A 19th-Century Representation of Identity: An Evaluation of the Architectural Design of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue (Austrian Temple) in Istanbul

Abstract

This article examines the impact of 19th-century Jewish emancipation on architecture through the example of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue in Istanbul. The emancipation process enhanced the public visibility of Jews, and synagogue architecture emerged as a medium reflecting this new search for identity. The adoption of Orientalist architectural trends—which became widespread in 19th-century Europe—as an expression of Jewish identity led to the incorporation of Eastern styles, particularly those influenced by Islamic and Andalusian esthetics, in synagogue design. Within this framework, the article analyzes the architectural design of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue, commissioned by an Ashkenazi congregation that had migrated from the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and explores the intellectual and historical context behind its Orientalist style. Identity representation is assessed through architectural elements such as arch forms, ornamentation, and structural arrangements inspired by Islamic architecture. The architect, construction process, and the social position of the Ashkenazi community within the Ottoman Empire are also examined through historical documentation. In conclusion, the synagogue constructed in Istanbul is interpreted as a reflection of the Orientalist architectural approach embraced by Jewish communities in Europe, as manifested within the Ottoman context, drawing attention to the relationship between identity, belonging, and architectural representation.

1. Introduction

Synagogues have historically served as central institutions for Jewish communities, functioning as spaces not only for worship and education but also for cultural and social interaction. Known in Hebrew as Beit Knesset (house of assembly), synagogues are places where the Torah is read and interpreted, prayers and hymns are recited, and religious leaders are trained (Gharipour 2017, p. 11; Öner 2022, p. 495).

In Halakhah (Jewish Law), only certain components are emphasized in the design of synagogues. These are common liturgical furnishings such as the Aron ha-Kodesh—the sacred ark in which the Torah scrolls are kept, and which also symbolically represents the direction of prayer—and the elevated platform from which the Torah is read (called the Bimah among Ashkenazim and the Teivah among Sepharadim). However, beyond these elements, Halakhah does not contain prescriptive regulations regarding the appearance of the façade or the configuration of the interior space. For this reason, no consistent stylistic canon has been followed in the architectural design of synagogues throughout history (Klein 2006, p. 4).

The process of Jewish emancipation—sparked by Enlightenment thought and referring to the granting of equal citizenship rights to Jews—began in France in 1791 and was implemented in various forms throughout the 19th century in Germany, Austria, Italy, England, and the Ottoman Empire. These rights enabled greater Jewish participation in public service, education, and social life, resulting in significant upward social mobility (Carvalho and Koyama 2016, pp. 565–66; Fine and Spencer 2017, pp. 15–26).

This study analyzes the architectural design of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue, also known as the “Austrian Temple”, built by Austrian members of the Ashkenazi community in Istanbul, the capital of the Ottoman Empire, to examine how the nationalism that emerged after the French Revolution and the effects of emancipation were reflected in synagogue architecture through the adoption of Eastern stylistic elements.

There are previous studies on the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue. A primary reference for this study is a book published in 2000 by Frayman (2000), which discusses the origins of Ashkenazi Jews, their position in the Ottoman Empire, synagogues belonging to the community in Istanbul, and other cultural values. İnci Türkoğlu’s 2001 master’s thesis provides a historical account and architectural reading of the building (Türkoğlu 2001, pp. 79–80). Mehmet Alparslan Küçük’s 2013 publication includes a general historical and architectural analysis of the synagogue based on the aforementioned sources (Küçük 2013, pp. 239–40). However, these studies offer limited stylistic analysis of the façade and do not sufficiently explore its symbolic meaning. The most comprehensive study in this regard is a book chapter published by Meltem Özkan Altınöz in 2017, which presents a detailed stylistic reading of the façade and discusses the implications of the Orientalist style within Ottoman society (Özkan Altınöz 2017, pp. 145–60).

In contrast, this article interprets the applied Orientalist style in relation to what it signified in 19th-century Jewish architecture, focusing on both the building and the community. First, the reasons behind the Orientalist tendencies in the architectural preferences of newly emancipated Jewish communities are outlined. Then, the presence of the Ashkenazi community in the Ottoman Empire and the architectural characteristics of the synagogue are presented, emphasizing how Islamic architectural references in the façade serve as markers of identity representation. In doing so, the stylistic connections between this building and contemporary synagogues in Europe are also explored.

2. An Overview of Orientalist Tendencies in Synagogue Architecture After Emancipation

The 19th century marked a period of major transformation in architectural history—a time when traditional building paradigms were questioned, new construction techniques were tested, and buildings were designed in both modern and historical styles to represent societies or individuals. Particularly under the influence of the Industrial Revolution, rapidly changing social and economic conditions brought about innovations in both the formal and structural aspects of building production. In many cases, structural developments in this century were fused with historicist architectural trends, resulting in a dual character that both preserved connections with tradition and opened pathways to modernity. The revival of interest in past architectural styles during the 19th century gave rise to historicism, which often carried not only esthetic but also ideological connotations. In this context, historicist styles were shaped by referencing the formal and symbolic repertoires of one or more previous periods. Buildings inspired by historical styles became not only works of artistic production but also spatial expressions of political, cultural, and social discourses—thus forming a core paradigm of the century.

For synagogues—which throughout history had been shaped in a variety of forms and styles, adapted to local architectural traditions across different geographies and time periods—the 19th century represents a turning point. With the Jewish community becoming more visible in public life due to the effects of Jewish emancipation, changes in synagogue architecture began to reflect this new visibility.

