by Shmuel Tennenhaus
So much has been written about the Rubashkins, specifically the allegations made against their company. AgriProcessors has been filleted by writers, roasted by bloggers, and smoked by former employees. It's not my purpose here to defend the company against those allegations; I'll let the public-relations professionals and attorneys handle that. I merely wish to share my personal experiences with Rubashkin meat.

In 1994 I was living at home, in Hallandale, Florida (a city about 30 minutes north of Miami) when it was decided I would go to a yeshiva out of town, as there were no Chabad yeshivas in the area. I informed my parents I wanted to study in a yeshiva in France because that's where my classmates in Miami were headed.

Continued in the Extended Article.

Op-Ed: Cold Meat On Shabbos Afternoons

by Shmuel Tennenhaus

So much has been written about the Rubashkins, specifically the allegations made against their company. AgriProcessors has been filleted by writers, roasted by bloggers, and smoked by former employees. It’s not my purpose here to defend the company against those allegations; I’ll let the public-relations professionals and attorneys handle that. I merely wish to share my personal experiences with Rubashkin meat.

In 1994 I was living at home, in Hallandale, Florida (a city about 30 minutes north of Miami) when it was decided I would go to a yeshiva out of town, as there were no Chabad yeshivas in the area. I informed my parents I wanted to study in a yeshiva in France because that’s where my classmates in Miami were headed.

Continued in the Extended Article.

That summer, we made all the necessary preparations. Since classes at the French yeshiva were taught in Yiddish, my parents hired a tutor to teach me the basics of the language — basically, if someone is procrastinating, say “nuuuuu?” and if a miscreant pulls into a parking spot you had your eye on, mutter “aaaach!”

Finally, it was time to depart. Swimming in my bar mitzvah black hat and wearing dark trousers with white socks, I was a real 14-year-old fashion plate that day at Miami International Airport. Spanish blared over the intercom with sporadic English announcements. I recall the pride in my father’s eyes — his eldest son was going away to yeshiva.

My mother was also shepping nachas but would have preferred a school closer to home – somewhere, say, in Canada or New York.

At the airport gate, my dad congregated with the fathers of my friends. I recall their discussing how when they went to yeshiva they had two pairs of pants, maybe three. Now their children insisted on ten pairs minimum — some of them even cuffed!

The French yeshiva was known for its rigorous learning. It was also notorious for its less than tasty food, which, to add insult to injury, was served in such tiny portions. (There’s an oft-repeated story about a founding father of the yeshiva observing his students eating bread and butter and commenting, “I understand they want to eat bread and butter. But why does the butter have to be on the bread?”)

During my three-year stay, I often went to bed hungry. I survived on baguettes, which became as difficult to consume as they are to spell. Yes, I know Americans typically consider the baguette be a French delicacy. That’s because they eat one every six months. Try living on it for thirty-six consecutive months, excluding Passover, without much else.

Another thing: baguettes taste best when fresh. But as time passes – a week or so in the squalor of a yeshiva kitchen usually does the trick — the bread turns coarse, rough, and barely edible.

Things would have been much more bleak for my stomach had it not been for a small contingent of fellow students. Luckily, there were several Rubashkin boys among our ravenous group. Without fail, every Shabbos afternoon, during the day’s customary third meal, the Rubashkin clan would bring out vacuum-packed rolls of smoked turkey and salami.

Their spoils were graciously shared with all the other students. In addition, some savvy American students had managed to smuggle boxes of ketchup and mustard packets into the yeshiva, which enforced a strict ban against bringing in outside food. The condiments were considered contraband; we considered them essential to our Shabbos repast.

We would take those wonderful slices of meat and a ketchup packet and create a sandwich on the always available baguette. This was the highlight of my Shabbos. The prayers were nice. A lighter study schedule was enjoyable. But those cold cuts were heaven on earth. The manna in the desert had nothing on the smoked meat the Rubashkins dispersed to the throngs of starving yeshiva students. (In fact, the wandering Jews complained to God about the manna, saying they’d prefer meat.)

