The Museum of Lights

Perhaps the most magnificent example of Baroque
 synagogue architecture in existence.

When you hear the word Hanukkah, what’s the first place that comes to mind, the Second Temple in Jerusalem? Even if you think of a place other than the site of the Maccabean Revolt, it’s a good bet that your answer won’t be Italy.  Yet, in the town of Casale Monferrato, Italy there is a museum devoted solely to menorahs, displaying what is probably the finest collection of contemporary menorahs in the world.  This little known gem occupies the cellar and former matzoth bakery beneath the ancient synagogue of Casale Monferrato, a town of about thirty six thousand people in Italy’s Piedmont district, only a short drive from Turin.

The first traces of Jews in Casale date from 1492, the year of the great expulsion from Spain. Although the Monferrato area was beset by many wars, Jews lived there peacefully under the Dukes of Mantua and other regimes into the eighteenth century.  Compared to the Jewish experience in much of Europe, theirs was a life of relative security and ease. However they were subject to special taxes and required to wear a distinctive yellow arm band. By 1599 premises were leased in the Jewish Ghetto for a synagogue and shortly thereafter a contiguous house was entrusted to a Jewish caretaker and a public oven for matzoth was built in a nearby courtyard.

The unobtrusive entrance to the amazing synagogue.

An unobtrusive door on the synagogue’s anonymous exterior leads into an idyllic, arcaded courtyard. Another simple door from the courtyard opens into the synagogue’s sanctuary, one of the most magnificent examples of baroque architecture and décor that exists. Over the centuries the sanctuary has been enlarged, re-arranged and redecorated many times.  You can see this incredible baroque synagogue in virtual-reality online at Synagogues360.org.

When the gates to the ghetto were eliminated in 1848 the Jewish population of Casale was 850. In 1853, after the emancipation of Italy’s Jews by Napoleon, the synagogue was further embellished and restored. During the following years the city’s Jewish population declined as many recently emancipated Jews chose to migrate to larger population centers such as Turin and Milan. By 1931 there were still 112 Jewish community members while today there are only 7.

In the autumn of 1994, planning began for celebration of the synagogue’s 400th anniversary. A group of art lovers and experts decided that the synagogue’s fine collection of Chanukkiot should be expanded to become a world class tourist attraction.  Thus began a collection of contemporary art Chanukkiot produced by renown international artists. To describe this collection as beautiful, amazing, fascinating, fabulous or unique is simply inadequate.  A visit to Casale Monferrato’s Museum of Lights is a truly memorable experience.  You can see and learn more about the Museum of Lights online at Casale Monferatto Jewish Community Website.

Detail of Ark

Unlike much of Europe, Italy has treasured and maintained its historic Jewish buildings. Thus, a visit to the Jewish sights and sites of Italy is an exceptional  art, architecture and cultural experience.  There are numerous comprehensive guided tours focusing on Jewish Italy or you can simply do it yourself with the help of such books as “The Guide to Jewish Italy” by Annie Sacerdoti.  Just fly into Milan, rent a car with a GPS and start by heading for the incredible synagogue of Casale Monferrato and the Museum of Lights.

From Auto-da-Fé to Art Deco

An early etching of an Auto-da-fe'

After a delightful lunch in one of the many sidewalk cafés surrounding Lisbon’s Rossio Square, we went to our photo-shoot appointment at the city’s only synagogue. Our appetites for the grilled fish entre were a bit dampened by the knowledge that in 1544, as Portugal’s Inquisition got into full swing, there had been an auto-da-fé in this very square, the site of our leisurely repast. Auto-da-fé is a sanitized term for public burnings, where good citizens jeer, cheer, and zealously participate in slicing, dicing and stealing as their victims scream and burn to death. In a series of such public spectacles, about 1200 of Portugal’s Jews were burned at the stake. Until that time Portugal had been a relatively safe harbor for Jews fleeing the Spanish Inquisition which had been going on for a little over fifty years.

To avoid this excruciating death, many Jews and Muslims, known as conversos, converted to Catholicism. However, conversion did not always prove to be a safe haven. Many conversos were subjected to horrendous tortures or life-long service as galley rowing slaves.

Another misery inflicted upon Portugal’s Jews was the state orchestrated mass kidnapping of Jewish children who were sent to work as slaves in the equatorial African islands of Sao Tome and Principe. It wasn’t without good cause. After all, labor was needed to work the sugar plantations of these Portuguese outposts where a particularly virulent strain of Malaria cut life expectancies to only a few years.

