative forms, flowers, animals and astrological symbols, which may derive from the house signs of the Frankfurt ghetto.41 Boller created one menorah very similar to the two bearing marks of Valentin and Michael Schüler, which is now in the collection of The Jewish Museum, New York (1983–160).42 That Boller would have known their work is not at all surprising; Johann Adam Boller’s sister was married to Johann Michael Schüler. Then Boller appears to have re-thought the type. On the Warburg menorah in The Jewish Museum (Fig. 9), the motif of the rampant lion holding a shield is enlarged and given greater prominence by its assimilation with the shaft. Extraneous, decorative figures were eliminated, and emphasis has been given to four enamel plaques with scenes from the life of Jacob that are attached to the base, perhaps a reference to the name of the original owner.43 In this menorah, Boller, going beyond the achievements of the older Schülers, again created a work whose Jewish content is harmoniously integrated with its form. Dramatic use of a three-dimensional lion could also have been derived from the works of Valentin Schüler. A powerful lion tops the hanging lamp for Sabbaths and festivals by Schüler that is now in the Jewish Museum (JM 37–52) and which, like the silver Hanukkah menorot, represents a

40 Johann Valentin Schüler created a menorah now in the Frankfurt Historical Museum (X 25312; Historisches Museum Frankfurt am Main, Synagoga, Fig. 149); Johann Michael Schüler created the example in the Cluny Museum (Inv.-Nr. 12241); Historisches Museum Frankfurt am Main, Synagoga, Fig. 150). Another related menorah was once in a Jerusalem collection. Its authorship is uncertain. (Mordecai Narkiss, The Hanukkah Lamp (Jerusalem, 1939), no. 185.) 41 Victor Klagsbald, Catalogue raisonné de la collection juif du musée de Cluny (Paris 1981), pp. 36–37. An alternative explanation of the figures was offered by Rudof Hallo who interpreted them as community functionaries. (Hallo, Jüdische Kunst aus Hessen und Nassau, no. 77.) 42 Kleeeblatt and Mann, Treasures, pp. 82–83. 43 The scenes are Jacob rolling the stone from the mouth of the well (Gen. 29:3); Rebecca and Eliezer (Gen. 24:15 ff.), Jacob’s dream (Gen. 28:3); and Jacob wrestling with the angel (Gen. 32:25). If these subjects do not allude to the name of the original owner, they were chosen for their popularity. Jacob scenes appear on several early eighteenth-century beakers, alone or in conjunction with other scenes from the Hebrew Bible, or in opposition to Christian subjects. (Scheffler, Goldschmiede Hessens, pp. 249, 255, and 256.)

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reinterpretation of older forms and their transformation into an objet de luxe.44 Star-shaped hanging lamps are known from various medieval contexts, both Christian and Jewish, but they are generally simple in form and of ordinary metals.45 Entries in the Probierbuch 1512–76 indicate that this form of lamp was being made in silver by the sixteenth century, but no examples have survived from this period and their decoration is uncertain. The earliest extant silver hanging lamps are five by Valentin Schüler and Johann Adam Boller that combine the star-shaped lamp with the form of the Christian lamp on which a baluster shaft that is surmounted by a figure like the Madonna.46 The centre shafts of the elaborate lamps by Schüler and Boller are generally articulated as multi-storied fountains inhabited by figures bearing objects symbolic of the Sabbaths and festivals when the lamps were used. According to Schoenberger, the fountain is an allusion to the imagery of the popular hymn welcoming the Sabbath, the Lekhah Dodi, in which the day of rest is called a ‘fountain of blessing’.47 This hymn was introduced into the services of the Frankfurt community in the first half of the seventeenth century. A sixth lamp of this type, but with fewer figures, was created by Georg Wilhelm Schedel, who was active between 1722 and 1762.48 The small figures with attributes signifying various holy days that are found on the menorot and hanging lamps were often incorporated into a third type of object, the silver candleholder and spice box. By the sixteenth or seventeenth century, the form was made in silver and stock decorative figures like putti were added.49 During the last third of the seventeenth century, Hans Jacob Sandrat (d. 1694) created the candleholder now in the collection of the Yeshiva University Museum, on which the figures anchor-

44 45

Kleeblatt and Mann, Treasures, pp. 80–81. London, Hayward Gallery, English Romanesque Art 1066–1200 (London, 1984), no.

258. 46 The Sabbath Lamps by Valentin Schüler are: Jewish Museum, New York JM 37–52 and F 2707; Los Angeles, Skirball Museum (Franz Landsberger, ‘Ritual Implements for the Sabbath’, Beauty in Holiness, p. 193.) The Boller lamps are: New York, Jewish Museum, F4400 and a lamp sold at auction. For examples of Madonna lamps, see G. Henriot, Encyclopédie du Lumiaire. Tome II — Moyen Age (Paris 1933), plate 61, Figs. 1, 2, 4. 47 Guido Schoenberger, ‘A Silver Sabbath Lamp from Frankfort-on-the Main’, Essays in Honor of Georg Swarzenski (Berlin, 1951), p. 197. 48 Victor Klagsbald, Jewish Treasures from Paris (Jerusalem, 1982), no. 67. 49 For example, Klagsbald, op. cit., no. 80.

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ing the long poles which held the candle are given Jewish attributes: beards and barette (Fig. 3). Each of these four figures holds a symbols of Jewish observance: a matzah and a matzah scorer for Passover, a lulav and etrog container for Tabernacles, a knife and bird representing the kapporat ceremony on the eve of the Day of Atonement, and a Torah finial and a schulklopper (a hammer for calling worshippers to prayer). A nearly identical candleholder (New York, The Jewish Museum, F3661) was made by Jeremias Zobel (1670–1741) who became a master in 1701, but the forms incorporated into the two pieces are different. The close correspondence between the works of these two masters, who belonged to different generations of silversmiths, suggests that some types common in the eighteenth-century had reached their mature form by the seventeenth century. Valentin Schüler created a candleholder that incorporates an atlante figure holding a twisted havdalah candle and an open book, in place of a baluster stem (Fig. 10). This figure is dressed in eighteenth-century Jewish garb: a long frock coat, the Judenkragen (Jewish ruff ) and a barette. Similar candleholders were created by Johann Adam Boller and later by Rötger Herfurth.50 Jeremias Zobel, who died in 1741, not only continued earlier forms, he also created works that incorporate the same aesthetic effects as the shields produced by Schüler earlier in the century. Three pairs of rimmonim, finials for the Torah scroll, are extant that bear Zobel’s hallmark. Two nearly identical pairs are in The Jewish Museum, New York, (F 3685) and the Historical Museum, Frankfurt (Inv.-Nr. X 51:11 v–w)51; a third, of different design, is in the Skirball Cultural Centre, Los Angeles (47.25). The pair in The Jewish Museum, for example, combines shafts and bulbous vases overlaid with floral ornament with upper sections articulated as three-storey towers hung with bells. At the intersection of each story and corner is a grotesque scroll which obscures the basic outline of the finial. A series of grotesques attached to the top of the shafts produces a similar effect. Thus,

50 The Boller piece is in the Israel Museum (no. 124/396; see Narkiss, ‘Origins of the Spice Box’, Fig. 16). Herfurth’s work is in the Jewish Museum, New York (JM 36–52; see Kayser and Schoenberger, Jewish Ceremonial Art, no. 98). 51 For the Frankfurt finials, see Historisches Museum Frankfurt am Main, Synagoga, no. 201; for the Skirball pair, see Franz Landsberger, ‘A German Torah Ornamentation’, Beauty in Holiness, p. 112, Fig. 4 and Grafman, Crowning Glory, no. 257 for the Jewish Museum pair.

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these finials show a play between solid and void characteristic of early eighteenth-century Frankfurt Judaica and of baroque art in general. In effect, Jeremias Zobel, Georg Wilhelm Schedel, and their contemporaries were a bridge between the silversmiths of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, like Sandrat, the Schülers and Boller, who executed many commissions for Jewish patrons and those who rose to prominence in mid-century. In 1748, Rötger Herfurth was admitted as a master to the Frankfurt guild and thereafter, until his death in 1776, he created numerous Torah shields, Hanukkah lamps, spice containers, and beakers for Jewish ceremonial use. That his work was extremely popular with the Jewish community is indicated by the fact that most of his more than thirty known works were made for Jewish patrons.52 Three of the five remaining works are beakers without inscriptions, and these may also have been owned and used by Jews. Herfurth’s oeuvre is also interesting because some of his works represent a new aesthetic, and he has been credited with the creation of a new form. Instead of the light and airy effects of the openwork shields created by Johann Valentin and Johann Michael Schüler or the interplay between solid and void remarkable on the finials of Zobel or the menorot of the Schülers and Boller, Herfurth’s works lay new emphasis on solid forms. We have already noted in our discussions of the Torah shields how ornament overwhelms symbol on the piece by Herfurth. His shield is also different from those of the earliest masters because it is composed of a solid plane without any openwork. We will see that

52 Scheffler listed thirteen works by Herfurth (Goldschmiede Hessens, pp. 296–297). There are eighteen more known to me bearing his hallmark: New York, Jewish Museum: Spice Box (F4391), Candleholder/Spice Box (JM 36–52), Torah Shield (JM 33–52), two Hanukkah Lamps (F2818 and F5237); Los Angeles, Skirball Museum: Torah Finials (47.25); Jerusalem, Israel Museum: Torah Shield (148/35); three Hanukkah Lamps (118/24; 118/214; 118/685), Servitor of a Hanukkah Lamp (118/82); Kassel, Hessische Landesmuseum (before the war): Hanukkah Lamp (Hallo, Jüdische Kunst aus Hessen und Nassau, no. 107); London, Jewish Museum: two Hanukkah Lamps (Barnett, Catalogue, nos. 240 and 241); Frankfurt Historical Museum, Hanukkah Lamp (no. X24196); a Hanukkah Lamp formerly in the Feinberg Collection (New York, Parke-Bernet Galleries, The Charles E. Feinberg Collection, 29th-30th November 1967, no. 452); a Hanukkah Lamp formerly in the collection of Jakob Michael (New York, Christie, Manson & Woods International, ‘Fine Judaica, English and Continental Silver, Russian Works of Art, Watches and Objects of Vertu’, 25th-26th October 1982, No. 126; and a Hanukkah lamp in the collection of Vera Ries (New York, Parke-Bernet Galleries, The Notable Art Collection of Felix Kramarsky, 7th-10th January 1959, no. 37).

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Herfurth’s Hanukkah lamps likewise lay great emphasis on unbroken forms, with negative spaces relegated to a subordinate role. Rötger Herfurth’s most famous and popular creation was a Hanukkah lamp consisting of a chest-shaped container for oil, supported by four small cast lions, that was joined to an ornamental backplate decorated by repoussé representations of two rampant lions holding a crowned cartouche enclosing an eight-branched menorah (Fig. 11). The rampant lions stand on an irregularly shaped base of rococo shell and scroll forms. It appears to have been Herfurth’s achievement to have linked the utilitarian box form container for oil, produced by Herfurth himself as well as by other masters such as Peter Beyer,53 to an ornamental backplate whose lit menorah symbolises the rededication of the ancient Temple and the origin of the holiday. Although symbolic meaning could also be attributed to the confronted lions, their role appears to have been primarily heraldic, since on some lamps of this type, they are replaced by other animals. In essence, the backplate composition represents a transformation of the upper section of Herfurth’s Torah shield (Fig. 8), with all the interstices between the forms removed. Hermann Gundersheimer and Guido Schoenberger, in an article published in 1937, suggested, instead, that the composition of the backplate is a reduced version of a more elaborate type of lamp, formerly in the Franklin collection and now in the Jewish Museum, London.54 On the Franklin lamp, the lions and cartouche surmount an arcade with figures, and the box for oil is raised on tall supports with an openwork apron panel between them. However, since the upper and lower sections of the London backplate bear little formal or iconographic relationship to one another, one could assert, with equal validity, that the Franklin lamp was a special commission. In effect, it is a hybrid form combining an arcaded backplate inhabited by figures such as that found on the Hanukkah lamp by Valentin Schüler and other seventeenth-century examples, with the heraldic menorah composition found on so many lamps by Herfurth and his followers. Whatever its derivation, the abbreviated composition depicted here 53 The Beyer lamp was formerly in the collection of the Frankfurt Jewish Museum. (H. Gundersheimer and G. Schoenberger, ‘Frankfurter Chanukkahleuchter aus Silber and Zinn’, Notizblatt der Gesellschaft zur Erforschung Jüdischer Kunstdenkmäler, 34 (1937), p. 6; an example by Herfurth was in the Jacobo Furman Collection, (JF 103; Braunstein, Furman Collection, no. 24). 54 Gundersheimer and Schoenberger, ‘Frankfurter Chanukkahleuchter’, pp. 6–7. For an illustration see also Barnett, Catalogue, no. 240.

