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W h ite C r u c ifix io n , 9 3 8 ( oil o n o a n v a s ), by M a r c C h a g a ll


T h e A r t I n s titu te 0 C h ic a g o , IL , U SA / G ir a u d o n / T h e B rid g e m a n A r t L ib ra ry
2 0 1 4 A rtis ts R ig h ts S o c ie ty (A R S ), N e w Y o rk / A D A G P , P a ris

26

FIRST THINGS

A p r il 2 0 1 4

THE CHRIST
OF MARC C H A G A F L
D a v id Lyle Jeffrey explains the Jewish and Christian
symbolism in Chagalls work.

t recently became widely known


that the favorite painting of Pope
Francis is the White Crucifixion
by Marc Chagall. The news stirred up considerable speculation and
controversy. Chagall, born Moishe Segal in the Polish-Lithuanian village of
Vitebsk (now in Belarus), was probably the most prominent Jewish painter
of the twentieth century. His White Crucifixion was not new to religious
controversy. It received severely disparaging reviews from Jewish critics when
it was first shown in France, and more since. The work (now hanging in
the Art Institute of Chicago) represents Jesus the Jew crucified between,
on the left, communist soldiers storming a village and, on the right, Nazis
desecrating a synagogue. The Crucified, his loins draped in a tallit, or prayer
D a v id Lyle Jeffrey is Distinguished ?rofessor o f Literature and Hum anities in the H onors College of
Baylor University.

T H E C H R I S T OF M A R C C H A G A L L

shawl, is hoisted in the middle, a victim of hatreds


from left and right alike.
Lor Chagall, not alone among Ashkenazi artists,
Jesus on the cross represented the painful predicament of all Jews, harried, branded, and violently
victimized in an apparently God-forsaken world.
The INRI over his head is translated by Chagall into
Hebrew, Yeshua Hanotzri Melech Hayehudim. In
the foreground, fleeing, is a peasant wearing a German placard reading Ich bin Jude. Below, front
and center, a sense of the whole scene as a horrific
modern altarpiece is created by a candelabrum not
a menorah but a six-candled candelabrum in which
one of the candles has been quenched. Explicit
use of classic Jewish images, the vivid presence of
modern-day horrors: Many have found the w hite
Crucifixion a disturbing work, and not just pious
Jews. Eor it to be singled out for admiration by a
reigning pontiff is remarkable.
loggers have commented on foe popes singuiar admiration of this painting. Some
Catholics fear that he has betrayed a kind
of ecumenical syncretism; others hope
for a shift toward religious pluralism. Some
Jewish commentators think the pope does not understand the uniquely Jewish and, for them, even
anti-Christian character of the painting. Others
welcome what seems to be his appreciation of a commonality in the face of evil too long neglected. We
can have no doubt that the juxtapositions of Jewish
and Christian symbols are unsettling. The burden of
history remains heavy. The hope for deliverance from
its antagonisms and agonies is strong.
Much is in the eye of the beholder. Chagall himself claimed that this dramatic use of the central
symbol of Christian faith did not make it a Christian painting. Nevertheless, as he himself also said,
his juxtaposition was a deliberate invitation to
reflect on the meaning of the cross. And indeed, he
painted many such images. In his Yellow Crucifixion ( 943 ( for example, completed in N ew York
after Solomon Guggenheim and his wffe Irene got
him out of France, he presents a double subject,
pairing a huge suspended Torah with another crucified Jew. The crucified figure has tefilhn, the ritual
phylacteries put on by Jewish men for daily prayer,
on his forehead and strapped to his outstretched
arm, but also a Christian halo. This painting, too,
is a deliberate juxtaposition of the Atonement in
both Jewish and Christian versions. This past year,
when foe Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross
coincided with Yom Kippur (the last time was 1899,
the year of Chagalls bar mitzvah, when, he tells

