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Austin Albanese is a writer and historian whose work explores stories of Jewish and interfaith history in America. His essays have appeared in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Cedar Rapids Gazette, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Jerusalem Post, and other outlets.
In December 1897, Bangor witnessed something new. A synagogue, Beth Israel, was dedicated on Center Street — the first synagogue in Maine. Thanks were offered not only to members of the congregation, but to the non-Jewish citizens of Bangor who had supported the effort. Many in attendance were Gentiles, drawn by curiosity, friendship or civic duty. The Bangor Semi-Weekly News remarked that while some customs, such as keeping hats on, “seemed rather odd at first,” the service soon felt familiar —“impressive and decorous.”
This spirit of shared celebration was not unique. Across decades and across Maine, synagogue dedications were civic moments, woven into the fabric of public life.
When the cornerstone for Beth Israel was laid in August 1897, Joseph F. Snow, a former mayor, spoke. Frederic H. Parkhurst, who would later become governor, also offered remarks. Their presence signaled that the new synagogue was more than a house of worship. Its public presence declared that Judaism and Jews belonged within the moral and civic landscape of the state.
That pattern continued in Portland. In 1904, Mayor James P. Baxter laid the cornerstone of what would become the city’s first synagogue. “It is my duty, and it is eminently proper,” he declared, “that, as mayor of this city … I should welcome the erection of a building to be devoted to the bettering of the condition of a considerable body of our citizens.” He praised Jewish contributions to history and called it “a privilege” to preside at the ceremony.
When the synagogue was formally dedicated in 1905, nearly a thousand people filled the sanctuary, including city officials, business leaders, and invited military leaders. The key was handed to Samuel Rosenberg, who opened the doors with the words: “May its doors ever remain open to all who would worship God.”
In Lewiston, that pattern continued. In 1926, the Beth Jacob synagogue opened at Shawmut and Sabattus streets, with representatives of various denominations in attendance. Another chapter in Maine’s Jewish life opened with interfaith support.
In Lewiston-Auburn, the story was also one of resilience. Fires destroyed synagogues in 1911, 1918, and again in 1933, when 249 buildings burned and more than 2,500 people were left homeless. Yet each time, the Jewish community rebuilt with help from neighbors.
In 1918, the Lewiston City Hall offered space for free to the Jewish community for a benefit ball. Later in 1933, non-Jews gave cash donations — sometimes as much as $100, a significant sum in the Depression. Gov. Louis Brann called the 1934 dedication of Auburn’s Beth Abraham “one of the happiest of his administration.”
Taken together, these moments form a little-remembered chapter of Maine’s civic history. They remind us that local synagogue dedications were not just religious milestones but public affirmations of belonging. City leaders, governors, clergy, and everyday neighbors turned out not only in times of tragedy, but in joy.
That matters now. At a time of national tensions, heightened divisions and growing xenophobia, we need to tell the stories of communities like Bangor, Portland and Lewiston that for generations have witnessed examples of belonging, of immigrants from a small faith tradition being celebrated and supported. Remembering that history alone does not ease present challenges. It does not erase past imperfections. But it does expand our sense of what is possible.
We don’t have to wait for a crisis to show up for one another. Maine’s first synagogue dedications show that communities can gather in solidarity and celebration, across lines of difference, when they choose to.
Those who filled the pews in 1897, 1905, 1926, and 1934 invite us to remember, and to show up for one another today.