Incidentally, I also had the good fortune of rooming with a Schmerling from Switzerland. His family owned the large Zurich-based cheese and chocolate company. Shmerling had an insatiable appetite for crunchy peanut butter, which for some reason was not kosher back in the Swiss Alps. I, on the other hand, hailed from the United States, where kosher peanut butter was plentiful and abundant.

On more than one occasion Shmerling and I engaged in barter: two bars of dark chocolate for one plastic jar of peanut butter, which had managed to remain intact despite traveling overseas in my duffle bag.

Schmerling also had a weakness for cucumber and mayonnaise sandwiches. Naturally, he was adamant about using a particular brand of Swiss mayonnaise – one that, I kid you not, came in a tooth paste-type tube.

Today Schmerling is a respected Chabad shaliach somewhere in Florida. For me, though, he’ll always be that earnest young man meticulously applying mayonnaise from a toothpaste-type tube onto French bread.

Getting back to the Rubashkins, I realize the immense company they built from scratch is under intense criticism from certain quarters. But I confess to harboring a most favorable bias when it comes to that family – a bias based on some very generous young Rubashkins sharing some very delicious cold meat with some very hungry fellow yeshiva students on some very long Shabbos afternoons.

Shmuel (Shmuly) Tennenhaus is CEO of VanityKippah.com. He lives in Seattle, where he has developed an affinity for fish.

This Op-Ed reflects the views of its author. It does not necessarily reflect the views of CrownHeights.info nor of its Editors.

A reader that wishes to make his or her voice heard on any topic of their desire is welcome to submit his or her Op-Ed to News@CrownHeights.info.

23 Comments

  • ok cute

    Ok very cute and humorous and i admit very well written but like, what does this have anything to do with agriprocessors?
    I was expecting an article with personal experience about how nice agriprocessors was to them, blah blah and how we should always look at the other side of the story, (which is fine don’t get me wrong i have no issues with agri) but instead I get an article on people’s food preferences.

    hey listen I have no problem reading such an article either, it was light and funny and just an interesting read, but the first paragraph is a bit misleading, as to the content of the rest of the article.

  • an old acquaintance

    why didnt you write in the first line who the author was???
    when i saw that, i finally understood!

    Hey shmuly! cute piece!

  • an older acquaintance

    His name is right on top of the article.I saw it before I read it. In fact that’s why I read. Great article Shmuly, I can’t believe you like fish!

  • D. Chossid

    “Shmuel (Shmuly) Tennenhaus is CEO of VanityKippah.com.”

    I visited vanitykippah.com. What a disgrace.

    (Yes I know this comment will cause more people to visit that site, and maybe even buy his kippahs!)

  • Nice job

    Very impressive article! I love the way it’s written! Albeit weird, irrelevant content, but well written, nonetheless.

  • Ma Inyan Shmita.....

    With all due respect to the author and to CH.info– this is the most ridiculous piece of “literature” I have ever seen posted as an op-ed.

    Im not knocking the author’s literary ability, just that this is not a suitable forum for the display of his talents. And perhaps, his friends would not appreciate their “bochurishe” habits being anounced breish galei.

    This would be great at a chabad house farbrengen or a lchaim slice of life.

    Printing it as an op-ed re Rubashkin is imprecise, confusing and foolish

  • nafka mina

    nicely written.

    and to “ok cute” who feels he was misled – just because you’re on a hunt for something doesn’t mean the writer was misleading.

  • a concerned friend

    The Rubashkins are known for their great deeds. It’s nice to also hear about the smaller cheseds they do that also make such a big difference in people’s lives.Our prayers are with them and may Hashem bless them to be able to continue what they are really good at—-helping everyone.

  • Everybody smile

    To Mah Inyan:
    Why assume this clever and amusing author did NOT consult his friends before publishing this piece?

    Instead of being so judgmental, sit back, relax and enjoy a really entertaining piece of work without criticizing. Remember the ma’aseh about the guy that had a special place in gan eden because he used to make people laugh? Judging by this piece I am sure Rabbi Tennenhas makes lots of people laugh and after 120 will have a lichtige gan eden!

