The last exhibition of the Jew Museum, Esther's book in Rembrandt's eraexplores Jewish history of courage as represented and reflected in the works of the Dutch master and his contemporaries. The spectacle maintains that the biblical account of Purim – in which Esther, a Jewish queen, risks going to the king and saving her people from annihilation – was interpreted as a symbol of resilience and liberation in Dutch society, striking a deep agreement at the height of their struggle for the independence of Spanish domination. While the exhibition shows a convincing case for this thematic resonance of Esther's story, certain links between works of art and the story feel tenuous, which raises if such agreements really deepen our historical understanding of the specific influence of Esther, or if they succeed more in linking the Dutch identity and Jewish resilience more generally.
The exhibition opens by intertwining two historical accounts: the story of Pourim and its connection with the Netherlands. In ancient Persia, Queen Esther, a Jewish woman, risked her life to exhibit the nasty conspiracy of King Ahasuerus Haman to destroy the Jewish people. Centuries later, in the Netherlands, another type of deliverance took place. Once under Spanish domination, the Dutchman has obtained independence The eighty year war (1568-1648), inaugurating an era of religious tolerance. This new freedom has attracted Jewish communities through Europe and Africa, in particular the Sephardic Jews fleeing the Inquisition. The first gallery prepares the scene with representations of the evolutionary landscape of Amsterdam, including the engraving of Rembrandt, “The Great Jewish Bride” (1635),, Paintings of newly built synagogues in the city, and a frontispiece of Menasseh Ben Israel, an estimated rabbi that lived in Amsterdam. Displayed next to these works are Judaica Silver, multilingual bibles and Esther rolls – objects that underline the prominence of Amsterdam in trade, printed culture and the production of religious texts.
Through these objects, we learn that Rembrandt himself lived in the Vlooienburg district, the same area where the Jews settled. There, he absorbed the influences of the neighborhood and woven their culture and their history in his works. Its engraving and drypoint “Jews in the synagogue»(1648) captures this environment, representing elderly men in a conversation on the context of a Gothic synagogue. A portrait near Cornelis Janson Van Ceulen II of a Christian Minister holding a Hebrew Bible still illustrates the other influences that materialize throughout the exhibition in Jewish books, of the Persian textile mirror and embellishments.
While the conservatives build a convincing case for this exchange, the interpretative objective of the exhibition begins to feel tense when it enters the second and third galleries. Some works seem disconnected from Esther's book – for example, a rebellious self -portrait, although impressive, feels deeply out of words – while others identify women several times in opulent clothing or developed contexts like Queen Esther, despite visual or historical proofs limited to support such assertions. This insistence on a singular story is likely to simplify a much richer and more nuanced artistic tradition.
Take, for example, “a Jewish heroine (probably Esther) of the Hebrew Bible” (c. 1632–33), the primary masterpiece on sight. The identity of the goalkeeper has never been definitively established – the researchers, including those of the National Gallery of Canada (the lender of the work), proposed that she could be Judith, Esther or even Bathsheba. However, the Jewish museum bypasses this ambiguity, presenting it with confidence like Esther. A similar jump occurs with “Rembrandt and his wife Saskia” (c. 1638), also presented as part of Esther's story, because he “underlines the continuous relevance of this biblical story” although it is clearly a portrait of the artist and his wife.
That said, the exhibition presents works that support the museum's assertions through the representations of Esther's most dramatic moments. Frans Francken The youngest capture his plea to the king, while “The Wrath of Ahasuerus” by Jan Steen (c. 1668–70) amplifies chaos: a peacock falls from a tray while the rabid king gesture to an alcoholic hamman. Aert de Gelder retraces the complete history in several works, from the public of Esther with the king to the recording by Mordecai of the events of Purim. A small text of the wall quietly notes that two Rembrandt works which directly refer to the book of Esther were not available for the loan, because they reside in the Russian museums – an absence which leaves a notable gap in exploration by the exhibition of the subject.
It should be noted that the museum previously explored the link between the Jews and Rembrandt in an exhibition in 1982, which could explain their attempt to approach the subject from a new angle. But it was over 40 years ago. Although the current exhibition offers valuable information on the relationship between Jewish communities and Rembrandt, it frequently stretches its thesis too far by including works that feel disconnected from Esther's book in particular. We did not even start to discuss “Queen Esther / Harriet Tubman” by Fred Wilson (1992), who, despite the fact to Esther, has no connection with the Dutch masters or the historical context of the exhibition. The inclusion of such works, added simply because they are vaguely linked to the theme, harm the objective of the exhibition. It becomes a dispersed collection, rather than a coherent exploration.
Esther's book in Rembrandt's era Continue to the Jewish museum (1109 5th avenue and East 92nd Street, Upper East Side, Manhattan) until August 10. The exhibition was co-organized by the Jewish Museum and the North Carolina Art Museum, Raleigh, and organized by Abigail Rapoport and Michele L. Frederick.
