Københavns Synagoge (Great Synagogue of Copenhagen)

A discreet facade with a weighty story

Københavns Synagoge stands slightly set back from the line of houses on Krystalgade, a subtle architectural compromise imposed when it was built in the early 1800s. At the time, Jewish communities were only gradually gaining equal rights, and the synagogue was not allowed to dominate the street. The architect Gustav Friedrich Hetsch responded with a calm neoclassical facade in warm yellow brick, articulated by a rhythm of pilasters and a central portal that feels more like a respectable town house than a monumental temple. Look more closely and the symbolism reveals itself. The twelve freestanding columns along the front reference the twelve tribes of Israel, a quiet statement of identity in a city that was still learning to accept Jewish public worship. Behind this modest frontage lies the principal synagogue for Denmark’s Jewish community, the culmination of a long journey from makeshift prayer rooms in private homes to a fully recognized house of worship.

A basilica plan filled with Egyptian details

Inside, the building opens into a tall basilica where a near‑square main hall is flanked by two narrower aisles, all picked out in soft colours and gilded detailing. Octagonal columns separate the central nave from the side aisles, leading the eye toward the eastern wall where the ark dominates the space. Hetsch chose a striking Egyptian Revival vocabulary here: lotus‑like capitals, a massive cornice above the ark and geometric ceiling coffers that hint at ancient temples rather than northern churches. Originally, the congregation had wished for a barrel vault overhead, but the architect advised a coffered flat ceiling instead, improving acoustics for chanted prayers and giving the interior its distinctive patterned canopy. Light filters down from high windows, catching golden Hebrew letters that spell out the admonition “Know before whom you stand,” an architectural reminder that every visitor is stepping into a sacred encounter.

Heart of an evolving Jewish community

The synagogue crowns a complex history of Jewish life in Copenhagen. Earlier synagogues had occupied rented rooms and a purpose‑built structure in Læderstræde, which was destroyed by fire in 1795. For decades, internal disagreements and legal obstacles delayed the construction of a new communal building. Only after Jews were granted equal civic rights in 1814 did the project gain lasting momentum, with the Krystalgade site chosen and the present structure finally completed in 1833. From the outset, the Great Synagogue served not just as a prayer hall but as a communal anchor, surrounded by charitable institutions, schools and later an old‑age home. Over time, additional Orthodox and Sephardic congregations appeared elsewhere in the city, yet Krystalgade remained the central gathering place for major festivals and life‑cycle events, its benches filling with generations of Copenhagen families.

Memories of danger and acts of protection

The building also holds traces of more turbulent times. During the Second World War, when Denmark’s Jewish population faced persecution, local authorities and neighbours helped safeguard religious artefacts. Torah scrolls from the synagogue were transferred for safekeeping to a nearby church, a quiet act of solidarity that has become part of the building’s shared memory. Decades later, the synagogue was damaged by a terrorist bomb in the 1980s, bringing security concerns painfully into focus and prompting tighter protection around the site. These events lend a solemn undercurrent to the otherwise tranquil interior. Architectural details like the sturdy iron gate and controlled entry procedures are practical responses to history, yet they also highlight how deeply this building matters to a relatively small community. It is both a sanctuary for worship and a symbol of resilience in the face of intolerance.

Visiting a living house of prayer

For visitors, what stands out is the combination of heritage and ongoing religious life. The main floor forms the men’s section, while galleries along the side aisles and a western balcony provide seating for women, continuing an Orthodox layout within a very Danish architectural envelope. The bimah, a raised platform in front of the ark, is where the Torah is read and the cantor leads prayers; at quieter times, its carved railings and polished wood invite close inspection. Guided visits are typically offered on selected weekdays and during specific months, often coordinated through the local Jewish community. When services are not in progress, you may hear only the faint creak of floorboards or a guide’s voice describing festivals and customs, yet the room feels ready at any moment to fill with song. Respectful dress, security screening at the entrance and sensitivity to ongoing worship are all part of experiencing this as a functioning synagogue rather than a static monument.

Architecture, identity and the streets of Indre By

Step back out into Krystalgade and the building’s urban role becomes clear. Nestled among university facilities, churches and libraries, the synagogue forms one layer in a dense fabric of learning and belief. Its yellow bricks and Egyptian‑tinged ornament are distinct, yet they harmonize with the surrounding streetscape instead of overpowering it. That balance between visibility and discretion mirrors the story of Jews in Denmark: present for centuries, sometimes vulnerable, but woven into the city’s life. Recent renovations have refreshed the interior while preserving Hetsch’s design, ensuring the space continues to host prayers, celebrations and educational visits. For travellers exploring Copenhagen’s historic centre, stepping through its gate offers a rare chance to see how 19th‑century architecture, religious tradition and modern history come together in one quietly remarkable building.