Before emancipation, synagogues were typically introverted, modest, and spatially unobtrusive. However, in the wake of emancipation, they began to be constructed in central urban locations, on monumental scales, and in symbolic forms. Architecture thus became a visual expression of the Jewish community’s search for legitimacy. In the 19th century, the question of “which architectural style best represents us?”—which was also posed by other religious groups—became a pressing matter for Jewish communities as well. In her book, Saskia Coenen Snyder analyzes synagogue architecture through the lenses of spatial visibility and practices of public representation, arguing that synagogues were not merely places of worship but also material carriers of identity construction. Her central thesis is that the stylistic plurality observed in 19th-century synagogues constituted political and strategic declarations of identity, each shaped by the specific historical and political contexts of the cities in which they were built. Comparing examples from Berlin, London, Amsterdam, and Paris, Coenen Snyder asserts that the architectural styles of synagogues reflected multilayered processes, not merely esthetic decisions, but also expressions of social integration, religious reform, identity negotiations, and political dialog. While she does not advocate reducing 19th-century synagogues to a single ideal type, she acknowledges the dominance of Orientalist tendencies, though she argues these cannot be generalized (Coenen Snyder 2013). Indeed, among the synagogues constructed in the post-Emancipation period, examples can be found in a variety of styles such as the Neoclassical Egyptian Revival and Neo-Gothic (See Krinsky 1996, pp. 72–90). However, Orientalism was by far the most prevalently adopted stylistic approach in synagogue architecture, as evidenced by numerous scholarly publications dedicated to its widespread use and numerous examples.

The reasons behind the Orientalist tendencies in synagogue architecture, as highlighted by researchers, encompass a variety of approaches associated with the East. In her book, Rachel Wischnitzer notes that events such as the Damascus Affair of 1840 and the subsequent accusations directed at Jews in Ottoman cities prompted European Jews to develop symbolic defense mechanisms against antisemitic attacks. She explains that this emerging “Eastern Question” resonated even in periodicals, which began to publish plans and proposals for Jewish settlement in Palestine. Within this climate, shaped by diverse national interests, Jews accepted their Eastern origins—an attitude that was reflected in the architectural style of their synagogues (Wischnitzer 1964, pp. 199–201). Wischnitzer’s view is particularly valuable in that it interprets architecture not merely as a matter of esthetic preference but as a product of social, psychological, and political crises. While the role of the press in shaping public opinion in the 19th century can be clearly observed, it would be reductive to attribute the adoption of Orientalism in synagogue architecture solely to a singular cause—namely, the events in the East and a defensive reaction to them. Establishing such a direct causal link and generalizing it overlooks the spatial and contextual variations. It cannot be expected that the impact of this crisis in the East would resonate with the same intensity across all regions and communities. Similarly, Harold Hammer-Schenk, who draws attention to the kinship between Arabs and Jews in his book, interprets the adoption of the Orientalist style, particularly in the 1860s, as an expression of independence and freedom. He also emphasizes that during this period, Jewish communities did not yet have the liberty to use Christian architectural styles in synagogue construction, a restriction that further encouraged the adoption of Orientalist forms (Hammer-Schenk 1981, pp. 251–58). These perspectives also cannot be generalized regionally or chronologically. This is because, when considering that the degree of freedom varied across different regions depending on local regulations and social conditions, there are also examples of synagogues designed in European architectural styles. Indeed, Coenen Snyder has examined these comparatively in her book. Moreover, as stated in Harold Hammer-Schenk’s book, the extensive analysis of Eastern architecture through illustrated travelogs by the end of the 18th century, along with debates within the discipline of art history from the 17th century onwards regarding the Eastern origins of Gothic architecture, paved the way for the legitimization of Orientalism in Europe (Hammer-Schenk 1981, p. 251). As Carol Herselle Krinsky notes, Islamic pointed arches were seen as the “Eastern relatives” of Gothic architecture, creating a visual language that both connected and distinguished Jews from Christians (Krinsky 1996, p. 82)1. Therefore, the adoption of the Orientalist style in synagogue architecture is positioned as an interface between external influences (intellectual and esthetic movements in Europe) and internal motivations (Jewish communities’ efforts to be both integrated and distinct). Additionally, in his article, Carsten L. Wilke, referring to Harold Hammer-Schenk’s 1975 publication, notes that the ideological meaning of Orientalism is not monolithic and can carry opposing messages depending on historical circumstances. He states that while the style was imposed on Jews by authorities in the 1830s, by the 1860s it had become an expression of a new self-confidence symbolizing Jewish distinctiveness (Wilke 2021, p. 447). In his article, Rudolf Klein argues that Islamic architecture—and by extension, Orientalism as appropriated in the West—offered Jewish architecture a mode of expression that was “free from idolatry” or “protected against idolatry.” He elaborates that Islamic architecture, as a monotheistic tradition distinct from both Christianity and Judaism, provides a strategy to dematerialize religious expression. In Islamic architecture, sacred texts and ornamentation are abstracted from the building’s structural components. Consequently, the structure does not represent a divine presence as a human creation, thus aligning with the Jewish rejection of idolatry (Klein 2006, pp. 5–7). In Klein’s theological approach, attention is drawn to religious sensitivities in stylistic choices by associating the Jewish opposition to representational imagery with the Islamic prohibition of figural depictions. However, history provides examples within Judaism—just as in Islamic art—that do not conform to this principle, including works featuring representational designs. Moreover, the use of strong motifs such as the Tablets of the Ten Commandments and the Star of David stands in contrast to this generalized interpretation. At the same time, this perspective suggests that the preference for Orientalism was motivated solely by the community’s internal concerns. For this reason, such an explanation can only be regarded as one among several possible factors behind the adoption of Orientalism in synagogue architecture. Another interpretation regarding the source of Orientalist tendencies in 19th-century synagogue architecture relates to the Andalusian region. During the period of Muslim rule in Spain, the long-established Jewish communities in the region were able to live in a relatively tolerant environment. The period described by the term Convivencia2 has especially been referred to as the ‘Golden Age’ for the Sephardic Jews living in this region (İlhan 2009, pp. 244–45; Biçen and Bedirhanoğlu 2022, pp. 113–19).3 As previously discussed, Jewish places of worship have historically been shaped by the architectural styles and contexts of the regions in which they were built. In this specific case, many synagogues constructed in medieval Spain—such as the Synagogue of El Tránsito (1357) (see Muñoz Garrido 2017, pp. 127–44)—adopted the stylistic characteristics of Islamic architecture with a distinctive Andalusian expression. According to various sources, during the 19th century—particularly after Jewish emancipation—such elements were reconsidered as part of a broader search for identity representation in synagogue architecture. Islamic architectural references were increasingly evaluated for their symbolic potential to highlight both the Golden Age and the Eastern origins of Jewish identity (Genée 1987, p. 85; Krinsky 1996, pp. 77–78; Jarrassé 2001, p. 173). However, several scholarly works examining these interpretations point out that such references may be problematic. While some researchers link these architectural elements to the Eastern origins of Jewish communities, they criticize the evocation of the Golden Age as anachronistic. According to these criticisms, many Orientalist synagogues in Central Europe belong to the Ashkenazi community, which had no direct historical or cultural connection to the Iberian region. Therefore, references to the Andalusian Golden Age are seen not as contemporary design intentions, but rather as retrospective symbolic associations constructed during the second half of the 20th century (Kalmar 2001, pp. 68–100; Wilke 2021, pp. 449–50).

