December 8, 2009

Mark and Peachy Levy have collected antique Chanukah lamps for more than 30 years. Although neither grew up with a strong Jewish identity, they have deepened their connection through their Judaica collection, including chanukiyot, or Chanukah menorahs, from around the world, many of which have been catalogued and put on display at museums.

“You see something you like and you buy it. After you’ve bought about three, you are officially a collector,” Peachy said.

Many Judaica collections tend to feature a variety of Chanukah lamps because artists in almost every Jewish community created them, Mark Levy explained, and many of those lamps survived.

One of the oldest collected Chanukah lamps, featured in the book “Luminous Art: Hanukkah Menorahs of The Jewish Museum” by Susan L. Braunstein, was a medieval marble piece, carved in Avignon in southeastern France around the 12th to 13th century. It bears a quote from Proverbs 6:23: “For the commandment is a lamp and the teaching is a light.”

For those who collect and restore Chanukah lamps, the appeal is often multifaceted — from reinforcing Jewish identity and honoring Jewish history and perseverance, to preserving forms of artistic Jewish expression, to carrying on family traditions and maintaining a symbolic reminder of familial origins.

As the importance of Chanukah grows in the United States, so too does the emphasis on the chanukiyah as a modern symbol of Judaism. At a recent auction in New York, collectors displayed a willingness to spend upward of six figures to acquire rare pieces.

“Chanukah today has taken on a great deal of significance in terms of the Jewish calendar,” said Alan Stern, who began collecting Judaica with his wife, Lisa, on their 10th wedding anniversary. “It’s a festival that is beloved by all the Jewish people and it’s one that is kept by all the Jewish people. Any Jewish home that identifies Jewishly has a menorah in the home. So a menorah is a very significant Jewish ritual object, on par with the mezuzah.”

Prior to the adoption of the Magen David as the symbol of the Zionist movement in 1897, the seven-branch menorah was historically the most significant symbol of the Jewish people, said Grace Cohen Grossman, senior curator at the Skirball Cultural Center.

Collecting lamps represents “a historical and cultural kind of treasuring,” she said, explaining that menorahs speak to the values, traditions, customs and socio-economic conditions of their communities of origin.

For some, collecting honors those who lit the lamps despite dire circumstances.

“It’s a very important sense of identification with the struggle of the Jewish people” Alan Stern said. “It is something that has been kept with great sacrifice throughout the centuries. The story of Chanukah itself is one of holding onto beliefs and practices. The Greek goal was to destroy Jewish belief, so the menorah is significant in that it portrays our struggle against our spiritual destruction.”

Lisa also found that collecting was a way to identify with her Judaism.

“Judaica is fraught with emotion,” she said, “because you know that the people who owned these items paid a high price for being born Jewish.”

Knowing the history of the makers and the provenance of their large Eastern European collection is important to Lisa.

“Among those communities decimated by Hitler, these are some of the only remnants that survive,” she said.

Later she explains the joy and privilege of restoring, preserving and displaying.

“You take an inanimate object and restore it and it comes alive again. And because we know the tortured history of the people that owned them, it has special meaning,” she said.

Among the Sterns’ pieces are two matching silver menorahs made by a Polish silversmith. One is said to have survived from a shul looted during Kristallnacht.

They also have whimsical pieces, including a 17th century Dutch menorah with birds, antelopes and buckets to hold the oil, and one from early Palestine that has a musical component. They rotate their collection at the Museum of Tolerance.

President George W. Bush and first lady Laura Bush used a chanukiyah from the Sterns’ collection during a White House holiday celebration on Dec. 18, 2006.

“The ceramic plaques around the base feature biblical scenes of the Chanukah story,” Bush said, describing the lamp at the lighting. “And between the menorah branches are painted doves, which represent the eternal wish for peace.”

Some collectors are willing to pay significant sums for Chanukah lamps. In May, a rare synagogue ark-form Galician Chanukah lamp, dated 1787, went for $314,000 at Skinner Auction House’s Fine Judaica auction; the piece had been given a presale estimate of $60,000-$80,000. A silver Temple-form lamp from Kiev fetched $189,600, and a 19th century Polish silver Chanukah lamp sold for $142,200. Both pieces were estimated at less than $20,000.