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1. Table decoration, Hesse, ca. 1543, silver (formerly in the Kassel Museum)

2. Spice Container, detail of hallmark

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3. Spice Container/Candleholder, Hans Jacob Sandrat, Frankfurt, last third of the 17th century, silver (New York, Yeshiva University Museum, MS 291)

4. Torah Shield, Frankfurt, 17th century, silver (Jerusalem, Israel Museum, no. 148/24)

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5. Torah Shield, Frankfurt, 17th century, silver (formerly Collection of Jacobo Furman, JF 4)

6. Torah Shield, Johann Adam Boller, Frankfurt, silver, ca. 1709-1725 (New York, The Jewish Museum, JM 287-52)

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7. Hanging Lamp, Johann Adam Boller, ca. 1706, (New York, The Jewish Museum, F 4400)

8. Torah Shield, Rötger Herfurth, Frankfurt, 1761, silver (New York, The Jewish Museum, New York, JM 33-52)

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9. Hanukkah Lamp, Johann Adam Boller, Frankfurt, early 18th century, silver (New York, The Jewish Museum, S 563)

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10. Havdalah Candlestick with Spice Container, Rötger Herfurth, ca. 1750, silver (New York, The Jewish Museum, JM 36-52)

11. Hanukkah Lamp, Rötger Herfurth, Frankfurt, silver, 1750-60 (New York, The Jewish Museum, F )

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became extremely popular and is known as the typical Frankfurt Hanukkah lamp. One of those who continued to create lamps based on Herfurth’s composition was his nephew, Johann Jacob Leschhorn, who became a master in 1769 and died in 1787.55 Some of Leschhorn’s lamps are directly imitative of their model, but on the back plate of two curious pieces, one in the Israel Museum (118/76) and another sold at Christie’s, he added two standing figures (Judith and a warrior) like those once used on the silver menorot. The result is disjointed and does not appear to have inspired any copies. Herfurth’s more harmonious composition had a long life and wide popularity. In Frankfurt, Johann Jacob Lücke was still making the type in the nineteenth century,56 by which time the design had spread to other centres. Leschhorn produced additional Judaica including a graceful hanging hook for a silver Judenstern, a Torah shield, and Torah finials.57 Other Frankfurt masters of the eighteenth century whose works of Jewish ceremonial art are still extant include Johann Daniel Kneller (1694–1740), Jost Leschhorn (1695–1758), Johannes Willems III (1699–1743), Zacharias Scherff (1708–1761), Johann Sebastian Griebel (b. 1707) and Johann Christian Hetzel (Master 1793; d. 1812).58 When their works are 55 Leschhorn’s lamps which follow Herfurth’s model are: Jerusalem, Israel Museum (118/82); Los Angeles, Skirball Museum (27.94); Stieglitz Collection, Israel Museum (Synagoga, No. 373). Another lamp is in the Nahon Collection (No. 377), and another was formerly in the collection of Jakob Michael (‘Fine Judaica . . .’, sales catalogue, No. 125.) The lamp with figures is illustrated in ‘Judaica, Books, Manuscripts and Works of Art’, Christie’s, New York, sales catalogue, Tuesday, 25th June 1985, No. 403. 56 A Hanukkah lamp by Lucke is in the Israel Museum (118/84); Gundersheimer and Schoenberger mention examples from Hanau, Franconia and Swabia (‘Frankfurter Chanukkahleuchter’, p. 7). 57 The shield and finials are in the Israel Museum (148/214 and 114/225). The hook was sold at auction along with a hanging Sabbath lamp by Boller. (‘Fine European Silver’, Christie’s International S.A., Geneva, 13th May 1981, No. 191). 58 Jost Leschhorn, uncle of Johann Jacob, created finials, fragments of which are now in the Cluny Museum (Cl. 12271 a,b; Klagsbald, op. cit., No. 25), and a double beaker in the Frankfurt Historical Museum (Inv.-Nr. X52115 a and v). Willems created a Torah Pointer in the Jewish Museum, New York (JM 47–52; Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, no. 72). Scherff is the author of a Hanukkah lamp in the Frankfurt Historical Museum (no. H S 9). Griebel and Kneller created spice containers: Frankfurt Historical Museum (no. X61:18; Synagoga, No. 304) and New York, The Jewish Museum (F2677) (Kayser and Schoenberger, Jewish Ceremonial Art, no. 99). Hetzel was the author of two Hanukkah lamps of the Herfurth type: New York, The Jewish Museum (F948) and Jerusalem, Heichal Shlomo Museum, Loan No. 78.

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seen together with those of the Schüler brothers, Boller, Zobel, Beyer, and Herfurth, then the picture which emerges is of a broad-based activity, with Frankfurt an important centre for Judaica in the eighteenth century. There is no doubt that one impetus to the commissioning of new works was the fire which destroyed the ghetto and its contents in 1711. Other commissions can be attributed to the increased prosperity of communities such as Frankfurt, whose members could afford the work of guild silversmiths, and to local rabbinic influence which favoured the use of ceremonial objects made of fine materials. The requirement of hiddur mitzvah, that a Jew should perform religious acts in the handsomest way, was interpreted to mean that the vessels used in ritual should be of high quality.59 This dictum was given particular emphasis in Frankfurt. Rabbi Joseph Juspa Hahn (1570–1637), who was head of the rabbinical court and its yeshiva and who also served as communal rabbi, recommended owning a silver Hanukkah lamp or at least a lamp in which one of the lights was of silver in his book, Yosif Ometz, on the customs of the Frankfurt community.60 That he made such a recommendation presumed the ability of the community to act on it, and helps to explain the popularity of silver Hanukkah lamps in the city of Frankfurt. Judging from the extant works, the rabbinic authorities of Frankfurt interpreted the prohibitions of the Second Commandment regarding the making of an image in a narrow sense, thus allowing the incorporation of three-dimensional representations of the human form on ceremonial objects. One of the extant pieces, Johann Adam Boller’s havdalah candleholder/spice container in the Israel Museum, which features an atlante figure of a man holding a box, bears an inscription recording its dedication to a synagogue.61 Thus, cast sculpture of the human form was found not only in the homes of Frankfurt Jewry in the eighteenth century, but also in their house of worship. The presence of these sculptures expresses a broad openness and receptivity to Christian artistic traditions and their Greco-Roman antecedents. 59 For the sources which discuss the concept of hiddur mitzvah, see M. Berlin and J. Zevin (eds.). Talmudic Encyclopedia, Vol. 7 (Jerusalem, 1957), pp. 271–284 (Hebrew). 60 Joseph Juspa Hahn, Yosif Ometz (Frankfurt 1723), p. 1322. 61 The use of a cast male figure, similar to that of Herfurth’s candleholder, for the embellishment of a synagogue object occurs on a brass Hanukkah lamp from the synagogue in Creglingen, now in the Jewish Museum, New York (F195; Mann, A Tale of Two Cities, no. 59).

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In assessing the achievements of Frankfurt goldsmiths in meeting the commissions of their Jewish patrons, it would seem that in the early decades of the eighteenth century, their most successful creations were those based on forms like menorot or hanging lamps which had parallels in the Christian artistic tradition. Working with familiar forms, Christian goldsmiths were able to integrate Jewish symbols to create works of great artistry, yet with a fully realised Jewish iconographic programme. Where no parallels existed, as in the case of Jewish objects like the Torah shields, the results were tentative. Purely decorative elements became dominant or Jewish symbols were inharmoniously mixed with alien forms. No balanced design emerged even later in the century that could be compared with the mature compositions of contemporary silversmiths in Augsburg, Munich and Nuremberg. The most successful achievement was Herfurth’s new design for a silver Hanukkah lamp, which invested a utilitarian form with a backplate bearing suitable iconographic elements. It represents the creation by a Christian craftsman of a new genre of Judaica for which there were no parallels in his own artistic tradition. As such, the Herfurth Hanukkah lamp is a sign of the full maturity of Frankfurt’s Golden Age.

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Forging Judaica: The Case of the Italian Majolica Seder Plates

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HE attempt of the art historian to understand a given work reverses, to an extent, the creative process of the artist and seeks the sources of forms, iconography, and compositions. Only by discerning what was common currency in the period when the work was created can the scholar perceive its uniqueness, and only by reversing the creative process can the modern observer fully understand the import of a work for the artist’s contemporaries.1 In the case of an undated or unsigned work, the search for sources becomes even more important. Iconographic, compositional, and formal models establish a historical context that indicates the approximate date of a work’s creation. Occasionally, an investigation of sources may lead the art historian to conclude that a work, even a dated or signed one, is not what it appears to be since one or more of its constituent elements is out of context, inappropriate to its alleged age and provenance. If this is the case, then social historians may ask a further question: Were there any specific circumstances, beyond the obvious motivation of financial gain, that led to the fabrication of a false work? Research for this paper was supported by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. It was first published in Art and its Uses: The Visual Image and Modern Jewish Society. Studies in Contemporary Jewry VI, ed. Richard I. Cohen, (London: Oxford University Press, 1990), pp. 201–26. I wish to thank Richard I. Cohen for the many contributions he made to this paper with his usual generosity. 1 An example of the recovery of lost meaning is Leo Steinberg’s The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and Modern Oblivion (New York, 1983) and other works by the same author on Fra Filippo Lippi and Leonardo.

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Since the spread of printing technology in the second half of the fifteenth century, among the sources considered by art historians are prints and printed books.2 In 1931 Rachel Wischnitzer published a pioneering study on the use of printed sources by artists creating Judaica.3 She traced many of the engraved scenes accompanying the text of the Amsterdam Haggadah of 1695 back to their sources in the publications of Matthaeus Merian, particularly his Icones Bibliae, which first appeared in 1625. By making slight alterations in some of the plates to accommodate Jewish sensibilities concerning graven images, the engraver Abraham Ben Jacob, a convert, was able to adapt complete scenes that had originally been created for Christian purposes. He also adapted individual motifs from various Merian publications to Jewish iconographic needs.4 Many Jewish printers imitated aspects of the Amsterdam Haggadah, copying both its text and its engraved illustrations.5 Most often it is the title pages of their works, with monumental figures of Moses and Aaron set against an architectural framework and roundels enclosing narrative scenes, that recall the Amsterdam model. In the course of the eighteenth century, the pictorial imagery of the Amsterdam Haggadah also inspired the decoration of ceremonial objects, like the pewter and silver Passover plates created to hold symbolic foods at the seder,6 and by 1720 the Amsterdam title page with its full-length figures of Moses and Aaron or similar frontispieces in other books served as the model for a new type of Torah shield. On these shields,

2 Concerning the impact of printing on the creation of art and on its historiography, see Elizabeth L. Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change (London, New York, Melbourne, 1979), p. 83 ff. 3 Rachel Wischnitzer, ‘Von der Holbeinbibel zur Amsterdamer Hagadah’, Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums, 7 (1931), pp. 269–86. 4 For example, Wischnitzer-Bernstein cites the transformation of a Hannibal figure from a history of Rome into the youngest of the Four Sons in the 1695 Haggadah (‘Von der Holbeinbibel’, pp. 277–78). See also idem, ‘Studies in Jewish Art’, Jewish Quarterly Review, 36,1 (1945), pp. 54–55; and Yosef Hayyim Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History (Philadelphia, 1975), pp. 43–45, 59–62. 5 Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History, pp. 45–46; Abraham M. Haberman, ‘The Jewish Art of the Printed Book’, Jewish Art: An Illustrated History, ed. Cecil Roth, 2nd ed., (Greenwich, CO, 1971), Pl. 173; Haviva Peled-Carmeli, Illustrated Haggadot of the Eighteenth Century (Jerusalem, 1983), pp. 15–17). See also Cecil Roth, ‘The Illustrated Haggadah’, Studies in Bibliography and Booklore, 7 (1965), pp. 37–56. 6 For example, Peled-Carmeli, Illustrated Haggadot, Fig. 41; Lesssing-Akademie, Lessings ‘Nathan’ und jüdische Emanzipation im Lande Braunschweig (Wolfenbüttel, 1981), no. 145.