To summarize, based on these scholarly views, the adoption of Orientalist styles in 19th-century synagogue architecture should not be interpreted as a mere esthetic preference. Rather, it should be understood as the intersection of multiple dynamic forces: theological sensitivities, strategies of defense against antisemitic aggression, aspirations for political freedom, demands for public visibility, and references to origins and kinship. Therefore, understanding the rationale behind this stylistic choice requires moving beyond essentialist or purely formalist analyses and embracing a multicausal model that integrates historical, political, and cultural contexts.

Notable early examples of this approach include the Ingenheim Synagogue (1831–1832)4 designed by Friedrich von Gärtner, and the Speyer Synagogue (1836–1837) designed by August von Voit. Both feature horseshoe-arched portals, column arrangements, and window compositions that reflect architectural forms from Orientalism (Figure 1) (Hammer-Schenk 1981, pp. 259–60; von Orelli-Messerli 2018, pp. 140–43).

The Leipzig Synagogue (see Meek 1995, pp. 185–88), built in 1855 by Jewish architect Otto Simonson, exemplifies the Orientalist designs through its series of horseshoe and scalloped arch openings, ornamental arch compositions, and crenelated parapets (Figure 2) (Hammer-Schenk 1981, pp. 266–75).

The Nazareth Street Synagogue (Jarrassé 2004, pp. 43–56), designed in 1852 by Alexandre Thierry—the architect of the Paris Consistory Building constructed in 1844 in the heart of France where Jewish emancipation was first realized—reflects Orientalist style through several features on its north façade. These include a zigzag motif on the arch surface of the central portal bay, various vegetal decorations arranged between the columns, palmette designs on the column capitals, floral antefixes on the surface, and the door compositions of the lateral portals, which incorporate round-headed openings (Figure 3 and Figure 4).5

These early examples along the Germany–France axis are significant in demonstrating which specific ornamental details—such as horseshoe and scalloped arches, column capitals, palmettes, zigzag patterns, and vegetal motifs—were transferred into synagogue architecture.

The Spanish Synagogue (see Kalmar 2000, pp. 158–209) in Prague, built in 1868 by Vojtěch Ignác Ullmann and Josef Niklas, as well as the Great Synagogue of Florence (see Kalmar 2013, pp. 171–83) completed between 1874 and 1882, reflect Orientalist style. This is evident in their use of horseshoe-arched openings, crenellations, onion-domed towers, Nasrid-style capitals, and richly ornamented surfaces. These buildings demonstrate that in the second half of the century, with Orientalist elements occupying a more dominant position on the surfaces, a more mature style emerged (Figure 5).

The rise of Orientalism in synagogue architecture also gained momentum through its integration into the Rundbogenstil.6 The rise of Eastern styles among Jews in the 19th century, except the symbolic meanings previously discussed, is also closely related to how European architects and authorities perceived the Jewish population. In this period, in particular the application of the Rundbogenstil—a style that emerged in the German-speaking world amid a broader search for a national architectural identity—to synagogue architecture reflected both an effort by architects and authorities to establish a unified architectural language in their regions and an implicit aim of assimilating Jews. They largely resolved this by integrating Orientalism into the style. The Dresden Synagogue, built by Gottfried Semper, is stylistically regarded as the “mother” of 19th-century synagogue architecture (see Künzl 1984, p. 175; von Orelli-Messerli 2018, pp. 139–52). Constructed between 1838 and 1840, the building reflects a synthesis of architectural traditions: the twin-towered main entrance and buttressed, framed façade design evoke early medieval European architecture; the central tower and domes reference Early Christian and Byzantine architecture; while the scalloped arches on the drum of the dome and the interior details exhibit influences from Islamic architecture (Figure 6). For this reason, the building may be regarded as the first example of integration.

The origin of the round arches, which lie at the center of Rundbogenstil, is not solely attributable to Roman, Romanesque, or Byzantine architecture, but also to Islamic-Moorish architecture. Thus, a visual kinship exists. Moreover, the geometric structure of Rundbogenstil allows Orientalist motifs to be easily incorporated. In addition, the flexible nature of Rundbogenstil, which includes many substyles, makes it possible for the style to appear in very different forms in various geographies—such as the emphasis on Byzantine features in the Orthodox churches of Eastern Europe, or the Romanesque forms in the Prussian regions. Similarly, in synagogue architecture, a completely different appearance may emerge through the intensive use of Islamic ornamentation. Furthermore, the Islamic character7 is not unique to synagogues; it is also integrated into Protestant buildings such as the Gustav Adolf Church (1846–1849) in Vienna, Orthodox structures like the St. Nicholas Church (1893) in Belgrade, and even secular buildings such as the North Railway Station (1859–1865) in Vienna and the Vigadó Concert Hall (1864) in Budapest. Therefore, one of the substyles of Rundbogenstil—the Islamic character—is not only heavily used in synagogues but also occasionally employed in buildings associated with other groups.

