Scuola Spagnola (Spanish Synagogue), Venice

The Spanish Synagogue is one of just two synagogues in the Venetian Ghetto that still hold daily services today, opening its doors from Passover through the end of the High Holiday season. Its story begins in exile. Founded by Jews expelled from the Iberian Peninsula in the 1490s, the congregation reached Venice in the mid-16th century, often by way of Amsterdam, Livorno, or Ferrara. What they built here was not a modest consolation. Among Venice’s synagogues, this one is the largest, the most ornate, and—without much debate—the most famous.

From the outside, the building plays it cool. The four-storey yellow stone structure, completed in 1580, looks like any other residential building in the ghetto. That was the rule: no synagogue was allowed to announce itself on the street. But step inside, and the disguise ends immediately. The interior was redesigned in 1635 by Baldassare Longhena, one of Venice’s leading Baroque architects, and he clearly had no intention of holding back. Three massive chandeliers, a constellation of smaller ones, and a richly sculpted wooden ceiling turn the prayer hall into a theatrical display of light, craftsmanship, and confidence.

This contrast—plain exterior, lavish interior—is the synagogue’s defining feature. It reflects both the restrictions imposed on Jewish life and the determination of the community to invest beauty, learning, and dignity where it truly mattered. What could not be shown publicly was expressed in wood, light, and space above the canal.

To the left of the main hall is a small Midrash (which is the Jewish Biblical exegesis), still preserving its original character. Along the back wall, a memorial tablet lists the names of Jews deported from Venice in 1943 and 1944, a quiet but powerful reminder of much darker chapters. Other plaques on the side walls commemorate prominent Venetian Jewish families—such as Treves, Maurogonato, Gentilomo, Belilios, Coen, and Caravaglio—whose names are woven deeply into the city’s history. And on the staircase, almost easy to miss, sits an ancient alms box, a final reminder that this space was never just about grandeur, but about community, memory, and continuity in Venice...