The Hare with Amber Eyes: A Hidden Inheritance

In the quiet apartment of a great-uncle in Tokyo, a collection of 264 tiny Japanese netsuke lay housed within a vitrine, each miniature carving a whisper of a forgotten world. Among them, a small hare with eyes of amber seemed to hold a particular gaze, beckoning one to listen to its silent history. These exquisite objects, no larger than a matchbox, became the starting point of a journey, a meticulous unraveling of a family's century of opulence, intellect, and profound loss.

The story begins in the glittering salons of late 19th-century Paris, where Charles Ephrussi, a scion of an immensely wealthy Jewish banking dynasty, cultivated a passion for art. He was a man of discerning taste, a collector, and a patron, whose circle included Impressionist painters like Renoir and Degas. It was in this vibrant, intellectually charged atmosphere that Charles acquired the netsuke, drawn to their intricate beauty and the burgeoning craze for Japonisme. These small carvings, depicting everything from drunken monks to snarling tigers, were not merely decorative; they were a tangible connection to a world both exotic and deeply personal.

From Paris, the collection traveled as a wedding gift to Vienna, to Charles's cousin Viktor von Ephrussi and his beautiful, artistic wife, Emmy. Their magnificent Palais on the Ringstrasse became a hub of culture and intellectual life, a testament to the family's assimilated grandeur. The netsuke found a new home in Emmy's dressing room, where her children, including the young Iggie and his sister Elisabeth, would play with them, each allowed to choose a single carving to hold while their mother prepared for society balls. The smooth ivory and wood, warmed by countless touches, absorbed the laughter and quiet moments of this privileged life.

Yet, beneath the surface of Viennese high society, a chilling undercurrent of antisemitism began to stir. The Ephrussis, for all their wealth and cultural contributions, could not escape the rising tide of prejudice. The illusion of safety shattered with the Anschluss in 1938, as Nazi forces swept into Austria. Their grand palace was seized, its priceless art and possessions looted, and the family scattered, their world brutally dismantled.

In this moment of terror and systematic erasure, a quiet act of courage preserved the netsuke. Anna, the family's loyal maid, risked her life, secretly removing the tiny carvings from their vitrine, piece by piece, and hiding them in her straw mattress. As the Nazis ransacked the Palais, she kept them safe, a silent testament to enduring loyalty amidst unimaginable cruelty. After the war, when Elisabeth returned to the ravaged city, Anna presented her with all 264 netsuke, a small, precious inheritance salvaged from the ruins.

The netsuke then continued their journey, carried by Elisabeth to England, and later by her brother Iggie to his apartment in Tokyo, where they rested in a vitrine overlooking the city. It was there, decades later, that a great-nephew, a ceramicist himself, would encounter them during his studies. Fascinated by their tactility and the scant family lore surrounding them, he embarked on a quest to uncover their full story, piecing together fragments from archives, letters, and whispered memories.

This quest led him across continents and through generations, from the Odessa origins of the Ephrussi banking empire to the artistic ferment of Paris, the devastating fall of Vienna, and the quiet refuge of Tokyo. Each city, each life, added another layer to the netsuke's narrative, revealing how these small objects bore witness to both the dazzling heights of European Jewish culture and its profound destruction. They became vessels of memory, embodying the resilience of a family scattered by persecution, yet bound by a shared, unbreakable thread.

Through the tactile beauty of the netsuke, the story unfolds as a meditation on identity, belonging, and the enduring power of objects to carry history, touch, and the very essence of human experience across time. They are more than carvings; they are survivors, silent chroniclers of a tumultuous century, whispering tales of love, loss, and the persistent pulse of life.