Yosie Levine
In the second quarter of the eighteenth century, well-meaning members of a Jerusalem synagogue – standing in the shadow of the Old City walls – decided to embark on a building project. To adorn and illuminate their house of worship, they fashioned a seven-branched candelabra in the mold of the menorah that stood on the south wall of the ancient Temple. The rabbinic establishment, however, was none-too-pleased about what it considered a violation of a halakhic injunction.
R. Hayyim Yoseif David Azulai (1724-1806), better known as Hida, recalled the story from his boyhood: “I remember in the days of my youth that in the synagogue in Jerusalem they fashioned a seven-branched metal menorah, and our rabbi, R. Eliezer [ben Jacob] Nahum (1662-1745),[1] along with the other rabbis, forbade them to keep it and ordered them to adjust it immediately; they added a branch [to the menorah], and it is proper to rule this way.”[2]
Aesthetic considerations aside, the rabbis were sensitive to a ruling of R. Joseph Colon (1420-1480), also known as Maharik, that had been duly codified in the Shulhan Arukh. While the artists may have been operating ignorant of their creation’s halakhic implications, they were quick to respond to rabbinic censure; they refashioned their seven-branched candelabra into an eight-branched model. For the rabbis of Jerusalem, doing violence to the aesthetic quality of the menorah was a small price to pay for doing right by their tradition.
A ruling in the Babylonian Talmud formed the backdrop to Maharik’s ruling:
A person may not construct a house in the image of the [Temple] sanctuary; a pavilion in the form of the [Temple] entrance hall; a courtyard in the image of the [Temple] courtyard; a table in the form of the [Temple] table; or a candelabra in the form of the [Temple] menorah. But one may fashion [a menorah of] five, six, or eight branches. But not of seven branches, even out of metals other [than gold].[3]
At stake was a prohibition that stems from the biblical injunction, “With me, therefore, you shall not make any gods of silver, nor shall you make for yourselves any gods of gold.[4] One who deigned to create a seven-branched menorah would run afoul of a weighty biblical proscription.
To the extent that there were any doubts about the scope of this prohibition in the late medieval period, Maharik had put them to rest. Basing his decision on the rationale of Tosafot, he ruled that one was enjoined from fashioning any candelabra that could plausibly be confused with a menorah fit for Temple use:
As Tosafot explain… ‘Even though the Temple courtyard had only four walls and a[n ordinary] courtyard has three, since the Temple’s courtyard had a wide and expansive opening, it had the appearance of having only three walls.’[5] It is clear that even though the courtyard had four walls, since it appeared to have only three, one is prohibited to make a courtyard of three walls [in the form of the Temple courtyard]. What emerges is that the matter depends on [the] visual perspective [of the viewer], even if he does not fashion it precisely in the manner of the Temple.
Preempting those who would cite Rashi’s caveat that any slight change obviates the prohibition, Maharik drew an important distinction.[6] “A house is different, for if one does not make it precisely in the form of the Temple, it will not be recognizable as such [i.e., it will not be mistaken for the Temple sanctuary], but one cannot say the same about the menorah.”[7]
For R. Colon, making a slight alteration to the design of the menorah was insufficient. Provided the menorah would not be disqualified from Temple use, a viewer might mistake it for the actual menorah, rendering its construction prohibited. Effectively, any metal candelabra with seven branches would fall within the ambit of the biblical injunction against menorah replication.