Although the adoption of Rundbogenstil as a solution to the German search for a national architectural style may not, in itself, align conceptually with its application to a Jewish place of worship, its use in synagogues built within the Prussian and Habsburg domains—as well as in Eastern Europe under their influence—came to symbolize, on one hand, the growing social acceptance of Jews, and on the other, a stylistic variation through which architects employed Islamic elements on façades to mark a distinction. This variant was not limited to this geographical sphere; it was also implemented in many newly constructed synagogues of the period. Examples of this style in Central and Eastern Europe include the Leopoldstädter Tempel (1854–1858) (see Genée 1987, pp. 53–59) in Vienna (Figure 7), designed by Ludwig Förster; the Dohány Street Synagogue (1854–1859) (see: Klein 2017) in Budapest (Figure 8), also by Förster in collaboration with Ignaz Wechselmann; Oranienburger Street Synagogue (1859–1866) (see Frübis 2018, pp. 153–63) in Berlin (Figure 9), designed by Eduard Knoblauch and Friedrich August Stüler; and the synagogue in Zagreb (see Knežević 1999, pp. 121–48) (Figure 10), built by Franjo Klein in 1867.8 The adoption of Rundbogenstil in synagogue architecture reflects how Jews of the 19th century perceived their own position within European society—and, conversely, how they were perceived by others (Künzl 1984, pp. 241–57). This perspective can also be traced in the writings of the architects themselves regarding the stylistic choices they made for these buildings. In particular, the writings of Ludwig Förster—the architect of both the Leopoldstädter Tempel and the Dohány Street Synagogue, and editor of the architectural journal Allgemeine Bauzeitung, which played a major role in disseminating architectural theory in the period—are noteworthy (Förster 1859, p. 14). In these texts, Förster draws connections between the architecture of Solomon’s Temple and Arab architecture, suggesting that ancient Jewish architecture may have shared similar characteristics with Islamic forms due to geographic proximity and cultural interaction. However, it can also be observed that the buildings he designed reflect a strong Orientalist tendency, interpreted within the framework of Rundbogenstil. In this context, if we compare the dominance of Orientalism in synagogue architecture with the Orientalist-inflected version of Rundbogenstil, we can first conclude that, at the conceptual level, both approaches were chosen with the aim of representation. However, some differences exist between the two approaches regarding the reasons underlying this representational choice. The Orientalist conceptions discussed in the first part, as noted above, can be understood as the reflection of multilayered dynamics, whereas the version of Rundbogenstil that incorporates Orientalist elements symbolizes the integration of a distinct social group into a nationalist style. From the perspective of formal articulation, although Orientalism could be applied within eclectic designs across different stylistic frameworks, the version of Rundbogenstil structured around the defining motif of the round arch stands apart: here, the eclecticism arising from the combination of styles is characterized by a planned selection in which specific stylistic components were brought together with divergent symbolic aims.

3. Ashkenazi Jews in the Ottoman Empire and Their Architectural Practices

While a segment of the Jewish population residing in Ottoman territories came under imperial rule as a result of conquest, a significant portion is known to have settled in the region after fleeing persecution and oppression in their countries of origin. In the sources, the Jewish community in Ottoman society is examined as a collection of distinct groups based on their origins, languages, and customs. The most well-known among these are the Romaniotes, Musta’ribs, Karaites, Sephardim, and Ashkenazim (see Galante 1986, pp. 177–234; Aydın 2002, pp. 5–25).

In his article, Mehmet Aydın states that the earliest migrations of Ashkenazi Jews from Central and Eastern Europe to the territories of the Ottoman Empire can be traced in historical sources back to the end of the 14th century (Aydın 2002, p. 13). In the 15th century, following the recommendations of two Ashkenazi Jews—David ha-Cohen and Caiman—who had previously migrated to the region, a general call was issued by Rabbi Yitzhak Sarfati, an Ashkenazi rabbi who had recently settled in the area, and Ashkenazi Jews began to migrate to various Ottoman regions (Franco 1897, pp. 34–35; Galante 1986, pp. 200–1; Aydın 2002, p. 13; Özkan Altınöz 2017, p. 147). This wave intensified after the 1470s, when Duke Ludwig X of Bavaria, under the influence of Franciscan friar Johann Capistrano, expelled the Jews from his realm, prompting many Ashkenazim to migrate to the Danube basin and to Istanbul (Galante 1986, pp. 200–1; Aydın 2002, p. 13). In the 16th century, following the Ottoman conquests of Serbia and Hungary, many Ashkenazi Jews from these territories relocated to Thessaloniki, Edirne, Istanbul, and Palestine. During the 17th century, the migration continued as Ashkenazim fleeing antisemitic attitudes and pogroms in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and Central Europe settled in Ottoman lands (Shaw 1991, p. 124; Aydın 2002, pp. 13–14).

With the intensification of trade between the Ottoman Empire and Western powers—and particularly following the proclamation of the Reform Edict (Islahat Fermanı) in 1856—the Ottoman state’s emphasis on modernization came to be interpreted by Ottoman Jewry as an opportunity for greater openness to the outside world. Within this context, the Alliance Israélite Universelle, founded in Paris in 1860 and inspired by the ideals of the French Enlightenment, sought to promote the emergence of a modern, Westernized, yet patriotic Jewish citizen. To this end, the Alliance established schools in numerous locations. Given its strong influence among Ottoman Jews, by the 1870s schools were founded in Galata, where the Ashkenazi population was concentrated (Frayman 2000, p. 15; Erdim 2019, p. 11).9

Towards the end of the 1800s, the rise of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, combined with the previously mentioned developments within Ashkenazi communities, positioned the Ashkenazim at the forefront of commercial relations between the Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires (see Elibol 2003; 2004, pp. 79–82; Çolak 2020, pp. 1611–43). During this period, many well-educated and prominent Austrian Jews settled in Istanbul to take on important administrative and diplomatic roles (Frayman 2000, pp. 12–14).

