Jewish Gravestones: Reflecting on Portraits

Starting in the latter part of the 19th century, Jewish gravestones in parts of Europe often included laminated photographs (or even sometimes sculpted portraits) of the deceased.  Some of the photos are haunting (such as the one pictured above.) Others seem to attempt to portray the deceased in a manner devoid of emotion. It can be very compelling to contemplate these images of people frozen in time. For some, where gravestone epitaphs have eroded, they may be the only evidence of — now probably forgotten — identity.

Portraiture on Jewish gravestones continued after the Holocaust, particularly in the former Soviet Union (and among former Soviet Jews who emigrated). Many gravestones bear laminated photos, but there is also sculpture and, in particular, stone-etched portraits that achieve remarkably detailed evocations.

In a guest blog post on Christian Herrmann’s Vanished World blog, Joachim Steinigeweg rerports on a trip to visit Jewish cemeteries on Moldova and reflects on the power the photo images can convey.

you will find all kinds of photographs: of young men, old woman, of children that died too early, you see photos of young man full of energy, in their best suits, willing to give all this energy to build up a worthwhile socialistic society. You see photos of young woman, good looking, dressed to be attractive. You find carelessly photographed passport portraits. Some photos where obviously made shortly before the death of the photographed. You find woman with worn-out faces, faces that have seen too much labour and worries. Faces of men who saw the failure of a large socialist utopia. Faces obscured by illness and the knowledge of their approaching death.

And you see photos in all states of decay. Some of them look like they were made yesterday. Some are faded to white due to a faulty photographic development. Some frames are broken, not all of them over time. Some are destroyed with intent. […]

Not all the people, whose photos are displayed on the tombstones died at old age. Some of them were children, some in their teens, some in their twenties. You often wonder, what made them die so early. Some reached an old age, and all of them did not know how much time they had in their life. I also don’t. Seeing thousands of those gravestones reminds me ever so often of the limited time I will have. And that makes me look at every single day I am given with a wake attention. And I am wondering what kind of memories will be left of me. Who will remember me after ten, fifty or hundred years. And do I wish that someone remembers me after a hundred years? Or might I find some consolation in the thought that being erased from the memory of men means somehow getting near to this nirvana nothing, that some people consider a bliss.

Click to read the full post and see a montage of his photos of gravestone portraits