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January 19, 2017 / 21 Tevet, 5777

Posts Tagged ‘Abraham Sacrifice’

Rembrandt’s Abraham: Etchings At Swann Galleries

Wednesday, May 14th, 2008

100 Important Old Master Prints

Swann Galleries

104 East 25th Street, NYC


Todd Weymen, specialist



Note to readers: The auction of the aforementioned was held on May 1.


“And it happened after these things that God tested Abraham and said to him, ‘Abraham.’ And he replied, ‘Here I am.’ ” (Genesis 22:1) What was the nature of this test and, more to the point, isn’t this test also a test of the Jewish people from generation to generation? When did the test really begin? It was at that moment, or perhaps years earlier. Rembrandt van Rijn (1606-1669), the great Dutch painter and printmaker, provides us with a fascinating answer in a series of three etchings seen at auction at the Swann Galleries.


Swann Galleries, founded in 1941, specializes in rare and antiquarian books, and has since expanded to include photographs, autographs and – since the 1990’s – prints, drawings and vintage posters. It is now considered a world leader in the auction market for works of art on paper. The auction consisted of 100 Important Old Master Prints and another selection of over 500 Old Master − Through Modern Prints. The premier exhibition of 100 old master prints included 33 works by Durer, 10 works by Piranesi, 3 Goyas and, most notably, 37 etchings by Rembrandt.


The Rembrandt etchings include genre, figurative, portrait, Christian and Biblical subjects which span his career, starting with youthful works done in his mid-20’s to mature masterpieces composed in his late 50’s. His biblical subjects consist of Joseph’s Coat Brought to Jacob (1633), Joseph Telling his Dreams (1638), Abraham Caressing Isaac (1637), Abraham and Isaac (1645) and Abraham’s Sacrifice (1655). The last three represent a miniature narrative history of Abraham leading up to the climactic moment of his life, the sacrifice of his son Isaac.



Abraham and Isaac (1645), etching by Rembrandt van Rijn

Courtesy Swann Galleries



The first two concerning the Joseph narrative are typical of early Rembrandt, filled with picturesque details, finely articulated characters and broadly expressive hand and facial expressions. Jacob throws his hands up in despair and twists his head in anguish at hearing the alleged fate of his beloved Joseph. Equally dramatic is Rembrandt’s depiction of his jealous brothers. They listen with rapt attention, concern and finally anger, as Joseph relates his prophetic dreams to their aged father Jacob. In many of his early narrative works, Rembrandt seeks out the most dramatic moment to better capture what he perceives as the essence of the biblical narrative. His later work shifts emphasis by concentrating on a subtler psychological tale, finding quiet moments to explore the complexities of a human drama.


Abraham Caressing Isaac is a work of aching tenderness foretelling the final tragic test. Its delicate and yet intense lines depict the aged patriarch seated with his child Isaac nestled between his legs as he strokes his curly locks. The boy, probably about five years old, is smiling broadly at something off to the side while Abraham looks directly into the viewer’s eyes.


Abraham Caressing Isaac (1637), etching by Rembrandt van Rijn

Courtesy Swann Galleries



His gaze is a curious mixture of tenderness and paradoxical sadness. First of all his hand clasps Isaac’s chin affectionately, holding him close. But revealingly beneath the shadows of his streimel-like turban, Rembrandt’s etched lines become thin and airy, allowing Abraham’s piercing gaze to dominate the scene.


Suddenly we know why he looks out at us rather than at his beloved son. We know how God will test him in the years to come. We understand how God had already tested Abraham with the promise of a son who would inherit the holy covenant with God. Abraham had been patient and was finally rewarded with his son in his old age. And yet as the boy grew, Abraham must have known that the testing was not over.


Rembrandt has seated father and son next to a cluster of flowers, some of which appear to be lilies. Combined with the apple Isaac is holding, it is apparent that the artist is drawing on specifically Christian symbols (apple = Adam’s Fall and Jesus’s salvation; lily = resurrection) to link Isaac with Jesus. This form of typology is not uncommon in Baroque art that links the “Lamb of God” with the sacrifice of Isaac (see Caravaggio). Nonetheless, Rembrandt’s psychological narrative insight remains forceful and relevant beyond this theological context.


The next Rembrandt etching brings us immediately into the Akeidah narrative. Abraham and Isaac have stopped along the way, and Isaac has asked his father where the lamb is for the offering. Abraham explains by pointing his finger heavenward; that God will provide the lamb.