Previously, Istanbul’s Ashkenazi Jews—who represented a minority within the broader Jewish population—had organized only their religious institutions separately while still remaining under the jurisdiction of the Sephardic community and the Chief Rabbinate. However, from the 1850s onward, the increasing number and growing social standing of Ashkenazi immigrants brought the community into greater prominence within Jewish communal life. Even so, there were noticeable internal distinctions among Ashkenazim based on their regions of origin. German and Austrian Jews formed an upper social group due to their education, modern appearance, and social status, while Eastern European Ashkenazim were categorized into separate subgroups according to their places of origin. Nevertheless, the Ashkenazi community succeeded in developing its own religious institutions as autonomous congregations (Shaw 1991, pp. 170–71; Frayman 2000, p. 14).

At the beginning of the 20th century, Austrian Ashkenazim took steps to unify the various Ashkenazi groups living in Istanbul by inviting Dr. David Feyvel Markus (see Galante 1986, pp. 220–23), a Doctor of Philosophy, to serve as the rabbi of the Ashkenazi community. As waves of immigration continued, the growing Ashkenazi population simultaneously submitted a formal request to Ottoman state institutions to be recognized as an independent community (cemaat) (Galante 1986, p. 204; Frayman 2000, p. 15; Özkan Altınöz 2017, p. 148). According to documents from 1918 preserved in the Presidency of the Republic of Turkey Ottoman Archives, this request was submitted via the Austrian Embassy. The documents indicate that the Austrian government supported the Ashkenazi community’s efforts, but ultimately, the Ashkenazim were not granted official recognition as a separate religious community within the broader Jewish population (COA, BEO, 4466/334944; COA, HR.SYS., 1776/1; COA, HR.HMS.ISO., 88–13; COA, HR.HMS.ISO., 88–14) (Figure 11). Instead, an agreement made in 1912 between the Chief Rabbinate and the Ashkenazi communities continued to remain in effect over time. Within this framework, unity was achieved among the Ashkenazi congregations, which were centrally based in Galata (Frayman 2000, pp. 15–16; Aydın 2002, pp. 15–17).

The social status and way of life of Jews in Ottoman society can be traced through two distinct phases: before and after the Tanzimat reforms. Before the Tanzimat, the Ottoman Empire functioned as a theocratic state governed by Islamic law (sharīʿa), which classified Muslims and non-Muslims under separate legal statuses. Each religious community (millet) lived within its own hierarchical structure, adhering to the tenets of its faith and governed by its religious leaders—albeit under the supervision and authority of the state. This system allowed non-Muslim groups to preserve their religious practices, cultures, and personal laws, while also enabling them to remain distinct from Muslims and safeguard their religious sensitivities. Institutionalized during the reign of Mehmed the Conqueror (Fatih Sultan Mehmed), this arrangement remained in place until the Tanzimat era (Bozkurt 1993, pp. 539–42).

In the pre-Tanzimat period, Jewish communities with diverse cultural backgrounds lived under the Ottoman Empire’s tolerance and protection for centuries, free from religious persecution. However, when it came to architectural activity, regulations derived from Islamic law regarding dhimmīs (see Fayda 2013, pp. 428–34) were decisive. In the reconstruction or repair of a synagogue, the same restrictions applied as in all other non-Muslim buildings—such as the prohibition of bell-ringing (in Christian churches), loud worship, worship in the vicinity of mosques or masjids, and limitations on the height of houses. Moreover, as with other non-Muslim places of worship, new constructions were generally not permitted (Koyuncu 2014, pp. 36–37; Ceyhan 2020, p. 162).10

Within the framework of Islamic law as practiced in the Ottoman Empire, synagogues—like other non-Muslim religious buildings—were generally not permitted to be newly constructed. Existing synagogues could be repaired only in accordance with their original form, and if new construction was deemed absolutely necessary, it required the explicit approval of the Sultan. Additionally, expanding or raising the height of such structures during repair was not permitted (Koyuncu 2014, pp. 36–37; Ceyhan 2020, p. 162).

In the first half of the 19th century, the military, administrative, and financial crises experienced by the Ottoman Empire necessitated a comprehensive process of reform. The centralization and modernization efforts initiated during the reign of Mahmud II culminated in the proclamation of the Gülhane Edict (Hatt-ı Hümâyun) by Sultan Abdülmecid in 1839, known as the Tanzimat, which was driven by internal revolts threatening political unity, pressures from European powers, and the rapidly changing global economic order (İnalcık 1964, pp. 603–22). Following the proclamation of the Tanzimat, one of the most significant distinctions between Jews and other non-Muslim groups was that, unlike others who engaged in nationalist struggles for separation from the state, the Jews largely remained loyal to the Ottoman Empire and, to a great extent, did not support the Zionist movement that emerged in the late 19th century (Bozkurt 1993, p. 544). With the promulgation of the Tanzimat Edict, which guaranteed security of life, property, and honor, introduced tax justice, restructured military service, affirmed property rights, upheld the rule of law, and opened the path toward reducing discrimination, it became necessary to redefine the relationship between the non-Muslim subjects and the state. In this context, during the initial phase of the Tanzimat era, although it became necessary to abolish previous restrictions on synagogue construction, the requirement to obtain a religious fatwa for such undertakings was maintained. However, it was proposed that applications for the pre-construction authorization process—which had previously followed long-established procedures—would now be handled by different administrative institutions.11

Subsequently, with the 1856 Islahat Edict (Reform Edict), bureaucratic procedures for repair and restoration were simplified within the framework of equal citizenship rights. However, imperial permission from the Sultan was still required for new constructions. Despite these reforms, the obligation to obtain the Sultan’s approval even for repair works continued in practice (Koyuncu 2014, pp. 54–55). Moreover, although the construction of non-Muslim buildings in the Ottoman Empire historically required official permission, there were instances of unauthorized and unlicensed constructions, which were subject to strict enforcement and often demolished. However, following the Tanzimat and Islahat Edicts, it appears that greater tolerance was shown toward such unauthorized constructions (Ceyhan 2020, pp. 166–67).

