The Castle of Jerusalem

Julian Alper's Photo of Magritte’s ‘The Castle of the Pyrenees’

It took seven years for King Solomon to build the first Temple. And many years for Herod to build the second Temple. When it comes to building the third Temple, which will hopefully be very soon, one might think that the building project will also last many years. Rashi, the great Bible and Talmud scholar and commentator, doesn’t agree. He writes in his commentary to the Talmud (Sukkah 41a), quoting a Midrash, that the third Temple will miraculously descend from Heaven, ready built. My teacher of many years past, Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo, often taught that no Midrash must be taken literally, but every Midrash must be taken seriously. 

I was reminded of this Midrash, when I recently saw, René Magritte’s surreal painting ‘The Castle of the Pyrenees’ at Jerusalem’s Israel Museum. Magritte, the famed Belgian artist, is best known for his self-portrait ‘Son of Man’, wearing a business coat and bowler hat, with his face almost totally obscured by a large hovering green apple, defying gravity, which is similarly surreal.

‘The Castle of the Pyrenees’ with its huge gravity defying rock complete with castle atop, hovering over the sea, was commissioned by Magritte's friend Harry Torczyner, a New York lawyer and author, who wanted the painting to obscure an ugly view from his office. Torczyner, a lifelong Zionist and supporter of Israel donated ‘The Castle of the Pyrenees’ to the Israel Museum on the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the museum.

I doubt that Magritte, well-known as an agnostic, had in mind this Midrash when he painted his rock and castle, but just what message was he portraying? Experts believe that Magritte was saying ‘dream big’ and ‘dream the impossible’. It is thought that his painting was influenced by the French expression ‘châteaux en Espagne’, castles in Spain, which refers to impossible dreams – the Pyrenees being a range of mountains between France and Spain. And Spain being a country without castles.

Likewise, I don’t know what lesson the Rabbis of the Midrash intended to convey. But when I read this Midrash, I think the Rabbis were telling us to ‘dream big’ and ‘dream the impossible’.

For two thousand years the Jewish people have yearned to return to their homeland. The early Zionists of the Nineteenth Century dreamed big and ultimately succeeded in re-establishing the State of Israel. During the last 75 years or more, Israelis dreamed big and achieved far more than any new country could possibly have been expected to. Israel has a developed economy and leads the way in science, medicine, innovation, technology and agriculture, as well as the arts.

Now, we too can dream big and start working towards re-establishing the Temple. If we set our sights low, we won’t achieve nearly as much as if we aim high. Let’s dream impossible thoughts and make the impossible possible. As Theodor Herzl famously said “If you will it, it is no dream.”

The Sack of Onians

The Destruction and Sack of the Temple of Jerusalem - Nicholas Poussin from Wikipedia

There’s a magnificent large painting (almost 1½ metres by 2 metres) in Jerusalem’s Israel Museum, with an interesting tale.

Ernest Onians, a farmer in England, made a small fortune, selling pig feed to swineherds. However, his passion in life wasn’t pigswill, but was collecting fine works of art. When he passed away, at the age of ninety, he had amassed a large collection of art. His heirs didn’t want the paintings he’d collected and decided to sell them. They asked Sotheby’s to auction the lot.

There was a lot of interest in one of the pieces – ‘The Sack of Carthage’, by Pietro Testa. The distinguished British art historian, Sir Denis Mahon, told his gallery to buy this work, whatever the cost. When other dealers saw that Sir Denis’ gallery was showing such interest, they sat up and took notice. The bidding was fierce, and the painting was sold for more than ten times its estimated value. Sir Denis hadn’t bought a pig in a poke, far from it. He had spotted a menorah in the scene, which told him that it wasn’t a Testa, it was a Poussin instead – ‘The Destruction and Sack of the Temple of Jerusalem’. Nicholas Poussin, the French Baroque painter, had painted it, while yet a spring chicken – probably after seeing the depiction of Temple artifacts including the menorah on Titus’ Arch in Rome.  The price that was paid, was a bargain indeed. After Sir Denis had restored the painting, he consulted experts at the Louvre who verified that it was Poussin’s work. Then it was subsequently sold, for what it was really worth, in excess of £4million. The painting was donated to the Israel Museum by the purchasers, Sir Jacob Rothschild and the Rothschild Foundation. The family of Onians, wasn’t so pleased, to say the least - they thought that the auctioneers had made a pig’s ear of the sale - and sued Sotheby’s for the money they’d lost. From this little story there’s an important lesson to learn, it really does pay, to know one’s onions. 

Detail from The Destruction and Sack of the Temple of Jerusalem - Nicholas Poussin from Wikipedia

Titus' Arch in Rome - Julian Alper