Musée Nissim de Camondo

To my map of Parisian Jewish geography I should probably add the Musée Nissim de Camondo. Unlike the other sites on that map, nothing about this extensive collection of 18th-century décor suggests any overt connection to Judaism or Jewish history. But the connection is there nonetheless, in the lives of the collection's founder and his family. Moïse de Camondo was born in Turkey, the scion of a wealthy Jewish family who owned one of the Ottoman Empire's largest bank. He immigrated to France at the age of 9 with his father and uncle, eventually taking over the family bank before retiring to pursue his real passion. Between 1911 and 1914, Moïse constructed a mansion on the family plot bordering the Parc Monceau; the mansion was specifically designed to accommodate his immense collection of French 18th-century furniture, objets d'art, rugs, books, dining services, light fixtures, and more.


In his will, he left his mansion and its contents to the French state, with the provision that it be opened to the public as a museum. Curated by the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, the museum (€7/€5) offers free audioguides with hours and hours of commentary on the provenance of various pieces, the techniques that went into their design and fabrication, and the ways in which Moïse's collection played a part in his everyday life.


As you can see, the museum is full of beautiful colors, textures, patterns, and shapes. There's an entire room full of porcelain dining-ware; another room whose octagonal shape accommodates an entire set of wall-panels taken from an old hôtel particulier slated for demolition; and tons of amazing ébonisterie, or artisan woodwork.


Throughout the museum, visitors are reminded of the delicate balance pursued by Moïse in his collecting: while immersing himself in the aesthetics of 18th-century France, he never abandoned the creature comforts of the early 20th century. The building's façade (see below) may suggest textbook Classical architecture, but many interior touches suggest the influence of Art Nouveau. And in the most practical areas of the house - bathrooms, servants' quarters, and the kitchens - no expense was spared in creating state-of-the-art facilities.


Conspicuously absent in the museum are any references to Moïse's heritage or faith, and I would argue that this fact makes the museum just as important to understanding the Jewish legacy in Paris as the Museum of the History of Judaism or Paris' Holocaust Museum. Moïse de Camondo provides a textbook example of identity-effacing assimilation, exactly what the French have promoted for more than a century. Not only did Moïse become a pillar of the French economy, but he gave generously to the state, both in blood and treasure (his first son, for whom the museum is named, lost his life fighting for France in the First World War). His generous giving infused his daughter with confidence at the onset of the German occupation of France in World War Two - surely her family would be safe from deportation. But as visitors learn from a plaque as they enter the museum's courtyard, Moïse's daughter Béatrice, son-in-law Léon, granddaughter Fanny and grandson Bertrand were all arrested in December, 1942, and held at Drancy before being deported to Auschwitz, where they were killed.

The Musée Nissim de Camondo serves as a quiet reminder of the contributions that naturalized Jews made to their adopted country. But by no means should you feel like going there will be a downer. You won't be able to stop "ooh"-ing and "ahh"-ing over the building and its contents. Happily, the museum proves to be a cheaper and more effective introduction to 18th-century design than the Château de Versailles, whose fame attracts crowds that interfere with attempts to appreciate materials, artistry, and history.

With the Parc Monceau out back and the Musée Cernuschi right around the corner, it's easy to devote an entire day to this gorgeous corner of the 8th arrondissement. If you manage to absorb even a smidgen of Moïse de Camondo's generosity and refinement, it'll be a day well spent.

Putting the "Agog" in Synagogue

Places of worship in Paris include such architectural gems as Notre Dame de Paris; Sacré Coeur; La Madeleine; St. Chapelle; St. Eustache; St. Germain des Prés; St. Martin-des-Champs, St. Augustin, St. Alexandre-Nevsky, the American Church; get the idea? This is what happens when Catholic and Royal power is concentrated in a single city for 1,000+ years, and when ostentation is prized over efficiency. The synagogues of Paris show exactly the opposite, namely what happens when Jewish communities remain small, relatively poor, and intentionally discreet.

Case in point: the synagogue at 75 Rue Julien Lacroix in the 20th arrondissement, on the path from our apartment to Panda's nightly pee spot.

There are two ways you know this is a synagogue: first, the two tablets over the entrance (left); second, the presence of security guards during holiday services. Like other synagogues in Belleville (there are quite a few), this one serves the Orthodox Sephardic community, many of whose members immigrated to Paris from North Africa over the last half-century.

Another example of a nearly-invisible synagogue is one you can find in a well-traveled place, specifically the Place des Vosges.


