Full disclosure: my views in this arena did not come from nowhere. Thanks to a Litvak grandfather, I was raised in a home rich in Ashkenazi Yiddishkeit and folklore.
When I was scared of ghosts, my grandmother placed tourist trinkets from Israel as reassuring amulets by my bedside. I had a friend whose mother regularly placed red ribbons in her underwear, to ward off the evil eye. A more recent hospital stay saw visitors tie red Kabbalah bands to my wrists, for my quick recovery. And as a young woman, it was quite normal to hear elderly relatives declare “keinayinhara”, meaning “no evil eye”, whenever I received a compliment, or mentioned an exciting event. “You look so beautiful” a trio of elderly great aunts, flown in from LA, pronounced on my wedding day, before proclaiming “keinayinhara” to each other. It felt entirely normal to me that the matriarchal elders had one eye on me and another defending me from an invisible, evil one, a kind of Jewish CCTV.
And so I was delighted to learn that the YIVO Institute of Jewish Research in New York, which preserves and studies the history of Jewish life in eastern Europe, has the following exhibition: Jews are Magic: Occult Practices from Palmistry to Professional Psychics. From amulet and palm-reading to fortune-telling, it showcases centuries of Jewish engagement with the mystical and is a fascinating opportunity to rediscover the Jewish history behind practices that were an integral part of the superstitious folklore of the communities of eastern Europe, many of which were destroyed in the Shoah.
In the words of YIVO’s exhibitions director Eddy Portnoy: “Although it is clear biblical texts forbid any kind of witches, wizards, or consultations with the spirits, Jews have always continued to be part of occult practices over millennia and still are.
“Judaism does not want to appear to give people special powers, as only God is supposed to have these, but rabbinical elites never forbade these practices specifically, as they took on a useful role of helping people to deal with uncertainty in everyday life. They provided solace in times of illness, infertility, grief and facing unseen dangers, such as displacement and war.” As Jewish diasporic cultures developed, they absorbed occult traditions from their regional neighbours, inspiring distinctly Jewish variations.
Now, as many of us are once again faced with an unpredictable world, the exhibition taps into a renewed appetite for self-help methods and some reassuring spiritual guidance to steer us through stormy times.
In the UK alone, a recent academic study noted a 550 per cent increase in Google searches in the UK for “psychic near me” over a seven-year period. Similarly, social media is currently awash with short reels from self-help gurus and coaches, focusing on all areas of life and promises to improve our finances, careers and relationships.
Historically, both Jewish men and women have featured prominently in these roles, both within their communities and the wider world. The flamboyant, black-haired Gustavus Cohen, a 19th-century Jewish immigrant to Manchester who is featured in the exhibition, billed himself as “The Modern Self Instructor”.
He rode the wave of “phrenology” a popular 19th-century pseudoscience that claimed an individual’s character and personality could be ascertained by indentations on the skull. This knowledge was shared as a way to help people recognise any villains they might encounter. Cohen was prolific in the UK, writing ornately illustrated books with titles such as True Manhood and Tempers and How to Control Them. Looking at his works, held at the Wellcome Collection, in London, he comes across as an early 19th-century version of the psychologist Jordan Peterson, guiding young men, as he does, on “moral instruction” and how to comport themselves for a successful life.
Gustavus Cohen and his The People's Handbook of Human Nature[Missing Credit]
Around this time many Yiddish-speaking Jews in eastern Europe held spiritual seances, consulted with psychic mediums, read their horoscopes in the Yiddish press and attended popular stage shows, featuring telepathy and hypnosis.
In an era before the existence of dog tags, or identity cards, it wasn’t unusual for rabbinical authorities to permit seances, so that the fate of the presumed dead, in pogroms or wars, could be confirmed from the other world and bring closure to mourners. In the US, at the turn of the last century, thousands of Jewish husbands abandoned their families, as they tried to shed the responsibilities of the old world, to find their individual fortune in America. As a result, for women particularly, the role of “wonder rabbis” in their lives, men who could traverse spiritual knowledge, in comforting ways, was significant. Seeking Jewish clairvoyants, such as the much sought-after “Professor” Hochman, also featured in the exhibition, represented a grassroots effort to help women in a way the organised Jewish community could not. Providing hope, through a hotline to God, was important for both community cohesion and women’s well-being.