Lisbon's Grand Synagogue faces a courtyard

In 1821, the Marquis of Pombal halted the Inquisition and Jews were invited back to Portugal so that the country could benefit from their acumen as businessmen, scientists and doctors.  In anticipation of a congregation of many hundreds, Lisbon’s Grand Synagogue was completed in 1904. 

Interior of Grand Synagogue

Today, the Lisbon Jewish community numbers only about three hundred, having reached its peak during the World War II years when neutral Portugal was a gateway out of Europe. The synagogue was the first to be built since the late 15^th century. Its main façade faces an inner courtyard since Portuguese law at the time forbade non-Catholic religious buildings from facing the street.

Our Lisbon photographic work completed, we went to the airport to pick up our prearranged lease car. At building 125, we met the cheery Peugeot representative. Following him, we dragged all of our luggage and photo-gear to a labyrinthine underground car park to retrieve our vehicle. Because Europeans are thrifty and eco-conscious this huge catacomb like parking area was nearly unlit. Stumbling along with our many bags, we eventually came to a car that was alleged to be ours. Who could tell in the dark? We were asked to sign a sheaf of documents which the Peugeot representative kindly attempted to illuminate with his almost exhausted pen-sized flashlight. Truly, it was so dark I have no idea what I signed, except I needed that car even if I was agreeing in writing to send my first born to Sao Tome to work the sugar plantations.

After the signing, the fun began. Imagine being acquainted in the dark with a new French car by a man who mostly speaks Portuguese. Standard shift just added to the challenges. After 10 minutes of misunderstanding the gentleman’s heavily accented miss-explanations we took our copies of the slavery contracts I had signed and backed the car out of its ridiculously narrow slot. Being a new model car, it was fitted with warning beepers that hooted and beeped if we got too near anything. The parking slot was so narrow that as soon as I began backing the vehicle, it erupted with a cacophony of hooting, beeping and flashing warning lights. I was stressed to the max by this pyrotechnic display in the near dark where structural columns and parked cars lurked in close proximity as I eased out the clutch. You do remember clutches don’t you? Proud that I hadn’t hit anything, we were finally out of the catacombs.

Interior of ancient Tomar Synagogue

An hour and a half later we arrived in the town of Tomar which has an authentically preserved medieval quarter replete with tiny, cobblestone streets zigzagging between ancient stone buildings. The vice-mayor had arranged for two smiling docents to meet us at Tomar’s old synagogue that dates from the mid-15^th century.  As there are only two Jewish people now residing in Tomar, (one was our docent), the synagogue, a truly interesting Museum of Jewish Culture, is maintained by the city.  Since the expulsion and forced conversions of Portuguese Jews in 1496, the synagogue has served such diverse functions as a prison, church, grocery warehouse and hayloft.

View of arched Tomar Synagogue ceiling

Fronting on a narrow street in Tomar’s ancient Juderia, or Jewish ghetto, the small synagogue is a square shaped room with three short aisles defined by four central columns supporting Gothic vaulting. The four pillars are said to symbolize the four matriarchs of the Torah – Sarah, Rebekah, Leah and Rachel – who are recognized as co-founders of Israel, in equal stature to their more renowned husbands, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The twelve arches supported by the four columns symbolize the twelve tribes of Israel.

A two hour drive north from Tomar brought us to Porto, the city made famous as the source for the delicious, sweet alcoholic beverage, Port. Just as intoxicating, for those infatuated by architectural delicacies, is the city’s remarkable and unique Art-Deco style synagogue. There are very few religious buildings of any kind in the Art-Deco aesthetic. In detail as well as overall form and concept, this one is a true gem.

Porto's Art-Deco Synagogue

The Porto Synagogue’s story began in the 1920s when there were approximately twenty Ashkenazi Jews in the city. A Portuguese army officer, Captain Artur Barros Basto, who learned at the bedside of his dying grandfather that his family were actually conversos, decided to take up the faith of his Jewish ancestors. 

By 1929, Barros Basto had raised funds to buy a plot of land. Work progressed slowly due to limited finances until 1933, when Laura Kadoorie, the wife of Sir Elly Kadoorie, a Portuguese-born Jewish philanthropist living in Britain, died. Laura was a descendant of Portuguese Jews who fled that country’s inquisition centuries before.  To honor their

mother, Laura’s children financially supported completion of the Synagogue of Porto and it was renamed Synagogue Kadoorie - Mekor Haim.