4. Architectural Analysis of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue in Istanbul

Located in the Karaköy neighborhood of Istanbul’s Beyoğlu district, on Meşrutiyet Street in the Yüksek Kaldırım area, the Ashkenazi Synagogue was constructed by members of the Ashkenazi denomination who had migrated from the Austro-Hungarian Empire to the Ottoman Empire. Publications indicate that archival records from the last quarter of the 19th century mention the names of two different synagogues in this area. One of these replaced the other, a house on Büyük Hendek Street that had been used as a place of worship since 1831 and was destroyed by fire in 1866. This synagogue remained in use until the construction of the present synagogue. It is stated in the sources that the construction of the building began—likely as a replacement for these two wooden structures—once a firman was issued by Sultan Abdülhamid II in 1900, granting permission for a new synagogue, and was initiated through various contributions (Küçük 2013, p. 239; Schild 2017, p. 123; Özkan Altınöz 2017, pp. 149–50; Güleryüz 2018, pp. 182–83) (Figure 12 and Figure 13). In addition, the inscription on a plaque within the building stating that it was constructed to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the reign of Franz Joseph I provides further evidence that the synagogue was built during this period (Figure 14).

However, based on an inscription found on a plaque within the building, it is known that the structure was designed by Venetian architect G. J. Cornaro13 (Türkoğlu 2001, p. 80; 2004, p. 484; Schild 2017, p. 123; Özkan Altınöz 2017, p. 150; Arpacı 2020, pp. 165–68) (Figure 15).

The synagogue was inaugurated on 17 September 1900 with a grand ceremony attended by prominent political and religious figures, including the Austro-Hungarian ambassador Baron de Kalaci and the Ottoman Chief Rabbi Moşe Ha-Levi (Güleryüz 2018, p. 183; Schild 2017, p. 125; Özkan Altınöz 2017, pp. 150–51).

Considering the bureaucratic procedures of obtaining permits and conducting inspections required for new constructions and repairs in the Ottoman Empire, a comprehensive archival survey has also been carried out to identify documents related to this building. In this context, a document in the Ottoman Archives dated between 1898 and 1901 provides further evidence of the construction process. It concerns a complaint regarding a store building owned by Refael Simondis, which allegedly interfered with the construction. The document also emphasizes that the synagogue’s construction was actively underway at the time (COA, DH.MKT, 2415, 125) (Figure 16).

According to several archival documents compiled within a dossier formally dated 1918—yet evidently reflecting an extended period of correspondence—communications took place between the Austrian Embassy and the relevant Ottoman authorities concerning the legal status of the local Ashkenazi community. These exchanges focused on whether the community was officially recognized by the state and whether records existed for the synagogue in question as well as for the school building located in Şişhane (COA, BEO, 4466/334944; COA, HR.SYS., 1776/1) (Figure 17).

What stands out in these documents is the fact that Jews in Ottoman society were institutionally affiliated with the Chief Rabbinate without distinctions being made between different denominations or communities. This raises questions regarding whether the Ashkenazi community possessed any form of separate recognition. Moreover, there appears to be no official record of the existing synagogue—neither in the documents submitted by its patron, the Austrian government, nor in the records of the Ottoman authorities. As a result, it appears that no attempt was made to obtain official permission for the construction of the building.

The Ashkenazi Synagogue features a basilica-style layout oriented along an east–west axis, with a centrally placed dome. In Rudolf Klein’s typology of synagogues dated to the 19th and early 20th centuries (Klein 2014, pp. 60–63), this design, corresponding to the Byzantine type, is characterized by entrances provided from the west, leading first into a vestibule and from there into the main prayer hall. Above the vestibule and along the sides of the interior, a two-level gallery system has been established. On the eastern side, a bimah and a Torah ark elevated by steps from the main floor are present. As Rudolf Klein notes in his article on the typology of Hungarian synagogues, this placement of the bimah exemplifies the spatial development toward the east that emerged following the release of the bimah from the center after the 1840s (Klein 2010, p. 114). The central space of the synagogue is covered by a dome, while the remaining sections are roofed with vaults. Rudolf Klein’s observation that “in the early and mid-19th century, interior spaces were more elaborately treated, whereas from the late 19th century onward, decorative emphasis shifted to the façades” is also applicable to the stylistic composition of this building (Klein 2014, p. 64). Interior elements shaped in an Orientalist manner are relatively limited. The ebony Torah ark, positioned on the eastern side of the space and forming a composition with the bimah, was donated in 1905 by a congregant named Karlmann in memory of his late wife Rachel and was crafted by Master Fogelstein (Schild 2017, pp. 123–24; Özkan Altınöz 2017, p. 150). The ark, designed symmetrically along the longitudinal axis, is balanced by a central, broader, and elevated main section flanked by pointed horseshoe-arched niches. The axis of the elevated central section is emphasized by an onion-shaped dome, and smaller domes of similar form are repeated on either side and above the lanterns placed at the outer corners of the side sections, thereby reinforcing the stepped and axial symmetry of the composition. A series of palmette motifs along the upper edges of the side sections, lobed-arched honeycomb decorations on the surfaces above the central arch, shallow horseshoe-arched niches placed between these sections, and intricate vegetal and geometric ornamentation applied to the wall surfaces are all stylistic elements that complete the design. With both its symmetry and monumental proportions, it is arranged almost as if it were a separate architectural work in its own right, constituting the spiritual center of the space. The design of the Torah ark differs from examples in European synagogues in that it incorporates local influences. The axially symmetrical, tiered structure of the Torah ark recalls Ottoman architectural compositions such as the Hamidiye Fountain at Yıldız Palace, while its broad-eaved central dome and corner domes evoke the layout of the Selim III Fountain at Yıldız Palace (Figure 18 and Figure 19). At the same time, an Orientalist interpretation of this scheme can also be observed in the design of Sultan Abdülhamid II’s cabinet (see Tosun 2023, pp. 111–13) (Figure 20).