It looks just like every other part of the Place des Vosges, which was built as a new royal residence by Henry IV in the late 16th century and which prompted the French aristocracy to move en masse to majestic hôtels particuliers in the Marais, many of which are now state-run museums. I went inside this "Temple des Vosges" when choosing a synagogue for the High Holidays and it's quite beautiful inside. Too bad they don't really encourage visitors.

Compare the Temple des Vosges with the following two synagogues, the first located on the Boulevard de Belleville in the 20th arrondissement just a few blocks from the Rue Julien Lacroix synagogue; the second located on the Rue Pavée, just a few blocks from Temple des Vosges in the 4th arrondissement.


Here are two synagogues that aren't afraid to advertise. Michkenot Yaacov, I know nothing about. The Synagogue de la Rue Pavée is famous-ish for having been designed by your favorite Art Nouveau architect and mine, Hector Guimard, who was also responsible for the Métro entrances we posted about recently. Unfortunately, this synagogue is not open for tours, but at least it's possible to get a good shot of its exterior.

I can't say as much for one of the next two synagogues we attempted to photograph.

On the left you see the Communauté Liberale Juive, located on Rue Moufle in the 11th arrondissement. (This is where Adam, Rachel, and I went for Simchat Torah services.) By now you've probably noticed the fences in front of most Parisian synagogues. This is the only evidence of anti-Semitism I've ever seen in France, and it's more evidence of the fear of anti-Semitism than the thing itself. Better safe than sorry, I guess.

To finish up, the synagogue on the right belongs to an affluent community in the 16th arrondissement (affluent and 16th are basically synonymous) and is mostly remarkable for its heavy, pseudo-Art Déco architecture that seems to cry out, "The power of the Star of David compels you! Enter!" Other Parisian synagogues could take a hint from this one - unless, that is, they prefer to remain the humble, self-effacing step-siblings of all those magnificent churches.

The Historical Writings on the Walls

To celebrate the end of our time here, we'd like to ask a favor of our readers: take a minute to read back through your favorite posts, and send your "top 3" list to panda.a.paris [at] gmail.com. We'll be collecting your submissions throughout the week, and next week (our last in Paris!) we'll post the results. Thanks in advance, and happy browsing!

History is everywhere, if only you know where to look for it. Paris makes it easy by throwing plaques up on at least one wall of every building of even minor consequence. In a city that's been around 2,000+ years, that comes out to a lot of plaques. Maggie probably hates them, because I'm always stopping to read, which makes walking anywhere an e x t r e m e l y  s  l  o  w   p   r  o   c    e    s     s.

Among the most common (and most recent) plaques are those you see on schools. They always look the same and say almost exactly the same thing.

"In memory of the students of this school, deported between 1942 and 1944 because they were born Jewish, innocent victims of Nazi barbarity and of the complicity of the Vichy government. They were murdered in the death camps. 390 children lived in the 19th arrondissement. Let us never forget them."

I'm surprised it took until 2003 to get these plaques up, but I guess it goes to show that, unlike in Germany, France hasn't been as comfortable confronting the crimes perpetrated by the French under the Occupation. On the other hand, there was never any hesitation when it came to plaques honoring heroes of the Resistance.

It's worth noting that the school-memoriam plaques are made of the same material as expensive grave markers, which I'm sure is also intentional. Older plaques are made of a different - and much less eye-catching - stone, which ironically makes them much easier to read. This is helpful when your mind gets so used to seeing plaques, it automatically filters out all but the most interesting names.


As you can tell, I love the accessibility of music history in Paris. Who needs a library when, on your way to the store, you're constantly running into composers' and performers' old haunts? Franz Liszt (never thought of him as a "François" before) stayed with the Erard family at their 2nd-arrondissement compound, Edith Piaf was born on the steps of an extremely modest building just up the street from us on the Rue de Belleville, Thomas Paine (who "crooned" Revolution in the ears of colonial Americans?) lived in the 6th arrondissement while participating in the French Revolution and helping to write their "Bill of Rights", and Iannis Xenakis (composer/architect) lived in a beautiful building in the 9th arrondissement.

One more type of "plaque" remains, and this is one you've already seen in another post.

From left to right, we have a marker at the spot of the former "Porte de St. Honoré," (an old gate in the city walls), a marker at the house of the man who inspired the use of the term "fiacre" (after the Saint) to describe a carriage-for-hire, and a marker at the home of Nicolas Flamel, the reputed alchemist and Harry Potter character.