Art-Deco details of Porto Synagogue

A short visit to Portugal offers the tourist three wonderful and diverse synagogues to ogle, delicious Port wine as well as delightful Portuguese cuisine, culture and countryside. My suggestion, if you rent a car, is be sure it’s delivered above ground.

Cuba Revisited

Havana's El Malecon today.

Dusk was falling as our ship glided into Havana’s harbor. From the deck I could see the twinkling lights of nightclubs and casinos sprinkled along El Malecon, Havana’s gracefully arcing waterfront. They looked like brilliant diamonds strung along a magnificent tropical necklace. It was New Year’s eve, 1956. Fulgencio Batista was still the dictator. Fidel Castro had not yet become known to the world. Havana was the Paris of the Caribbean, the land of Ernest Hemingway, Meyer Lansky, Frank Sinatra and baseball. Seen through the eyes of a teenage boy from Oklahoma, Cuba was heaven on earth: rum flowed, music played and romance was everywhere. Our parents treated my sister and me to a glittering and unforgettable evening at the Tropicana nightclub that superlatives cannot adequately describe.

A year later, when I was in the 10^th grade, my geometry instructor was fresh from several years of teaching in Cuba. By then Castro’s revolution was gaining momentum. However, Mr. McDermott confidently assured us that “the upstart would never amount to anything.” Fortunately, I used Mr. McDermott’s advice only for geometry because two years later, in 1959, Castro became the dictator, imposing a strict socialist regimen on the economy.  As relations with the USA chilled, travel to Cuba for United States citizens was forbidden.  After many years and a bit of thawing, travel is now permitted provided that the traveler obtains a license from the U.S. State Department. Licenses are granted for special purposes such as humanitarian and medical missions, not simply tourism.

Centro Sefaradi Synagogue, Havana

In 2011, fifty five years after my previous visit to Havana, my wife and I decided to visit Cuba, photograph its synagogues and learn about its Jewish community. A bit of internet research lead us to Miriam Saul, a Cuban-born Jewish woman who resides in Atlanta, Georgia. For several years Miriam had been leading small group tours from the USA to explore things Jewish in Cuba. Miriam offers a turnkey service including proper licensing with the US State Department as well as personally accompanying her tour groups. Wanting to experience Cuba with an emphasis on its Jewish community, we found Miriam’s small group approach to be the perfect answer.  

Before 1959, Cuba’s Jewish population numbered approximately 20 thousand. But when Castro took power, nationalizing all personal property and businesses, the island’s Jews could see the writing on the wall. They left en masse: 90% fled to America and Israel. Of the remaining 10%, most are elderly, or have died. The Jewish community now numbers approximately 1900. It is racially diverse and mostly converts. The largest communities are, of course, in Havana. In addition, a few very small communities, of 25 persons or less, exist in other areas, such as Cienfuegos, Santa Clara and Santiago de Cuba.

In Cuba we learned that the Jewish Community has a unique problem: too many people want to convert to Judaism.  Socialism provides a very low standard of living for Cubans. One of the means of escaping the grinding poverty is immigration to another country, but few will accept impoverished Cubans.  Israel is the exception. It will accept Jewish Cubans. To eliminate Jewish converts who mainly want to use Judaism as a stepping stone to Israel, the requirements for conversion are understandably rigorous.

In order to obtain a travel license from the State Department, we had to be part of an approved mission. Ours was a medical mission. Each person in our group purchased and carried to Cuba a suitcase full of over-the-counter medicines and medical supplies which are in terribly short supply in Cuba. We donated our supplies to the pharmacy in the Jewish Community Center adjacent to Havana’s El Patronato Synagogue.

The Center is home to the local Jewish federation and a pharmacy which dispenses its scarce medical supplies free of charge to Jews, Gentiles and even the Havana General Hospital. These supplies are mostly provided by Jewish visitors from other countries. Havana’s JCC includes amenities which are rare in Cuba; online computers, plasma TV, library, exercise and recreational equipment, pool tables. Approximately 160 students attend the weekly religious school.

El Patronato Synagogue & Community Center

El Patronato synagogue was built in 1953. It is a kitsch, 1950s cement structure with a large powder blue arch that soars above the height of the building and across the front of the building’s facade.  Guests to the El Patronato have included Steven Spielberg, Sean Penn, Fidel Castro as well as yours truly. President Raul Castro lit the first Hanukkah candle of 2010 in this synagogue.  Although Castro’s administration is agnostic, his grandmother is said to have been Jewish.

The Centro Sefaradi, pictured above in this blog, is one of three existing synagogues in Havana, the Centro Sefardi Synagogue was constructed in the city’s Vedado neighborhood in 1950.  This imposing Bauhaus style concrete structure is now being re-purposed as a performance hall and a new synagogue has been constructed adjacent to it.

