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Mr. Shatnez: Reb Yosef Rosenberger: The Amazing Story of One Man Who Didn't Give Up
by M. Samsonowitz
This was first published in 1996, exactly 30 years ago.
Part I
For Part II of this series click here.
If one encountered a weeping woman on the streets of Williamsburg in the week of 7 Cheshvan, 1996 (5756) it should not have been a surprise. If we had asked for her name, she might have told us the unusual appellation "Kilayim." Like the Talmudic parallel who was mourned by an apparition of Tractate Chagigah to which he had devoted his life, Mr. Yosef Rosenberger is no doubt being mourned by the mitzvah of kilayim, in return for the 50 years of his life devoted to the practical fulfillment and dissemination of the laws of shatnez.
R' Yosef Rosenberger, an survivor of Dachau and a penniless refugee who escaped to American shores in 1939, was the reviver and disseminator of this forsaken mitzvah. He did it, moreover, in the scornful, discouraging atmosphere towards any spiritual endeavor that existed in Jewish America in those days more than 50 years ago.
Mr. Yosef Rosenberger was born to a middle class Oberlander Orthodox family on the outskirts of Vienna, Austria. He attended local yeshivos, and when the time came, he joined the family business of mens' clothing. His interest in shatnez was at most cursory during these early years, and for a good reason: in those days, shatnez was very much a local issue.
For centuries, whoever needed a suit had it made by a tailor. A Jewish yirei Shomayim tailor made every effort to ascertain that the material he used not contain shatnez, and scrupulous Jews would only order their clothes from such tailors. That is why in Europe, at the time, there was very little awareness of the mounting problems of shatnez.
With the technological advances of those days that brought mass production of textiles and clothing into existence and the problems that could bring, awareness of possible shatnez infractions began to grow. Chassidim in particular undertook to wear silk robes to avoid any question of shatnez. Still, the vast majority of religious Jewry felt that shatnez was a non-concern that could be left to the tailors and the clothing stores.
The Jewish clothing stores, for their part, felt shatnez was the private concern of their customers. On a few occasions, conscientious Jewish customers visiting his shop in Vienna had asked Rosenberger whether the garments on sale in his family shop contained shatnez. He would inquire from the suppliers of the materials about their makeup, the way Jewish tailors had been doing. That was shatnez testing, circa 1935.
Never did Rosenberger imagine that shatnez would one day be his life's mission. Sad days fell upon Austrian Jewry in March, 1938, when the Nazis marched into their land. Persecution and oppression became the daily lot of the Jewish population. Stores were appropriated from their Jewish owners and given to faithful Austrian Aryans. This sad fate occurred also to Yosef Rosenberger, when Nazis stormed his store, locked it up and shipped him and his father to Dachau.
A year in the concentration camp brought out the best in him. Not only wouldn't he allow himself to break, but he did his utmost to keep up his spirits. He was frequently a chizuk for many of his fellow internees.
On one bitterly freezing day, the Nazis refused to issue him a coat. Because of the extreme cold, he realized that laying down in his barracks would be a death sentence. He spent the night running and jumping up and down.
Once his group was being watched by a barbaric group of Nazis. They barked that whoever wouldn't finish their job would be shot dead without a thought. To his right was an elderly friend who was staggering uphill under a heavy burden, whose end was obviously drawing near. Rosenberger couldn't allow himself to leave the man to his fate. He gingerly asked the Nazi near him if he could help the man, although this mere gesture could have put his life in mortal danger. Incredibly, the Nazi nodded, and Rosenberger bounded forward to help the unfortunate man. That day he saved a Jewish life by risking his own.
Forged in those desperate circumstances, Rosenberger acquired an attitude that "one can always find a way." There is always a kuntz to find an answer and always solutions that can be found.
While the Nazis descended upon Poland and started their blitzkrieg of Europe, Rosenberger's relatives had been working. He received an affidavit from the States, and in 1939, he left behind the Holocaust for the "carefree" U.S. He joined the refugee house run by Agudas Israel on Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg where he was encouraged to attend college, learn a parnossa, and build a new life for himself.
The Shatnez Lab in Williamsburg
Hefker America
An innocent request shortly after arriving in the States began the metamorphosis that established his life's direction.