On either side of the Torah ark, the wall surfaces contain tall, narrow, pointed-arched window openings. Above the ark, a circular window is placed along the central axis, emphasizing the ark itself.

The western façade, which serves as the main entrance front of the synagogue, is organized in two tiers. In front of the first tier, which constitutes the ground level, there are a number of later additions designed as protrusions that provide access to the building (Figure 18). In the photograph of the synagogue façade published in Turgut Saner’s 1998 book (Saner 1998, p. 103), some of these additions are observed to be absent at the time (Figure 19). At this level, a symmetrical arrangement along the central axis is also evident. Behind a courtyard—accessed via a garden gate from the street—a centrally placed rectangular opening is visible, though much of it is obscured. On either side, there are rectangular door openings, with the left side clearly visible and the right side assumed to be arranged in a similar manner. Above each door is a circular window divided into glazed sections by intersecting mullions that converge at a central medallion. Both the door and window openings are framed within shallowly recessed surrounds. The first tier is separated from the upper story by a projecting cornice supported on small brackets (consoles), emphasizing the horizontal articulation between the two levels. This tier of the façade exhibits a Neoclassical appearance in terms of style. This is evident in the lintelled door arrangements, the circular windows and the string course with small consoles separating the tiers (Figure 21).

The second tier is arranged to form three bays defined by horseshoe arches set upon columns, with the central bay emphasized by its greater width and height. This arch form, whose origins are subject to various scholarly interpretations, became one of the most distinctive elements of Orientalism in 19th-century European architecture, particularly within the Neo-Mudejar style14. As observed in numerous synagogue examples mentioned above, this form was applied not only in synagogues but also in all buildings bearing an Oriental character. However, in this case, the arches are designed in such a way that they are rounded on the interior side and take on a pointed contour sloping toward the axis on the exterior side (Figure 22).

As for examples of compositions featuring horseshoe-shaped arches, one may refer to the central axis composition on the main façade of Lille Synagogue (1891) (see Rigaut 2021, pp. 89–107), which belongs to the Ashkenazi community, and the portal arch arrangement of the Manchester Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue (Manchester Jewish Museum) (1874) (see Kadish 2003, pp. 7–32), affiliated with the Sephardic community (Figure 23 and Figure 24). Therefore, this form is already one of the decorative variations in the Orientalist horseshoe arch.

The columns upon which the arches rest resemble the Nasrid style15 and are arranged in two tiers: the lower tier features a single row of acanthus leaves, while the upper tier consists of prismatic capitals adorned with a decorative motif composed of a rhombus inscribed within a square, centrally positioned on the front-facing surface. Columns of this Nasrid type are frequently encountered in many synagogues and Orientalist buildings, such as the Rumbach Street Synagogue (see Klein (2017, pp. 531–39)) in Budapest (Figure 25).

However, in terms of design, the columns of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue represent a more stylized interpretation compared both to the original Nasrid examples and to their 19th-century versions, which closely resembled them. This evokes the column designs in Theophil von Hansen’s buildings, where Orientalist motifs were employed, yet differ in terms of composition and stylization.16

The arches are circular on the inside but adopt a pointed outline on the outside, each topped with a circular finial along their vertical axes. The arch in the central bay extends above the cornice line, thereby accentuating its prominence. The surface of this accent arch is animated by a series of decorative elements: vertically elongated forms that narrow downward and end in circular medallions containing scale motifs, all connected at the top by a horizontal band and rounded at their upper edges. The finial at the top of the central arch displays a rosette motif. The surfaces of the flanking arches are embellished with evenly spaced flutes, while their finials feature eight-pointed stars inscribed within circles. These decorative features on and around the arch surfaces contribute to a dynamic visual rhythm and closely align with Orientalist architectural approaches. Similar treatments—marked by densely ornamented arch surfaces and surrounds—are observed in numerous other examples, such as the Oranienburger Street Synagogue in Berlin and the Dohány Street Synagogue in Budapest. In both instances, the ornamental richness of the arches plays a central role in establishing the Orientalist character of the façades.

Within the central arch bay lies a surface composition that features a tripartite window arrangement, with the central window being wider than the flanking ones. These windows are framed by pilasters and above by pointed horseshoe arches resting on the pilasters. The capitals of the pilasters replicate the same decorative scheme used in the capitals of the columns supporting the accent arches. The surfaces of the arches are animated with a sequence of cartouches whose lateral edges taper inward toward the axis. The windows set within the arches are also framed internally by pilasters and pointed horseshoe arches. The capitals of these interior pilasters bear diamond-shaped motifs enclosing scale patterns. Below the windows, rectangular panels have been incorporated, ornamented with a series of blind arches; each bay is articulated with rectangular projections at the bottom and rounded forms above (Figure 26).

At the top of this central surface composition is a rose window featuring a tracery in the form of a thick-bordered eight-pointed star. This rose window is encircled by a decorative band that echoes the motif applied to the window arch surfaces below. The term “rose window” does not merely denote a circular opening, but rather refers to a combination of the circular form and the intricate tracery that fills it. Indeed, rose windows can be found in a wide variety of compositions, ranging from four-lobed clovers to elaborate floral patterns (see Dow 1957, pp. 248–97). In the case under study, the window design—with its star-shaped tracery—reflects Eastern influences in both its carved motifs and arch surfaces. Variations in similar star-based compositions, as seen here, contributed to the Oriental character of numerous synagogues such as the Dohány Street Synagogue in Budapest, the Leopoldstädter Tempel in Vienna, and the synagogue in Zagreb (Figure 27).