Skirball curator Grossman says that with Judaica, the art often reflects not only Jewish symbols but also the majority culture where they were created.

“With a Chanukah lamp from Germany, you might find oak leaves on it; that’s part of the German tradition. Or you might find a Polish lamp that reflects the Polish tradition of using naturalistic forms of objects. We have one Chanukah lamp from Italy that has what looks like a crenellated roof that’s very much like rooflines of famous buildings from 16th and 17th century Italy,” she said. 

The Skirball collection also includes a German lamp shaped like the Arc de Triomphe, a lamp from Prague with a figure of Aaron dressed like a Catholic bishop and the 1813 Neo-classical Hirsch lamp, reminiscent of the Berlin opera house. 

For other families, their antique chanukiyot have been passed down from generation to generation. Annette Shapiro’s brother Arnold still uses the large menorah that belonged to their grandfather, David Familian, which she believes he brought with him from Russia in 1915. It is the same menorah they lit on Chanukah when they were children.

Dr. David and Fiona Hallegua gifted the Skirball their family Chanukah lamp in 2005 in memory of their grandparents, Satto and Gladys Koder. The lamp, which is made of hammered brass, is from Cochin, India, where the Koder family settled after leaving Baghdad around 1870. Prior to the lamp coming to the Skirball, the Cochin Chanukah Lamp was used by Dr. Hallegua’s family to celebrate Chanukah in India for more than 90 years.

It joins other family lamps at the Skirball, including one commissioned by Baron Carl Rothschild for his bride Mathilda that features the Rothschild crest including a hand grasping five arrows symbolizing the five Rothschild brothers.

But even among the collectors who don’t have family stories to go with their Chanukah lamps, there are some that hold personal significance.

For Mark Levy, that is the Statue of Liberty Chanukah lamp created by Manfred Anson, a German Jew and one of 20 young men given visas to Australia at the start of World War II. His parents survived Terezinstadt and one sister barely survived Bergen-Belsen. Anson now lives in New Jersey, and he and Levy have become close friends.

Anson became a collector of Statue of Liberty memorabilia in tribute to his new country. The Chanukah menorah he created for the Statue of Liberty centennial in 1986, which can be seen on display at the Skirball, is based on a cast of a Statue of Liberty souvenir from 1885, sold to help raise funds for the statue’s base.

Yet despite their celebrated collection, the Levy Chanukah tradition of more than half a century remains the same.

“We light a brass menorah we bought at Solomon’s on Fairfax,” Mark said.

“For $15 in 1956,” Peachy added.

Chanukah raises many questions: from, “What did you get me?” to, “How do we relate to the dominant culture — in ancient times and today?” Among the most important spiritual inquiries during this Festival of Lights is the meaning of the lights themselves. The rabbis name “publicizing the miracle” as one main purpose. Hence, we put our chanukiyot in doorways and windows that face the street. According to tradition, one should not work by the light of Chanukah candles. The lights are meant to inspire awe, not efficiency. The mitzvah is to enjoy their beauty, rather than their utility.

Gazing at the Chanukah lights on a dark winter night, I notice both their smallness and their splendor — not unlike the Jewish people. Not unlike the band of Maccabees who “in those days at this time” fought against all odds, that we might be here now. Not unlike the seemingly insufficient vial of oil that lit up the rededicated Temple.

Light is never just light. It carries with it connotations of clarity, warmth, insight and nurturance. It is the end of the tunnel, the banisher of the benighted, the genesis of the world. “Torah Orah” — the instruction of God is light and enlightenment. Therefore and first, God said, “Let there be light.”

Light captured in the form of a lamp or a flame on the altar represents an evolutionary watershed: the domestication of fire. This advancement also conveys a spiritual message: human beings can partner with God in bringing light to the world.

The chanukiyah draws and expands on a prior source of light: the seven-branched menorah that was lit in the Tabernacle and then the Temple (Exodus 25:31-40 and 37:17-24; Leviticus 24:1-4). Carved from pure gold and lit with pure, pressed olive oil, it burned continually, from just before sundown until the next morning. The branches of the candelabrum were connected to the base through a central shaft. In our day, the menorah has become a symbol of the State of Israel.