There are thousands of these markers around the city, treating every conceivable subject. But apparently no one's thought to put up a marker explaining the history of these markers, and I can't find anything online. Can anyone help me out?

Purim

A couple weeks back, Maggie mentioned that she had made hamantashen in honor of Purim, but we never got around to describing our Purim experience at Paris' only bilingual synagogue, Kehilat Gesher.

Purim, like many other Jewish holidays, celebrates a historical moment when a group of Jews escaped annihilation at the hands of a dastardly villain. The main ritual of Purim involves reading through a specific book - the Book of Esther, or Megillah in Hebrew - which recounts the tale of the beautiful Esther, who became queen to King Ahasuerus and prevented his minister, Haman, from killing all the Jews living in Persia. (The word "hamantashen" derives in part from the minister's name, and the cookies' shape is supposed to resemble his three-cornered hat.) During the reading of the tale, listeners are encouraged to drown out Haman's name through booing and other noisemaking. Since Purim is a joyous holiday (following the adage, "They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat!"), rowdy behavior, heavy drinking, and social transgression is encouraged.

At Kehilat Gesher, we were greeted at the door by the rabbi, Tom Cohen, who was unrecognizable in a full leprechaun costume. Tom is one half of France's only husband-wife rabbi team; his French wife leads services at the synagogue in the 11th arrondissement where Adam, Rachel, and I went for Simchat Torah services in October. Despite the leprechaun costume and Tom's insistence that his ancestors were Irish (apparently Ireland was just a half-way point between Lithuania and the US) we were immediately struck by the uncanny similarities between Tom and Seth Rogen, in terms of both physique and personality. This immediately put us at ease, preparing us for the raucous service that followed.

Rabbi Tom encouraged the 30-or-so attendees to take turns reading from the Megillah in whatever language they liked - French, English, or Hebrew. Actually, what he wanted was not reading; he wanted people to sing. So a few brave souls tried making up their own tunes, but that turned out to be really hard. So others tried to fit the text to popular tunes, notably the March of the Toreadors from Carmen, the Marseillaise, and (weirdly) Jingle Bells (which probably worked the best). Add to this the fact that Tom started a drinking game where everyone took a shot of schnaps every time the words "festival," "feast," "drink," "eat," or "party" appeared, and the service got real enjoyable, real quick.

We had initially planned to meet Talya and Ari at the synagogue, but they showed up late enough that they only got to enjoy the last 10 minutes of the service. After it ended, we traveled back and forth between the reception, with its excellent food and drink, and the room where the service was conducted, since Ari was doing a quick read-through on his own. When he finished, he and Rabbi Tom had a long conversation about all the professors they had in common from rabbinical school (the reason why Ari is spending the year in Israel), and we got to hear about Rabbi Tom's wedding at a French château with 8 other rabbis officiating. Crazy!

We got the sense that Kehilat Gesher is a warm, inclusive community, and that Rabbi Tom does a great job of fostering a truly bilingual atmosphere. If you're in town and looking for a synagogue, check the Kehilat Gesher website to see whether services will be at their 17th arrondissement location, or at their other synagogue in St.-Germain-en-Laye, since they alternate between the two. And let us know if you're going, so we can join you!

A Very Jewish Christmas

As far as tourists are concerned, Paris is mostly closed on Christmas day. Of the major sights, only the Eiffel Tower and the Centre Georges Pompidou remain open. Some corner cafés are open, but outside of Belleville, most shops and restaurants are closed. (As you might expect, all the Chinese restaurants on Rue de Belleville were open.) Luckily, one museum was not only open but also new to Maggie and me, so on Friday, we joined Jake and Joy for a stroll through the Museum of Jewish Art and History.

Located in a 17th-century mansion in the Marais, the building itself is very beautiful, and everything inside is polished and new. (Pictures are not allowed - this picture of the museum's courtyard was taken outside a security window. Notice that the left-side wall is a façade, as the building behind it is not part of this hôtel particulier (private mansion).) 

Audioguides were free, and there were lots of objets d'art and paintings to ogle, as well as texts to read. I enjoyed some of the maps showing how various waves of Jewish diasporic movement affected France, and the Dreyfus Affair was given a thorough treatment. On the other hand, I felt like the museum tried too hard to juggle explanations of Jewish rituals and theology, history and culture, past and present, and ended up unfocused and a little detached.