An acquaintance of his had bought a suit. Knowing that Rosenberger had managed a clothing store in Vienna, he asked him how it was possible to know if the suit did not contain shatnez.
Expecting to make an easy identification, Rosenberger pulled out a few threads. After all, all suits in Europe had been sewn from either wool, mohair or silk, and threads were either of cotton, linen or silk. However, after looking over the threads, he was stumped. Although he was acquainted with common European materials, the American counterparts did not resemble them.
Rosenberger decided to try the strategy he had used in Europe. He went to the store where his friend's suit had been bought, with a piece of its collar and asked the owners about its fiber contents. The store owners just shrugged.
Then Rosenberger called on the suppliers to see if they could help. He was nonplussed when the suppliers hemmed and hawed. "We're only trained to differentiate between different categories of backing, for instance, light and heavyweight stiffeners. But who knows what this stuff is made of?" they replied. When
he showed the collar stiffener to three different suppliers, he received three different answers "It's cotton." "Hemp" "Linen."
Rosenberger realized with a jolt that a new situation had evolved because of mass production techniques and industrial advances. There were so many intermediaries along the way in garment production, that one could no longer rely on anyone's word. In addition, he realized that the textile industry was evolving and new technological breakthroughs were likely to complicate matters further.
As a sign of the times, the U.S. government had passed the first law that required that the ingredients of a garment be identified on a tag but only the external materials had to be listed. Internal materials — such as collar backings, and interfacing which often contain shatnez — did not.
Also there had to be a scientific way to clarify a fiber's content, one that didn't rely on human subjectivity. The simple situation that had existed concerning avoiding shatnez in clothing for centuries had evolved into a complex, technological issue that needed an immediate solution.
Could the same technology that had been used to solve problems of keeping food cold and providing light at night also be harnessed to help observe shatnez? Today we take this for granted, but in those days it was a shockingly new idea.
Intrigued, Rosenberger began to study the issue. He read in rabbinical responsa of the difficulty that rabbonim had in recognizing different fibers and their observation that even textile producers weren't always able to differentiate between them.
When Rosenberger realized that there was virtually no way to guarantee that the garment a Jew is wearing does not involve a transgression of shatnez, he decided: He would find the answer, come what may!
Rosenberger shared his vision with several American acquaintances. They laughed. In new age, "high-technology" 1940, keeping mitzvos was generously tolerated at best, and openly scorned at worst. "This guy thinks he can bring Europe with him!" one friend said sarcastically.
While other refugees were studying English language texts and attending college classes, Rosenberg decided to pursue a self-styled program. Doing menial labor during the day to support himself, Rosenberg enrolled in a textile vocational school during the afternoon, and scavenged libraries at night to do research. In the process, he taught himself English and typing.
Williamsburg houses
He hoped that he would learn of methods to differentiate between the different fibers in vocational school. But besides learning of a primitive method to distinguish between cotton and linen, he learned nothing that would help him in his cause. Several books suggested a few methods—like staining fibers, using solvents to dissolve fibers, or burning fibers—but they warned that their methods were still experimental and not fully accurate.
Rosenberger realized that it was up to him. Using the most advanced information available in the library together with the most modern samples and developments in the textile world that he had learned at school, he began to experiment.
Within a year he had devised the first test that established the physical and chemical properties of a fiber. The test involved first unraveling a thread and applying certain fluids. Then, the various fibers of the thread were checked with a tweezers under a magnified light source.
When it became evident that Rosenberger was serious about shatnez testing, Agudas Yisroel (particularly Mike Tress) offered to help out. They gave him a room in the Aguda headquarters and supported him by creating a Vaad Rabbonim that included Mike Tress and Rabbi Herbert Goldstein to officially endorse and support him. His Shatnez Laboratory officially opened in 1941.
The reactions were swift and uniformly hostile. "Oh, here comes another unemployed European Jew!" one man groaned.
Another blistered, "He's just waiting to swindle us with some get rich scheme!"
Rosenberger was not a man to be brushed aside. Brimming with warmth and cheer, he bravely visited shuls at mincha time and asked to be allowed to speak. In front of strangers he announced the existence of the Shatnez Laboratory. He already knew what to expect: In the best of cases, he was informed by the mavens in the crowd that all the suits sold in America are 100% wool. In the worst of cases, he suffered the indignities of hoots and catcalls.
