Sensing the Synagogue

DAN PORGES / ALAMY

What was Jewish life like inside synagogues during late antiquity (fourth–seventh centuries CE)? At first glance, it seems that answers abound. Literature produced by early rabbis and Christian writers documents how Jews used synagogues as places to convene for assembly, prayer, and reading and translation of the Torah. Ancient inscriptions reveal the names of men—and sometimes women—who held synagogue offices or donated their wealth to synagogue construction, upkeep, and renovations. Archaeology provides material evidence of how Jews built and lavishly decorated these monumental buildings—sometimes describing them as their “holy” or “sacred” synagogues—often with ornate Torah shrines and elaborate mosaic floors that melded biblical imagery with styles and motifs from the broader Mediterranean world.

But how did synagogues look and feel to their ancient visitors? How did Jews illuminate their synagogues, when they congregated in the darkness of early mornings and late evenings? What were synagogue acoustics like? What did synagogues smell like?

In recent years, historians and archaeologists have begun to think in more imaginative ways about how ancient peoples experienced their built and natural landscapes during their daily lives, as mediated through activities of seeing, smelling, hearing, remembering, and tasting. These efforts impel scholars, in turn, to consider more neglected features of the archaeological record—especially common-place or lesser noticed objects, such as oil lamps, censers, and incense burners. Giving attention to these artifacts, I believe, can transform our understanding of Jewish life inside ancient synagogues.

© I SRAEL MUSEUM, J ERUSALEM / BRIDGEMAN IMAGES

Today, many of us take for granted the role of electricity in artificially illuminating buildings. Perhaps this is why scholars are more likely to offer functional interpretations of stone, metal, glass, and ceramic lamps discovered in synagogue excavations throughout all areas of the ancient Mediterranean.¹ Yet different approaches to lamps can reveal new information about their uses, which, as we’ll see, extended well beyond illuminating synagogue interiors.

COURTESY UZI LEIBNER, THE HEBREW UNIVERSITY OF JERUSALEM; PHOTO BY GABI LARON; DRAWING BY SARA HALBREICH

Lamps, of course, took many different forms in synagogues. One type was the menorah (plural, menorot), a free-standing candelabrum. Fragments of such menorot survive from fourth- and fifth-century synagogues discovered in both Roman and Byzantine Palestine and the broader Mediterranean world. One well-preserved stone menorah from Hammath Tiberias has branches carved with relief decorations, possibly etched beads, calyxes, or pomegranates. Several small depressions on top of the stone were likely fitted with cups containing oil and wicks for lighting. Such menorot are frequently depicted in synagogue mosaics and no doubt served to illuminate the main assembly hall.

Other types of lamps emitted more ambient light inside surrounding spaces. Among these were chandeliers sometimes forged in bronze, into which glass bowls were inserted. Called “crown lamps,” they hung from rafters or other structural elements within synagogues. They included glass bowls or goblets, inserted or affixed into their metal frames, often taking the form of complex circular chandeliers, or polycandela. Partially preserved examples were found in the fourth-century Khirbet Wadi Hamam synagogue, as well as in a seventh-century synagogue in Jericho.

ZEV RADOVAN / BIBLELANDPICTURES

Another magnificent example is a bronze polycandelon that was likely suspended above the floor of the synagogue at Kfar Hananyah. It includes a flat bronze circlet (crown), to which hanging rings and chains were attached; twelve small holes piercing the crown accommodated tapered glass fixtures, which would have been filled with oil and wicks. The lamp also bore an Aramaic inscription on its bottom face so as to be visible from below. Though obscure in places, the inscription reads: “This crown […] to the holy place of Kfar Hananyah […] May they be remembered for good. Amen selah, shalom […].” Here, “crown” (kelilah) is an Aramaic name for a polycandelon lamp, presumably donated as a votive object for display and use; the term “holy place” likely refers to the synagogue. Two menorot, each flanked by a lulav (palm frond) and a shofar (ram’s horn), border portions of the inscription.²

© THE ISRAEL MUSEUM, JERUSALEM, BY DAVID HARRIS

The most common types of lamps found inside synagogues, however, are small oil lamps, which would have once rested on furniture, on the floor, or upon designated stands. Ceramic lamps were among the most ubiquitous. Their popularity partly related to their lower cost, as they were the cheapest lamps to manufacture and purchase. Their shapes and sizes, nonetheless, vary considerably. Examples from Levantine synagogues include ceramic wheel-made lamps (whether folded, with taller round bodies, or knife-pared) and mold-made lamps (often pear-shaped or rounded), sometimes with multiple nozzles.