The exhibition features a Rosh Hashanah postcard, Der Treyfer (The Psychic), which comes from the Yiddish verb to find/to guess. Fortune tellers were popular on greetings cards and operated much like my predictive friend in Eilat: part soothsayer, part therapist. Illustrative cards, envisioning an enriching new year, were the height of fashion, making today’s shofar and apple and honey themes look rather dull.
They were full of cheesy promises that could make Hallmark blush.
“You will take a groom, truly one of a kind,
In heaven it has been decided:
You’ll have clothing, money and jewellery so fine
And everything your heart desires.”
Another Rosh Hashanah postcard of the same era, has a female angel, adorned with flowers, appearing at the window, commanding the children to look up to the sky through a telescope and find their “lucky star”.
A Rosh Hashanah card depicting an angel[Missing Credit]
Similarly, Jewish palmistry “khomes hayad”, meaning the “wisdom of the hand”, rooted in the text of the Zohar, existed since medieval times. It was popularised by the scholar Eliyahu Mosheh Galino, who published a guide in Greece in 1515, blending knowledge from the Jewish, Persian and Arabic worlds. Passed down through kabbalistic treatises and popular manuals, many made a good living from interpreting palms to a vast clientele. Jewish women such as “Ms Laila” wafted around in flowing white robes and a ruby jewelled turban, appearing in Warsaw and other Polish cities, claiming to have learnt palmistry with professors.
Other practitioners, such as Rabbi Gutmacher, refused payment for his services and directed them to a fundraising box for the city of Petah Tikva, Israel. One wonders if today’s residents have any idea of its occult back story.
The palmistry manual suggests the soul’s nature imprints on to the physical body and the guide was used as a way to learn about a person’s character, rather than predict the future. Two unusual features signifying this are the “wisdom line”, which shows how well the person solves problems, and the “table line”, which represents emotions and how well you connect with others.
One of the most moving exhibits though, is a yellowed parchment from 18th-century Europe, the “amulet for the protection of the children”. Text is arranged in the shape of a Star of David, adorned with biblical verses and kabbalistic terms that people believed could safeguard a newborn child.
Pentacle amulet for the protection of a child[Missing Credit]
This faith in protective symbols and occult practices still thrives in some Jewish communities today. Advertisements for healers and fortune tellers regularly appear in Chasidic Yiddish newspapers in Brooklyn and in Hebrew publications in Israel. Prominent images of miracle-performing rabbis still hang in Jewish settings.
The image of hands being aligned with wisdom and protection remains a powerful and popular motif. Contemporary chamsa amulets can be seen all over Jewish neighbourhoods in Israel and often in homes in the diaspora. These hand symbols have five fingers, representing the five books of the Torah, or the five senses used to praise God. Chamsas are also called the “Hand of Miriam” (sister of Moses) and represent the hand of God helping his people.
In the wake of October 7 Israelis and Jews in the diaspora fuelled a massive spike in demand for the chamsa symbol, both to show solidarity with each other and for purported protection.
The cover page of Sefer Khomes Hayad (The Wisdom of the Hand) by Rov Eliyohu Galino, published in Frankfurt in 1776[Missing Credit]
Influenced by my Israeli friends, I wear the symbol as a charm on my ankle and have a ceramic one hanging in my home. And every day since the massacre I have worn a “chai” bracelet. Many young people circumvented Orthodox Jewish laws to get the same symbols as tattoos. On “X”, discussion spaces featuring rabbinical stories and spiritual guidance attract large audiences, with people eager for signs of a more secure future, or pre-ordained safety, listening, even if they might not have faith. And across the pond, impromptu groups that investigate and celebrate Yiddish folklore are springing up.
All of which has led me to the view that my unsolicited encounter all those years ago was instructive. Not for its firm predictions, exactly. More in the spirit of continuing a time-honoured Jewish conversation.
I am still listening, more attentively now.
Jews are Magic: Occult Practices from Palmistry to Professional Psychics is at the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research until December 31