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repoussé depictions of the two biblical leaders flank the box for plaques that indicate the section to which the scroll was turned.7 The use of printed models for Judaica continued into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The popularity of Moritz Oppenheim’s Bilder aus dem altjüdischen Familienleben (first published in portfolio in 1866 and in four later book editions, the last in 1913) inspired the decoration of numerous porcelain and pewter plates.8 Given the demonstrable impact of printed books on the decoration of Jewish ceremonial art, one may reasonably turn to an investigation of printed sources when seeking the date and origin of problematic works. Cecil Roth published a group of such works in a 1964 article entitled ‘Majolica Passover Plates of the XVI–XVIIIth Centuries’.9 He described a group of plates that were identical in function and similarly formed and decorated. Each consists of a wide rim surrounding a central cavetto inscribed with a text, either the prayer of sanctification over wine (kiddush) together with the order of the seder service (Fig. 1), or a passage from the haggadah together with the same order of the service (Fig. 2). The decoration of the rim is always elaborate. Raised moldings frame two series of cartouches. The larger ones enclose paintings of biblical scenes drawn from Genesis and Exodus; or a representation of the rabbis’ Passover at Bene-Berak (a third-century episode that is part of the Haggadah text); one of two variant depictions of a seder; flowers or landscapes. The smaller cartouches are decorated with portraits of biblical heroes, generally Moses, Aaron, David, and Solomon. See Grafman, Crowning Glory, nos. 43, 44, and 125. The appearance of sculpted human forms on a Torah shield raised anew the issue of idolatry. It was discussed by Rabbi Moses Sofer (1762–1839) of Pressburg (Bratislava) in a responsum dated 1811. Sofer observed that the figures on the shield could not be considered potential objects of worship, since the clothes in which they were dressed indicated their identities as Moses and Aaron. [In other words, the iconography of the two figures was well established.] Nevertheless, with the strictness with which Jewish law has usually regarded idolatry, he recommended removing the tips of the noses of Moses and Aaron, thereby rendering them unfit to serve as idols. (Moses Sofer, Sefer
atam Sofer, Pt. 6, [New York, 1958], no. 6.) 8 Such works exist in every major collection of Judaica. For example, see Peled-Carmeli, Illustrated Haggadot, p. 17, and Ismar Schorsch, ‘Art as Social History: Moritz Oppenheim and the German Jewish Vision of Emancipation’, Danzig, Between East and West: Aspects of Modern Jewish History, ed. Isadore Twersky (Cambridge, MA and London, 1985), pp. 141–142. 9 Cecil Roth, ‘Majolica Passover plates of the XVI–XVIIIth Centuries’, Eretz-Israel, 7 (1964), pp. 106–111, Pls. x–xli. 7

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2. Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (Budapest, Jewish Museum, no. 64.445)

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4. Reverse of Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (formerly Kramarsky Collection)

5. Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (Nancy, Musée historique Lorrain, II)

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6. Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of the Danzig Jewish Community, D 11)

7. Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (formerly Private Collection, New York)

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8. Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (Jerusalem, Israel Museum, no. 134/15)

9. Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (New York, The Jewish Museum, S 78)

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10. Passover plate, Savona or Albisola, 1864-1900, majolica (Nancy, Musée Lorrain, I)

11. "The Blessing of Jacob," Trieste Haggadah (Trieste, 1864)

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With two exceptions, all of the plates belonging to the group bear four large cartouches, of which at least two enclose figurative scenes, and four small cartouches.10 The remaining area of the flanges is filled with molded vegetal decoration, except for two large examples on which putti occupy the interstices between the cartouches.11 Information exists on twenty-nine majolica Passover plates (including those discussed by Roth) that form a coherent group. The table in Fig. 3 lists all the examples alphabetically (except for a plate in Brussels that became known to me after the publication of this article).12 Museums are cited by city; private holdings according to the name of their last-known owner. The table indicates what scenes appear in the large cartouches and what text is inscribed in the cavetto. Any information as to signature on the reverse of the plates appears in the last column (e.g., see Fig. 4). The earliest inscription date is 1532, the latest 1889. Roth dated most of the plates on the basis of the painted Hebrew inscriptions appearing on the reverse of several examples: Jacob Azulai, Padua, 1532; Moses Fano, Urbino, 1552; Isaac Cohen, Pesaro, 1613–1614; Jacob Azulai, Pesaro, 1652; and so forth.13 He recognised that some of the plates appeared to be copies, as in the case of the plate that came to The Jewish Museum, New York, from the Benguiat Collection. This plate’s overglaze English inscription read, ‘Hadji Ephraim ben Abraham Benguiat 20 May 1889’; and, in Hebrew, ‘Hadji Ephraim ben Abraham Benguiat S[ephardi] T[ahor] . . . [5] 649 [=1889]’.14

10 The exceptions are a plate in the collection of the Jewish Museum, New York, that was formerly in the Benguiat Collection (Fig. 3) and a plate formerly in the Jewish Museum, Vienna, and then in the Floersheim Collection, Zurich. 11 These are the plates in the Floersheim collection and in the Prague Jewish Museum. 12 Daniel Dratwa of the Brussels Jewish Museum informed me, after the original article appeared, that a twenty-ninth plate is in the collection of his museum. Also, Roth mentions two additional plates in private collections in Paris, but he gives only the information that one was signed Joseph Capriles, Ancona, 1584 (‘Majolica Passover Plates’, 107, 109). Because it is possible that these two plates are identical to others for which no inscription information is available, or because they changed hands since 1964, they have not been included in the chart of known plates (Fig. 3). 13 Roth, ‘Majolica Plates’, p. 106. 14 A photograph of this inscription was taken after the plate entered the collection of the Jewish Museum, New York. Portions of the wording were already missing; today the inscription is completely erased. The ink or paint used was soluble and the inscription disappeared during cleaning, because it was believed to be a later addition to an earlier plate.

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Roth thought the Benguiat plate was a copy of a plate by the same maker responsible for a plate formerly in the collection of the Jewish Museum, Vienna, which was likewise decorated with six large oval cartouches instead of the four large cartouches appearing on all the other examples.15 Roth also mentioned other plates he thought were copies because they lacked signatures, depended on later printed models, or their stylistic features were incompatible with an early date. He also noted the hexagram or Jewish star that appears as a maker’s mark on many of the plates, and he pointed out that some of the signatures such as that on the plate from the Danzig collection are painted over the glaze, ‘perhaps as an after-thought’, although the maker’s mark appears beneath the glaze.16 Roth offered no solution to the problem of the overglaze signatures and underglaze marks. For Roth, these majolica plates were evidence of Jewish participation in the artistic flowering of Renaissance Italy, a topic for which he displayed a lifelong enthusiasm.17 Furthermore, the plates proved to him the existence of Jewish ceramic workshops in Pesaro, Urbino, and Ancona during the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,18 although he could cite no independent corroborative evidence or relevant stylistic comparisons.19 The unusual composition and decoration of the plates was ascribed to their function. The form of the plates, Roth wrote, was dictated by their purpose, that is, to hold the symbolic foods displayed at the seder. Nineteen years before the appearance of Roth’s article, Rachel Wischnitzer mentioned some of the majolica plates inscribed with

Vienna I, Fig. 3. Roth, ‘Majolica Plates’, pp. 107–110, for a discussion of various copies. 16 Op. cit., p. 108, n. 8. 17 See Cecil Roth, The History of the Jews of Italy (Philadelphia, 1946), pp. 193–227; idem., The Jews in the Renaissance (Philadelphia, 1959). 18 Roth, ‘Majolica Passover Plates’, p. 106. This assertion has been repeated by other historians writing on the cultural life of Italian Jewry. See, for example, Moses Shulvass, The Jews in the World of the Renaissance (Leiden, 1973), p. 146. 19 In fact, Roth quotes a letter dated 1950 from Mr. E. A. Lane, Keeper of the Department of Ceramics at the Victoria and Albert Museum, ‘In the whole of our collection of Italian pottery (which numbers nearly fifteen hundred specimens) we have nothing resembling the plate about which you enquire, and it certainly cannot be regarded as a common Italian type’. (‘Majolica Passover Plates’, p. 107.) On the Victoria and Albert’s collection, see Bernard Rackham with additions by J.V.G. Mallet, Catalogue of Italian Majolica (London, 1977). 15

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seventeenth-century dates in connection with the use of printed sources as models for the decoration of pottery and pewter plates.20 Ironically, her mention of the Passover plates occurs in the context of a discussion of forgeries and the use of printed sources as a means of solving this ‘most difficult problem’. Since Professor Wischnitzer believed that the narrative scenes on the majolica plates were based on the Venice Haggadah printed in 1609 and on the decoration of the Vatican loggia for biblical scenes not appearing in the haggadah, she accepted their seventeenth-century inscription dates as valid. Roth later found her comparisons to the Vatican frescoes superficial and suggested instead contemporary Bible illustrations without specifying an exact model.21 A survey of the twenty-nine known plates shows that the decoration of the 116 large cartouches22 is confined to a limited group of similarly rendered scenes: biblical subjects, ‘the Rabbis at Bene-Berak’, two versions of a home seder, assorted landscapes and variations on a dense floral arrangement. The biblical scenes are all drawn from Genesis and Exodus and are labelled with quotations from the Bible that do not always cover the more extensive scenes. They are: Abraham’s Hospitality to the Angels (Gen. 18:2; Fig. 1); the Binding of Isaac (Gen. 22:11; Fig. 5); Isaac Blessing Jacob (Gen. 27:22; Fig. 2); Joseph sold into Slavery by his Brothers (Gen. 37:28; Fig. 2): Joseph Revealing himself to his Brothers (Gen. 45:4; Fig. 6); two versions of the Slavery of the Israelites, both of which are accompanied by the same inscription (Ex. 1:13; Figs. 7, 8); the Naming of Moses (Ex. 2:10; Fig. 1) and the eating of the Passover meal in Egypt (Ex. 12:11; Fig. 6). In one version of the slavery scene (Fig. 7), the labouring Israelites and their Egyptian taskmasters form two distinct compact groups. All the Israelites, with the exception of the figure bending over in the direction of the taskmasters, stoop under their burdens. In the second version (Fig. 8), there are several figure groupings consisting of both Israelites and Egyptians spread across the space. Their actions take place before an imposing stone building set in a hilly landscape. The final scene with an inscription is drawn from the text of the haggadah. It shows the rabbis of Bene-Berak still

Rachel Wischnitzer-Bernstein, ‘Studies in Jewish Art’, pp. 52–59, esp., pp. 58–59. Roth ‘Majolica Passover Plates’, pp. 107–08. 22 Twenty-six of the known plates are composed of 4 large and 4 small cartouches. Two examples have 6 large cartouches for a total of 116 large cartouches. (See nn.10, 15 for the plates with 6 large cartouches.) 20 21

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seated at the seder table recounting the story of the Exodus as their pupils approach from the right to announce that the time for morning prayers has arrived (Fig. 9). In addition, two scenes of a seder appear on the plates. They differ from the depictions already discussed in that the participants are dressed in more modern garb. The first scene is noteworthy for the placement of the head of the household at right (seated in a more elaborate chair than those furnished the other participants), and by the gesture of the man at far left who grasps a decanter in his raised right arm, holding it away from the table (see Fig. 5). The accompanying titulus is from Psalms 116:13, ‘I will lift up the cup of salvation’. In the second scene, which occurs on only two plates, the head of the house is seated at left, the figure raising the decanter is absent, and a tall mullioned window appears in the wall behind the table (Fig. 9). The example shown here (in the Jewish Museum, New York) lacks an inscription, whereas on the related work in the Israel Museum, the quotation from Psalms 116 appears again (see Fig. 3, Jerusalem II). A comparison of any two representations of the same subject reveals that both are based on the same model, for example, in Abraham’s Hospitality to the Angels (Figs. 1 and 10), the three bearded angels at left are parallel to the front plane of the composition and Sarah and Ishmael are seen in the tent behind Abraham. The similar representation of all versions of any single subject and the varying combinations of the same elements indicate a common model for the imagery on these plates. The presence of tituli within many of the cartouches and the extent of the cycle suggest that the model was a manuscript or printed book. As noted previously, two printed haggadot, the Amsterdam Haggadah of 1695 and the Venice Haggadah of 1609, influenced the decorators of ceremonial objects. However, their pictorial cycles could not have served as the basis of the majolica plate illustrations. Only two of the scenes appearing on the plates occur in the Amsterdam Haggadah, the first Passover meal and the rabbis at Bene-Berak, and their treatment is dissimilar. In the case of duplicate narratives, a different moment is chosen, the drawing of Moses from the water in the Amsterdam Haggadah rather than the naming scene on the plates. The Venice Haggadah of 1609, on the other hand, does include similar, although not identical, figure groupings for those biblical subjects that also appear on the plates: Abraham’s Hospitality, the Binding of Isaac, the Naming of Moses, the scenes of Slavery in Egypt, and the first Passover meal. The Venice Haggadah also includes the same composition for the

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rabbis at Bene-Berak and for the first seder scene as on the plates. However, the other biblical scenes do not occur in the 1609 Haggadah or in the subsequent editions based on it.23 In 1864 Colombo Coen, a Trieste publisher, produced two new editions of the Haggadah, one with a single Hebrew text and a second accompanied by an Italian translation, the work of Abraham Vita Morpurgo.24 Both editions were lavishly illustrated with engravings by C. Kirchmayr, whose signature appears at the bottom of the title page. At the time of publication, Kirchmayr was only sixteen years old according to the information given by Bénézit.25 A comparison of the narrative scenes on the majolica plates with the same subjects in the Trieste Haggadah clearly demonstrates that this printed book served as the model for the decoration of the group of Passover plates under discussion. The entire cycle of biblical and extra-biblical episodes depicted on the plates appear among the Haggadah illustrations; in all cases, the plate illustrations are faithful, although reduced renderings of the printed compositions. Only the tituli are different.26 Compare, for example, the rendering of Isaac Blessing Jacob from the Haggadah (a scene not appearing in earlier Italian editions), with that on the plate in Budapest (Figs. 2 and 11). The dramatic use of draperies, the placement of the main protagonists in the right and centre foreground, with Esau emerging from behind the wall at left, clearly illustrate the dependence of the majolica decoration on the engraving. Large cartouches are variations on the ornament of page 11 in the Haggadah, while the four biblical figures of the small cartouches are extracts from the title page. See Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History, pp. 42–43, for a discussion of later editions based on the Venice Haggadah of 1609. Some of the scenes already mentioned are published by Yerushalmi: the Binding of Isaac (Pl. 45), wherein the figure grouping is similar to that on the plates but in reverse); the second Slavery scene (Pl. 50) and the Naming of Moses (Pl. 51), wherein the number of figures is fewer than on the plates but the essential composition is similar). 24 Abraham Yaari, Bibliografiah shel hagadot pesa mireshit hadefus ve’ad hayom (Jerusalem, 1960), nos. 898–899; Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History, pp. 47–48, Pls. 102–105; and Tovia Preschel, The Trieste Haggadah of 1864 (New York, 1979). 25 E. Bénézit, Dictionnaire critique et documentaire des peintres, sculpteurs, dessinateurs et graveurs, Vol. 6 (Paris, 1976), p. 223. 26 The quotations on the plates are biblical and differ from the tituli in the Trieste Haggadah. For example, the scene of Abraham prepared to sacrifice his son is labelled ‘The Binding of Isaac’ in the Trieste Haggadah, but it is accompanied by the quotation, ‘Abraham, Abraham’ (Gen. 22:11) on the plates. 23