Fully expecting to be shouted down, the undaunted Rosenberger had prepared a gambit. In his strong Yiddish lisp, he challenged the worshipers, "Who would like to give me his suit and let me check it for shatnez? If I don't find shatnez in your suit, I'll give you a $100!"
In those days, $100 was like $5000 today. The surprised audience would grow silent, and one daring soul would slip off his jacket and offer it to Rosenberger. In front of their staring eyes, Rosenberger took out his paraphernalia, opened up the jacket collar to expose the interfacing, and proceeded to do a simple test. The crowd watched agog while he pulled out a fiber with his tweezers and gravely announced, "A linen thread"!
His obvious expertise and sincerity gradually convinced the yereim and shleimim. Word spread, and slowly the Williamsburg Jews began to visit his laboratory. As more and more people discovered that their suits really contained shatnez, and that there was a way to be spared this serious Torah violation, Rosenberger's name and fame spread.
When Rav Zalman Quinn, a rosh yeshiva in Torah Vodaas, came to America, he had a tailor make his reckel. The tailor assured him it did not contain shatnez, but Rav Zalman remained unconvinced. He showed his reckel to other tailors, and they too concurred that the reckel contained no shatnez.
Then Reb Zalman heard that there was a Viennese Jew in Williamsburg who claimed to have a method to discover shatnez in a garment. He visited Rosenberger's laboratories and watched in mounting surprise as Rosenberger checked the material, interfacing and backings. Then, as Rosenberger lifted a thread out of a backing, he looked warmly at the rav and said, "Linen!" The suit indeed had shatnez.
"Boruch Hashem, Reb Yosef," exclaimed Rav Quinn with emotion, "that we have you here in America!"
Torah Vodaas building in Williamsburg
Mitzvah Innovation
Agudas Yisroel helped publicize awareness of the availability of shatnez testing through advertisements, but Rosenberger wasn't content with this. His inclination for innovation led him to new and previously unheard-of techniques to further propagate the mitzvah.
In 1945, Rosenberger innovated the idea of stores offering shatnez testing. He reasoned that many people who buy suits usually have alterations done at the store. Why not make shatnez testing an option, together with alterations? This would make shatnez testing an almost painless procedure, requiring a minimum of footwork and time. In addition, if it would be necessary to replace the collar facing and pockets, the store could do it on the spot with the other alterations, for much less than a private tailor.
Always thinking big, Rosenberger went right to the top. The most popular men's' clothing store at the time was Crawford's, a non-Jewish establishment with branches all over New York. (He doubtlessly knew he would get a better reception there then from a Jewish owner.) Crawford's agreed, through the intervention of Rabbi Herbert Goldstein, on condition that Rosenberger cover the expense of advertising the service in the press.
Rosenberger boldly took out a full page ad in the Forwards, the leading Yiddish daily. It cost an exorbitant $75, for which he took out a special loan. He figured that with a charge of 25 cents for each garment he checked, he would pay off the loan after checking the first 300 garments. He was sure that the stampede of customers that was sure to ensue after seeing his advertisement would help him pay off the loan in a few weeks or at most a few months.
The jolting reality was that not even one person responded to that ad. Shaken and bitterly disappointed, Rosenberger almost considered closing up shop. Suddenly he started getting phone calls — not from Jews seeking shatnez testing — but from Crawford's competitors! They were panicking! "If Crawford is offering shatnez testing, we'll lose all our customers!" they pleaded with Rosenberger in alarm. "We want to offer your service too!"
Rosenberger had to be generous with them. "I'll offer the service in your stores," he said obligingly, "but you'll have to pay for the advertising." Ads proliferated in Jewish publications with each clothing store boasting a shatnez testing service through Mr. Rosenberger's laboratory.
The apathetic public began to awake from their lethargy. (Until his last days, Mr. Rosenberger would always chuckle with a twinkle in his eye when he recounted this flabbergasting story.) "If so many stores are offering shatnez testing, maybe I should take advantage of it," began to buzz in people's minds.
"What is shatnez?" others began to ask. "Maybe it is important after all."
End of Part I
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