Who would have imagined that treasures of English Judaica would end up in North Carolina? In mid-January we placed on display in the Judaic Art Gallery a major new acquisition: Torah ornaments from the Orthodox Synagogue of Plymouth, England. Consisting of silver and gilt finials (rimmonim) and matching pointer (yad), these superb pieces are among the earliest complete sets of English Torah silver.  How did they come to North Carolina?  Therein lies a tale. But first, some background.

The Orthodox Synagogue in Plymouth lays claim to being “the oldest Ashkenazi synagogue in the English-speaking world still in regular use.” Founded by German and Dutch immigrants, the synagogue was built in 1762 by carpenters and other artisans from the nearby shipyards of the Royal Navy. Though never large, the Plymouth Jewish community attained a degree of prosperity that is reflected in the sophistication of the synagogue furnishings and ceremonial art.

About 1783—the year the American colonies won their independence—an unknown member of the Plymouth community went to London and commissioned a pair of finials and pointer from John Robins, a silversmith with a fashionable clientele. Robins responded with pieces that in their refined proportions and playful elegance typify the best of Georgian silversmithing. A respected authority on English silver has judged the finials to be “one of the two most effectively original pairs of rimmonim of pure English character made in London in the 18th century.” Whether intended or not, the bulbous shapes of the finials suggest the origin of the term rimmonim—pomegranates. Gilded bells dangle from three tiers of fancifully designed brackets, adding a celestial tinkle to the procession of the Torah scroll during religious services. Topping each finial is a very English hooped crown, symbolizing the sovereignty of the divine word.

For 226 years the Robins-made finials and pointer played a central role in the ritual life of the Plymouth synagogue. However, in recent decades the once-thriving community has declined, so that today it reportedly numbers about 50 people. “We are a dying community,” admitted one of the leaders of the synagogue to a reporter for the London Times in 2009. She was explaining why the congregation took the drastic decision to sell 23 silver items, including the Robins-made finials and pointer. She further confessed that “we don’t use the items, and we are very short of funds. I’m not sad to see them go …There is no point keeping silver in the bank that we are not using.”

The decision to sell the Torah ornaments sparked a brief furor. Besides the Times, the story was reported by the BBC, London’s Jewish Chronicle, and as far afield as the Jerusalem Post and New York’s Jewish Daily Forward. Inevitably, voices were raised decrying the loss to Jewish—and English—heritage. Even so, despite the ruckus, no one stepped forward to assist the Plymouth Synagogue, and the objects were consigned to auction at Bonham’s in London in November 2009. Nicholas Shaw of Bonham’s praised the Plymouth silver as “the earliest and rarest set of English ritual Torah furnishings to have come up for auction.” Interest was high among collectors of Judaica. Some people expected London’s Jewish Museum to bid on the finials and pointer in an effort to “rescue” them for England.  In the end no rescue materialized, and the pieces were bought by a respected London dealer in antique silver and jewelry. After some minor conservation—primarily replacement of a few lost bells—the finials and pointer were offered to the North Carolina Museum of Art for our Judaic Art Gallery.

This presented an opportunity that would not come twice. In strengthening the Judaic art collection, a top priority has been to extend the geographical range of the collection in order to represent the variety of interpretations of ceremonial art across the Jewish Diaspora. Our collection had no English Judaica. And we had few pieces of any kind from the 18th century. Then, too, our goal has always been to acquire only Judaic art of superb artistry. After all, we are an art museum. The Plymouth ornaments were not only historically important; they were also visually dazzling. We had to have them.

The price, however, even after considerable bargaining, was high, and the resources then available in the Judaic Art Fund were substantial but not enough. The dealer in London granted us time to raise the remaining funds. An appeal went out to the Friends of the Judaic Art Gallery, and happily several North Carolinians stepped forward with generous contributions that completed the purchase.

Plymouth’s loss is certainly North Carolina’s gain, but we do not intend to ignore, much less forget, where these beautiful objects came from. So many pieces in our Judaic art collection—and in the Museum’s other collections—have lost their histories as they have passed from one hand to another, sometimes with war intervening. With these Torah ornaments, we have the full and very human story: objects created to honor God and enhance communal pride, cherished by 10 generations of Plymouth’s Jews, and finally, sadly sacrificed as the Plymouth community dwindles. The story is well worth sharing.

Images: John Robins, Torah Finials and Pointer, 1783–84, silver: hollow-formed, repoussé, cast, chased, partly gilded, velvet crown caps; finials: H. 14 1/2 in., pointer: L. 11 in., Purchased with funds from Wendy and Mike Brenner, Alice and Daniel Satisky, Phyllis Shavitz and Family in Memory of Stanley Shavitz, and other Friends of the Judaic Art Gallery

Related: Join the Friends of the Judaic Art Gallery on Saturday, March 11, for Purim Madness!

Through tireless volunteerism, generous and wise philanthropy, and the warmth of his personality, this respected physician, scholar, and educator made a singular contribution to Raleigh’s cultural landscape and to interfaith understanding throughout the state through the establishment of the Judaic Art Gallery at the North Carolina Museum of Art.