Isaac listens obediently, his face in a shadow of concentration as he holds the bound wood for the offering. Abraham’s gesture is doubly telling. His left hand oddly hesitates with only one finger pointing up while the other three visible fingers are still extended but pulled back. Nonetheless his right hand is the main actor narrating the image, as he desperately grasps his chest directly over his heart. In this dramatic gesture Abraham’s inner pain is revealed, even as he tells his son that God intends him for the sacrifice.


Finally there is the last etching from 1655 of Abraham’s Sacrifice. Abraham is caught in the arms of the angel, who forcibly restrains him from slitting his son’s throat. Everything is ready; the straight knife in his left hand, the oval basin to catch the blood (actually a more accurate understanding of a sacrifice than the Torah text itself), and in the foreground the basin containing hot coals for the altar fire.



Abraham’s Sacrifice (1655), etching by Rembrandt van Rijn

Courtesy Swann Galleries



In both a physical and psychological sense, Abraham’s position is uncertain and contradictory. He appears to be half-standing and half-kneeling, as his head twists to better hear the angel’s message. The angel speaks clearly into Abraham’s right ear, but our patriarch seems to have trouble understanding as his craggy cheeks and sunken eyes express doubt. How could this be, he asks, how could this test not be completed?

Rembrandt has taken the Torah at face value, insisting (as do many commentators) that Abraham did not flinch one moment in his faith and obedience to God. While his enthusiasm is clear from his outstretched hand bearing the slaughtering knife, his love and compassion for his son is equally represented by his right hand that covers Isaac’s eyes, shielding his beloved from the violence of slaughter.


The composition of this etching relentlessly directs our attention to the center; to the intense heads of the three actors, two in dialogue, and one effaced by his father’s protective hand. The blinding band of light from above proclaims God’s presence, as the quartet of hands plays out the heart of the narrative. The angel’s right hand holds Abraham’s defending right hand, while the angel’s left hand subdues Abraham’s hand of obedience. Isaac’s hands are hidden; the willing victim is not even bound.


This brilliant metaphor of hands has played an important role in all three etchings, offering a complex subtext to the overall images. In the first image, Abraham − the loving and yet troubled father − is signaled by Isaac’s both hands free and playful, while only Abraham’s right hand is supporting his son’s head. The left hand that will be the slaughtering hand is hidden. In the next image both father and son’s hands are fully visible, representing mutual autonomy as they agree to submit to God’s test. Finally the four hands in the center of Abraham’s sacrifice reveal a shift of narrative emphasis, actively bringing the divine (by way of His messenger angel) into direct relationship with Abraham. Here Isaac has become an object, faceless and with hands hidden, powerless. It is a perfect, visual metaphor for Isaac’s disappearance from the text at this very moment.


It is highly unlikely that Rembrandt intended this narrative flow. These works were done at separate times and under highly different circumstances over a period of 18 years. And yet, we have derived a narrative meaning from them because we, like Rembrandt 400 years ago, are deeply immersed in Torah and the struggles of parental love, obedience to God’s will and God’s continual tests of his creations. Abraham’s test, as seen through the insightful eyes of Rembrandt, continues to be the tests and challenges of the Jewish people.


Richard McBee is a painter and writer on Jewish art. Please feel free to contact him with comments at rmcbee@nyc.rr.com.  

Richard McBee

Rembrandt Etchings

Wednesday, February 16th, 2005

Walking out of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial in Washington, D.C. the stench of mass murder was overpowering. Western Civilization, that hubristic culture celebrating man’s highest aspirations, seemed obscene. Stately government buildings that bespoke American power and beneficence only reminded me of American rejection of Jewish refugees before the war and refusal to bomb the rail lines during. America knew from the extensive newspaper coverage between 1934 to the end of the war of the Nazi murderous intent to annihilate the Jews. This alone made my beloved America an accessory to the crime. My country essentially did nothing. And what about G-d? Why did He hide His face?

Nearby, in the National Gallery of Art, glancing at masterpieces of Western art and remembering the beauty of Mozart and Beethoven, it seemed impossible that this was the same world. An American soldier liberating the camps remarked, “You can’t imagine… things like that don’t happen.” They did and still do.

The evil of the Holocaust is ultimately incomprehensible just as all evil is for all ages. It was so for Rembrandt, too. Three hundred and fifty years ago, his age was marked by vicious civil war, invasions and, of course, the slaughter of Jews. Protestant and Catholic accused the Jews of deicide. The Chmielnicki massacres of 1648-49 murdered 100,000 Jews and destroyed 300 communities in the Ukraine. And yet, for this Protestant artist in Amsterdam, neighbor and friend of many Jews, the Bible was key in the attempt to understand the human condition, evil and, most importantly, the nature of G-d.

