Dr. Rosenberg 6D, meet Dr. Rosenberg 6F Or “A Rosenberg by any other Name”

Rosenberg is not a rare last name, if you're Jewish and live in Israel. Yet, among the hundreds of flights I have taken to and from Israel, I had never sat next to another Rosenberg, unless a member of my immediate family. That is, until this past Thursday. I got on my Lufthansa flight (Tel Aviv-Munich) and looked back to my seat, 6F. Next to my seat, an ultraorthodox Jew reading a religious text with the same Dr. Rosenberg on his boarding pass. The steward was quite confused. It didn't look like an auspicious start to my flight. Hello, hello, and that's it, I think to myself, and best to ignore him the rest of my trip.

How wrong first impressions can be. The man turned out to be Rabbi Dr. Jur. Berysz (Dov) Rosenberg from Zurich. He is not only an ordained rabbi who writes books on halacha (interpretation of Jewish law) but also a doctor of law who handles international legal disputes on insurance issues. I'm not finished. This prodigious fellow has twelve children and more than thirty grand children, kein ein ahora. Also, an owner of a small sticker printing company (etty-ketty). One of the most impressive, colorful and interesting passengers I have ever shared rows and seats with.

I ask the scholar to answer a question that has been plaguing me for many years. Is an observant Jew allowed to smell the odor of bacon? What should he do if his neighbor is barbecuing what Israelis facetiously call 'white meat' (pork to everyone else)? Close the windows? Sell the house? What if the neighbors are Jewish?

The rabbi surprises me. It turns out that there is no law prohibiting a religious Jew from smelling even the traifest of the traif (unkosher, I am thinking here a double cheeseburger granished with shrimp). I ask him whether the enticing odor might lead a religious man into transgression (there are laws, for example, prohibiting the handling of money on Shabbat for similar reasons). "What", he answers, "do you really think a religious Jew is going to eat hazer (pig) just because he smells it?"

Our conversation then takes an interesting turn. There are many blessing that Jews are supposed to invoke during the day. There are blessings for waking up in the morning, for eating various kinds of food. Even smell blessings, as for example when you smell the spice box on Saturday evening, as the Shabbat (Sabbath) ends. Turns out that is also a smell blessing for the 'etrog' (a citrus used during Tabernacles). What about smelling other foods? After all, it is well known that the smell of freshly baked bread spreads happiness and an urgent desire to buy practically anything (after all, that is why supermarkets have bakeries). However, among the sages, there is a disagreement as to whether the smell of bread itself warrants a blessing in its own rite. Because of this dispute, very religious Jews are supposed to refrain from smelling baking bread, lest they risk the dilemma of wondering whether to bless what should not be blessed, or not to bless what should.

So, folks, in case you were wondering: A very observant Jew, encountering his neighbor's barbecue, is not required to take any affirmative action whatsoever, even if the neighbors are Jewish and barbecuing pork chops and they smell really good (the chops, that is). On the other hand, if the same neighbor bakes a loaf of bread, the observant neighbor must close the windows and go for a long walk. As they say, go nose.

My First Start-Up

Us kids at the house, 1963

My First Start-Up: Still going strong at fifty!

I have been back to my home in Ottawa only a few times over the past forty years. So when I met Nicole, a scientist from Ottawa at the recent American Society for Microbiology (ASM) meeting in Philadelphia, I implored her to take a few photos of my old home.

So here is the picture of the place we grew up in fifty years ago. The house is much the same as it was them, except that the lawn is fairer, the trees are much larger, and the window frames have been replaced. When I looked at the picture, my eyes clouded. 616 Chadburn. I wonder who lives there today.

I also asked Nicole to take a picture of the apartment building across the street. I wanted to see whether "Scully's mark" was still there after almost fifty years. As a child, I had a friend named Scully who was the first entrepreneur that I ever met. Scully always had new ideas, many about making money. Once he suggested that we go down to Industrial Avenue and cut some bulrushes, and then sell them as decoration from door to door. We went and slew a bunch of bulrushes, but alas, neighbours (I am using the Canadian spelling here) were hesitant to purchase them in their natural brown condition.

"No problem", said Scully. We'll paint them gold and black, that way we can charge more money and they'll be irresistible". We bought some paint and dipped our first bulrush into the black can. It came out black indeed, but the bulrush had sopped up quite a bit of paint and refused to dry, even after an hour on the pavement. "No problem", said Scully. "What we need is to whip the bulrush around our head, the paint will fly off from the centrifugal (centripetal?) force. He proceeded to take the moist, black bulrush and whip it around his head, much the same way that David prepared his slingshot for Goliath. And indeed, when Scully loosened his grip, the bulrush flew into the air.

Unlike David, however, his shot did not hit Goliath's forehead, but rather flew into the brick apartment building across the road, leaving a noticeable, ugly black mark. Scully's mark. For years, we hid the fact that our start-up was responsible for this scar on the neighboring building. But with time, it became one of my favorite tales.

So here, you see it still. Fifty years on. My first start-up left its indelible mark. Thanks for the memories, Nicole!! And yes, we did sell a few painted bulrushes.