This past week, I was fortunate to acquire a particularly handsome example of a work that, while not always widely appreciated outside bibliophilic circles, deserves to be counted among the most ambitious productions of nineteenth-century Hebrew printing – the Trieste Haggadah of 1863.
Students of Jewish art will recognize immediately the significance of this edition. Indeed, the noted art historian Bezalel Roth went so far as to assert that only one nineteenth-century Haggadah could truly be called groundbreaking in both conception and execution: the Trieste Haggadah.
Issued under the title L’Haggada illustrata, the volume presents the Hebrew text alongside a refined Italian translation by Rabbi Avraham Chai Morpurgo. The translation is not merely serviceable; it reflects a careful engagement with earlier machzorim and Haggadot across several European traditions, resulting in a text that is both accurate and stylistically polished.
But it is the visual program that truly distinguishes this work. The 58 copperplate engravings by C. Kirchmayr elevate the Haggadah beyond the realm of the conventional. Unlike the often-repetitive motifs seen in earlier Venetian and Amsterdam editions, Kirchmayr’s illustrations display a striking originality. One senses here an artist not content to imitate, but to interpret.
Some of the imagery is, at first glance, surprising. The Akeidah, for example, presents Isaac in a pose that recalls Christian devotional art – an artistic choice that invites reflection, if not debate. The depiction of Jerusalem, with the Temple rendered in the form of the Dome of the Rock, similarly reflects the complex visual vocabulary available to nineteenth-century European artists. And perhaps most remarkable of all is the Seder scene: not an idealized rabbinic table, but a contemporary Italian Jewish family gathered around the table, unmistakably modern.
Other scenes expand the narrative scope well beyond what one typically encounters in a Haggadah. The fall of Jericho, the defeat of Sennacherib, and even Belshazzar’s Feast appear here, underscoring the compiler’s ambition to situate the Exodus within a broader sweep of biblical history.
Even the title page announces that this is no ordinary production. Figures such as Moses, Aaron, David, and Solomon are framed within an ornate Gothic design – a bold stylistic departure that signals the publisher’s intention to produce something entirely new.
That publisher, Colombo Coen, clearly spared no effort. The typography is crisp, the layout elegant, and the integration of text and image unusually successful. Contemporary reports – particularly in the Italian-Jewish press – praised the edition in glowing terms, noting its clarity, beauty, and craftsmanship.
One should also note the inclusion, at the close of the volume, of musical settings for familiar Seder hymns such as Adir Hu and Echad Mi Yodea.
All of this must be understood within the broader context of Trieste under Austro-Hungarian rule – a city enjoying both economic prosperity and cultural vitality. Its Jewish community, among them the distinguished Morpurgo family, played a central role in that flourishing environment.
The Trieste Haggadah is far more than a beautifully illustrated book. It is a statement – of confidence, of creativity, and of a Jewish community fully engaged with both its heritage and the artistic currents of its time. One can readily understand why it left such a lasting impression, and why, more than a century and a half later, it continues to command the admiration of collectors and scholars alike.
The shadow that would later fall over this once-thriving community is impossible to ignore. With the promulgation of the racial laws in Fascist Italy in 1938, the approximately 5,000 Jews of Trieste were abruptly stripped of their rights and security, sharing in the tragic fate that befell Italian Jewry as a whole.
The situation deteriorated still further in 1943, when German forces occupied northern and central Italy. Deportations soon followed, and the Jewish community of Trieste – so vibrant only years earlier – was subjected to the full force of Nazi persecution. By the end of the war, only about 1,500 Jews remained in Trieste.