More photos of Havana’s three synagogues: www.Synagogues360.org

More information about Miriam Saul and Jewish-Cuban travel: www.othercubanjourneys.com

Havana's Synagogue Adath Israel de Cuba 

Who was Joseph Cohen?

One of Malta's many waterfront playgrounds for the jet set.

The Jews of Malta figured importantly in the most important battle that you never heard of.  Most of us know remarkably little about Malta, a tiny island archipelago nation in the Mediterranean Sea. Located squarely between Sicily and Africa, only about 20 miles long and 5 miles wide, it stood as the gatekeeper of Mediterranean transportation for many centuries.  By the middle ages, the population of this dry, rocky and unforgiving place was almost 1300. About one fifth were Jewish.

Suleiman the Magnificent, Sultan of Turkey and pitiless emperor of the Ottoman Empire controlled the greatest fighting force in the world. In 1565, he sent a huge force of more than 40,000 soldiers on more than 200 slave galleys to capture Malta and thereby dominate the Mediterranean--the key to Europe. He planned to wipe the barren rock of Malta clean, annihilating the 700 Knights of St. John who defended it. In the spring, after the Mediterranean had calmed from its winter storms, the galleys set forth from Turkey. Arriving in late May, they laid siege to the Maltese fortresses.

Volumes have been written about the four month siege and the continuous battles that raged with unspeakable fury. For days the invaders pounded Fort St. Elmo into rubble but by night the Knights, assisted by the local citizenry, sent reinforcements and supplies by boat to the fortress located strategically at the mouth of the Maltese harbor. Because the Fort was being sacrificed in a doomed holding action, the resupply boats were suicide missions.

In the last days of St Elmo, the Grand Master of the Knights, Jean Parisot de Valette, allowed one final volunteer force to attempt to bring relief to the doomed fort. Anyone who went on such a mission faced certain death. Nevertheless, two Jews of the island chose to join the relief expedition. In her history of the Order of St John, Claire-Eliane Engel comments that during the Great Siege, “les juifs de Malte avaient ete d'une loyaute au-dessus de tout eloge” [the Jews of Malta had behaved with a loyalty above all praise].

During the month of June, in battles so horrid that human heads were used as cannonballs, the Turks lost 8,000 of their crack troops while most of the defenders perished before giving up St. Elmo. After St. Elmo’s fall, the Knights, along with the residents including Jews, fell back to Fort St. Angelo. Valette realized that if vitally strategic Malta fell, the Muslim Ottoman Empire would soon dominate the Mediterranean. Even Rome would be in Peril, radically changing the course of European history.

One Joseph Cohen, the Jewish slave of a tavern keeper in Valletta overheard Muslim slaves conspiring against the Knights in his tavern. The mutiny was to start with the murder of the Grand Master. With great peril of his being found out by the conspirators, he gained an audience with the Grand Master and told him what he had overheard. For his loyalty he was set free from bondage and awarded a house (Monte di Pieta) in Merchants street by Valette. 

During July and August, Valette urged his small contingency of Knights and residents to superhuman feats of bravery and endurance against overwhelming odds. The furnace-hot temperatures of those months along with rampant disease among the Turks and a brilliant defense by Valette wore down the Turks.  112 days of siege left the food supply of the invaders too short to allow them to remain for the winter and the seasonal window during which the Mediterranean was navigable in their small slave galleys was closing. After an unimaginably bloody series of battles and finally withdrawal, of the 40,000 Ottoman troops who had set sail from Constantinople only some 10,000 made it home.

A view from one of the fortresses of Valetta

Four hundred years later, from 1940 to 1942, Malta was once again under siege as the Axis forces tried to remove the British from the island. The Royal Air Force and Navy based on the island attacked Axis ships and Rommel’s troops in Africa. Rommel warned, "Without Malta the Axis will end by losing control of North Africa." He resolved to bomb, or starve Malta into submission by attacking its ports, towns, cities and Allied ships supplying the island. Malta was one of the most intensively bombed areas during WWII yet it never fell.

Our personal invasion of Malta was much more peaceful. The objective was simply to photograph the synagogue and meet members of the Jewish community, not to dominate the Mediterranean. We arrived by high-speed hydrofoil ferry at Valetta, the island’s largest city, named after the venerable Grand Master Valette.  Driving off the ferry into the dark night was much like being regurgitated into a wild roller-coaster Disneyland ride. Winding streets laid down centuries ago, cacophonous traffic hurtling through nearly impenetrable darkness soon conspired to get us lost in the spaghetti-like maze of a really creepy industrial-port area. Our GPS eventually sorted us out, leading us to an oasis (AKA Hilton Hotel).