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The Trieste Haggadah provides a terminus post quem for the majolica plates. Some of the plates provide further evidence for the dating of the entire set. One of the plates (formerly in the Mocatta Collection, London, and subsequently in the Kramarsky Collection, New Rochelle) was shown in the Anglo-Jewish Historical Exhibition of 1887 establishing a terminus ante quem.27 The Benguiat plate was dated 1889, and The Jewish Museum’s plate from Danzig (Fig. 6, New York I) entered a private collection before 1904.28 We may establish a terminus ante quem of ca. 1900 for the plates. Two questions remain to be answered. Where were the plates made? And who was responsible for the forged inscriptions? The composition of the plates and their decoration most closely resemble the majolica manufactured in Savona and neighbouring Albisola from the seventeenth through the twentieth century.29 The factories of Savona began producing plates whose rims are subdivided into four large cartouches surrounded by raised moldings, each painted with an individual motif, in the early seventeenth century; their composition is a marked departure from the single scenes and unified decoration of most Italian majolica of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.30 An example of a late seventeenth-century plate with cartouches bears the arms of Vicenzo Maria Durazzo Vescova di Savona (Fig. 13). The areas between the cartouches on this plate are filled with molded forms as on the later Passover plates. Similar compositions formed of relief or painted elements were created in Albisola and Savona from the sixteenth through the twentieth century. Angelo (or Andrea) Levantino, who was active in the mid-eighteenth century, signed a plate now in the Galleria di Palazzo Rosso, Genoa, bearing six painted cartouches in an arrangement similar to that on the Benguiat plate.31 A nineteenth-century example now in Turin, with raised decoration

27 Jacobs and Wolf, Catalogue of the Anglo-Jewish Historical Exhibition, no. 1697. 28 This plate was owned by Lesser Gieldzinski who donated it to the Danzig Synagogue along with the rest of his Judaica collection in 1904. (Vivian B. Mann and Joseph Gutmann, Danzig 1939: Treasures of a Destroyed Community [New York and Detroit, 1980], no. 52.) 29 See Federico Marzinot, Ceramica e ceramisti di Liguria (Genoa, 1987). 30 See Marzinot, op. cit., Fig. 208 for an early seventeenth-century example. 31 Constantino Barile, Antiche ceramiche ligure. Maioliche di albisola (Milan, 1965), p. 108.

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that is based on molds in use a century or more earlier, includes the motif of angels’ heads flanked by wings similar to the relief decoration above the small cartouches on the plates in the Floersheim and Prague collections.32 A late seventeenth- or early eighteenth-century precursor of the Turin plate is decorated with landscape scenes, a staple of Ligurian ceramics that also appears on the Passover plates (Figs. 8 and 14).33 Plates whose flanges are decorated with a series of raised, molded cartouches were still produced in Albisola in the twentieth century.34 The closest parallels to the cartouche moldings that surround the full-length biblical figures on most of the Passover plates are found on the eighteenth- and nineteenth century majolica acquasantini, whose principal decoration is a single figure like the Madonna della Misericordia (Fig. 15). Finally, the combination of large and small cartouches on the flanges of the seder plates appears on a nineteenth-century Savonese plate in the Pinacoteca Civica, Savona, whose cavetto bears ‘The Triumph of Neptune’ (Fig. 16). The Savonese and Albisolese pottery industry began to flourish at the end of the sixteenth century, reaching its height in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.35 Majolica from Savona is distinguished by its affinity to silver work in both form and decoration.36 The surface is formed of low relief akin to repoussé silver; and plastic ornament is applied to both cavetto and rim. A comparison of the majolica acquasantini with those rendered in silver clearly demonstrates this relationship.37 It is interesting in this regard that there is a series of silver Passover plates closely related to the majolica group in composition and decoration (although some of the narratives are based on different models) that have been published as eighteenth-century(?) and nineteenth-century.38 A thorough investigation

Ibid., Pl. 99; Roth, ‘Majolica Passover Plates’, p. xli, Fig. 4. Barile, Antiche ceramiche liguri, Pl. 89. 34 For example, a plate in the Palazzo Rosso, Genoa (M. V. 1841), bearing the mark of ‘La casa dell’arte albisola capo,’ is dated to the twentieth century. 35 Giuseppe Morazzoni, La maiolica antica ligure (Milan, 1951), 18 ff.; Rackham, Guide to Italian Majolica, p.78. 36 Morazzoni, Maiolica antica ligure, p. 26; M. R. Salon, A History and Description of Italian Majolica (London, Paris, New York, Toronto and Melbourne, 1908), p. 182. 37 Compare, for example, Fig. 16 with Pl. 88–89 in Giuseppe Morazzoni, Argenterie genovesi (Milan, n.d.). 38 Roth, ‘Majolica Passover Plates’, Pl. xli, Fig. 3; Kölnischen Stadtmuseum, Monumenta Judaica, no. 558, attributed to the ‘18th century(?)’ although bearing a late 32 33

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of the marked examples is needed to establish their dating relative to the majolica. The majolica Passover plates clearly appear to have been made in Savona or Albisola between 1864 (the publication of the Trieste Haggadah and ca. 1900 (a date based on the plates’ publication or donation). The Star of David, or hexagram, appearing on some of the plates was the mark of the Salamone atelier in Albisole. Its founders were of Jewish origin, and had migrated to Italy from Spain and were already active in the ceramics industry by 1494.39 Their mark was a hexagram, which was occasionally used by other local ateliers.40 As Isaiah Shachar remarked, ‘The similarity . . . of design, technique, style and scripts — as well as the similarity of the makers’ names — seems too acute to exclude doubts concerning their dating’.41 Roth himself noted, ‘The spelling of the place-names, Ancona and Pesaro, is unusual, suggesting either the relative illiteracy or else the foreign extraction of the manufacturers’.42 The unease displayed by these writers arose from attempts to reconcile all of the evidence presented by the plates: artistic, historical and inscriptional. However, when the plates are placed within their proper

nineteenth-century Austrian mark. The following are some unpublished examples: The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, no. 134/25, described as English, nineteenth century; no. 134/20, described as English, 1925; Joods Historisch Museum, Amsterdam, no. 2421, described as German, nineteenth century; an example in the collection of Congregation Emanu-el of the City of New York, described as German, nineteenth century; and a similar example in the collection of The Jewish Museum, New York, F 5502. 39 Carlo Varaldo, ‘I Salamone ceramisti savonesi. Note storiche’, Centro ligure per la storia della ceramica albisola. Atti VII convegno internazionale della ceramica, Albisola, 1974, pp. 203–204. 40 For example, the Siccardi factory used the same mark in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. (Morrazzoni, Maiolica antica ligure, p. 50; Barile, Antiche ceramiche ligure, pp. 66–67.) The same mark appears on a plate painted by Giovanni Augustino Ratti (1699–1775) and on another of Ratti’s works that is attributed to the Chiodo factory of Savona. (Saul Levy, Maioliche settecentesche pietmontesi, liguri, romagnole, marchigiane, toscane e abruzzesi [Milan, 1964], Pl. 34.) 41 Isaiah Schachar, The Jewish Year (Leiden, 1975), p. 20. 42 Roth, ‘Majolica Passover Plates’, p. 109. It is ironic that Cecil Roth was misled to establish fictitious dynasties of Jewish potters and painters by works that could have led him to bona fide ceramicists and painters of Jewish origin: the Salomone families of Savona and Albisole who were active from the late fifteenth century on. There is also documentation on the activities of Jewish majolica makers in the Duchy of Mantua. (Shlomo Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua [Jerusalem: 1977], p. 281, and n. 276.)

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stylistic and iconographic contexts, the true character of the inscriptions is revealed. They are false attempts to date the Passover plates some two hundred to three hundred years prior to their manufacture and decoration. The forged inscriptions indicate that the making of Judaica fakes was already underway in the second-half of the nineteenth century. In the article cited earlier, Rachel Wischnitzer examined another nineteenth-century fake, a doctored depiction of the medieval Regensburg synagogue.43 In the light of these forgeries, we might well ask: What was the nature of the social context that encouraged this phenomenon? It appears that the answer lies both in the nature of Judaica collecting and in the growth of a market for artifacts of Jewish content. Prior to the Emancipation, Jews collected objects of value and beauty in their homes, although no mention is made of a collection of Jewish ceremonial objects with one exception, that of Alexander David (1687–1765).44 David, who served the dukes of Braunschweig as Kammeragent from 1707 until his death, seems to have possessed the first private collection of Judaica. As a court Jew, David was able to purchase land from the ducal holdings on which he built a house with its own synagogue and study, in the fashion of elite Jews of the period. According to a contemporary account, David’s collection of manuscripts and ceremonial objects formed a veritable museum (beit nekhoto).45 It later became the nucleus of a

Wischnitzer-Bernstein, ‘Studies in Jewish Art’, pp. 52–54. Ralf Hagen, ‘Die Entstehung der Judaica-Sammlung des Braunschweigischen Landesmuseums’, Tora-Wimpel. Veröffentlichungen des Braunschweigischen Landesmuseums, Vol. 17, 2nd ed., (Braunschweig: 1984), p. 7; Ralf Busch, ‘The Case of Alexander David of Braunschweig’, From Court Jews to the Rothschilds, pp. 58–64. 45 Samuel ben Elkanah, Sefer mekom Shmu’el (Altona, 1738), preface. The author of this work was patronized by David and lived on his premises. The listing of the contents of David’s ‘treasure house’ is largely a paraphrase of 2 Kings 20 and cannot be considered accurate. What is interesting are the divergences from the biblical text: the mixed list of books and objects and the name given to the chamber, which means ‘treasure house’ or museum. In the great collections of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, no distinction was made between books and objects. All were gathered in one Kunstkammer, a term parallel to the Hebrew beit nekhoto of Rabbi Samuel. (On the ducal collections of Braunschweig and the mixing of object types in one collection, see ‘Barocke Sammellust. Die Bibliothek and Kunstkammer des Herzogs Ferdinand Albrecht zu Braunschweig-Luneburg (1636–1687)’, Wolfenbütteler Bibliotheks-Informationen, 13, no. 1/2 [1988], p. 2.) 43

44

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community museum of Judaica in 1865 and eventually the core of the Judaica collection of the Braunschweigisches Landesmuseum.46 While David’s acquisition of Judaica was carried out within the context of a traditional Jewish life, the collections of the nineteenth century were by and large motivated by other, more secular concerns with the exception of Philip Salomons’ (1796–1867) collection that served the private synagogue in his house.47 Toward the latter part of the nineteenth century, the period in which we begin to encounter Judaica forgeries, we find collectors driven by ‘a true passion for art’ as well as by a sense of nostalgia for a past culture, as was Isaac Strauss.48 The exhibition of his collection at the International Exposition in Paris in 1878, the first of its kind, led to a greater interest in Judaica and the market for Judaica grew proportionately. Strauss was not alone in combining the love of art with Jewish historical consciousness. Similar feelings probably drove Lesser Gieldzinski of Danzig to form his collection of Judaica in the late nineteenth century. Like Strauss, Gieldzinski was an avid collector of all kinds of art; his home, full of antiquities and fine art was visited by connoisseurs, including Kaiser Wilhelm II and the Kaiserin Augusta.49 But as we learn from Gieldzinski’s own writings, the collector was also motivated by a keen historical sense, heightened by an awareness of the extensive loss of Jewish material culture through persecutions.50 For Gieldzinski, unlike David and Solomons, feelings of filial piety and nostalgia for a religious past were intertwined with an historical appreciation of Judaism that contributed to his search for Jewish objects. In 1904 he donated his collection to the Danzig Synagogue to serve as the nucleus of a Jewish museum. Yet, characteristic of the time, Gieldzinski’s collection also fell prey to forgeries; in

46 Hagen, ‘Entstehung der Judaica-Sammlung’, 9 ff.; G. Rulf, ‘Das Museum der israelitischen Gemeinde Braunschweig’, Mitteilungen zur jüdischen Volkskunde, 19, no. 3 (1906), pp. 89–94. 47 Cecil Roth, ‘Introduction’, in Barnett, Catalogue of the Permanent and Loan Collections of the Jewish Museum London, p. xiii. 48 [Georges Stenne], Collection de M. Strauss, p. xi. 49 Elizabeth Cats, ‘Lesser Gieldzinski (1830–1910)’, Danzig 1939, pp. 42–45. 50 See Gieldzinski’s handwritten notes on items in his collection, and on the memorial plaques for Gieldzinski’s parents. (Mann and Gutmann, Danzig 1939, nos. 38, 73, 103.)