When R. Joseph Karo published his authoritative code of law, Maharik’s conservative position found pride of place:
One may not fashion a menorah in the form of the Temple menorah. But one may fashion [a menorah of] five, six, or eight branches. But not [a menorah] of seven branches, even out of other metals, even without the cups, the knobs, and the flowers, even if it is not 18 tefahim high.[8]
R. Karo could not have been more explicit. One may not produce a three-dimensional replica of any menorah that might plausibly be used in the Temple. A seven-branched model – even if it were smaller than the original, fashioned from a metal other than gold, and featured no decorative cups, knobs, or flowers – would not be permitted.[9]
The degree to which these restrictions were followed during the medieval period is difficult to know. What is known is that the matter was adjudicated by Maharik in the fifteenth century and codified by R. Karo in the sixteenth century. Commentators in the following generations opined on the conceptual ruling of the Shulhan Arukh, but it was not until the eighteenth century that a body of case law began to emerge.[10]
The story R. Azulai remembered from his Jerusalem youth was no outlier. From the Levant to Ashkenaz, a rabbinic conversation had opened on the permissibility of fashioning a menorah in the mold of the seven-branched Temple candelabra. What precipitated the uptick in the prevalence of seven-branched candelabras in the eighteenth century remains something of a mystery; what is clear, however, is that a number of prominent halakhic authorities took up the matter in their published works.[11]
A generation before Hida, R. Hayyim Moses Amarillo (1695-1748) reported a strikingly similar incident from his youth. As R. Amarillo recorded the case, an issue arose about a seven-branched menorah in the town of Serrai in present-day Greece. Rabbi Hayyim Nissim Motziri (d. 1802), citing the relevant talmudic sources,[12] objected on the grounds that replicating the Temple menorah constituted a grave violation. The rabbinic authorities follow the position of Maimonides: A seven-branched menorah is prohibited under all circumstances.[13] R. Amarillo had his reservations. In light of the fact that there are so many differences between the details of the Temple menorah recorded in the Torah and “these [contemporary menorahs]… it appears that there is no prohibition against retaining [the menorah]. But since it is possible to remove or add a branch and render it a six- or eight-branched menorah, it would be advisable to do so.”[14]
R. Amarillo’s own position on the matter was less severe than R. Azulai’s. But in deference to his contemporaries who found the menorah objectionable – and recognizing that a remedy was readily available – R. Amarillo advised against preserving the replica in its intended form.
Rabbi Alexander Sender Schor (d. 1737), though not writing about his youth, became aware of yet another menorah controversy. Probably while living in Zolkiew, he wrote,
News from nearby arrived that they are making replicas of the Temple menorah [attempting to remain within the bounds of halakhah] by altering the stance of the branches. That is to say, they make seven branches, six of which are curved or slanted or squared [i.e., at right angles], opposite one another, with one [branch] in the center.[15] And in my humble opinion, one should prevent them [from doing so].[16]
R. Schor went on to write that, post facto, there is no indication that the position of the branches would disqualify the menorah. As Shulhan Arukh writes, constructing any seven-branched menorah fit for Temple use would constitute a violation of a Torah prohibition. As such, R. Schor concluded that there was no room for leniency. Among those of his contemporaries, R. Schor’s opinion would become the most conservative and the most extreme: Any seven-branched menorah, irrespective of its shape or form, would be prohibited.
While eighteenth-century rabbis who went on record about the issue either frowned upon the iconography or forbade it outright, one nineteenth century poseik went so far as to speculate that the prohibition against menorah replication was responsible for Hanukkah’s duration. For generations, scholars have been proffering answers to a question popularized by R. Joseph Karo in his Beit Yoseif: If a one-day supply of oil burned for eight days, was not the duration of the miracle seven days? Why, then, would the rabbis establish a holiday that was eight days long?[17] R. Joseph Saul Nathanson’s answer to this question was rooted in the prohibition against menorah replication:
In my humble opinion, that is why [the rabbis] decreed eight candles for Hanukkah and not seven, for the first night was not a miracle. For if [it would have been seven days], they would have [had to] make a menorah of seven candles, and that is prohibited. Perforce, they decreed eight candles.[18]
Were Hanukkah, in fact, seven days, R. Nathanson argued, the holiday may have spurred the production of seven-branched candelabras – and, at the same time – unleashed the prospect that celebrants of the rabbinically-ordained holiday would be in violation of a Torah prohibition.
Rabbinic opposition notwithstanding, it seems that many seven-branched menorahs found their way into public spaces. Synagogues in Nuremberg,[19] Worms,[20] Fürth[21] and Prague,[22] for instance, prominently featured such menorahs during the eighteenth century. Another appeared in the responsa of a Polish jurist.[23] And one can infer from R. Amarillo’s mention of “these menorahs” that the incidence of a seven-branched candelabra was not singular; several, if not many, of these menorahs were known to him. Was there a conceptual leniency by which to justify a practice which the preponderance of contemporary authorities had found objectionable?