The same opening composition is repeated on the lateral bays, except for a key difference in the window arrangement: the side bays contain single windows rather than a tripartite configuration. Above the side bays, domes are arranged, their edges converging toward the central axis.

Photographic documentation of the façade suggests that the first story was clad in finely cut ashlar masonry with deep joints. On the second story, while the enclosing arches and their supporting columns were constructed from stone, the remaining wall surfaces appear to have been rendered and painted.

The eastern façade of the building is kept quite plain. On the façade surface, only window openings framed with moldings are present. The façade is plastered and painted (Figure 28).

The dome of the synagogue is slightly elevated and is topped with a finial composed of a segmented, gradually narrowing body that ends in a sphere. A Star of David is visible above the finial.

5. Conclusions

The desire for recognition and emancipation, which gained momentum among many nations and religious communities under the influence of the French Revolution, triggered the process of Jewish emancipation—enabling Jews to transition from a position of social exclusion to that of citizenship. During the 19th century, this process unfolded in different forms across various states. In this context, the 19th century constituted a critical era for Ottoman Jews, marked by profound internal transformations as well as external influences. Within the multi-ethnic structure of the empire, the Tanzimat (1839) and Islahat (1856) Edicts significantly reshaped the legal status of non-Muslim minorities. The rights granted to the non-Muslim subjects of the Empire opened the way for Jews to engage not only in religious life but also in broader social, economic, and cultural spheres—ushering in a dynamic and multifaceted period for the community.

With its use of horseshoe arches, rose windows, decorated columns, and ornamental compositions, the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue stands as a significant example demonstrating the application of Orientalism—the dominant style of synagogue architecture in Europe—within a Jewish house of worship in the Ottoman context. The infiltration of Orientalism into Ottoman architecture occurred within the broader context of Westernization efforts, and this architectural language was applied in buildings across the empire regardless of their function or purpose (Özkan Altınöz 2017, p. 157). However, as previously discussed, the use of Eastern styles in synagogue architecture was already an established practice in Europe from the first half of the 19th century onward and, as Coenen Snyder argues in his foundational thesis, served as a tool for expressing layered communal identities within synagogues (Coenen Snyder 2013). How, then, can Coenen Snyder’s method—based on evaluating examples in Berlin, London, Amsterdam, and Paris within their respective societal contexts—be applied to the case of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue? Although the Orientalist style is generally interpreted in synagogues as a reference to the Eastern origins of Jews, could it, in a society such as the Ottoman Empire—already Eastern in character and deeply entwined with Islamic architectural traditions—have been chosen as a genuine expression of identity? At this point, it is necessary to compare the stylistic choices of this synagogue with the prevailing architectural tendencies of other synagogues in the Ottoman Empire. Of the three Ashkenazi synagogues in Istanbul, two display influences from styles such as Neoclassicism, Neo-Baroque, and Neo-Gothic (Özkan Altınöz 2015, pp. 334–52; 2017, p. 155), which may be regarded as reflections of the Westernization trend in Ottoman architecture. Even among Sephardic synagogues, Orientalist tendencies are difficult to trace. In this context, the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue occupies a distinct place in terms of style. In terms of design, unlike the more limited Orientalist tendencies in the interior, the pronounced emphasis on the main façade demonstrates that the style was consciously and symbolically chosen. As such, the building represents both a localized adaptation of an international stylistic trend and a manifest expression of the community’s collective identity. Of course, one cannot observe the same stylistic contrast that Orientalist synagogues expressed in relation to Christian architecture in Europe within the Ottoman architectural context. Since styles like Baroque had already been integrated into mosque and other building designs in the Ottoman Empire, and considering that Orientalism—at least in Anatolia—remained relatively peripheral17, we may note the presence of Orientalist architectural elements in buildings such as the Sirkeci Railway Station and the Köprülü Mehmed Pasha Mausoleum18. Nevertheless, the stylistic choice of the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue closely parallels developments in Austria-Hungary, suggesting a conscious orientation. As Rudolf Klein has noted, the Austro-Hungarian region hosted the highest concentration of Orientalist synagogues in Europe (Klein 2006, p. 3), and the Yüksek Kaldırım Synagogue can be seen as a local reflection of this tradition within the Ottoman setting. Therefore, it becomes necessary to consider not only the broader “Ashkenazi” identity but also the more specific “Austrian Ashkenazi” identity of the group—particularly those individuals who financed the synagogue and were leading the Austrian Ashkenazi community in Istanbul during that period. Recognizing that 19th-century architecture broadly served as a language of expression, one can find numerous examples of representational styles across the multicultural Ottoman society: Rundbogenstil and Neo-Byzantine (for examples, see Evcim 2010, pp. 259–68; Şarlak 2010; 2011, pp. 80–93; Akın Ertek 2025) in Greek churches, Neo-Gothic in British churches (for examples, see Güçhan 2015, p. 577–92), and so on. Beneath all these forms of architectural representation—including the expression embodied in the Yüksek Kaldırım Ashkenazi Synagogue—lie attempts to answer the broader question imported from Europe: “What is the ideal architectural style to represent a nation or a community?”

Ultimately, the Ashkenazi Synagogue of Yüksek Kaldırım can be regarded as a reflection of the social and cultural transformation of Ottoman Jewry—particularly of the Austrian Ashkenazi group within it. At a time when most synagogues were shaped by Neoclassical, Neo-Baroque, or Neo-Gothic tendencies, the adoption of an Orientalist style in this building positioned it in a distinctive representational category. The Orientalist tendency here not only alludes to the Eastern origins of the Jewish people but also symbolizes the community’s aspiration to present itself with a European identity in the Ottoman capital. Thus, the synagogue can be read both as an expression of belonging, referencing the long-standing presence of Jews within the empire, and as an architectural manifestation of a modernizing, Europeanizing identity in dialog with contemporary Ashkenazi synagogues in the West.