All very true, but too short by a thousand words. Ten thousand words. After all, the man lived 95 years. He witnessed and participated in the whole of the twentieth century. He deserves a biographer. However, until one arrives I offer the following remarks written several years ago and only slightly edited:

This morning I was making a final check of the Judaic Art Gallery. I halted in front of the Chinese Torah Case, its surface embellished with delicately wrought flowers—an allusion to the beauty of life and perhaps also to the first Garden when all was yet right with the world. And I thought of Abe Kanof and how he would have delighted in seeing this case here in Raleigh, half a world from its origin.

First-time visitors to the North Carolina Museum of Art are invariably surprised to find a gallery devoted to Jewish ceremonial art. How it came about is directly attributable to the vision and bullish tenacity of Abe Kanof.

Like the Chinese Torah Case, Abram Kanof’s life began far from Raleigh in a backwater town of the Tsar’s empire. He was born in 1903 in the same month as the Wright brothers’ flight at Kitty Hawk. Rampaging cossacks forced his family to flee to America, where they settled in New York and began to climb rung-by-rung the immigrant’s ladder.

Fast forward 60 years.

In the late 1960s, Dr. Kanof retired from a successful medical and teaching career in New York and moved to Raleigh. Thirty more years lay ahead of him. Retirement freed Abe to pursue his bliss, including the scholarly study of Jewish art and symbolism. He wrote books. He traveled. He involved himself in the affairs of the Triangle’s small Jewish community. And he joined the North Carolina Museum of Art. In 1974 he convinced Director Moussa Domit to let him organize an exhibition of “Ceremonial Art in the Judaic Tradition.” The unexpected success of that show inspired Abe with the grander dream of a permanent collection of Judaica at the Museum. Domit and the Museum didn’t say no, but it was made clear that Abe would have to raise the funds and assemble the collection himself. Abe welcomed the challenge. (“It was my crusade,” he told me, laughing when I winced at the joke.) For years he traveled the state, lecturing to civic and religious groups, all the while wheedling, coaxing, and cajoling potential donors. Abe and his wife also donated many objects from their own collection. By 1983 when the Museum opened on Blue Ridge Road, one of the most remarkable galleries featured not Old Master paintings but glittering Torah crowns, Hanukkah lamps, and Sabbath candlesticks.

From the beginning the Judaic Art Gallery expressed Abe Kanof’s ecumenical vision. He knew that his audience was predominantly not Jewish. What he hoped to create was a place accessible to all where the spiritual and cultural life of the Jewish people could be both celebrated and shared through memorable works of art. Believing that the vitality of Judaism was best reflected in ceremonial art of contemporary design, he also insisted that equal attention be given to objects in modernist styles.

Until his death in 1999, Abe Kanof was the Judaic Art Gallery. He never tired of giving tours to visitors and was always in demand. He once confessed to me that Baptists were his favorite group: they knew their Bible! A natural teacher with a driven need to share his life, he enjoyed performing before a group, whether five or 50. I see him in his well-worn jacket of green corduroy, his hand resting lightly on the shoulder of a young boy as the two of them count the number of lights on a Hanukkah lamp. I see him at the center of a visiting church group holding forth on the heroism of the Maccabees or the symbolism of the foods served at Passover Seder. His gestures were slow and professorial, the pauses between thoughts like deep breaths. When he was past 90 he and I led a small museum tour to Israel. We were visiting the archaeological site at Kfar Nahum (Capernaum) on the Sea of Galilee. Abe had been sleeping on the bus but sprang to life as we arrived. Walking behind, I watched as he entered the precinct of the ruined synagogue, the square of sun-white sand enclosed within broken walls and columns. He’d been there before but was still moved to silence. After a few moments he walked over to a toppled stone from the sanctuary doors. His finger slowly traced the eroded image of the Menorah. Then, turning toward us, he commenced to teach.

From the NCMA video archives, here’s a 1992 video of Dr. Kanof guiding us through the Judaic collection:

From the NCMA video archives, here’s a 1992 video of Dr. Kanof guiding us through the Judaic collection:

A Tour of the Judaic Gallery with Dr. Abram Kanof from The North Carolina Museum of Art on Vimeo.

But I am also of the spirit—an exalted object, revered by many. Not for what I am so much as for the words I carry:  Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy—I know the words by heart. My words preserve the history of a people, remind them of sacred law. And so… I think of myself as a teacher.

Moroccan immigrants carried me to Jerusalem, and many heard my words in services at the Wailing Wall. Always, I felt so proud as the rabbi used a yad to point to my words as he read them aloud.

But time had its way with me, and like all earthly things, I became worn with use. So deep in my work, I barely noticed it happening. My words remain, as beautiful and strong as ever, and I do not mind my worn places, for they are my memories; they remind me of how important I was, and how well loved. But I was sad to no longer feel the yad tracing the lines of the stories I hold.

But do not be sad for me. For now I have come to a new place, and I will have a new life.

I do not know what became of the Torah case I once dwelled in. But the people here have placed me in a handsome case that had lost its scroll. It is a good union, a lovely friendship, for we are of the same age, familiar to each other, and we remind each other of our past, of what we’ve lost. And in my heart, I am young again.