R. Tsevi Hirsch Ashkenazi (1658-1718), better known as Hakham Tsevi, took a decidedly more nuanced view of the matter. The independent-minded chief rabbi of Amsterdam had a penchant for bucking convention.[24] His responsum, published in 1712, is undated. But the bulk of his responsa can be traced to the period from 1690-1710, again placing the issue squarely in the time frame here under consideration:
On the matter of the seven-branched menorah with eight lamps upon it, which I have ruled is permissible, I do not know why the questioner has reservations. For the only prohibition [is to create] a precise replica of the Temple menorah which had seven branches and seven lamps. The matter is clear as day that anything other than this is permissible.[25]
In the context of fashioning a courtyard in the mold of the Temple courtyard, Rashi had written, “Provided he alters it slightly, it is permissible.”[26] Hakam Tsevi was adamant that this same logic applies to all of the cases mentioned in the Talmud.
But Hakham Tsevi did more than simply quibble with Maharik’s conclusion; he rejected the premise of R. Colon’s argument. For Maharik, the halakhic discussion hinged on the question of perception. A seven-branched lampstand is no commonplace appurtenance. No one would mistake an ordinary four-walled structure for the courtyard of the Temple. But the image of the menorah is sui generis; even were its form or material slightly altered, one could mistake it for an actual Temple candelabra. It is in response to this argument that Hakham Tsevi offered an alternative view.
He argued that the halakhic system cannot abide principles that are given to such a high degree of subjectivity. By Maharik’s logic, “What would be [an adequate] measure of permissibility? Who can say to what extent a person’s visual perception will be mistaken?”[27] Who is to say what “resembles” the Temple menorah?
Returning to Rashi’s formulation, Hakham Tsevi much preferred an objective yardstick by which to measure the propriety of a model menorah. Provided any minimal alteration has been made to the structure of the lamp, it is no longer subject to the prohibition at issue.
By Hakham Tsevi’s logic, virtually any alteration to the design of the lampstand would render it permissible. Whether or not they were aware of Hakham Tsevi’s ruling, a host of eighteenth-century synagogues could justify their menorahs on its strength.
But Hakham Tsevi’s argument did something more; it shifted the onus of judgment from the viewer to the creator. Other poskim considered it axiomatic that the halakhic concern animating these discussions was one of mistaken identity. Ever sensitive to the perspective of the onlooker, the rabbis endeavored to steer clear of any possible confusion. They wanted to be sure that no one would mistake a contemporary candelabra for a Temple-ready menorah. To create or own a structure or icon that, to the untrained eye, so closely approximated the Temple prototype that it could be confused with the original, would constitute a violation of “With me therefore you shall not make any gods of silver” (Ex. 20:20).[28] In this interpretation, the artist’s prohibition is a function of his audience.
But Hakham Tsevi rejected this line of reasoning. The halakhah, he insisted, cannot be given to such subjective measures. Whether or not a craftsman is in violation of the halakhah is not determined by the audience, but by the craftsman. It is the creation of an exact menorah replica that represents an affront to the Almighty and His Temple. Anything short of duplication is thus permissible. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but fealty to the halakhic system is in the hands of the artist.
[1] Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel (c. 1730–1745). His Shut Mishnat Rabbi Eliezer has apparently not survived.
[2] Hayyim Yoseif David Azulai, Birkei Yoseif (Livorno, 1777), YD 141:8.
[3] Avodah Zarah 43a. Cf. Rosh Hashanah 24a and Menahot 28b. The Temple menorah was made of gold (Exodus 25:31). Nonetheless, post facto, a menorah made from another metal would not be disqualified from use in the Temple. See Menahot 28a.
[4] Exodus 20:20. See Shulhan Arukh, YD 141:8, which locates this prohibition within the category of idolatrous practices. Rambam maintains a different view and situates the injunction under the banner of “And fear my sanctuaries” (Lev. 19:30), the general obligation to treat the Temple respectfully. See MT, Beit Ha-Behirah 7:1-10. See also Sefer Ha-Hinukh 254.
[5] Menahot 28b, s.v. Akhsadrah.
[6] Avodah Zarah 43a, s.v. bayit tavnit. “But if one makes a slight alteration [to the house], it is permissible.”
[7] Joseph Colon, Shut Maharik (Venice, 1619), no. 75.