Part of the problem is that the museum's chronology only goes up to the Second World War - for the rest, Paris has a separate museum called Memorial to the Shoah (Holocaust). After having been to Jewish Museums in Prague and Berlin, it's unsatisfying to see Jewish history chopped up into pre- and during/post-Holocaust. The best thing to do probably would have been to go directly from the Museum of Jewish Art and History to the Memorial to the Shoah, but that wasn't in the cards.

What was in the cards after our museum visit was lunch. For that, we walked to the nearby Rue des Rosiers and sat down at Chez Marianne, one of many Israeli- and Yiddish-style restaurants on the street. (I vetoed straight-up falafel, as I've eaten too much recently.) We shared a sampler plate that included tarama, feta, Turkish salad, falafel, kefta, tuna salad, hummus, tabbouleh, tzaziki, and pastrami. With some white wine and pita, it was delish! And that concluded our Very Jewish Christmas, since that night, Maggie and I made carbonade, then we all went out to check out Christmas lights.

Our Very Jewish Christmas inspired me to think about Parisian Jewish geography (real geography, as opposed to the American social networking kind). All of the major monuments to Judaism and Jewish history are neatly located in or near the Marais, which traditionally includes the distinctive Jewish quarter of Paris. In the map below, this geographic logic is clear: the Museum of Jewish Art and History (top) and the Memorial to the Shoah (center) bookend the Rue des Rosiers, the epicenter of Jewish life in Paris (cluster), and the Memorial des Martyrs de la Déportation (bottom) isn't far away in a park behind Notre Dame.

Another Synagogue

Tonight, I joined Rachel and Adam on a new adventure: Simchat Torah services at a synagogue only about 10 minutes from here by métro (in the 11th). The synagogue, Communauté Juive Libérale (CJL for short), is an egalitarian "reform" synagogue (reform/"libérale" in France = conservative in the US, or at least that's the sense I get) with a female rabbi and a family-oriented feel. I liked the service there better than the ones I attended at the U.L.I.F., and not only because I wasn't in a convention center amphitheater with 3,700 other Jews. More importantly, I recognized a lot of the tunes this congregation used. That's huge - for me, recognizable music is a key feature (pun intended) of synagogue attendance.

The service tonight was special because it marked the beginning of Simchat Torah, a holiday that celebrates finishing the Torah (five books of Moses) and starting all over again. To mark the occasion, there was all the usual dancing and singing and parading of several Torahs around the room. But then, something extraordinary: the rabbi had all the adults gather in a circle and then un-scrolled the Torah so that the entire text was visible. Each person held a bit of the parchment, and we needed almost the entire space of the sanctuary to accomplish this. Neither Rachel, Adam, nor I had ever seen the Torah in all its handwritten-on-sheepskin-if-you-drop-it-you-have-to-fast-for-forty-days glory. For symbolic purposes, an older member of the congregation read the very last portion, followed promptly by a young member reading the very first portion. Circle of life, children are the future, you get the idea. It was both clever and moving.

Next on the Paris synagogue tour: Kehilat Gesher, another "libérale" Franco-Anglophone congregation that splits its time between the 17th and St.-Germain-en-Laye. I'll keep you posted! (Another bad pun. But I'm not sorry.)

Seeking a Synagogue

This weekend is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and that means it's time to find a synagogue in Paris. As it turns out, the 19th arrondissement, where we live, has a large Jewish population. But as far as I can tell, it's entirely Orthodox and Sephardic, which isn't what I'm used to. There are a few conservative Ashkenazi synagogues in the city, and I think I've found most of them. There's the Synagogue Charles Liché (formerly Synagogue de Place des Vosges), which probably has the best real estate (the Place des Vosges is gorgeous and very swank); there's Kehilat Gesher, a bilingual congregation that holds services both in Paris and in St. Germain-en-Laye; and there's the Union Libérale Israélite de France, which (along with Kehilat Gesher) has a synagogue in the 16th arrondissement.


This last congregation welcomes so many people for the High Holidays that they have to hold two services: one in their regular synagogue, and one at the Palais des Congrès at Porte Maillot, which is basically a convention center/performance venue. And that is where I will be attending services. I'll let you know how it goes, and whether I can see the Rabbi from the nosebleed seats.

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Update - I got the tickets for Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur services in the mail. I asked for two, and they sent two. But they made a major assumption when they printed the tickets, namely:

And "Mme. Epstein?" Here she is:

Robert's in town! Hooray! Here, he's napping off his jet lag (he just got in today) in the Parc de Buttes Chaumont. Hopefully they won't object when he walks in with the "Mme. Epstein" ticket.