28

he discovered he was an artist), Chagalls work


acquired for me an added resonance.
1 do not presume to put words into the mouth of
the bishop of Rome, or to claim to have access to
his thoughts. 1 do want to propose that his declared
affection for Chagalls juxtaposition of the Jewish
people as the suffering servant and Jesus as the crucified redeemer suggests a deep identification with
the suffering of the Jews, which he perhaps includes
in his contemplation of the cross. It also invites reflection on the time in which we live, in particular
on the fate of those who are daily being martyred
around the world. As people fortunate enough to
live far away from the horrors of religious violence,
anaesthetized as we are by technologies and amusements, we seem able to banish from our minds the
incessant slaughter of those elsewhere who are killed
simply because of their faith. But there are indeed
places today as inflamed and deadly for Christians
as foe scene surrounding the central figure in the
White Crucifixion. As the Canadian Jewish poet
Seymour Mayne put it to me after an atrocity some
years ago: Last time, Saturday people; this time,
Sunday people. Or, it seems, perhaps as Chagall
intuited, both together.
U S,

hough he escaped the worst himself,


Chagall was haunted. It was after he
learned about K ris^ ln a ch t (November 9, 1938) that he painted the White
Crucifixion. But as he worked on it, he
also wrote out his grief and fears in poems. Years
later, in the mid-1960s, he sent a selection of these
poems, some with line drawings in their margins, to
the Yiddish journal D i Goldene Keyt (The Golden
Chain) in Tel Aviv. In one, a Jewish man is on his
knees, hands reaching toward a large rooster, for
Chagall a kind of signature. (A rooster is often found
in Chagalls crucifixion paintings, probably because
it was traditionally sacrificed on the eve of Yom Kippur.) Opposite this drawing is his remarkable poem
Mayne Trern (My Tears). In four stanzas, each
four lines, he utters a cri de coeur. Translated, the
last stanza reads:
I carry my cross every day,
I am led by the hand and driven on,
Night darkens around me.
Have you abandoned me, my God? Why?
Chagall engaged in a weekly study of Tanakh, the
Jewish Bible, in Hebrew. His command of biblical
idiom was fluent, as his recollection here of Psalm
^ 1 though in Yiddish shows (H astu mir

FIRST THINGS

verlatzen, m ein G o tt? Fer w a s ? ). But the first line


in the sta n z a , th e allusion to L uke 9 :23, reveals also
a kn o w led g e 0 the N e w T estam e n t. H ere, as in his
p ain tin g s, the t w o te s ta m e n ts are d r a w n to g e th e r in
a p e rso n a l expression .spiritual d istre ss
H is p a r e n ts a n d his beloved
e Bella
first
w ere
wi
am
ers ilies,
lovingly
rom
a n dHto
ahe
sid
the
re
ic
Hr oa sid
m M
ic ora
h iblb-e
as
i h a v in g th e g r e a t
est influence o n him . Yet there is little evidence to
-suggest he w e n t to shul d u r in g his s o jo u r n in B u s
,sia, France, o r briefly ( 1 9 4 3 - 4 8 ) in the U nited S tates
I n s te a d , it seem s he h o p e d hisw oa ur tl ditsel
be
salvific. H is sp iritu a l exercise, as he p u t it, w a s to
nto my canvases,
brea th ethe
m ysigh
sigh 0 prayers
a n d sadness, the prayer sa lv a tio n , .r e b i r t h
W e do n o t lo o k in to th ea nh eaar rt ti s to
a n a ly tic a l th e olo gic al w a r r a n t . H e is n o t a religious
p e d a g o g u e p u lp it p rea ch er. In C h a g a ll, w e m a y
o r m om
v in
o rge pr oe w
a seorn, asy
b ly
m bloo ols
k
tr a n s c e n d e n c e , p e rh a p s re a so n s -th e h e a r t, ges
tu r e s
h o p e o r d e s p a ir