The Malta Synagogue

Present day Malta has a population of over 400,000 yet there are only between 100 and 200 Jews. The old synagogue was in such disrepair that it was pulled down as part of an urban renewal project. With help from the Maltese Government a condominium, suitable for a synagogue and community center, was located and financed. The lay-led Sephardic congregation meets and prays in their new premises located in a middle-class neighborhood with the unlikely name Ta’ Xbiex.

Malta has a reputation as a spa-resort, tax-haven and good place to get your money laundered. The only laundry we tried was the one at the Hilton. We can say without hesitation that the island is fascinating and its Jewish community is warm, engaging and eager to have visitors join in their Shabbat. Sitting for a moment of reflection in the synagogue, I pondered that the entire course of Western European history had hinged upon Joseph Cohen, a Jewish slave.

Shirtless in Toronto

Toronto was the northernmost destination on our synagogue photo safari last summer. Well known as the home of the Maple Leafs hockey team, a lesser known fact is its Jewish community numbers nearly 200,000, 14^th largest in the world. Back in the late 1800s and early 1900s, during the great waves of Jewish immigration from Eastern Europe, Jews settled in Toronto’s inner city. Usually poor and in need of social services, they turned to landsmanshaften, mutual benefit societies, formed by other immigrants hailing from the same shtetl.

In addition to the warmth of camaraderie from home, the landsmanshaften provided social services, loans, job contacts and medical assistance. And, they built synagogues. The three that we photographed were in Toronto’s Kensington District, not more than 15 minutes walk from one another. Each was established by immigrants who hailed from a particular European city. The three are known as Da Minsker (The Minsk), The Kiever and The First Narayev. Following the “birds of a feather” axiom, it’s better than even money that the founding fathers (and mothers) were from Minsk, Kiev and Narayev.

The Kiever squeezed between trucks and cargo

Our first photo-shoot appointment in Toronto was at The Kiever, which fronts on a small and charming urban park surrounded by Victorian era townhouses. It was so charming that a film crew working in the area had parked one of their huge vans along with a great deal of equipment right in front of The Kiever building. As a synagogue photographer, I hope for buildings with visual interest and charm. But clearly, being too photogenic can create competition for position and venue. I had to settle for some awkwardly squeezed shots sighted between trucks and cargo.

This mission accomplished, we cooled off over lemonade and corned beef sandwiches at a wonderful little outdoor restaurant right around the corner. Taking a huge chocolate chip cookie to munch on, we walked through a warren of narrow lanes for our photo-shoot appointment at Da Minsker. Our path took us through the Kensington Market district, a maze of small shops, many open to the street, manned by people of mostly Asian or Indian descent. In a rich cacophony of foreign accents, they offered everything from exotic foods to pedicures and rare books. 100 years earlier the voices and signs on these buildings were Yiddish and the foods were for those of Ashkenazi immigrants rather than organic foodies.

Rabbi Spero came bursting out of Da Minsker just as we arrived. He explained that he had to hurry to give a bar mitzvah lesson but that Joe, who we would find inside, would help with the photo-shoot. In a congregation where almost all of the congregants are elderly, a bar mitzvah is a rare and big deal. Sweating profusely, with tzi-tzis flying, the rabbi dashed down the street to give the lesson, leaving us to find Joe.

Da Minsker in Toronto's Kensington Market District

Inside the building we found a man absorbed in reading a Hebrew language newspaper. Was he Joe? “Yes” he replied laconically, “but I’m the wrong Joe.” Further, the right Joe had left a few minutes earlier on his bicycle. When he would return was anyone’s guess. Wrong Joe (WJ for the sake of brevity) attempted to call the rabbi on his cell phone but evidently during the bar mitzvah lesson he had his phone turned off. Graciously, WJ offered to show me the sanctuary in Right Joe’s absence. Unfortunately, WJ could not turn on the lights because they were controlled from a switch panel inside a locked box. Right Joe had the key.

We resolved to wait a while for Right Joe. Through the dim lighting I gazed with awe at the wonderful turn-of-the century sanctuary. Who could imagine that such a humble exterior masked such a gorgeous interior? As I studied the centrally located elevated wood bema, I noticed a man without a shirt dive behind a chair in the women’s balcony. This was certainly odd. I mentioned my sighting of the semi-clothed disappearing diver to WJ who was still trying to pry open the electrical panel box. WJoe climbed the steep winding stairs to the women’s balcony to investigate. Shortly, I heard someone shout “Leave me alone!”