The details have spiritual significance. Why olive oil? Jeremiah compares the Jewish people to an olive tree, and the rabbis elaborate: just as the olive provides light through oil, the Jewish people provide light through Torah (Jeremiah 11:16, Exodus Rabbah 36:1-3). And why must the oil be pressed? Like olives, Jews, too, can release the best of what is in us when pressed.

For mystics, oil symbolizes streaming, infinite abundance from God above. The kabbalistic system of sefirot (emanations) maps out three upper and seven lower essential qualities and expressions of the Divine. The branches of the menorah are understood to carry the light of the seven lower, more accessible attributes. The central shaft, according to the 13th century kabbalist Asher Ben David and his followers, represents tiferet (glory or beauty), which is also called the “middle line,” since its center spot in the configuration of the sefirot reflects its role as mediator and bridge between emanations.

The menorah “passed the torch” to the chanukiyah, which continues to promote abundance, light and oil, in all their meanings. But there are also vital discontinuities. Unlike the menorah, the chanukiyah is lit only at nightfall because, from the mystical perspective, its light shines in the darkest hour of deepest exile. Chanukah lights represent hope and faith against all odds.

The number of candles lit for Chanukah is eight, rather than seven. The seven sefirot are still in play, but they are surpassed. In Jewish numerology, seven signifies a complete cycle. Eight goes beyond creation and completion to infinity. A classic example is brit milah (circumcision). Days one through seven correspond to the physical world (the natural body), while day eight represents the metaphysical world (the perfected body; supernatural spirit and covenant).

Thus, Chanukah candles don’t just emit lumens. They go beyond recalling, recreating or even rededicating the light from the Temple and the Tabernacle before it. On Chanukah, the candelabrum burns not only “continually,” but also miraculously. Chanukah lamps or candles shed and spread infinite, divine light. They draw on the supernal light of Genesis (1:3-5, 14-19), the light that is sown for the righteous (Psalms 97:11), the light of upper, seemingly distant, sefirot.

Most Jewish holidays begin under the light of the full moon. Even Purim, the other “minor historical festival,” takes place in the middle of the Jewish month, when the moon is full. Shavuot is an exception because it occurs seven weeks after Passover; nevertheless, the moon can be seen in the night sky.

The Festival of Lights occurs against a backdrop of both lunar and solar darkness. Early in the the holiday, the moon is not visible. And Chanukah generally falls on or near winter solstice, the day with the fewest hours of sun.

In utter darkness, it’s tempting to give up or wait passively for a change. Yet, as Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav reminds us, it is precisely in the pitch black that you can see even the tiniest point of light. The Maccabees didn’t allow dim chances to diminish their commitment to the light of Torah and freedom; nor should we.

The talmudic story of the oil has become a familiar “fable.” But consider it afresh. You have one vial of purified oil. It’s an eight-day process to prepare a new supply. You want to conduct an eight-day rededication ceremony, to make up for the Sukkot holiday cycle, which many people missed, due to the war, and to echo the inauguration of sacrifices in the Tabernacle, which took place on the eighth day (Leviticus 9). How do you proceed?

The logical answer is to announce that a rededication ceremony will take place in one week. Otherwise, you will light the Menorah with pomp and circumstance, and then, on day two, the Temple will go dark.

One message of the story of the oil is: take that risk. When there is oil, light the wick. Use your vessel. Don’t try to hoard or save light. Have faith that each day will bring its own oil — its own riches and anointing.

About 350 years before the Maccabees, at the time of the prophet Zachariah, the first Temple had been destroyed, and there was a chance that Zerubavel, governor of Judah, could build a second Temple. An angel came to Zachariah and showed him a gold Menorah with a bowl that poured oil from above onto the seven branches. On either side of this Menorah were olive trees with ready, abundant fruit. The angel explained the vision this way: “This is the word of Adonai to Zerubavel, saying: ‘Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit, says Adonai of hosts.’” (Zachariah 4:6)

How will we ever rebuild and rejuvenate our temples, if not by God’s spirit?

Oil and light pour gently down from above. God will not coerce us into seeing or accepting blessings; yet, what we need is at hand. Infinity, by definition, is enough. This holiday, may you enjoy, publicize and transmit the light. A

Rabbi Debra Orenstein is spiritual leader of Makom Ohr Shalom synagogue (makom.org) and a frequent scholar-in-residence. Her Web site, RabbiDebra.com, offers Chanukah resources, gifts and teachings.