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12. "The Slavery of the Israelites," Trieste Haggadah

13. Plate with arms of Vicenzo Maria Durazzo Vescova di Savona, Savona, late 17th century

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14. Large plate with sirens, Albisola, second-half of the 17th - early 18th century, majolica (Milan, Museo del Castell Sforzesco)

16. Plate with "The Triumph of Neptune," detail, Savona, 19th century (Savona: Pinacoteca Civica)

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15. Acquasantini, Savona, 18th century, majolica (Genoa-Nervi, Museo Luxoro)

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addition to one of the majolica plates, it included a few other works of dubious origin.51 Forgeries are connected with various social and economic processes. They point, in our case, to the existence of a Jewish bourgeoisie in Western and Central Europe that sought, and had the means to purchase objects with sentimental Jewish value. This Jewish bourgeoisie was well integrated into the surrounding culture, but not totally alienated from the Jewish community or from the Jewish past. These Jews embarked on diverse projects that provided them with an immediate connection to a forgotten or abandoned past. The purchase and collection of material objects was one such project. Consider the marketing success of Moritz Oppenheim’s series on the Jewish family in late nineteenth-century Germany, reproduced in several editions and in various forms for sale to a burgeoning market within the highly integrated Jewish community.52 Acquisition of such objects by bourgeois Jews was indicative of their effort to hold on to a rapidly disappearing way of life, a motivation exploited by dealers and entrepreneurial types. Interestingly enough, the Benguiat family was also troubled by the paucity of Jewish material objects. In a statement entitled ‘A Jewish Museum in America’ written by Mordechai Benguiat (the son of Hadji Ephraim) in 1931, an illuminating account is provided of the formation of his family’s collection in the nineteenth century: ‘A collection of Jewish Antiquities differs from all other collections in more than one way. Most art collections are generally formed ethnographically, or they come into being by preserving treasured heirlooms and gathering art works for the adornment of private homes . . . [but] the Jew could not preserve his treasures because . . . he has been practically always with a travelling bag on his shoulders and without knowing where he would go the very next day. Therefore any antiquities saved from the repeated catastrophes and diaspora are of the greatest value’.53 51 Mann and Gutmann, Danzig 1939, nos. 211 and 214, for example. Gieldzinski’s Passover plate came to the Jewish Museum, Danzig, on a brass stand of Ottoman origin, a type of metalwork also found in Benguiat’s collection. (Mann and Gutmann, Danzig 1939, no. 287; Sammlung jüdischer Kunstgegenstände der Synagogen-Gemeinde zu Danzig [Danzig, 1933], no. 114; I. M. Casanowicz, Collections of Objects of Religious Ceremonial in the United States National Museum. Smithsonian Institution United States National Museum Bulletin 148 [Washington, D.C.: 1929], 12: no. 30, Pl. IV.) 52 Schorsch, ‘Art as Social History’, pp. 141–172. 53 This statement is in the archives of the Judaica Department, The Jewish Museum,

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Hadji Ephraim Benguiat differed from all the other nineteenth-century collectors of Judaica in that he alone was also a dealer in antiquities, whose clients included Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught, William Randolph Hearst, and public museums. With his knowledge of the general market for antiques and with obvious recognition of the enthusiastic response to the first public exhibitions of Judaica (Paris, 1878; London, 1887), Benguiat may have realised that, amid the general desire to collect beautiful objets d’art of the past, lay a more specific market for Judaica. Among the entire collection of majolica plates that surfaced at the end of the nineteenth century, only one carries an authentic inscription contemporaneous with the dating of the plates according to style and iconography. It bears the name of Benguiat and the date 1889. This plate remained in Benguiat’s personal collection until its sale to The Jewish Museum, New York, in 1924. Despite its inscribed date, Benguiat had described the plate in the Smithsonian’s catalogue of his collection (1901) as having been made in the thirteenth century and glazed in Italy in the sixteenth century.54 He was able to present this false information because the plate was then encased in a wooden frame.55 Benguiat and his immediate family resided in Italy prior to their immigration to the United States in 1882.56 Some of the larger Benguiat family remained in Italy and were active as collectors and dealers into the twentieth century. They were thus in a favourable position to capitalise on a growing Judaica market. For those who collected, the works they owned expressed ties to a pious past that was slowly receding into the distance as they themselves were embracing modernity.

C. Adler and I. M. Casanowicz, Descriptive Catalogue of a Collection of Objects of Jewish Ceremonial Deposited in the U.S. National Museum by Hadji Ephraim Benguiat (Washington, D.C.: 1901), no. 78 and Pl. 134. 55 Roth, ‘Majolica Passover Plates’, p. 109, n. 9. 56 Information in the files of The Jewish Museum, New York. 54

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Appendix List of Known Majolica Plates (as of 1986) 1. Private Collection, New York; ex. coll. Mira Salomon. Bibliography: New York, Parke-Bernet Galleries, Jewish Ritual Silver and Other Hebraica Belonging to Mrs. Mira Salomon, sales catalogue, 1949, no. 120; Roth, ‘Majolica Passover Plates of the XVI–XVIIth Centuries’, Eretz-Israel 7 (1964), p. 109. 2. Budapest Jewish Museum (no. 64.445=Budapest I). Bibliography: Wischnitzer, ‘Studies in Jewish Art’, Jewish Quarterly Review, 36, no. I (July 1945), pp. 58–59; idem., 24 (April 1958), 10; Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 107; Egyhazi Gyujtemenyek Kincsei, Az Iparmüveszeti Múzeum, Kiállitásának Katalogusa (Budapest 1979), no. 394; Ilona Benoschofsky and Sandor Scheiber, A Budapesti Zsidó Muzeum (Budapest: 1987), no. 119. 3. Budapest Jewish Museum (no. 64.427=Budapest II). Bibliography: Kinesei, Az Iparmüveszeto Muzeum, no. 394; Benoschofsky and Scheiber, A Budapesti Zsido Múzeum, no. 118. 4. Collection M. A. Caracotch, Paris. Bibliography: Isaiah Shachar, The Jewish Year (Leiden, 1975), p. 36, Pl. XLC. 5. Collection Floersheim, Zurich. Bibliography: Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 109. 6. Jerusalem, Israel Museum (no. 134/15=Jerusalem I); ex. coll. Cecil Roth. Bibliography: Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 107. 7. Jerusalem, Israel Museum (no. 134/82=Jerusalem II) ex. coll. Sholem Asch; Victor Carter. Bibliography: Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 109. 8. Jerusalem, Israel Museum (no. 134/56=Jerusalem III) ex. coll. Sholem Asch; Victor Carter. Bibliography: Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 106 n. 2. 9. Collection Felix Kramarsky, New Rochelle (formerly); ex. coll. F. D. Mocatto. Bibliography: Joseph Jacobs and Lucien Wolf, Anglo-Jewish Historical Exhibition, no. 1697, Pl. 18; New York, Parke-Bernet Galleries, The

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Notable Collection of Felix Kramarsky, sales catalogue, 1959, no. 79. 10. Collection Ferdynand Lemler, Cracow; unpublished. 11. London, Jewish Museum (no. 340=London I); ex. coll. P. A. S. Phillips. Bibliography: R. D. Barnett, Catalogue of the Permanent and Loan Collections of the Jewish Museum London, no. 340; Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 108. 12. London, Jewish Museum (no. 339 =London II); ex. col. P. A. S. Phillips. Bibliography: Barnett, Catalogue of the Permanent and Loan Collections of the Jewish Museum London, no. 340; Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 109. 13. Lvov, Muzeum Przemyslowe. Bibliography: Jakob Schall, Przewodnik po zabytkach zydowskich m. Lwowa i historja Zydow lwowskich w zarysie (Lvov, 1935), p. 27. 14. Collection Mannheimer. Bibliography: Attilio Milano, Storia degli ebrei in Italia (Turin, 1963), Pl. 64. 15. Collection Moriah Art Gallery, New York; ex. coll. Marcetto Morpurgo; unpublished. 16. Collection Mullet (Palma de Mallorca). Bibliography: Cantera and Millas, Inscripciones hebraicas de España, pp. 393–397; José M. Millas Vallicrosa, ‘Nuevos epigrafes hebraicos’, Sefarad, 10 (1950), pp. 343–347A; Mulet Gomila, Un plato de ceramica con inscripcion hebraica (Palma de Mallorca, 1944), pamphlet. 17. Nancy, Musée Lorrain (Nancy I) ex. coll. Wienes; unpublished. 18. Nancy, Musée Lorrain (Nancy II) unpublished. 19. Nancy, Musée Lorrain (Nancy III) unpublished. 20. Collection S. Nauheim (formerly), Frankfurt. Bibliography: 1. Posen, ‘Katalog der erscheinenen Abbilddungen zur jüdischen Kunst und Kulturgeschichte’, Notizblatt der Gesellschaft zur Erforschung jüdischer Kunstdenkmäler, 30 (1932), p. 12; E. Toeplitz, ‘Sedergerat’, Frankfurter lsraelitisches Gemeindeblatt 8 (1931), p. 246; R. Wischnitzer, ‘Studies in Jewish Art’, 58; idem., ‘Art and the Italian Renaissance’, pp. 9–10. 21. New York, Jewish Museum (D 114=New York I) ex. coll. Lesser Gieldzinski; Jewish Community of Danzig. Bibliography: Mann and Gutmann, Danzig 1939, no. 52, for older literature.

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22. New York, The Jewish Museum (S78=New York II). Bibliography: C. Adler and I. M. Casanowicz, ‘Descriptive Catalogue of Objects of Jewish Ceremonial Deposited in the United States National Museum by Hadji Ephraim Benguiat’, U.S. National Museum Annual Report (1899), p. 555, Pl. 17; Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 109. 23. Prague, Jewish Museum (61.596); unpublished. 24. Toronto, Beth Zedek Museum (CR103); unpublished. 25. Vienna, Jewish Museum (formerly = Vienna I). Bibliography: Roth, ‘Majolica Plates . . .’, p. 109. 26. Vienna, Jewish Museum (formerly = Vienna II). Bibliography: F. Landsberger, Einführung in die jüdische Kunst (Berlin: 1935), Pl. 28. 27. Warsaw, Bersohn Museum (formerly). Bibliography: Encyclopaedia Judaica (Berlin: 1932), Vol. 9, 1202. 28. Location Unknown. Bibliography: Jüdisches Lexikon (Berlin, 1930), Vol. 4, no. 2, Pl. CLV I . 29. Brussels, Jewish Museum.

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‘Defining Jewish Art’. The Case of Two Eighteenth-Century Bookcovers

I

N 1953, Stephen Kayser, then director of The Jewish Museum, wrote an article titled ‘Defining Jewish Art’ for the Mordecai M. Kaplan Jubilee Volume.1 He argued that Jewish art is defined by ‘a true cultural function’. It is an art which ‘gives us objects which play an important role in Jewish life’, and further, ‘the function of the art object is the determining factor’. Kayser’s definition of Jewish art seems especially pertinent when considering the case of two similar eighteenth-century silver book covers in the collection of The Jewish Museum. The first was donated in 1955 by Dr. and Mrs. Abraham Garbat, and the second by Bee and George Wolfe in 1986 (Figs. 1 and 2).2 The front and back panels of both covers consist of openwork vine scrolls arranged in symmetrical patterns along imaginary central axes running from top to bottom. Small oval medallions occupy the corners, and a large medallion is set at the centre of each panel. Detailed

This essay was first published in Sholom Sabar, Steven Fine, and William Kramer, eds., A Crown for a King. Studies in Jewish Art, History and Archaeology in Memory of Stephen S. Kayser (Berkeley and Jerusalem, 2000), pp.193–203. 1 Stephen Kayser, ‘Defining Jewish Art’, Mordecai M. Kaplan Jubilee Volume (New York, 1953), pp. 457—67; reprinted in Readings on Jewish Art, 5 (n.p., n.d), pp. 11–22. 2 The Garbat cover encloses a Sefer Mishnayot printed in Amsterdam in 1687. The manuscript of the Wolfe cover is a Book of Blessings written and decorated in Fürth in 1734/5. On the Wolfe manuscript see Vivian B. Mann and Richard I. Cohen, From Court Jews, to the Rothschilds: Art, Patronage and Power 1600–1800 (New York, 1996), cat. no. 94 and the Appendix, here.

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examination of both works suggests they were made by the same silversmith. There are differences between the two covers, some original, and others, the result of reworking. The spine of the Wolfe cover is plain and bears a later engraved inscription,3 while the spine of the larger Garbat cover is of openwork, as are its clasps and headbands. The original Garbat cover was later reinforced by the addition to the present cover of one engraved plate flanking the spine, and by the addition of four similar rectangular panels to the back cover, whose openwork is damaged and missing a section. The better condition of the Wolfe cover obviated the need for such restorations. Much more interesting are the deliberate changes made to the significant areas of decoration on both covers, the small and large oval medallions. All but one of the ten medallions on the Garbat cover are presently covered by gilt plaques engraved with strapwork and floral motifs similar to those on the reinforcement plates (Figs. 3a and b). The Wolfe cover evidences similar changes (Figs. 4a and b) When it entered The Jewish Museum on loan in 1985, the central oval medallions had been fitted with crudely engraved carnelians that were out of character with the more delicate openwork: a bust of Moses holding the Tablets of the Law (inscribed with the Roman numerals I through X reading from left to right) on the upper cover, and a bust of King David holding his harp on the lower cover. The engraved decoration of the eight smaller medallions is largely abraded, though the following can still be discerned on the upper cover (Fig. 3a): upper right oval: a standing bird facing left; upper left oval: a setting sun with the words für allgemeine inscribed above; lower right oval: a bust figure with clasped hands. The lower left oval is illegible. On the lower cover, only the lower right oval bears visible decoration, a phoenix with outstretched wings rising from flames with the word tove inscribed above (Fig. 3b). Because the Wolfe cover was in need of a minor repair to one hinge, the silver cover was removed from the original red leather binding of the enclosed manuscript and dismantled.4 The removal of the carnelians from 3 The inscription reads: Unserer geliebten Mutter/ zur Erinnerung/ an die gold[e]ne Hochzeit/ Leo May (To our, beloved mother, in remembrance of the golden wedding anniversary, Leo May). Unfortunately, the donors have no information which elucidates this inscription. 4 I wish to thank Hermes Knauer of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, for calling my attention to the original decoration and for our subsequent, stimulating discussions on the covers.