[8] See Shulhan Arukh, YD 141:8. Cf. R. Mordechai Jaffe, Levush Malkhut (Lublin, 1590), YD:141, who concurs with the basic principle. A seven-branched menorah would be permissible were it fashioned from wood as opposed to metal.
[9] Though related, this question is separate and distinct from the production of two dimensional images. For a detailed bibliography of this issue, see Ephraim Shoham-Steiner, “Arayot u-Nehashim: Itturei Beit ha-Kenneset shel Kolon bbi-emei ha-Beinayim ve-Hitnagdut Lahem,” Zion 90:2 (2015), 175-205. Cf. Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisrael (Jerusalem, 1995), 6:173-191. Gentiles in the early modern period frequently confused the Temple menorah and the Hanukkah menorah in their two-dimensional representations.
[10] There may yet be obscure references in the responsa literature in the intervening centuries, but – to the extent that there are – they did not find their way into the discussions of later poskim.
[11] From the mid-eighteenth century on, halakhic literature on this topic proliferated. See Tsevi Hirsch Shapiro, Darkhei Teshuva (Munkacs, 1903), YD 141:56ff, for a bibliographical survey.
[12] Namely, Avodah Zarah 43a and Rosh Hashanah 24a.
[13] Rambam, MT, Beit Ha-Behirah 7:10.
[14] Hayyim Moses Amarillo, Shut Dvar Moshe II (Salonika, 1742), no. 122.
[15] It is not clear from R. Schor’s description just how the individuals in question conceived of the Temple menorahthey were working so hard not to duplicate. Perhaps he is describing a model with tiered branches such as the one depicted in Sefer Ha-Minhagim (1708). See Sperber, VI, 417.
[16] Alexander Sender Schor, Bekhor Schor, (Zolkiew, 1733), Rosh Hashanah 24a.
[17] See Beit Yoseif, OH 670.
[18] Joseph Saul Nathanson, Shoeil U-Meishiv III (Lemberg, 1880), no. 71.
[19] See Paul Christian Kirchner, Jüdisches Ceremoniel (Nuremberg, 1724), plate 9.
[20] See, for instance, Richard Krautheimer, Mittelalterliche Synagogen (Frankfurt, 1927), 156.
[21] Krautheimer, Mittelalterliche Synagogen, 245.
[22] Krautheimer, Mittelalterliche Synagogen, 92 and 119. See also Arno Parik, The Prague Synagogues (1986). Interestingly, while the High Synagogue and Klausen Synagogue were adorned with seven-branched menorahs, the menorahs in the Meisel, Old-New, and Zigeuner Synagogues were formed of nine branches.
[23] See Shut R. Hayyim Cohen (Lemberg, 1866), YD, no. 25. R. Hayyim Kohen Rappaport (1699-1771), who served for a time as av beit din in Lemberg, likewise took up the case of the seven-branched menorah. “I heard about a ruling of a particular rabbi [who ruled] that it is prohibited to use a hanging, seven-branched candelabra.” R. Rappaport considered the case a non-starter, inasmuch as the absence of a base rendered a menorah disqualified from Temple use.
[24] For biographical information, see Yosie Levine, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate (London: Littman Library, 2024).
[25] R. Tsevi Ashkenazi, Shut Hakham Tsevi (Amsterdam, 1712), no. 60. Cf. R. Menahem Meiri, Beit Ha-Behirah, Rosh Hashanah 24b, who was of the same mind. As long as one makes a slight alteration to the menorah, it is permissible. Meiri similarly permits a wooden menorah even if it contains seven branches, for it is considered a “different type.” As Beit Ha-Behirah was printed for the first time in 1795, his position would likely have been unknown to Hakham Tsevi. See Menachem Elon, Jewish Law: History, Sources, Principles, trans. Bernard Auerbach and Melvin J. Sykes (Jerusalem, 1994), IV:1126, n. 94. I am not aware of any instance in which Hakham Tsevi cites Meiri in his responsa.
[26] Avodah Zarah 43a, s.v. bayit tavnit.
[27] Shut Hakham Tsevi, no. 60.
[28] According to Ran, even maintaining an already-constructed seven-branch menorah would be prohibited. See Beit Yoseif, YD 141, s.v. ve-hashta.
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