For Ruth Merritt, a lifelong relationship with art and Judaism began with a misunderstanding about a Hebrew school assignment: to copy the first paragraph of the Amidah. At 6 years old, Merritt took that directive literally, reproducing the exact shape of the Hebrew letters. Although she didn’t finish copying the paragraph — and worried that her teacher would punish her for not completing her homework — she discovered that she enjoyed drawing the letters. But instead of a reprimand, she received accolades and support.

“They grew up at the same time, and I grew up with both of them,” Merritt said, referring to her love of art and Judaism.

Much of her Merritt’s work focuses on and incorporates Hebrew letters. “The Hebrew alphabet is one of the most authentic and one of the oldest Jewish design elements,” Merritt said. “That really resonates with me.”

Although she studied both Judaism and art as a young adult, attending the College of Jewish Studies at the Jewish Theological Seminary, the Art Institute of Chicago and the University of Judaism’s School of Fine Arts, it wasn’t until Merritt’s own children were in school that she began to really develop an art business. At first, she designed Jewish New Year cards — something she had done since childhood — ketubot and bar mitzvah invitations. As her children grew, Merritt also grew as an artist, learning new techniques like calligraphy and papercutting, and taking on larger, more complex projects.

Those projects include the lettering on Aron Kodesh doors at Temple Isaiah in West Los Angeles, designing a Torah mantle at Sinai Temple in Westwood, where she also designed the steel sculpture “Memorial to the Six Million,” and the faceted glass windows, “Creation: The First Seven Days,” in the Kamenir Chapel at Mount Sinai Memorial Park in Simi Valley.

The series of seven windows depicts each day of creation, represented with Hebrew letters, colors and background images. The colors of the letters, red through purple, reflect the spectrum of the rainbow, the symbol of hope in the biblical story of the flood.

“I used the symbolism of creation as a reaffirmation of life, even in view of the fact that people are in that chapel to lay someone to rest.”

It took Merritt almost a year to study and develop the theme for the Kamenir Chapel’s seven windows. Early on, she settled on the concept of the creation story with the largest window representing Shabbat. When she finally started sketching, it took only two weeks to get from the first rendering to the finished drawings.

Merritt said she had to walk a fine line when using imagery in the windows so as not to offend the Orthodox community while still conveying the narrative. She settled on using Hebrew letters as the primary imagery, although she believes that symbolic art is a part of Jewish tradition.

“The popular conception is that drawing images is contrary to Judaism, but I believe that has been misinterpreted,” Merritt said, adding that she believes the biblical instruction to create beautiful things in connection with the Temple is referring to art. “I think they meant not to make idol images, but there are ancient synagogues with drawings on their walls.”

The larger Shabbat window brings together all of the colors of the six smaller windows with the image of two flames.

“The reason for the two flames is to represent each way the Bible tells you to celebrate Shabbat,” Merritt said. “First, it tells us to observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy, and later it tells us to remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.”

(Merritt’s “Memorial to the Six Million” at Sinai Temple uses similar imagery. The sculpture has six branches of letters using two shins, symbolic of shesh — Hebrew for six — to form tongues of flame.)

The faceted windows were Merritt’s first foray into glasswork, but she enjoys the challenge of working in new mediums, seeing it as a way to expand her creative horizons. Merritt and the project director chose faceted glass — a technique using chunks of glass hammered to create facets that reflect light or set in concrete in a mosaic pattern — as opposed to stained glass, to tie them stylistically to the faceted glass windows in the sanctuary at Sinai Temple, which was built in the late 1950s to early 1960s. As it turned out, the same Pasadena company that fashioned those original windows, Judson Studios, also brought Merritt’s sketches from paper to glass with the grandson of the man who worked on the original project helping to develop the creation windows, bringing the whole project full circle.

When asked if she would ever consider a commissioned piece that did not involve Jewish themes, Merritt barely pauses.

“I don’t know that I could,” she said, expressing her deep connection to Judaism by explaining that her parents were Zionists who met in Hebrew school and she and her husband met at a Jewish camp. “I have to feel something for what I’m doing.”