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their bezels revealed the original engraved decoration of the central ovals: beneath Moses, there is a kneeling female figure leaning on a t-shaped support whose clasped hands are held upward as if in prayer, and underneath the carnelian depicting King David is a seated female supporting a large cross and holding a chalice. Comparisons with engravings in books of emblems, such as eighteenth-century editions of Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia, suggest that these two female figures are Christian personifications of Prayer and Faith. The Hertel edition printed in Augsburg in 1758–60 is particularly pertinent to our discussion as the editor amplified the text of Ripa by adding appropriate biblical parallels and German aphorisms.5 A similar text must have served as the model for the Wolfe cover. Originally, then, the front panel of the Wolfe cover was engraved with the female personification of Christian Faith, and Prayer was on the back cover. When the binding was reused for the Hebrew manuscript it now contains, a Book of Blessings written in Fürth in 1734/5,6 the covers were reversed. The carnelian engraved with Moses was set on the new top cover and that with David on the new back cover. The discovery of the original decorative scheme of the Wolfe cover prompted a re-examination of the Garbat binding. Removal of the oval gilt plaques at the corners and centre of each panel revealed a decorative scheme similar to that on the Wolfe cover (Figs. 3a and b). At the centre of the present top Garbat panel is the engraved figure of a seated woman holding a large cross surrounded by the saying nur diser bahn fu[hrt] Himel an (‘Only this way leads to Heaven’). An orb, symbolic of the earth,7occupies the smaller oval at top left on the same side. Along the edge are the words brilt schon die Welt (‘The world shines with beauty’). In the lower left position is an engraving of a boat with sails and the words erret noth (‘Deliver from sorrow’). The remaining two original ovals of the front cover are presently obscured by the reinforcement panel adjacent to the spine;

Cesare Ripa, Baroque and Rococo Pictorial Images. The 1758–60 Hertel Edition of Ripa’s Iconologia (New York, 1971), pp. 84 and 174. See also, Arthur Henkel and Albrecht Schone, Emblemata. Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst des XVI and XVII Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart, 1967), col. 1570. Similar illustrations in Henkel and Schone suggest an interpretation of the standing bird as a symbol of chastity, and the phoenix as a symbol of resurrection (Emblemata, cols. 842 and 795). 6 See above n.. 2 and the Appendix. 7 For the orb as a symbol of the earth see Henkel and Schone, Emblemata, col. 44. 5

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1. Book Cover, Germany, ca. 1700, silver, 11.1 x 6.3 x 3.5 cm (New York, The Jewish Museum, JM 63-55, Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Abraham Garbat)

3a,b. Wolfe Book Cover a) detail upper cover, b) detail lower cover

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2. Book Cover, Germany, ca. 1700, silver, 10.9 x 5.7 x2.6 cm (New York, The Jewish Museum, Gift of Bee and George Wolfe, 1986-160 a,b)

4a,b. Garbat Book Cover a) upper cover b) lower cover

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5. Book Cover, Germany, ca. 1700, silver, 6.3 x 12.3 x 4.2 cm (New York, The Library of The Jewish Theological Seminary of America)

6. Frontispiece, Book of Blessings, Fürth, 1723/5, ink and gouache on parchment, 9.45 x 4.85 cm (New York, The Jewish Museum, 1986-160 a, Gift of Bee and George Wolfe)

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similar panels obscure all four small ovals of the present back cover. The only visible oval on the reverse is the large central medallion. Its decoration, which continues the nautical theme noted before, consists of a seated woman perched above a wavy ground and holding an anchor. Around the edge of the medallion is the saying In wellen und Sturm wird dises mich Schirm (‘In waves and storms, this will protect me’). The cross shape of the anchor suggests the theme of personal salvation through Christian faith. Unfortunately, neither the Garbat nor the Wolfe cover bears hallmarks that would indicate its date or place of origin. A third unmarked cover of similar openwork is in The Library of The Jewish Theological Seminary of America (Fig. 5). It is comparable in size to the Wolfe cover, and like it has a narrow border of quatrefoils along the outer edges,8 but also shares features of the Garbat binding, notably the openwork clasps and headbands. The openwork scrolls of the front and back panels of the Seminary binding, which incorporate strapwork in addition to floral elements, are more elaborate than those of the two Jewish Museum covers, but there are enough similarities to suggest that all three are products of the same shop. A dating ca. 1700 is suggested on stylistic grounds. A more refined example of the type was made by Matthaus Schmidt of Augsburg who was active between 1659 and 1696,9 and similar openwork book covers were produced in Frankfurt through the first quarter of the eighteenth century. Two extant examples bear the hallmark of Johann Michael Schüler who died in 1718.10 Some time after their original fabrication as covers for Christian prayer books, the Wolfe and Garbat covers were changed through the abrasion of their original engraved decoration and the addition of new iconographic elements to serve Jewish purposes. If, as Kayser posited, ‘the function of the art object is the determining factor’, then the book covers under discussion

8 On the Seminary cover, the quatrefoil border is better preserved, allowing a clearer picture of the original appearance of the Wolfe cover. Many of the abraded quatrefoils of the latter work were placed by incised ‘x’s’. 9 Kölnisches Stadtmuseum, Monumenta Judaica: 2000 Jabre Geschichte und Kultur der Juden am Rhein, (Cologne, 1963), no. E21. On Schmidt, see Helmut Seling, Die Kunst der Augsberger Goldschmiede 1529–1868 (Munich, 1980), Vol. 3, no. 1621. I want to thank my colleague Chaya Benjamin of the Israel Museum for bringing this example to my attention. 10 For a discussion of the Frankfurt covers see Vivian B. Mann, ‘The Golden Age of Jewish Ceremonial Art in Frankfurt. Metalwork of the Eighteenth Century’, Yearbook of the Leo Baeck Institute, 31(1986), pp. 389–403, or chapter XIV above.

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were transformed from works of Christian art to works of Jewish art. They are extreme examples of a very traditional process in the history of Jewish ceremonial art: the transformation of a previously made object into a servant of ritual. Since Jewish law generally stresses the function of an object rather than its form, there are many and varied examples of this process of transformation.11 The simplest case is the purchase of a new work whose form fits the function required by Judaism, for example, the silver beaker which becomes a kiddush cup, or the laver and basin used to wash the hands of priests (kohanim) in the synagogue.12 A more complex process involves the transformation of a previously used profane object into a work of ceremonial art, such as the creation of a Torah curtain or mantle from a beautiful garment, a common practice in previous centuries when hand-embroidered silks were highly valued and treasured. Documentary evidence indicates that the practice was already widespread ca. 1400. Jacob ben Moses Moellin, known as the Maharil (ca. 1360–1427), recommended the purchase of new textiles for the fabrication of Torah covers and curtains, although he recognised that the re-use of previously worn garments was common practice.13 Rabbis who allowed re-use of a worn garment often required the reworking of the fabric so that its original form would no longer be apparent. This opinion was expressed by both Jair
ayyim Bacharach (1638–1702) and by Abraham Abele Gombiner (1635–1683).14 Despite such strictures, there are many extant examples of ceremonial textiles that incorporate garments whose original shape is still visible.15

11 On the role of function as a determining factor in the creation of Jewish ceremonial art, see Vivian B. Mann, ‘Introduction’, A Tale of Two Cities, pp. 17–23. 12 For instances of this process of transformation see David Altshuler, ed., The Precious Legacy. Judaic Treasures from the Czechoslovak State Collections (New York, 1983), nos. 78 and 90. 13 Jacob ben Moses Moellin, Shealot u-Teshuvot Maharil, ed. Yitzhak Satz (Jerusalem, 1980), no. 114. 14 Jair
ayyim Bacharach, Sefer Shealot u-Teshuvot
avvat Yair (Jerusalem, 1967/8), no. 161; Abraham Abele Gombiner, Magen Avraham, published in Joseph Caro, Shulan Arukh, Ora
ayyim, 147:2 (Hebrew). 15 For examples, see Barbara Kirschenblatt-Gimblett, Fabric of Jewish Life (New York, 1977), no. 48, and Iris Fishof, From the Secular to the Sacred. Everyday Objects in Jewish Ritual Use (Jerusalem, 1985), nos. 1 and 10.

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Even the re-use of a previously sanctified object posed legal problems, since Jewish law establishes a hierarchy of sanctity with the Torah occupying the highest level. In general, the law allows a sanctified object to be used for a higher purpose: for example, portions of a Torah curtain could be made into a mantle for the scroll itself, but not the reverse.16 The Wolfe and Garbat book covers are, as previously stated, an extreme case, the use of objects made to serve non-Jewish worship for Jewish purposes. An early reference to the practice occurs in the writings Asher ben Yeiel (ca. 1250–1327) of Spain.17 He was asked if one may hang a Muslim prayer rug adjacent to the ark in a synagogue, presumable for decorative purposes.18 Rabbi Asher replied that an object prepared for Muslim worship should not remain in the synagogue. The typological case represented by the book covers, the re-use of a work of Christian ceremonial art, was posed to Meir ben Barukh of Rothenberg (ca. 1215–1293), the supreme Ashkenazi legal authority of his time. He forbade the re-use of Christian priestly ornaments as adornment for a Jewish prayer shawl because of their association with idolatry.19 Several centuries later, Jair
ayyim Bacharach refused to allow the employment of an embroidered swaddling cloth, previously used at a baptism or christening, as a binder for the Torah, but when he saw a circumcisor use such a swaddling cloth during a circumcision, Rabbi Jair did not stop him.20 One may presume that Rabbi Jair’s two variant decisions were based, in part, on the different levels of sanctity of the uses described. The individual or individuals who allowed the transformation of two Christian book covers into bindings for Hebrew prayer books in the century after Rabbi Jair’s death must have subscribed to his viewpoint and assigned the same low level of sanctity to the covers as the renowned rabbi had to the circumcision swaddling cloth. Viewed simply in the light of a functional definition, all of the cases cited above concern works of Jewish art. However, in the world of rabbinic 16 For examples of the general principle, see Bacharach, loc. cit.; Jacob ben Asher, Arba’ah Turim, Ora
ayyim, Laws of the Synagogue, 153; and Israel ben Petaiah Isserlein, Terumat haDeshen (Tel Aviv, n.d. ) no. 225. 17 Asher ben Yeiel, Shealot u-Teshuvot (New York, 1954), Part 5, no. 2. And see above pp. 200–202. 18 For more on this issue, see Chapter XI. 19 Meir ben Barukh of Rothenberg, She’elot u-Teshuvot Maharam ben Barukh. II Pesakim uMinhagim, ed. I. Z. Kahan (Jerusalem, 1960), no. 124. 20 Bacharach, op. cit., no. 161.

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thought, the question of function pertains not just to the present, but also to the past. The rabbis were keenly aware that every work embodies a history of creation and use, and that history might affect the suitability of a work. That they were not inventing hypothetical cases for the purpose of discussion is clear both from their writings and from the objects themselves. The case of the book covers is a vivid example.

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Appendix The manuscript Book of Blessings that is part of the Wolfe donation contains the Grace After Meals, blessings recited on various occasions, the evening prayers and bedtime prayers, the sanctification of the New Moon and the counting of the omer (the forty-nine days between the second night of Passover and the first night of Shavuot, when a measure of barley (the omer) was brought to the Temple in Jerusalem). This selection was suitable for a male owner; the text lacks those blessings traditionally recited by women.21 Various aspects of the frontispiece decoration (Fig. 6) hint at the owner’s name.22 Jacob’s dream of the ladder (Genesis 28:10–15) is depicted in the top register. The remainder of the page is occupied by a triple arcade resting on a high podium. An account of the contents is inscribed at centre and is flanked by the biblical figures often found on the frontispieces of eighteenth-century manuscripts. But the choice of these figures is unusual. Moses is paired with Joshua and both of the inscriptions below the figures refer to Joshua.23 This choice suggests that the owner’s names were a combination of Jacob and Joshua. That he was a Levite is shown by the depiction of a laver and basin at bottom centre. The Wolfe Book of Blessings is profusely decorated and contains the following illuminations in addition to the frontispiece: 2r: a double-headed eagle inscribed with the word lehodot (to praise [God]). 6r: a man dressed in a red tunic with lace ruff, a long black cloak and a baretta lighting the Hanukkah menorah. 7r: Haman hanging from the gallows, with a cityscape in the background. 8v: decorated letter panels forming an initial word.