-raa c t u r e d , a t o m
ized w o rld . C h a g a ll w arien
elong
s a d
li Rai'ssa
-M a r i t a i n , like h im raised in a Y id d ish -sp e a k in g o r
t h o d o x Je w ish c o m m u n ity , b u t w h o alo n g w ith her
h u s b a n d J a cq u e s c o n v e rted to C h r is t ia n i1ty9 0in
6.
She said t h a t C h a g a l l s h o w s tis C h r i s t te n d u
tr a v e rs le m o n d e p e r d u , C h r i s t s p r e a d a c ro ss th e
.lost w o r l d
o r C h a g all, im ages -ho pe tinge d w ith d e
s p a i r ,
joyous c e le b ra tio n in ace
th e
d e a th , re m a in e d in th e f o re g ro u n d o-his es
sentially Je w ish religious im a g in a tio n . N o
a r t i s t m o d e r n i t y so h a p p ily re p r e s e n ts
m a r r ia g e on his can v ases (as in his life) m a r r ia g e
as a g o o d a n d sym bolic 0 a higher g o o d . A n d he did
so despite p o g r o m s , th e R ussian Revolution, a n d tw o
.w o rld w ars, w hich so often im pinged on his canvases
But he also reflected on the d a r k e r elements -J e w
ish experience, characteristically f ta m in g th e m in the
light .the biblical sto ry
A m o n g th e m o s t m e m o r a b l e J e w i s h n a r r a ti v e s
is th e A k e d a h , th e a c c o u n t th e alm o s t- s a c r ific e
Isaac in G en e sis 2 2 . C h a g a l l c a m e b a c k to th is
scene m a n y tim es, g ra d u a lly m o v in g f to m d a r k n e s s
-to light. H is early t r e a tm e n ts i llu m in a te his la ter c r u
cifixion p a in tin g s in a distinctive way. In 1931, w hile
he w as w o r k i n g on his cele b ra ted Bible etchings
a r t dea le r A m b r o ise V ollard (1 9 3 1 -3 9 , 1 9 5 2 - 5 6 ) , he
first s h o w e d a n a k e d Isaac str e tc h e d o u t or r i t u a l
sla u g h te r, A b r a hea m
r a ise
w ith
d , ahis
n d kthn e
i
angel p o in tin g to a r a m c a u g h t n o t in a th ic k e t, as
th e u su a l r e a d in g depicts, b u t in th e ro o ts .a t r e e
H e also p a in te d this r e n d e rin g the A k e d a h in oil

April 2014

a n d g u a c h e o n p a p e r , ju st as he d id w ith m a n y 0
orthe
V ollard.
o th e r etching
T h e s hsa ddin
o nge 0
th is w o r k is a l m o s t as d a r k as th e ink o.
the e t c h in g
T h e n he did a n o t h e r p a in tin g , still m o r e d is t u r b i n g .
0 -A h r a h a m a n d Isaa c g o ing in th e p r e d a w n d a r k
ness up M o u n t M o r i a h , th e boy c a r r y in g w o o d for
th e sacrifice in a sack over his shoulder. A b r a h a m s
e g le am s in the light
k n his can d le , g rim ly a g a in st
th e dull c h ia r o s c u r o , the black, b r o w n , a n d o c h re
th e rest .th e s c en e
h e t h e r -n o t he a t t e n d e d s y n a
g o g u e s e r v ic e s , C h a g a l l w o u l d
T o mh a vheis kynoouwt h
n
t h a t t h e t e x t r e a-
dr o m G e n
esis 2 2 in th e m o r n i n g s e rv ic e
w a s c o n v e n t i o n a l l y m o r a l i z e d a n d r e a d to rer
e
to ] e w is h m a r t y r d o m , th e s u p r e m e a c t sacrifice
in lo y a lty to G o d s c o v e n a n t . It w a s i n h e r e n tly a
s o m b e r , t r o u b l i n g n a r r ul
a t i vmey, s ate rpya iat
n
th e h e a r t 0 -J e w i s h e x p e r ie n c e . Yet w h e n he r e
-t u r n e d to th e s u b je c t a g a in in 1 9 6 4 - 6 6 , he a b a n
d o n e d in k a n d c h i a r o s c u r o , d o in g in s t e a d several
-sk e tc h e s a n d s tu d ie s in pastels on p a p e r. T h e c o l
o rs a n d fig u re s a r e n o t s o m b e r b u t r e d a n d blue
w i t h t o u c h e s g o ld . All th e o r i g i n a l e l e m e n ts
a re p r e s e n t, b u t n o w th e r e is a b a c k g r o u n d scene
n o t p r e v io u s l y to be f o u n d , s h o w i n g t h e f a r
d i s t a n c e a c r u c i f i x i o n w i t h mfig
o uurre
n es r so.