    And in case, while you were busy being negative you missed his point, I think it was that the Rubashkins have been known for generations to be extremely kind and generous, and this story is just one of hundreds of examples of their generosity that deserve to be heard by the public at a time when Rubashkin-bashing has become an unfortunate new hobby for some.
    A Ksiva V’chasima Tova to all.

  • I did time there too!

    Shmuly, thanx for bringing up those warm (cold meat) moments,shared by all of us who did our time in “al derech k’b-lubavitch”! the generosity of the rubashkin family.. and always with a smile

  • Another Shmuli

    To everyone who criticize:

    I think that Shmuli’s article was to remind everyone that in spite of all you hear in the news, which may or may not be true, the Rubashkin’s are one of the most caring and giving Jewish families that exists. Any bochur who has spent time with a Rubashkin in camp or in yeshiva can attest to this.

    Kudos to Shmuli for writing the letter.

  • DLD - Barrack #216 (2003)

    WOW, the same thing was the case with me in the same yeshivah, but in a different year (2003) and a different Rubashkin Bocher. But by us he shared more than only on the weekends…

  • out-of-town

    No one doubts that the Rubashkins are people who always share what they have with the community.
    Unfortunately, someone had an ax to grind with them and when an investigation is launched, usually something will be found. This is true of just about everyone. If a private person’s computer history is searched or the IRS chas v’sholem audits him, usually something amiss will turn up. Basically if you look for a problem, you find it.
    Hopefully Hashem will be on their side and they will pull Agriprocessors and themselves out of the situation and make the necessary improvements in the Iowa plant to satisfy the feds. PETA will never be satisfied until everyone gives up eating meat so even if they improve their animal handling and welfare practices but they will still be not make PETA happy. (but they should improve it anyway)

  • MVH

    Believe it or not, that Swiss mayonnaise in the tube really is great. It’s the only mayonnaise I’ve come across that’s better than Hellman’s/Best. Unfortunately you can’t get it in America. Nowadays you can get it in London, though, which wasn’t the case back when your friend had it.

  • Elul 5768

    Thanks for the article.
    We see a common thread running thru the Rubashkin crew; Ahavas Yisroel.
    May Hashem bless them all.
    I look forward to see R’ Aharon in 770 on Motzoei Shabbos Slichos, squeezed in with everyone, an example of a Chassidishe Yid.

  • RubashkinFanAbroad

    BS”D

    Why do I support Rubashkin?

    Very simple. It all goes back to a cold Chanukah night in Boro Park, when I saw Mrs Rubashkin, may she live and be well, washing heavy pots and throwing out garbage at the end of a busy day feeding the poor and hungry at the family restaurant. The space that it occupies is perfect for a super elegant cafe or boutique that would attract Boro Park’s wealthiest. Instead she serves a few paying customers, myself proudly included until I moved, and most of her clientele are the needy who eat free of charge.

    If I did not know who she was I would have thought she was one of the poor Russian immigrants whom she and her family have always been known for helping in every way possible, that is how simple and unpretentious she appeared.

    As I am a product of a very different time and place, I cannot really understand Mrs Rubashkin’s Old World speech pattern and aging voice over even the muted nighttime din of 13th Ave. So, when I wished her a freilichen Chanukah that night, I can only imagine what brochos she wished me based on the expression on her face.

    That simplicity, which I understand also typifies Reb Aron whom I have never had the privilege of meeting, may be part of the real or exaggerated problem at the plant, as it can be said that in many ways Reb Aron and Mrs Rubashkin never left Nevel, but that can be handled with professional management or consultation that may well help the family reach even greater heights.

    However, the chessed of the Rubashkin family can never be replaced. And it has nothing to do with the false, holier than thou, politically motivated so-called Tikkun Olam of the Forward, the animalistic reduction of human beings to animal status of the cat and dog extermination factory called PETA, or the hypocrisy of the corrupt, dues-sucking labor unions that keep honest laborers in their thrall and make it hard for any immigrant to succeed and really help people the way Reb Avraham Aron and Mrs Rivka sheyichyu Rubashkin do.