November 8, 2005

The Julia Nap. Mosaics
At the Brooklyn Museum

Once there was a man, a certain French army captain Ernest de Prudhomme, who was digging a garden in his home in Hammam Lif, Tunisia. It was February 17, 1883. Much to his surprise his men accidentally unearthed an ancient synagogue mosaic floor. Once uncovered, one of his men, Corporal Peco, was ordered to make a drawing of the sixteen by twenty-nine foot elaborately decorated mosaic floor. Right in the middle of the mosaic was a Latin inscription that read, “Your servant, Julia Nap. at her own expense, paved the holy synagogue of Naro with mosaic for her salvation.” With this event and its documentation synagogue archeology was born and the modern world was given a unique glimpse into the communal life of sixth century North African Jews.

The current exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum, “Tree of Paradise - Jewish Mosaics from the Roman Empire,” explores these mosaics (which they acquired exactly one hundred years ago in 1905) and the current scholarly understanding of the world that produced them. The exhibition, and accompanying concise catalogue by Edward Bleiberg, associate curator of Egyptian, Classical and Ancient Middle Eastern Art, is a fascinating foray into the provincial world of the Jewish Diaspora of Roman Late Antiquity. Bleiber's thesis is that the preponderance of Roman and non-Jewish symbols in the mosaic reflects a Judaism “expressed through a prism of Roman culture” at a time before Rabbinic strictures imposed a greater separation between Jewish and pagan cultures. The questions raised are at least as fascinating as the artworks themselves.

The mosaic at Hammam Lif, known as Naro in ancient Punic (the current name meaning ‘Baths of the Point') is thought to be from the main sanctuary. Only twelve fragments of the synagogue floor survive but the overall design is intelligible from Corporal Peco's drawing and subsequent plan of the entire excavation. As a worshiper would enter they would have turn right and face East in order to properly read the mosaic images. The decoration is composed of a large carpet design panel on the left depicting vines, birds, baskets of bread (the showbread?) and fruit (perhaps bikorim), ducks and a hare. The somewhat smaller right side is also dominated by a floral motif with a lion seen in profile. In the middle section there are an upper and lower panel (each a different size) framing the central dedication by Julia Nap. (probably an abbreviation of her last name). What is immediately puzzling is the arbitrary use of symbols, many originating in Roman culture, associated with fertility, rebirth and immortality.

The top panel is thought to represent the creation of the world. Something that might be the hand of God directing two giant menacing fish, one conceivably the Leviathan, appear below. At the edge of a damaged area we can glimpse the head of a large ox, perhaps the Behemoth in the midst of a watery universe. A mysterious nine spoke wheel hovers in the center. In the lower panel the image of a large fountain surrounded by peacocks and two towering date palm trees suggests a vision of Paradise. The visual references are oblique and could be just as easily attributed to simple decoration, not sacred symbols. The only specific Jewish symbols are the two menorahs that flank the inscription. All in all a rather weak symbolic universe for a synagogue.

The catalogue painstakingly explains that “In general, the mosaics of any particular synagogue resembled mosaics used in surrounding buildings, both pagan and Christian...[and here] resemble other Roman North African floors made in the sixth century C.E.” And yet we are familiar with other mosaic decorations in Israel such as the sixth century Beth Alpha and Beth She'an and the somewhat earlier Hammath near Tiberias that bear unmistakably Jewish symbols; Torah arks, explicit Torah narratives, and depictions of the Third Temple. In contrast the Hammam Lif synagogue is positively bland, almost universalist, in its symbolic vocabulary. Why?

And then in the middle of it all the provocative dedicatory inscription. A woman, Julia Nap. declares that she has paid for the mosaic. We learn from the exhibition texts that in late antiquity “wealthy women participated fully in synagogue life...” served on synagogue boards, acted as a synagogue head and “in one known case, founded a new synagogue.” Furthermore it seems that of the documented donors to ancient synagogues, over twenty-five percent were women. This indicates an extensive expression of power from behind the mehitzah, if there was one.

What do these questions portend for us, fifteen hundred years later. Is it conceivable that women will someday again dedicate synagogues, participate more actively and even lead them? Why did the Jews at Hammam Lif feel confident enough to freely borrow symbols from the pagan culture around them?

The ancient synagogue at Hammam Lif and the remainder of its mosaics have vanished, defying attempts to locate them as early as 1909. All we have are the tantalizing fragments, beautiful and subtle in their calm surety. They are a glimpse into the Jewish past and piety of a Jewish woman, Julia Nap., determined to celebrate her faith and her community. It seems well worth our time to listen carefully to her voice from the past.    

Richard McBee

November 8, 2005

Tree of Paradise: Jewish Mosaics from the Roman Empire

The Brooklyn Museum

200 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, New York 11238-6052

(718) 638-5000; TTY: (718) 399-8440

brooklynmuseum.org

Wednesday-Friday: 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; Saturday-Sunday: 11 a.m.-6 p.m.

Admission: Contribution: $8; Students with Valid ID: $4; Adults 65 and over: $4; Members: Free; Children under 12: Free