For example, the blessings over allah, the making of bread, and for immersion in the ritual bath following the cessation of menses. 22 I want to thank Dr. Menahem Schmelzer of the Jewish Theological Seminary for this suggestion. 23 At the right beneath Joshua is the quotation ‘Joshua, a young man, departed not out of the Tent’ (Ex. 33:11), which implies that the owner of the Book of Blessings was a youth. At left, beneath the figure of Moses is the passage ‘And Moses called unto Joshua and said . . .’. (Deut. 31:7). 21

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9r: word panel surrounded by floral motifs. 11v: decorated word panel. 14r: decorated letter panels for an initial word. 21v: pomegranate shaped title panel for the bedtime prayers. 23r: decorated word panel. 26r: decorated word panel. 27r: decorated word panel. 36r: a depiction of the moon and stars. 37r: decorated word panel. 40v: a tailpiece of a winged cherub’s head. 41r: decorated word panel. 41v–49v: days of the omer set in oval frames (three to a page). 50v: a floral tailpiece. 52r: a floral tailpiece. 52v: decorated word panel. 56v: decorated panels 58r: decorated word panel. 58v: decorated word panel 60v: decorated word panel. 66r: decorated word panel. 68v: decorated letter panels forming an initial word. 71r: decorated word panel. 71v: a tailpiece consisting of a bird pecking at a basket of flowers. The initial words of other paragraphs are emphasised through the enlargement or colouring of the letters. In style and iconography: these textual illuminations arc very similar to those in a Book of Blessings written in Fürth in 1793, and now in the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary of New York (JTS 8252. Acc. number: 01286).24 The decoration of this later work represents a reduced version of that in the Wolfe Book of Blessings or a similar model. The smaller Seminary book, however, lacks an illuminated frontispiece. But two similar compositions of a triple arcade surmounted by a scene and inhabited by biblical

24 Menahem Schmelzer, ‘Decorated Hebrew Manuscripts of the Eighteenth Century in the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America’, Occident and Orient. Studies in Honour of Professor Alexander Scheiber, ed. Robert Dan (Budapest and Leiden, 1986), p. 277, no. 5.

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figures set on a high podium are known. One is in another Book of Blessings written in Fürth in 1737/8, and the other is in a Circumcision Book (Sefer sod ha-Shem) dated to the same year, but without an inscribed place of origin.25

25 The Illustrated Prayer Book of Reizele Binge of Fürth, 1737/38, and JNUL, Yah. Ms. Heb. 143; on this second manuscript see Shalom Sabar, ‘The Illustrated Prayer Book of Reizele Binge of Fürth, 1737/38, ‘A Crown for a King, pp. 205–19.

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Glossary *All foreign words are Hebrew, unless noted otherwise. almemor. (from the Arabic al-minbar) elevated Reader’s Desk in a synagogue Almohads. Berber dynasty that ruled parts of North Africa and Muslim Spain in the twelfth century, who were adherents of a rigid Islamic orthodoxy ambo. raised desk used by a cantor in the synagogue who stands while reciting prayers; the raised desk in the early church from which the Gospels or Epistles were read Ashkenaz. German lands Ashkenazi. a Jew from Germany or a descendant of one Bar Kokhba (d. 135 CE). leader of the Jewish revolt against the Romans in 132-35 CE geniza. a repository for worn or damaged Hebrew texts Cairo Geniza. the repository in the Ben Ezra synagogue, Fostat (Cairo), whose texts largely date from the eighth through the thirteenth centuries cuir ciselé. (French) leather that is incised as a means of decoration Gördes. west Anatolian center for the production of prayer rugs during the eighteenth century Habilitationschrift. (Ger.) inaugural dissertation for the doctoral degree at German universities haggadah (pl. haggadot). service book for the Seder, the ritual meal held on the first night of Passover (and again on the second night in the diaspora)

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halakhah (pl. halakhot).. the corpus of Jewish law based on the Hebrew Bible, the Mishnah, the Talmud and the legal writings of later rabbis; a single law halakhist. expert in Jewish law hamsa. talisman in the shape of a hand. Hanukkah. eight-day holiday that commemorates the defeat of the GrecoSyrians, overlords of Judea, and the reconsecration of the Temple in 165 BCE. havdalah. (lit. separation) ceremony marking the conclusion of Sabbaths and holy days
umash. the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, the Torah in book form Ka’ba. black cubic stone located in the central mosque of Mecca, the focus of Islamic prayer and the most important goal of Muslim pilgrimage kasher. in a household that follows Jewish dietary laws, to make a vessel fit for use through boiling or soaking; to make an everyday vessel fit for use on Passover when no leavened food is eaten kavanah. concentration during prayer, spirituality ketubbah (pl. ketubbot). marriage contract kiddush. santification over wine recited on Sabbaths, holy days, and life cycle occasions lulav (pl. lulavim). a palm branch to which sprigs of myrtle and willow are bound; carried in procession during prayers on Tabernacles (Sukkot) Mamluk. (Turkish, lit. slave) a dynasty of Anatolian origin that ruled the coastal lands of the eastern Mediterranean and Egypt from 1250-1517 menorah (pl. menorot). seven-branched lampstand that existed in the Jerusalem temple; a similar lampstand for a synagogue; or any Hanukkah lamp with lights on branches mihrab. niche in a mosque which signals the direction of prayer (the direction to Mecca) Minnekästchen. (Ger., lit. love casket) a small casket given as a love gift, a bridal present, or at New Year’s in Germany and Switzerland from the thirteenth through the sixteenth centuries Mishnah. (lit. repetition or learning) first code of Jewish law redacted by Judah ha Nasi by the end of the second century C.E. Mudejar. an Arab or Jew living under Christian rule in Spain, the art and architecture created for Christians by Arab or Jewish craftsman in medieval Spain prayer rug. in the Muslim tradition, a rug laid on the ground to provide a

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ritually clean place on which to pray Purim. holiday marking the deliverance of the Jews in ancient Persia from destruction responsum (pl. responsa). text of the question posed to a rabbinic authority on Jewish law and his answer retablo. altar painting set behind the altar rimmon (pl. rimmonim). see Torah finials Seder. (lit. order) a ritual meal held in Jewish homes on the eve of Passover during which the story of the Exodus from Egypt is read and symbolic foods are eaten Sepharad. Spain Sephardi. Jew from Spain or the descendant of one shofar. a ram’s horn blown during services on the New Year (Rosh Hashanah) Shulan Arukh. definitive Code of Jewish Law written by the Sephardi rabbi, Joseph Caro (1488-1575). The code was emended for Ashkenazi usage by Moses Isserles (1520-1572) of Cracow. Simat Torah. (lit. Rejoicing over the Law) final day of Sukkot when the yearly cycle of reading the Torah is completed and begun again sukkah (pl. sukkot). a booth erected for the holiday of Sukkot (Tabernacles) in remembrance of the Israelites’ wandering through the wilderness Talmud. the texts of the Mishnah and rabbinic commentaries on them dated the third to sixth centuries. The Jerusalem Talmud was compiled in 425 CE; while the Babylonian version was completed ca. 600 tik (tikim). a cylindrical covering for the Torah scroll either of textiles or metal Torah. the Hebrew Bible; written as a scroll for liturgical use Torah curtain. curtain before the ark in which Torah scrolls are stored in a synagogue Torah crown/finials. decoration for the staves that support the scroll Torah mantle. textile covering for a Torah scroll Torah pointer. small rod used to follow the text of the Torah scroll Torah shield. silver shield designed to indicate the lection to which the scroll was turned Tosefta. (Aramaic, lit. addition) additional texts, known as early as the talmudic period, whose orders parallels those of the Mishnah vermiculée. ornamented with thin and wavy lines that reflect the path of worms (found on architecture, metalwork and in manuscripts

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Bibliography Original Sources 1 Abraham of Lunel. Sefer haManhig. Adret, Solomon ben Abraham. Responsa haRashba. Africain, Jean-Léon. Description de l’Afrique (Lyons, 1556). Amado, David. Einei David. Likutei Dinim. Asher ben Yeiel. Responsa Asheri. ______. Responsa leha-Rav Rabeinu Asher. Babylonian Talmud. Bacharach, Jair
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1 Because of the multiple editions in which important rabbinical texts appeared, only their titles are given in the bibliography. In all cases, the word Responsa has been substituted for the original Hebrew equivalent, which is found in the footnotes.

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Gil, Moshe. Documents of the Jewish Pious Foundations from the Cairo Geniza (Leiden, 1976). Goitein, Shlomo Dov. ‘The Synagogue Building and its Furnishings according to the Records of the Cairo Geniza’. Eretz Israel. 7 (1964), pp. 81–97 (Hebrew). Grayzel, Solomon. The Church and the Jews in the XIIIth Century. ed. and rev. by Kenneth R. Stowe (New York and Detroit, 1989). Isaac ben Judah ibn Ghayyat. Sha’arei Simah. Isaac ben Moses of Vienna. Responsa ‘Or Zarua. Isserlein, Israel ben Petaiah. Terumat haDeshen. Isserles, Moses. Commentary on Joseph Caro’s Shulan Arukh. Jerusalem Talmud. Jacob ben Asher. Arba’ah Turim. Jacob ben Moses Moellin. Sefer Maharil. Jaffe, Mordecai. Levush Ora
ayyim. Katzenellenbogen, Ezekiel. Responsa Kneset Yeezkel. Kaufmann, David. ‘Art in the Synagogue’. Jewish Quarterly Review. 9 (1897), pp. 254–69. Landau, Ezekiel. Responsa Noda biYehudah. Luria, Solomon. Responsa haMaharshal. Maimonides. Mishneh Torah. _________. Teshuvot haRambam, Vol. 2, ed. Jehoshua Blau (Jerusalem, 1960). Margaritha, Anton. Die Gantz Jüdisich Glaub (Augsburg, 1530). Meir of Rothenburg. Responsa Maharam. ________. Responsa Maharam II. Pesakim uMinhagim, ed. I. Z. Kahan (Jerusalem, 1960). Mishnah. Moses of Aragel, trans. La Biblia de Alba. ed. Jeremy Schonfeld (Madrid, 1992). Sofer, Moses. Responsa. Yom Tov ben Abraham Ishbili. Responsa haRitba.

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Index of Names

Abelard, Peter: 171 Abi Uzi, son of Joseph of Damascus: 28 Abraham ben Jacob: 281 of Lunel: 34 Vidal: 125 Abulafia, Samuel HaLevi: 90 ibn Adret, Solomon: 34, 67 n. 2, 76, 87, 128–29, 220 Africain, Jean-Léon: 123, 218 Alexander IV: 159 Alfarin, Bernart de: 127 Archivolti, Samuel: 106 Arthur, Duke of Connaught: 304 Asard, Robin: 34–5, 140 Asher ben Shlomo: 201 Asher ben Yehiel: 67 n. 2, 200–02, 316 Augusta (Kaiserin):199 Avrin, Leila: 72 Bacharach, Jair Hayyim: 9, 10, 315–16 Bamberg, Wolfin von: 50, n. 31 Bar Kokhba: 26, 180 Bayezid: 188, 193–194 Benchimol, Abraham: 215–6 Benedict XIII: 128 Benguiat Family: 196–97, 239, 290, 295, 303–04

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Benjamin of Tudela: 123 Bernard of Clairvaux: 104 Besancenot, Jean: 222 Beyer, Peter: 270, 278 Birckenhole, Caspar: 259 n.16 Birkelin, Gerard : 160 Blasco Martinez, Asuncíon: 127 Boller, Johann Adam: 264–69, 278 Boralevi, Alberto: 203 haBouya’a, Solomon ben Levi: 121 von Brandenburg, Johann Sigismund: 41 Brinner, William: 115 Capsali, Elijah: 30, 188 Cahn, Walter: 92 Caro, Joseph: 4, 8, 9, 30, 100, 104–06 ibn Caspi, Joseph: 46 Coen, Colombo: 294 Cohen, David Isaac: 124 Judah: 32 Mark: 115 Naphtali: 255 Constantine: 194 Crescas, Abraham ben Benveniste: 124 Cresques, Abrhaham: 125 Crétot-Duval, Raymond: 216 Cuthbert (Saint): 183

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David, Alexander: 298–99 Dehodencq, Édme-Alexis-Alfred: 216–17 Delacroix, Eugène: 214–17, 236 Dietrich Schenk zu Erbach: 52 Duchamp, Marcel: 7 Duran, Profiat: 16 Duran, Simon ben Zemah: 67 n. 2, 75 Durazzo, Vincenzo Maria: 295 Eco, Umberto: 16 Eidelberg, Shlomo: 240 Eliezer ben Samson of Cologne: 172 Eliakim ben Joseph: 4: n. 11, 5, 101–03, 160–61 Elijah of Ferrara: 123, 129 Ellis, Charles Grant: 203 Emmel, Stephen: 177 Emug son of Aprus: 158 Ephraim of Regensburg: 2 n.4, 47, 75 Ettinghausen, Richard: 202 Fettmilch, Vincent: 259 de Figuera, Gomes Suares: 126 Louis Finkelstein: 153 Flood, Finbarr B.: 97 Francesco Maria of Urbino: 253 Francesca Maria II della Rovere: 253–54 Frederick Barbarossa: 35 Freedberg, David: 16 Garbat, Dr. and Mrs. Abraham: 308 Gerard son of Nathan and Heilswinda: 158 Gieldzinski, Lesser: 299 Godehard (Saint): 51–52 Goitein, Shlomo Dov: 180 Goldschmidt, Joseph: 48, 257

