The antique market is booming: and as one who purchased his collection long since, and in any case is in no position to purchase anything more now, I cannot but rejoice at the fact. The market in Jewish antiques on the other hand is not merely booming. It came into existence only a very short while ago, but it has already become affected by a runaway inflation. It is little more than a half century since a few eccentrics in France, Germany, England, one even in the United States, began to be interested in the artistic relics of the Jewish past—objects of Bigotry and Virtue, as a friend of mine once paraphrased the French bijouterie et vertu. Chanukah lamps for use in the home, pewter or majolica dishes for the Passover, the hanging lamps formerly kindled for the Sabbath, the brocades which hung before the Ark in the synagogue, the silver adornments which decorated the Torah scrolls, the illuminated megilloth or Books of Esther, the beautiful marriage contracts formerly common in Italy and elsewhere. But everybody knew that these collectors were eccentrics, and pitied them somewhat for not investing their capital in objects of more general interest or more profitable prospects. However, in a way such eccentricity was condonable, for the competition was so slight that the prices were negligible.

Now, however, the scene has changed. The universal collecting fever has spread to the field of Judaica. The economic well-being of Jews in some Western countries has made it possible for the circle of collectors to be immensely widened; and to some extent, doubtless, the abandonment of Jewish rituals has created a sort of guilt complex which results in an attempt to assemble the vehicles wherein these rituals were expressed in the past. As a result, apart from the newly-developed major Jewish Museums in New York, Cincinnati, London, and so on, there are smaller museums of Jewish ritual objects attached to synagogues and temples all over the United States, as well as overseas: and travelers to Europe or the East are anxious to bring back some object of interest to add to these collections and thus perpetuate their own names. Moreover, a very, very large number of private persons, including many enthusiastic young married couples, are now engaged in beginning to build up private collections of the same type, based in the first instance on the objects they may be able to use in their domestic rituals, but later extending more and more.

As a result of the growing demand, there is a growing supply, but unfortunately it is of frequently dubious origin. (Some sales by auction, for example, at renowned auction galleries, which purport to be of important collections and gain status thereby, turn out on investigation to be based on the recently and deliberately acquired stock-in-trade of professional dealers.) Since the supply of authentic antiques is limited (especially after the wholesale destruction of 1933-45, and the concentration of worthwhile specimens in the major museums), a lively manufacturing trade in Jewish antiques has sprung up in recent years, with its centers in Spain and (I regret to say) in Israel, both particularly suggestive centers for distribution: for what comes from Israel is even now imbued with some odor of sanctity, and what was purchased in Spain is ostensibly of very great antiquity—a relic of the ancient communities expelled from that country in 1492.

So far as this latter area is concerned, one may be quite categorical. To my knowledge, there is only one single authentic piece (or rather pair of pieces) of synagogue silver now extant which goes back before the 16th century: a pair of rimonim (Torah bells) preserved in the Cathedral of Palma (Majorca), though in fact not Spanish but Sicilian in origin. Other pieces may be extant, but I do not know of them, and would want to have their date authenticated by expert opinion were I to spend any substantial sum on them. And objects of the sort dating from before the year 1600 are also very, very uncommon (and should be correspondingly costly). To the collector, I can give only one piece of advice: Never buy a Jewish antique in Spain! (That is, qua Spanish antique: for indeed, a few authentic fairly old German-Jewish pieces have found their way into the Peninsula also.) Some little time ago, a pair of rimonim, described as being 15th-century Spanish, turned up for sale in New York: to the best of my judgment, they are 19th-century Moroccan, and poor quality at that: and I do not think that if they were presented to me I would put them on display.

The most ostensibly appealing and remarkable of the Jewish objets d’art now being put into the market has a romantic story attached to it. It is said to emanate from the Marranos (or crypto-Jews) of Spain and Portugal, who manufactured it in this way in order to conceal their observance of the rites of their former faith from the prying eyes of the Inquisition. (Sometimes, as a further embellishment, the purchaser is informed that it was formerly owned by a Grand Rabbi of Istanbul: the relevance is not obvious.) This precious object consists of a silver chalice (sometimes authentically old, and even of some value), which purports to be a kiddush cup. Into this are fitted ingeniously (1) a pair of candlesticks for the Sabbath (2) a Chanukah lamp (3) a Scroll of Esther (4) a mezuzah or some similar object, or whatever else appeals to the curious mind of the craftsman. Occasionally, this absurdity is even sold without extra charge (the price used to be around $1,5001) with a written guarantee of authenticity! But it is obviously an absurdity, apart from the fact that most of the contents are patently of recent manufacture. For none of these things was absolutely necessary for Jewish life (any lamp, for example, could serve for the Sabbath: and Sabbath candlesticks are a recent innovation); and to be found with an agglomeration of this type in his possession would inevitably have condemned the owner to the stake. Nevertheless, the manufacture goes on blithely, and I am afraid collections all over the U.S. count such horrors among their most treasured possessions.

