I first saw it last year before Chanukah, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it: a gorgeous menorah sculpture with undulating waves made from stone. I saw movement when I looked at it, yet the heaviness of the stone made me think of stability and sturdiness: history. The curves felt almost sensual in one moment—as if a body was in motion. In the next, they seemed more like the strokes of beautiful, curving handwriting across a wall: immovable. It was a paradox. How could something made of such heavy and unforgiving material convey such movement and fluidity?
The answer is simple: It’s what happens when an artist reimagines Judaica through her own lens.
Los Angeles-based multi-disciplinary artist and designer Hannah Polskin is the creator of the stunning menorah sculptures that are made from materials such as marble, resin, quartz, onyx, travertine, granite, wood, bronze and even Swarovski crystals. Polskin grew up in New York City where she had both Jewish and non-Jewish friends—people from all different walks of life. But after Oct. 7, she realized that she didn’t have a “super robust, intense rolodex of Jewish creatives.” In my recent interview with Polskin, who began creating the sculptures in 2021, she said that following the attacks in Israel, “a lot of Jews had an internal check in.” She works regularly with all kinds of people in the art world: stone masons, carpenters, painters, art installers and others. But suddenly she had an intense desire to connect with other Jewish artists and form creative collaborations, and so she made it happen.
“I had this realization that I was locking in Jewish creatives, and I wanted to surround myself with more of them. I came up with this idea to get my menorah sculpture into the hands of the most bad-ss Jewish creatives on the planet, and just give it to them and say, ‘Here, run wild. I love your art, I love your painting style, or I love your bronzing style. Do that on my menorah sculpture; layer your art on top of mine.”
The result was layers of unique Jewish artistry on one piece. Polskin announced the project on Instagram, and within 24 hours she was flooded with inquiries from potential collaborators. And it wasn’t just a creative impulse that drew these artists to the opportunity to work with her. They, too, were looking for Jewish connection in the art world. Polskin found that people would end conversations by telling her that their grandmother was a Holocaust survivor or recounting some other meaningful connection to Jewish history. “Everyone had a story,” she said. “In a way, it was a bit heavy, but beautiful … I just got this infusion of Jewish talent, straight to the vein. It was amazing.”
“I just got this infusion of Jewish talent, straight to the vein. It was amazing.”
Polskin ultimately selected two artists for the collaboration she calls “Hanukkah Class of 2024.” The first is Amy Morgenstern of Kamp Studios, who is a “plaster pioneer, like a mad scientist genius,” according to Polskin. “She does all these interesting coatings for walls, fluting, molten bronze metal cladding, and all of it is incredible—wall textures, plaster, like Roman, clay, everything. And she did it on one of the menorahs. And it’s so cool.”
In Morgenstern’s words: “The concept for the menorah started with the idea of Jewish pewter—something deeply rooted in tradition, passed down through generations like our religion. I wanted to reinterpret that idea by using our liquid bronze, hand-applied and textured to mimic the richness of cast bronze. The result is a piece that exudes material richness and authenticity, perfectly reflecting my artistic ethos.”
The second artist to collaborate with Polskin on the menorahs is Alyssa Goodman, who hand painted her intricate, signature sceneries onto the menorah. Her landscapes are reminiscent of the Garden of Eden. The result of both collaborative menorahs is art upon art, an interpretation of an interpretation. Is there anything more Jewish?
The process of coming together with other Jewish artists has been nourishing and inspiring for Polskin, who hopes to continue this tradition every year—a continuation of the Jewish impulse to create and recreate, interpret and reinterpret. Last year, the first Hanukkah after Oct. 7, was a “gut punch” for Polskin, whose fiancé’s cousins were tragically murdered during the attacks. But it gave her menorah project even more meaning. “Hanukkah is about bringing light into the world, so it’s a beautiful thing to be part of that tradition because, by the end [of Hanukkah], we’re going to be lighting nine candles, adding nine candles’ worth of light into the world. And that’s a beautiful thing. And now, more than ever, the world needs more light.”
In the past year, more and more Jewish artists have doubled down on their intentions to create light and bring beauty into the world. This is one way that we fight back. But in fighting back through art, we also transform ourselves. The evolution of Polskin’s menorah sculptures has been revolutionary in terms of how she sees the object itself.
“I grew up in a home where the menorah would be whipped out at the end of the year from some back of a dusty credenza, and [at the end of Hanukkah] you clean it up and then back in it goes. It’s kind of like how people throw a Christmas tree on the street at the end of the holiday. And I just never understood that.” Polskin was further inspired to make something meaningful that can be displayed year round: an heirloom that is both sacred and beautiful. Especially now, it makes sense to keep a menorah out all year as a reminder that there is still light in the world, and that we can both find it and create it.
Especially now, it makes sense to keep a menorah out all year as a reminder that there is still light in the world, and that we can both find it and create it.
“For the last four years,” said Polskin, “I’ve been researching menorahs and what’s kosher, what’s not kosher. One thing I love about Judaism that’s really special and unique to our religion is the openness to interpretation. We’re not all supposed to agree. There is no one answer.” For example, a menorah “has to be the most expensive for your budget. Of course, that’s very subjective, but it’s why a lot of menorahs are silver, because back then it was considered to be the most opulent material something could be made from, second to gold.” There are so many interpretations of the rules surrounding the menorah, “but they’re bendy, and there’s wiggle room, which is what I love.” But the beauty of Jewish law is that even with the openness to interpretation, rules still matter, and there is something sacred about preserving them. “For me, it was important, and the rule I really abided by was to have one plane for all of the candles’ height, (except for the shamash). So that was the one key thing for me.”
But the beauty of Jewish law is that even with the openness to interpretation, rules still matter, and there is something sacred about preserving them.
When Polskin isn’t creating menorah sculptures for art lovers around the world, she paints triptychs and diptychs that feature undulating shapes, loops and curves. She will paint some of the same shapes for years, and then she’ll modify them or put them on a different kind of wood. She will also invert the shape or the color palette: continual reinvention of her original inspiration. Art happens all over the world, and some artists create wherever they are. But it’s also true that for many artists, the place defines or at least influences the art. In Polskin’s case, moving to Los Angeles seven years ago “supercharged” her creativity, and her studio reflects this.
But creating art and putting beautiful things into the world as a Jewish artist is not always easy. I asked Polskin if she has experienced an uptick in antisemitism since Oct. 7.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I’m really blessed to have mainly encountered it online … but for me, the benefits of being online as an artist vastly outweigh the negatives.” When Polskin graduated from Savannah College of Art and Design in 2010, it was in the early days of Instagram. Up until that point, “the only way for people to see your art was to see it represented by a gallery.” But Instagram and other social media outlets changed all of that. “For me, it’s okay if I have to deal with some [antisemitic] comments. I block and move on. I will not wallow in it … because I’m here with the immense privilege of getting to show people my art every day … if people don’t like that I’m Jewish, I can deal with that.”
Monica Osborne is a former professor of literature, critical theory, and Jewish studies. She is Editor at Large at The Jewish Journal and is author of “The Midrashic Impulse.” X @DrMonicaOsborne
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