A few minutes later WJ appeared back in the vestibule with a disheveled thirty-ish man who was buttoning his shirt. The shirt buttoner introduced himself and explained that he was a would-be real estate developer (who always wanted to be a Hollywood screenwriter/actor) who sometimes slept in the synagogue to guard it because of security issues in the somewhat sketchy neighborhood. The whole thing with semi-clothed women’s balcony mid-afternoon naps seemed kind of questionable to me but WJ seemed at ease with Mr. Aspiring Real Estate Developer. Better yet, the napper knew how to open the electrical box to turn on the lights. He simply slammed it really hard with the palm of his hand and the box flew open. With the lights on, the sanctuary’s old country charm was fully revealed.

Sanctuary of Da Minsker

Lights on and our access assured, WJ left for his weekly pinochle game. Then, the sometimes shirted napper said that he had to leave for 30 minutes and would lock the building so that no unsavory characters could enter while we were photographing. “Could we exit the building if we finish before you return” I asked. No, the building would be fully locked without any means of exit. Being a bit claustrophobic, I began worrying about what happens if he doesn’t come back; it’s ninety degrees and stuffy in here; this old building may be a fire-trap. There’s no way we’re staying locked up in an old building in a rough part of Toronto dependent upon a person who does partially disrobed napping in the women’s balcony to let us out when or if he comes back. At times like these it really pays to have a smart, quick thinking wife. Before he could leave, or even know what was happening, she turned on the charm, engaging the now-shirted napper in conversation, barraging him with questions about his work, life, Jewish geography, all sorts of stuff while I hurriedly took photographs.  As he poured out his life story replete with unrequited loves, I focused and shot, focused and shot. Soon I had my photos and she had his entire life story as well as curriculum vitae.

Whatever happened to Right Joe?  That’s the $64,000 question.

Munich, Madame X and the Black Synagogue

To get to the Besançon, France synagogue we walked a half-mile in a light drizzle carrying our photo gear. It had been raining for two days. Since our next synagogue photo-shoot was in Luxembourg five days later, giving us time for sightseeing in the interim, we scanned weather forecasts looking for a place that didn’t promise more rain. A half-day of autobahning put us in cool, but dry Munich, Germany. The morning after our arrival we decided to look for a synagogue. So much for sightseeing! We were amazed to find a stunning, ultra-modern synagogue and Jewish Community Center dominating central Munich’s Sankt Jakob’s Platz.

Ohel Jakob on Sankt-Jakob-Platz

The cornerstone of the Ohel Jakob Synagogue was laid November 9, 2003, exactly 65 years after the Kristallnacht pogrom and destruction of the city’s synagogues. The building’s simple geometric form and placement in the Platz is a bold “in your face” architectural statement in the city where Hitler attempted to kick-off his political movement with his famous Beer Hall Putsch.

Interior - Ohel Jakob

After a short explanation of our mission to photographically preserve synagogues, permission was given to photograph Ohel Jakob later in the day. We returned an hour later laden with photo-gear.  Before the photo-shoot, we lunched at the delightful kosher restaurant in the adjacent Jewish Community Center. Two German ladies took seats next to us. They were fluent in English and somehow we became engaged in conversation. They explained that although they were not Jewish they had come to the Center for a lecture. One lady, who I shall refer to as Madame X, said that she was interested in Jewish culture and was studying Hebrew. Madame X stated emphatically that we should not fail to photograph the Black Synagogue in nearby Augsburg, the town where she resides. She explained that the Black Synagogue was unique because it was one of very few in Germany that was not destroyed during the Shoah. We had no idea what constituted a Black synagogue but were greatly intrigued by the possibility of documenting a rare, original, pre-World War II German synagogue.

The non-Jewish, Hebrew-studying, Jewish-culture-immersed Madam X said she had connections at the Augsburg (Black) Synagogue and thought she could arrange a photo-shoot for the next day. We should call her the following morning to confirm.  By the next morning she had arranged our photo-shoot through her Hebrew teacher and the synagogue’s Cantor.

On our way to Augsburg, we made a short detour to the infamous Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial. This ghastly camp was one of the earliest, serving as a model for the many that were built later.  Continuing on to the Black Synagogue of Augsburg we met the Cantor, the Hebrew teacher and Madam X. It was only as we entered the synagogue’s sanctuary that we understood why it is referred to as Black. Because it is! 