'

C h a g a ll, M a r c (1 8 8 7 - 1 9 8 5 ). T h e S a c rific e o f l s a a c . 1 9 6 0 - 6 5 .
O il o n c a n v a s , 2 3 0

2 3 5 c m . M B M C 7 . P h o to : G r a r d B lot.

M n s e N a tio n a l M a r c C h a g a ll, N ic e , F r a n c e .
R M N - G r a n d P a la is / A r t R e s o u rc e , N Y
2 0 1 4 A r tis ts R ig h ts S o c ie ty (A R S ), N e w Y o rk / A D A G P , P a ris

29

T H E C H R I S T CE M A R C C H A G A L L

The juxtaposition of the sacrifice of Isaac with the


Passion of Christ is familiar to Christians. We have
from early times seen the Akedah and the divinely
provided substitute ram for the sacrifice as prefiguring the Crucifixion of Christ. While I do not presume
that Chagall knew patristic exegesis, he might readily have seen this juxtaposition in stained glass or,
perhaps, in something like the Biblia Pauperum on
exhibit at the Muse de Cluny. It is abundantly clear
that Chagall had eyes to see.
He also had ears to hear. M ultilingual, he
spoke not only the Li^uanian-inflected Polish of his
birthplace but also Yiddish and Russianhe wrote
poetry in both and French, the language in which
he wrote the story of his early life. He learned the
Bible in Hebrew through a method by which the text
takes on life through oml recitation, aural reception,
and memory. It is also therefore entirely possible that
his familiarity with the verbal texture of the Akedah
in its original Hebrew provoked word associations
when he was reading the N ew Testament, just as his
knowledge of Psalm 22:1 may have encouraged the
combination of Jewish and Christian elements that
make the White Crucifixion so powerful.
hether he was reading in French,
Polish, or Russian translations, he
would have encountered the final
words ofjesus from the Cross, always left printed in their original
Hebrew: Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani. Jesus was
quoting Psalm 22:1 the verse echoed in Chagalls
poem where he translated the verb a-zabtani as verlatzen, forsaken. The same verb appears in Cenesis
22: . Abraham looks up and sees a ram neechaz

ba-sbach bkamav caught in the thicket by its


horns. The Hebrew is a bit richer than our standard
translation, however. The root for the verb describing the rams condition, shacb / tzvach, conveys distressed abandonment.
There is a visual hint that Chagall connected
the last words of Jesus from the cross with the ram
hung up on the thicket. His ram is entangled not
in a thicket, as in the depiction of so many Christian
painters, but in the roots of a tree, evoking the upright
span of wood so central to the Christian imagination.
Whatever Chagalls prompt, the intertextual echo in
Hebrew is here clearly given artistic form. Yet his
distinctive typology is a reversal of Christian convention. The almost-sacrifice of Isaac is foregrounded;
Christ on the Cross, the tree of new life, is the background, a poignant midrash on its Jewish meaning.
However we contemplate the Christ of Marc
Chagall, whether in the light of early twentiethcentury Jewish intellectual appropriations ofjesus as
a type of all suffering Jews or in the light of Chagalls
personal identification with the one he called my
Christ in one of his letters, his verbal and visual
universalizing of biblical narrative in a way that juxtaposes the Jewish and Christian stories of sacrifice
and redemption is unique in modern art.
Today dark clouds are again on the horizon. Jewish voices are sounding the alarm for Christians,
often with greater clarity than do we for those to
whom we are joined in baptism. In these times, our
times, is it surprising that a spiritually sensitive pontiff should be drawn to such a prophetic exponent of
our interwoven story? ?assover and Easter are always
proximate. Perhaps the time is ripe for more of us to
contemplate the Christ of Marc Chagall. E3


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