Often, more elaborate and pricier types of resting lamps were cast in bronze. One beautiful example found at Beth Shean features a protruding seven-branched menorah, a lulav, and a shofar, all distinctive Jewish symbols from late antiquity. Such finds remind us how lamps could be both decorative and functional.

© ISRAEL MUSEUM, JERUSALEM / ISRAEL ANTIQUITIES AUTHORITY / BRIDGEMAN IMAGES

Most ancient synagogues do not appear to have abounded in natural light. Clustering multiple lamps in certain areas, therefore, would dramatically illuminate synagogue spaces as needed, particularly in the late evening and early morning hours. When multiple types were used simultaneously, some lamps could emanate diffuse light (from suspended ceiling or wall fixtures), while others would offer more directed or pointed light (from stone, bronze, or ceramic lamps placed on furniture or stands). Different lamps could be variously used for discrete tasks (i.e., reading versus ambient light), or even serve as spotlights or accent lights to illuminate specific architectural features, including Torah shrines.

The significance of such lamps, however, extended well beyond their function of illuminating dark spaces. Lighting multiple lamps could have made surrounding spaces seem more opulent. Some rabbinic texts, for instance, recommend studying the Torah at night, which required special implements and supplies of wicks and lamp oil, affordances of only the most well-to-do (Leviticus Rabbah 19a; Exodus Rabbah 47:5). The use of multiple types of lamps inside synagogues may have bespoken a similar sense. The expense of oil and extra wicks, along with the presence of different lamps and light sources, served to create a special and perhaps even luxurious atmosphere inside synagogue spaces, particularly after nightfall.

Much like illumination, the role of scent in ancient Jewish devotional practices, let alone the use of incense or aromatics inside ancient synagogues, has rarely been considered.³ Although the incense sacrifice (ketoret ha-tamid) was an integral component of worship in the Jerusalem Temple (e.g., Leviticus 16:12–13; Exodus 30:34), most scholars assume that Jews stopped using aromatics in worship (just as they ceased performing animal sacrifices) after the Romans destroyed the Temple in 70 CE. But renewed examination of certain archaeological findings as well as ancient and medieval texts suggests that some Jews continued to use incense or aromatics as part of their devotional lives. For instance, scholars now argue that Jews who escaped to the Judean Desert caves during the Bar-Kokhba Revolt (132–136 CE) carried with them incense shovels (mahtot) intended for ritual use and that these do not represent spoils of the Romans, as initially thought.⁴

Reexamination of other archaeological findings explicitly connects incense burning or use of aromatics to synagogues. For instance, the so-called bronze goblet (see below), originally fitted with a hinged top and discovered in a small repository inside the Torah shrine of the Ein Gedi synagogue, may have served initially as an incense burner.⁵ On a pedestal base and bereft of its lid, the vessel’s contours resemble censers used in other contexts during late antiquity.

© THE ISRAEL MUSEUM, JERUSALEM

Although they do not come from controlled excavations and lack contextual information, objects from private collections also provide additional support for continued Jewish use of incense and other aromatics. One example (see right), purchased from a dealer in Cairo in the 1930s and now on display in the Brooklyn Museum, was originally inscribed for Jewish or Samaritan use. This fourth-to-fifth-century bronze vessel, which is composed of three parts, is topped with a baluster and stands on a base fashioned with three clawed lions’ paws. The upper portion consists of an attached bowl decorated with sculpted birds, which resemble ducks or other waterfowl. Neatly pointed into the bowl’s face is a depiction of a menorah with seven curved branches, each topped with an incised point indicating a flame. This is followed by a Greek inscription that offers the vessel “in fulfillment of the vow of Auxanon,” suggesting this luxurious incense burner was donated to a Jewish (or perhaps Samaritan) devotional space, probably a synagogue or shrine.