A small exhibition at the National Gallery of Rembrandt’s etchings delineates his devotion to the Bible and presents five subjects he created between 1652 and 1656. With the Holocaust weighing on my mind, his choice of subjects seems prescient. “Abraham, Entertaining the Angels,” “Abraham’s Sacrifice,” “Jacob’s Ladder” and “David in Prayer” all had a connecting theme: G-d’s encounter with His created.

The first etching, “Abraham Entertaining the Angels” (1656) depicts a miracle unfolding; the aged couple Abraham and Sarah visited by three angels, who would foretell Sarah’s pregnancy at the age of 90. G-d tested His servants Abraham and Sarah, withholding progeny until a ripe old age. Abraham, in fact, seems pushed aside, appearing only as a small figure in the lower right, waiting to serve his seated celestial guests. These three strange beings: a powerful warrior intruding from the left margin, the center occupied by a gregarious and kindly old sage flanked by winged contemplative monk, dominate the image of Abraham’s hospitality. Abraham’s first son, Ishmael, son of Sarah’s maidservant Hagar, plays behind them shooting an arrow at an unseen quarry. Behind the guests, the barren matriarch, Sarah, lurks inside the house just visible in the shadows and eavesdropping on the prophecy unfolding.

The old sage seems to be speaking as he gestures. Could it be that he is telling Abraham that next year at this time, Sarah will have a child? Could it be that this is the moment that Sarah laughs, doubting and incurring G-d’s anger? Could it be that this is the moment she tests G-d?

The next image is the last and greatest test of the patriarch, “Abraham’s Sacrifice” (1655). G-d’s command to Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice evokes the horror, pain and confusion that the slaughter of millions summons in us. Surely, an unfathomable test. Abraham passed the test spectacularly and had to be stopped by an angel. Rembrandt’s angel grasps both of Abraham’s arms, one holding the knife for slaughter, the other covering Isaac’s face.

This non-textual detail, the covering of Isaac’s face, is singularly found in all Rembrandt’s depictions and simultaneously bespeaks compassion for his child and the obliteration of his son’s personality. Isaac kneels submissively, not bound as the text stipulates, and appears more than ready to die. Abraham turns toward the angel annoyed and confused at being interrupted in doing G-d’s will. Questions immediately arise: why is Abraham annoyed and not overjoyed, where is the altar and where exactly is he standing, why is the scabbard provocatively hanging at this crouch, why does he cover his son’s face? Why did G-d demand such a test?

“Jacob’s Ladder” (1655) is the smallest and yet most intense of the etchings. Its dark brooding aspect goes well beyond Rembrandt’s normally dramatic lighting. Jacob is gently being awakened by two (or perhaps three) angels, as one ascends (or descends) the famous ladder of the Biblical text. The entire lower third of the image is plunged into darkness, suggesting that Jacob is resting on a shadowy boulder that is perched above a chasm, rendering the scene unstable and foundationless. Jacob seems to smile, happy to be awakened from one dream to be plunged into another.

This revelation, the patriarch and the lower angels bathed in an indirect light provokes a dark mystery. Jacob is leaving the surety of the Land of Israel to plunge into the uncertainty of exile, a cruel and conniving father-in-law, a complicated marriage with two sisters, and finally a mighty struggle to return home. This episode is meant to reassure him and yet, in Rembrandt’s etching, darkness overwhelms the light, the ladder of ascent is not possible for Jacob and the heavenly glow will soon dissipate. G-d’s test for Jacob now is the very fabric of a complicated but enormously fruitful life.

Finally, Rembrandt exposes us to everyday life with “David in Prayer” (1652). The scene is set in a typical Dutch bedroom. The canopy bed provides the stage for David’s jarringly Christian gesture of kneeling prayer before retiring. Jews never kneel in prayer and, in fact, stand as humble and proudly autonomous individuals to implore G-d. Nonetheless David kneels on a plush pillow as the details of the cover and the drapes that suggestively rest on the bedpost contrast with the simplicity of his nightshirt.

David is enmeshed in physicality, his manuscripts at bedside and his famous harp casually resting on the floor. His flattened profile is concentrated on doing what most people are able to do, to pray, reaching out. The grand revelation of the patriarchs has become embedded in contemporary reality. G-d is sought but not necessarily found, at least not as in the previous narratives. G-d is distant and shockingly familiar in “David’s Prayer.” He seems silent now, even as He continues His tests.

Richard McBee is a painter and writer on Jewish Art. Please feel free to contact him with comments at www.richardmcbee.com .

Richard McBee

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/rembrandt-etchings/2005/02/16/

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