Now I hear the people talking about a new home, a place I grow eager to see. It will not be a place of worship. But a special place just the same. A place of great beauty. A place of questions and ideas. A place where the past is revered and treasured along with the new.

And many people—people of all faiths, from many different lands—will come to see me, and learn.

Soon, they say, I will be there. Soon the people will come. And I will be a teacher again, in a new way. And I will be proud to do this good work. For now, a time to sleep—to remember the past, to dream of the future.

This post is part of the series Follow Our Journey. Follow Torah Scroll and six other works of art on the Big Move to the Museum’s new building.

Image caption:
North African, probably Moroccan, Torah Scroll, mid-19th century, ink on calf skin vellum, sewn with animal sinew, H. 20 1/4 in. (variable), Gift of the Friends of the Judaic Art Gallery in honor of Dr. and Mrs. Elmo Scoggin; Iraqi, Torah Case (Tik), 1908 (dedication date), silver: die-stamped, repoussé, cast, appliqué, chased, engraved, partly gilded; wood; textile; carnelian beads (restoration), H. 36 7/8 x Diam. 10 1/2 in., Museum Purchase, Judaic Art Fund and Museum Purchase Fund; Iraqi, Torah Finials (Rimmonim), late 19th-early 20th century, brass: repoussé, chased, cast, gilded, H. 6 1/2 in., Gift of the Harold Kadis and Robert Kadis families in memory of their parents, Isaac and Mary Kadis

Superlative in craftsmanship, Dutch Judaica of the 17th and 18th centuries testifies to the great flowering of Jewish cultural and intellectual life under the Protestant Dutch Republic. (The Netherlands was the first nation in modern Europe to grant Jews a large measure of economic and religious freedom). Great examples of Dutch Judaica are rare on the art market and many of the objects have suspect provenance due to the rampant looting of synagogues during the Nazi occupation. It was, therefore, an exceptional, not-to-be-missed event when in December 2006 a large collection of very fine Dutch Judaica was offered at auction in New York, consigned by the Jewish Community of Amsterdam. The most desirable objects in this collection were several pairs of exquisite 18th-century Torah finials (or in Hebrew rimmonim). In the Ashkenazi (or Central and Eastern European) tradition, such ornamental finials are used to cap the protruding staves of the Torah scroll when not in use. Often they are hung with bells that tinkle when the Torah is carried in procession. In affluent Jewish communities like Amsterdam the Torah ornaments could be quite sophisticated, reflecting the taste and status of the congregation or individual donor. Dutch rimmonim often take the form of tiered towers, reminiscent of Baroque church architecture.

Our pair was originally made for Amsterdam’s Grote Synagoge (Great Synagogue), the first and most prestigious of four adjacent synagogues built by the city’s Ashkenazi Jewish community. In 1943, during the Nazi occupation of The Netherlands, the Great Synagogue was closed and its treasures plundered. Most of the congregation perished in the Holocaust. After the war the synagogue was deconsecrated and later converted into the Jewish Historical Museum (Joods Historisch Museum). Of the ritual objects looted from its treasury only a fraction was ever recovered. After reserving some of these pieces for the museum’s collection, the Amsterdam’s Ashkenazi community sent the “surplus” to auction. The bidding on the floor was robust-this was before the economic downturn. Enthusiasm was fueled not only by the superb quality of the objects but also by their unimpeachable provenance. Still, thanks to the frenzied last-minute fundraising of the Friends of the Judaic Art Gallery, the North Carolina Museum of Art prevailed in our bid for one of the finest pairs of finials.

In the parlance of the auction house, the finials were bought as is, meaning their condition was not perfect. Far from it. Mistreatment–almost certainly by the Nazi looters–was glaringly obvious. The silver shafts were bent, balustrades and other architectural elements were crushed, and a number of the gilt bells were missing. One easily imagines the plunderers of the synagogue carelessly, perhaps maliciously, tossing the finials in a sack or box with the rest of the loot and throwing the whole into the back of a truck. The condition of the finials prompted a lengthy discussion among the curators and conservators. Among the questions raised:

Do we leave the finials in their damaged state, thereby calling attention to their desecration at the hands of the Nazis?

OR

Do we judiciously restore them to their original splendor and thus advance more hopeful story line, one that celebrates the beliefs and aspirations of a once vibrant Jewish community as well as the artistry and dignity of objects dedicated to the divine service?

Is it falsifying history to smooth over the traces of violence? Or is it recovering history to return the finials close to the condition when they were used and cherished? In the end we elected to restore the finials. Weighing the options, we decided that the depredations of the Nazis should not be the principal or even a major aspect of the story these objects tell. We contracted with a highly respected conservator expert in the restoration of fine silver. Over several months he carefully disassembled each finial, straightening the structure, reconstructing damaged parts, fabricating bells and other missing components, and finally reassembling the pieces into a dazzling whole. As may be seen from the photographs, the wounds of war have been mended and the restored finials have reclaimed all of their original ceremonial grandeur.