BROOKLYN MUSEUM, CHARLES EDWIN WILBOUR FUND

Perhaps the most robust evidence for the continued use of incense inside synagogues comes from regions farther west—amid the remains of the late antique synagogue in Rome’s port city of Ostia. Although many areas of the synagogue have been redated to later periods during recent excavations, several ceramic incense burners associated with layers dated to the late second through fifth centuries suggest their contemporaneous use inside the space.⁶ Complementing these finds is a depiction of a similarly shaped vessel—most likely an incense burner—in the synagogue’s black-and-white mosaic floor. The exceptional appearance of censers in multiple contexts at Ostia raises important questions about the frequent use and ongoing significance of incense and scent in Jewish worship during late antiquity.

PHOTO BY L .M. WHITE, UT-OSMAP EXCAVATIONS OF THE OSTIA SYNAGOGUE; USED BY PERMISSION

Indeed, burning incense might have been among those ritual practices that inspired the ire of early critics of rabbinic Judaism, including the ninth-century Karaite Jewish writer Daniel Al-Qumisi. In a fragment of a letter preserved in the Cairo Geniza, Al-Qumisi declares: “And it is forbidden in current times to burn incense and to light candles (i.e., in the synagogue), […] as done by the Rabbanites, as it says, ‘It is an abomination to me’ (Isaiah 1:13).”⁷ Most have dismissed Al-Qumisi’s critique of Rabbanites (the Karaite name for rabbinic Jews) and their uses of incense inside synagogues as mere polemic. This is partly due to assumptions about Jewish worship practices, as noted above, as well as animosity between some Karaite and rabbinic Jews in late antiquity. But renewed examinations of the archaeological evidence offer new insights into Al-Qumisi’s critique and suggest that some Jews in both the eastern and western Mediterranean burned incense or used aromatics inside their synagogues.

PHOTO BY L.M. WHITE, UT-OSMAP EXCAVATIONS OF THE OSTIA SYNAGOGUE; USED BY PERMISSION

New perspectives on archaeological findings allow us to reimagine synagogue spaces and the different ways they were used and experienced. Indeed, the ubiquity of lamps and other vessels found in synagogue excavations from all areas of the Mediterranean suggests broadly shared practices among early Jewish communities of illuminating and scenting their synagogues. Moreover, the use of multiple lamps and censers inside of synagogues demonstrates Jews’ consistent efforts to distinguish the sensory profiles of synagogues from those that were more common inside markets, theaters, or domestic spaces, where more mundane experiences prevailed.

Oil lamps in particular played powerful roles in reshaping synagogue interiors. When people used lamps in their homes, for instance, they likely did so more sparingly because oil was a luxury. Inside synagogues, however, oil could be an offering, filling suspended candelabra, menorot, and resting lamps. Donating oil and pouring it into these vessels—let alone igniting soaked wicks inside of them—could have constituted additional devotional rituals unto themselves. But the positioning of oil-filled lamps bore additional implications. Once ignited, they could divide surrounding spaces into different zones, segregating areas of light from those of shadow. Abundance and variegation of lighting helped create and reinforce feelings of opulence and abundance inside the synagogue. Moreover, the same lamps necessarily emitted heat and smoke as well as light, altering the building’s temperature and shaping how and what people could see inside the space.

3D RESEARCH & 4D RECONSTRUCTION ARCH. ROY ALBAG (“NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL LIGHTING IN THE EN GEDI SYNAGOGUE,”
IN R.E. JACKSON-TAL, ED., LIGHTING THE WAY IN JUDAISM, CHRISTIANITY, AND ISLAM [JERUSALEM: ISRAEL MUSEUM, 2024], PP. 56–61)

Uses of aromatics also dramatically transformed the sensory profiles of synagogue interiors. Whether visitors donated aromatics for burning or personally spread incense with censers, the ensuing acts transformed the visual and olfactory experiences of visitors in significant ways. And the scents of aromatics, whether agitated through shaking or burning of incense, could not be experienced without those associated with lamps. Merged odors of old burning oil mixed with new, sometimes paired with the smell and taste of the smoke from smoldering incense, impacted the flavor and particulate quality of the air within synagogues. These aggregated sights, smells, and tastes thus not only shaped visitors’ feelings of holiness, but also helped constitute the experience of the sacred on a practical and sensory level. Inside ancient synagogues, where prayer was an activity of the body as well as the mind, illumination and scent functioned synergistically to blur the mundane and the holy, the functional and the devotional, and the past and the present.