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Gombiner, Abraham Abele: 315 Gottfredus: 171 Gottschalk, Elyakim and Bela: 158 Goulven, J.: 221 Gregory of Tours: 32 Griebel, Johann Sebastian: 277 Gundersheimer, Hermann: 270 Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden: 198 Guzmán, Luis de (Master of the Order of Calatrava): 125 Hachuel, Soleika: 216 Hahn, Joseph Juspa, 278 Hai Gaon: 33 Hai ben Sherira: 33 Halevi, Judah: 91 Halevi, Samuel: 90 Hamon, Moses: 193 Hanim, Zenniye Felek: 196 ibn ayyim, Abraham: 127 Heidelberger, Heinrich: 40, 48, 257 Hekim, Yakub: 193 Heraclius: 194 Herfurth, Rötger: 265, 269–70, 277–79 Hering, Loy: 144 Hetzel, Johann Christian: 277 Hilkiah (High Priest): 179 Isaac ben Moses of Vienna: 2 n. 4, 102, 103, 160, 172 Isaac ben Zakhariah: 52, 140 Ishbili, Yomtov ben Abraham: 67 n. 2 Isserlein, Israel ben Petaiah: 40–41, 89 Isserles, Moses: 41–42, 64 Jacob ben Asher: 63, 89 Jaffe, Meir: 116, 139–40 James I of Aragon: 128 Joseph (Rabbi): 27 ibn Hayyim: 125

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335

INDEX

ibn Caspi: 46 of Naxos: 193 the Frenchman: 125 Josiah: 179 Judah ben Asher: 67 n. 2, 201–02 Judah of Cologne: 159 Katzenellenbogen, Ezekiel: 106, 112–13 Katzenellenbogen, Meir: 30 Kayser, Stephen: 240, 308, 314 Kimi, David: 91 Kirchmayr, C.: 294 Kneller, Johann Daniel: 277 Kolb, Rudolf: 40 Krautheimer, Richard: 85–87, 91 Kyra, Esther: 193 Lameyer y Berenguer, Francisco: 216 Landau, Ezekiel: 87–88 Lemprière, William: 215 Leschhorn, Johann Jacob: 277 Jost: 277 Levantino, Angelo: 295 de Levi, Juan: 127 Lucas, Bishop of Tuy: 102, 161 Lücke, Johann Jacob: 277 Luria, Solomon: 28 Maimonides: 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 16, 21–2, 31, 51 n. 34, 88, 91, 98–101, 103, 105, 122, 124, 126, 180 ibn Malik, Menaem ben Abraham: 124 Margaritha, Anton: 2, 3 n. 7, 40–41 Mathilda (Abbess): 90 Maymo, Bonnim:124 de Medina, Samuel: 31 Mehab, Isaac: 90 Mehmed II: 193 Meir of Rothenburg: 4: n. 11, 5, 6, 32, 45–46, 103–04, 139–40,

New Index.indd 335

159 n. 25, 316 Menaem ben Solomon (Meiri): 92 Merian, Mathaeus: 281 Michael, Judah: 255–56 Millard Meiss: 126 Mizrai, Elijah: 193 Moellin, Jacob ben Moses: 64, 315 Mordecai ben Hillel haKohen: 92, 172 de Mornay, Charles: 214, 216 Morpurgo, Abraham Vita: 294 Moshe ben Asher: 121 Moses of Arragel: 125–26 Moulay Abderrahman: 214 Muhammad: 194 Murad III: 97, 193 Nahmanides: 91 Nathan (Rabbi): 201 Nicolay, Nicolas de: 132 Obadiah de Bertinoro: 35 Oppenheim, Moritz: 282, 303 Otto the Great: 90 Ovid: 154 Patrick (Saint): 183 Pedro IV: 126 Perlsticker, Solomon and his Wife: 105 Picasso, Pablo: 7 Przemysl II of Poland: 50 Rabba: 27 Rashi: 89–90 Rekhala, daughter of Eliezer Dayan: 258 Ripa, Cesare: 310 Rixa Elizabeth (Queen of Bohemia and Austria): 50, 53 Roth, Cecil: 282, 290–91, 297 Rothschild, Karl von: 52 Rudolf II of Austria: 50

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336 of St. Pantaleon: 158, 160 Rupert of Deutz: 159 Rysselberghe, Théo van: 216 Sabar, Shalom: 79 Safran, Janina M.: 131 Salamone Family: 131 de Salinas, Abraham: 127 Salomons, Philip: 299 Samson of Wurzburg: 172 Sandrat, Hans Jacob: 259, 267, 269 Johann Matthias: 262 von Sandt, Karl: 40 Sarre, Friedrich: 202 Schedel, Georg William: 264, 267, 269 Scheffler, Wolfgang: 262–63 Scherff, Zacharias: 277 Schmidt, Matthaus: 314 Schoenberger, Guido: 240, 262, 267, 270 Schudt, Johann Jakob: 255 Schüler, Johann Michael: 262–3, 265–66, 269, 278, 314 Johann Valentin: 262–63, 265– 70, 278 Selim I: 193 Selim II: 193–94 Sender, Hans: 259 ibn Serif, Kerim: 196 Shachar, Isaiah: 297 Severus (Saint): 32 Shapiro, Meyer: 104 Shem-Tov, Jamil Abraham Ezekiel: 198 Shmu’el ben Naman: 179–80

New Index.indd 336

Solomon ben Samson of Mainz: 172 Strauss, Isaac: 299 Suleyman the Magnificent: 193 Szirmai, J. A.: 181 Theodulf of Orléans: 171 Theophilus: 127 von Toorn, Karel: 179 Trabot, Nathaniel: 27 Trani, Moses: 30 Uthman (Caliph): 178 Del Vecchio, Isaac: 246 Joseph: 246 Vernet-Lecomte, Charles-Émile: 215–16 Virgil: 171 Wenzel II of Bohemia: 50 Whelan, Estelle: 97 Wilhelm II: 289 Willems III, Johannes: 277 Wischnitzer, Rachel: 43, 240–41, 281, 291–92, 298 Wolfe, Bee and George: 308 Yaniv, Braha: 203 ibn abi Zimra, David: 10, 30, 92, 198 Zobel, Jeremias: 268–9, 278

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Photo Credits Sources of Illustrations Original Photographs Albright–Knox Gallery: ch.12, Fig. 2 Author: ch. 2, Fig. 1, 3; ch. 5, Figs. 6–7; ch. 6, Fig. 3, 19; ch. 8, Figs. 3–5, 10; ch. 9, Figs. 1, 4, 7, 9–14; ch. 12, Figs. 5, 15, 20; ch. 13, Figs. 4, 8; ch.14, Figs. 2, 4; ch. 15, Figs. 3, 7, 16; ch.16, Fig. 3, 4, 6 Staatliches Museen zu Berlin: ch.9, Fig. 11 Bardini Museum: ch. 7, Fig. 15 Berman Museum, Congregation Emanu-el of the City of New York: ch. 3, Fig.1 British Museum: ch. 9; Fig. 6 Brooklyn Museum: ch.1, Fig. 5 Paul Dahan: ch.12, Figs. 7, 14–16 Isabelle C. Denamour: ch.12, Figs.10–11 Irene Forsyth: ch. 9, Fig. 3 Ivo Grammet and Guy Bellinx: ch. 12, Fig. 6 Gross Family Collection: ch. 12, Fig. 18 Linda Gross: ch.12, Figs. 8 and 12 Islamisches Museum: ch.4, Fig.7; ch.11, Fig. 4 Israel Museum: ch. 7, Fig. 4; ch. 15, Fig. 8 Courtesy of the Kuwait National Museum: ch.10, Fig. 4 LeFrak Family: ch.12, Fig. 5 Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary: ch. 2, Figs. 3, 6; ch.10, Fig. 5; ch.16, Fig. 5

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338 Metropolitan Museum of Art: ch. 8, Fig. 6; ch.10, Figs. 2, 5; ch. 12, Figs. 4, 9; ch. 13, Figs. 4, 6 Nancy, Musée Lorrain: ch. 15, Figs. 5, 10 Courtesy of the National Museum of Ireland: ch. 10, Fig. 2 Northampton Museums and Art Gallery: ch. 9, Fig.5 Prague Jewish Museum: ch. 1, Fig. 6; ch. 6, Figs. 2, 5 Index of Christian Art: ch. 9, Fig. 8 Private Collections: ch.9, Fig.3; ch.12. Fig. 3; ch.15, Fig.7 Raby, Yvette: ch.12, Fig.1 Textile Museum: ch.11, Fig. 5 Uto Auktionen: ch.11, Fig. 7 Courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum: ch. 4, Fig. 9; ch. 9, Fig. 15 Visual Resources Archive, The Jewish Museum, New York: ch.1, Figs. 2–4, 8–9; ch. 2, Figs. 4, 9; ch. 3, Figs. 4–5; ch. 4, Figs. 5, 11; ch. 5, Fig. 4; ch. 6, Figs. 1–3, 5, 7; ch. 8, Figs. 1–2; ch. 10, Fig. 1; ch.11, Figs. 1–3, 6; ch. 12, Figs. 13, 16, 19; ch.13, Figs. 1–3, 5, 7, 9–11; ch. 14, Figs. 1, 3, 5–11; ch. 15, Figs. 1, 4, 6, 9; ch. 16, Figs.1–2, 6 Yeshiva University Museum: ch. 1, Fig.7; ch. 14, Fig. 3

Photographs from Printed Texts Note: Only references not in the bibliography are cited in full. Atil, Esin. Renaissance of Islam. Art of the Mamluks (Washington, 1981): ch.10. Fig. 3 Bango Treviso. Memoria de Sefarad: ch. 2, Figs. 7–8; ch. 4, Figs.1, 3, 6; ch. 7, Fig. 14 Bloch, Peter. “Siebenarmige Leuchter”: ch. 5, Fig. 5 Blumenkranz, Bernhard, ed. Art et archéologie des Juifs . . .: ch. 1, Fig. 1 Brown, Sarah. A History of Stained Glass (London, 1994): ch. 6, Fig. 1 Cabañero Subiza, Bernabé. La Aljaferia (Saragossa, 2002): ch.7, Fig. 9 Cağman, Filiz. The Anatolian Civilizations III: ch. 10: Fig. 6 Christie’s, London. Important European Sculpture and Works of Art, 16 December 1986: ch. 9, Fig. 2 Ehrend, H. Der Münzschatz von Lingenfeld 1969: ch. 3, Fig. 9 Feigel, G. “Das Geheimnis um den Schenkenbecher von Erbach,” Dom und Diözese zu Mainz (Mainz, 1939): ch. 3, Fig.10 Fritz, J. M. Goldschmiedekunst der Gotik: ch. 3, Figs. 2, 7, 8, 11–13 Gall, Günther. Leder im Europäischen Kunsthandwerk (Braunschweig, 1965): ch. 3, Fig. 10 Geiger, Agnes. A History of Textiles: ch. 6, Fig. 6

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339

Gutmann, Joseph. Hebrew Manuscripts: ch. 7, Fig. 6 Himmelheber, Georg. Spiele (Munich, 1972): ch. 8, Fig. 9 Hirth, G., ed. Die Formenschatz (n. p., 1896): ch. 8, Fig. 8 Index of Christian Art: ch. 9, Fig. 8 Israel Museum, The Torah (Jerusalem, 1979): ch. 7, Fig. 4 Lessing, J. Holschnitzereien des Fuenfzehnten Jahrhunders in Kunstgewerbe-Museum zu Berlin (Berlin, 1882): ch. 8, Fig. 7 Mann, Vivian B., Gardens & Ghettos: ch. 2, Fig. 2 “New Examples of Ceremonial Art from Medieval Ashkenaz,” Artibus et Historiae, 17(1988): ch.3, Figs. 6, 10 Morocco: ch.12, Fig. 12 Mann, Dodds and Glick, Convivencia: ch. 4, Figs. 2, 4–5, 8, 10; ch. 7, Fig.10, 12–13 Marzinot, Federico. Ceramica e Ceramisti di Liguria (Genoa: 1987): ch. 15, Figs. 13–14 Morazzoni, Giuseppe. La Maiolica Antica Ligure (Milan, 1951): ch. 15, Fig. 15 Migne, Patrologia Latinae: ch. 5, Fig.1 Nahon, Umberto. Holy Arks and Ritual Appurtenances transferred from Italy to Eretz Israel (Jerusalem, 1970): ch. 4, Fig. 10, ch. 13, Fig. 5 Narkiss, Bezalel. Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts: ch. 2, Fig. 6; ch. 7, Figs. 2, 3, 5, 8 Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts in the British Isles: ch. 10, Fig. 6 Romero, Elena. La Vida Judia: ch. 7, Fig. 11 Roth, Cecil. Jewish Art (Greenwich, CO, 1972): ch. 7, Fig. 1 Scheiber, Alexander. Jewish Inscriptions in Hungary: ch. 3, Fig. 3 Scheiber, Alexander and Ilona Benoschofsky. The Jewish Museum Budapest (Budapest, 1987): ch. 15, Fig. 2 Schiedlausky, Gunther. “Ein gotischer Becherschatz,” Pantheon, 33,4(1975): ch. 3, Figs. 7–8 Sed-Rajna, Gabrielle. L’art juif (Paris, 199 ): ch.5, Fig.2 Trieste Haggadah: ch.15, Figs. 11–12 del Vecchio, Joseph. Sefer ha-Maftir di Urbino: ch.13, Fig. 9 Vilímková, Mlada. Prague (Prague, 1993): ch. 5, Fig.3 Weitzmann-Fiedler, Josepha. Romanische gravierte Bonzeschalen (Berlin, 1981): ch. 9; fig. 6

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