Augsberg's "Black Synagogue"

In 1913, the Augsburg Jewish community hired Fritz Landauer, a young Jewish architect from Munich to design a new synagogue for their burgeoning congregation. Landauer, a practitioner of modernist architecture collaborated with Dr. Heinrich Lömpel to design a building that is often described as Art Nouveau in style yet actually combines Moorish and Oriental details with Art Deco forms. Ahead of their time, the synagogue’s predominantly black interior looks like a futuristic creation by the Adams Family and Darth Vader. As we were ogling this incredibly impressive and unique work of architectural art, the cantor suddenly burst into song. Echoing off the marble walls and dome, his operatic voice filled the cavernous space. His spontaneous a cappella concert for just the four of us in this awe inspiring synagogue was a magnificent, humbling and spiritual experience.

Interior view - "Black Synagogue"

Our visits to the striking Ohel Jakob Synagogue of Munich and the remarkable Black Synagogue of Augsburg were the serendipitous by-products of simply looking for a little sunshine during a rainy week in Europe. As so often happens in our synagogue photography efforts, the unplanned excursions yield amazing results. 

Enjoy a virtual visit to Ohel Jakob and the Black Synagogue by clicking on either synagogue name.

Synagogue Safari, Summer 2013 and The Butcher of Boston

When we arrived back in Los Angeles our car’s speedometer read almost 10,000 miles more than when we had departed on our trans-continental safari five weeks before. We were hunting big game, shooting synagogues, photo-shooting that is. In preparation for the safari, I had spent four months selecting the targets, arranging photographic permissions and access. In all, we planned to photographically document 35 synagogues ranging from humble shuls established by early immigrants to modern architectural wonders erected by their offspring.

Locating and selecting synagogues to photograph is no small chore. There is no comprehensive list of synagogues. Many synagogues are not affiliated with any of the mainstream Jewish movements. I use every information source available to find synagogues, lists, books, word-of-mouth and internet searches. From this huge list, I cull those that have special interest such as oldest in a particular state, unusually fine architecture or artwork, home of a particular Jewish movement or scholar, etc. Arranging photographic permission is the next and most challenging step. Synagogues that are large enough to have fulltime staff are relatively easy to get in touch with, however the vast majority of synagogues aren’t that large. Even small synagogues tend to have websites, yet if a phone number is shown there is no one there to answer except during services, when the phone is definitely not answered. If an email address is shown, inquiries almost never receive a response.

Walnut Street Shul - Chelsea, Massachusetts

The case of the Walnut Street Shul in Chelsea, Massachusetts is a good example of the detective work required to gain photographic access. My research revealed that this particular shul, dedicated in 1909, is a very fine example of a shul built by working class Jewish immigrants who crossed the Atlantic in steerage class around the turn of the century. The sturdy stone and brick building with a fancifully painted ceiling survives, though most of its congregation have prospered and moved to the suburbs. Only a handful of older Jews remain in the neighborhood, clinging to this building that was the center of their community for so many years. How to contact them?  Trolling the internet, I found mention of a Rabbi Nochum Cywiak who had once served the shul. My internet searches failed to find the good Rabbi but did turn up a glatt kosher butcher in the Boston area by the name of Cywiak. Not a common name. So, on the chance that one Cywiak might be related to another, I phoned the butcher at his place of business. When I explained my mission, that I was searching for Rabbi Cywiak, he exclaimed, “That’s my father!”  Mr. Cywiak said that his father was no longer affiliated with the Walnut Street Shul because the congregation was too small to need or afford a rabbi. However, he quickly gave me contact information for the gabbai, a cordial gentleman who welcomed my photographic documentation efforts.

    

Dealing with un-staffed synagogues is kind of like football: there can be all manner of fumbles. We had made an appointment to photograph the synagogue in a somewhat remote town in the northern Great Plains. After driving 235 miles, we waited in front of the synagogue. And we waited, and we waited. Finally, I called the synagogue president on his mobile phone. He explained that he had been called out of town on business but had arranged for a person to meet us. Calling us back a few minutes later, he explained that the person who was to meet us had inadvertently forgotten the rendezvous and gone on vacation. “So sorry. Maybe next time” he said. 235 miles from nowhere, I felt like a bride who had been left at the altar. There wouldn’t be a next time. As my wife, dog Harley and I stood in front of the synagogue pondering our next move, a red-haired lady walked by pushing a baby carriage. A brief bit of conversation ensued. Although not Jewish, she gave art lessons from her nearby home and some of her students were Jewish. For some insane, convoluted reason that I no longer remember, she had keys to the synagogue. Bingo! We’re in.  The moral: talk to the locals.