Another trick of the industry is to adapt authentic objects by giving them a spurious inscription or embellishment: for it is easy enough to add a few Hebrew characters to an old piece of silver so as to qualify it for a Jewish collection. Thus, for example, a couple of words or a biblical verse in Hebrew can convert an 18th-century tea-caddy into a box for holding the ethrog on the Feast of Tabernacles, or a silver beaker into a wine-cup for the kiddush on Friday night. Fairly old Scrolls of Esther are easily obtainable at moderate price; these are then handed over to an illuminator who embellishes them with a conventional design, and it is difficult to deny positively that the object is in fact 17th- or 18th-century, as the vendor claims. However, the number of craftsmen in the field is limited, and it is not difficult to recognize their handiwork: it is generally in pastel colors, with a touch of gold, embodying a Gothic architectural design and the signs of the zodiac. Even if I saw this trademark attached to a silver or silver-gilt roller which appears to me to be authentic and desirable, I would hesitate to touch it: the entire object now appears to me suspect. Another very ingenious (and very common) method is to attach a newly-made silver hand with outstretched forefinger to the tapering end of a Victorian (in one case that I know, even Fabergé) buttonhook or umbrella-handle. This converts it into a very presentable antique yad, or pointer, used to follow the place in the Torah-scroll during the reading—and converts a price of a few dollars into a few hundred.

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The newly-made silver objects are fairly easily recognizable: they are generally of rather base metal, with a somewhat heavy repoussé pattern, and decorated with bosses of semiprecious or colored stones. There is also a tendency for ivory or imitation bone-ivory to be used in the manufacture of some sections—a feature which immediately puts the collector on his guard. They are sometimes quite well-made and not bad value, and could well be used for ordinary synagogal purposes—but have no place in a Jewish museum. Similarly, the Chanukah lamps (and also hanging Sabbath lamps) of copper or brass are generally of quite good design—as they should be, since they are cast reproductions made last month of authentic old pieces, and worth no more than the price of cast reproductions. However, when the reproduction is in silver the whole of the basis of the work and object is falsified (though the price is correspondingly enhanced). Cast reproductions of the characteristic North African Chanukah lamps have now become very common indeed. They are attractive and worth having—providing that they are not regarded as antiques. Stone is, of course, ageless, and Chanukah lamps of stone were made in Yemen etc. for centuries past, though I would be inclined to ascribe some of those, which are now offered for sale as belonging to the early centuries of the Christian era, to a date around 1870—or later. Another category now being widely imitated in the Orient consists of kemiot or amulets, usually of base silver with long Hebrew inscriptions unintelligible in any case to the ordinary person. They are still being made, of course, but it is a wholly different thing somehow whether they are made for use or for sale.

When I first began to collect Oriental marriage contracts, the price was trivial (so, alas, I did not purchase as many as I should have). Now the value has gone up so enormously that a lively industry in falsification has sprung up. Only, the Oriental craftsman being so economical of his time, and his opinion of foreign intelligence being so low, the text of the imitations that he now turns out is absurdly curtailed in length, so that it loses all significance and as a document would be legally invalid. The Italian ketuboth, on the other hand, are far more beautiful and therefore more valuable, and recently I have seen one obviously copied from a photograph of a well-known original (with spurious signatures in, unfortunately, the wrong script).

Incidentally, there is one Jewish symbol from which the falsifiers are seldom able to abstain, but which should put the purchaser on his guard. The Magen David or Star of David became recognized as a specific token of Judaism only relatively late, and if I see it on some objet d’art I suspect that it cannot be earlier than the middle of the last century—and may be a good deal later.

It must be admitted that some of the contemporary fabricators show considerable ingenuity, or even learning. There is one highly complex and elaborately-inscribed article sold at present in Spain of which I can say no more than that it is of very recent manufacture and can have served no conceivable object: except for this, it is quite desirable. In Morocco, there are now being turned out miniature imitations of medieval astrolabes (that is, instruments for use in astronomical observation) with Hebrew inscriptions, which if genuine would be worth tens of thousands—but my search for the original has been unavailing. Some of the elaborate gold and enamel betrothal rings now on the market (it is uncertain whether the originals, now very scarce and correspondingly valuable, were South German or North Italian) are so well executed that only an expert can advise definitely on their age. On the other hand, those ungainly and elaborate specimens in silver which have become so common are almost all fabrications, however romantic the elements they embody, or the stories attached to them.

The auction price of Jewish objets d’art is soaring. There is no reason to complain about this. An antique is worth what it will fetch, or what it has fetched. Even if the enthusiastic purchaser pays what appears an astronomical price, in competition with another enthusiastic amateur, he has not made an error qua collector—that is a problem to be settled between himself and his bank-manager. But if the collector pays even a moderate price for what is sold to him as an antique, but is in fact a contemporary fabrication, he has been guilty of an irremediable blunder (besides the fact that he has been made a fool of). And, if such objects are deposited in a museum or some public collection, they debase the general taste and remain to trap future generations.

An imitation has indeed a place in a collection, when the original cannot be obtained: but a fake never, except in the rogues’ gallery, for which there is place only in major collections. Though indeed, in view of recent developments, it might be desirable for synagogue and temple museums to have a display of such objects, in order to demonstrate to their supporters what not to buy when they are on their summer tour to ancient centers of Jewish life in Europe or the Holy Land—where action should have been taken by the competent authorities long before this. Caveat Emptor Judaeus.

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