Speaking of talking to locals, we arrived in Jefferson City in the late afternoon and went for a walk into town to check out the restaurants for dinner later. Just two blocks from our hotel, we spotted a wonderful old synagogue that we hadn’t known about. Of course, it was locked. However, in the parking lot of an adjoining building, a lady was getting into her car. We asked her if she knew how we might gain access to the building. She happened to have a friend who was recently married there and was on her honeymoon. She got out her cell phone and called the honeymooner. No answer. But she thought she remembered the name of the groom’s parents. Later, back at the hotel, I looked up the name and called. As it turned out, there was a Sisterhood meeting at the synagogue that evening and they were thrilled to have us take photographs. I don’t know how much of a meeting they had, as after the photo-shoot, we spent a delightful hour visiting with the group.

Here we are, having used up much of your eyeball time and I haven’t even gotten to the point of this blog: to tell about this summer’s 10,000 mile USA synagogue safari, so I’ll just touch upon some high points. That’s not easy either, because the 35 synagogues turned into 39 and there weren’t any low points.

Temple Beth El - Architect Minoru Yamasaki

 Among the most amazing modern synagogues documented on the trip were those in Glencoe, Illinois and Bloomfield Hills, Michigan both designed by Minoru Yamasaki, architect of the World Trade Center. (Talk about keeping up with the Joneses.) These unique structures remind me of gossamer wings floating in their lushly wooded surroundings. Then there was Synagogue B’nai Jacob of Woodbridge, Connecticut, a modern-day stained glass extravaganza and The Park Synagogue of Cleveland Heights, Ohio, a remarkable and serene Art-Deco structure sprawling across a spacious green campus replete with a family of gamboling deer. Another star in the modern sky was in Rochester, New York , Temple Sinai, an airy, vaulted concrete shell with a glass bema wall visually bringing the forested outdoors right into the sanctuary.

There were fine historic synagogues too. In Jefferson City, Missouri, we photographed the little white-washed brick synagogue, mentioned above, that lays claim to being the oldest continually used synagogue west of the Mississippi River.  Less active but no less historic, nestled in New York’s Adirondack Mountains we found Beth Joseph Synagogue of Tupper Lake. Janet Chapman, 92 years young and the keeper of the keys at Beth Joseph is a veritable fountain of information.

Temple Berith Sholom, Troy, NY. - Victorian Era

Leaving Tupper Lake, we drove to the very active Berith Sholom of Troy, New York, a fine example of Victorian architecture. In the historic old central city of Philadelphia, we photographed two decisively different immigrant shuls that resonated with us as much as the city’s Liberty Bell. (Unlike that symbol of freedom, there were no long lines waiting to get into the shuls.) Old, central Philadelphia is composed of ethnic neighborhoods with row houses of various eras dating back to Colonial times. Congregation Shivtei Yeshuron Ezras Israel is a big name for a small row-house shul founded in 1876. Continuing to hold services on a regular basis, this little orthodox shul, a rebuilt colonial row house, is the last remains of one of the largest Jewish populations of the United States. The shelves are stocked with old Hebrew books covering topics from how to deal with witchcraft to proper hairstyles for women and dietary rules.

We also photographed opulent, palatial synagogues built between the wars. These I describe as “jaw droppers” as my mouth simply gapes open and my eyes go wide upon entering their magnificent domed sanctuaries. To mention a few such sensational synagogues: Rodef Shalom of Pittsburgh (Arts & Crafts era style), KAM-Isaiah of Chicago (Byzantine style), as well as Tifereth Israel of Cleveland and Ohabei Shalom of Brookline, Massachusetts. Typically, these impressive edifices were built by immigrants, or their children, who had made it good in America.

Tifereth Israel - soon to be re-purposed

These were not the houses of worship of those who had just stepped off the ship. In most instances, the populations of Jews who built these temples have left those neighborhoods, moving to suburbs or trendier areas. These once impregnable edifices of faith have in many cases become endangered or unsustainable. We find it particularly important and meaningful to photographically document these before they are re-purposed, like Cleveland’s gorgeous Tifereth Israel which is soon to become part of Case Western University for multi-use as a concert and exhibition hall.

To photograph in detail 39 synagogues all across the continent meant we were moving pretty fast. We found out just how fast when, upon getting home, we found a photographically taken speeding ticket from the State of Maryland awaiting.