Ellen Brazer has authored a captivating book about two brothers.

And as a firstborn brother, I enjoyed reading and relating to Brazer’s book “I Am Meir’s Brother—Biography of A Family Separated by Destiny.

Yes, I’m a firstborn, a firstling, a phirst and a bechor. 

And yes, I have often wondered, “If  my sister and I had reversed our birth order, what would have been my destiny?”

My gut tells me, “You would have had a lot more fun but at the cost of major instability.”

And yes, the “what ifs” run crazily around my brain.

G-d do I love playing the “what if” game.

And yes, Brazer’s book indirectly examined this universal mystery.

The book presented two loving brothers, Eli and Meir, whose interests and life paths could not have been more different. But both brothers possess or possessed inquisitive and brilliant minds.

These brothers were not sibling rivals. They were not like the jealous brothers who sold Joseph into slavery (Genesis 37:25).

They were loving brothers.

They cared about each other.

They protected one another.

How refreshing that Brazer presented us with an outstanding biography of one of those brothers, Eli Huberman and Eli taught how Meir fit into his life. (1945-2016)

Yes, we’re talking about the legendary Meir Dagan—the Israeli Defense Forces general and Mossad’s Director-General.

And yes, to my surprise, Meir was a vegetarian and an amateur painter.

So now you want to talk about bravery.

Well, Meir epitomized bravery when he saved his comrades lives tackling a wanted terrorist who was holding a live grenade.

Israel’s president, Reuven Rivlin said of  Dagan, “Meir was one of the greatest of the brave, creative and devout warriors that the Jewish people ever had.”

Now, that’s one hell of a compliment.

I already had known about some of Meir’s exploits having watched the Netflix, TV mini-series, Inside the Mossad (2017) where this Jewish warrior was interviewed. Even in his later years, Dagan possessed a coyness, a sense of humor and a sharp mind.

I imagined being Meir’s brother, trying to compete with his accomplishments?

I thought, “Almost impossible. No impossible, unless you’re Eli and you develop a cure for cancer—which may just happen.”

So you see, Eli Huberman is still competing with his beloved late brother.

Eli’s a world-renowned cancer research scientist, a developer of anti-viral drugs, an academic and a business entrepreneur (CEO of Novadrug LLC).

Eli is also a firstling, who took what many would consider, the safer path to success—Frost’s more traveled road—into the world of medical research, universities and laboratories and that made all the difference.

While the family’s second born, Meir, travelled down the extremely dangerous road of being an Israeli soldier, who fought in numerous wars and directed and monitored the activities of spies in the world-renown spy agency known as Mossad.

You guessed it, by today’s sibling-rivalries-measuring stick, Meir’s Wiki page is a lot longer than Eli’s. (Note to readers with brothers or sisters: “size does matter,” so now is the time to do your word-counts on your Wikipedia pages. G-d forbid you open your playbill in Heaven and see your name listed under supporting cast.)

But as I have previously told you, Eli doesn’t seem to care about fame, he does not need to do a word-count because he is self-actualized.

I, on the other hand, as a bechor, have often thought, “My parents must have been timid, careful and scared when they raised me; were much less protective in how reared my younger sister.

I wondered, “Did they ever regret it?”

“I doubt it.”

They never enrolled in Psychology 101.

What did the name Alfred Adler mean to them?

“Nada”

For Adler argued:

That birth order can leave an indelible impression on an individual’s style of life, which is one’s habitual way of dealing with the tasks of friendship, love, and work. According to Adler, firstborns are “dethroned” when a second child comes along, and this may have a lasting influence on them. Younger children may be pampered and spoiled, which can also affect their later personalities. When examining answers from organized studies, personality and attitude traits are repeated when comparing different children born into the same birth order. ⁽Wikipedia)

And as a firstborn child, I agreed with Adler.

I got away with almost nothing, while my young sister got away with murder.

Who says life is fair?

Did my parents’ behavior lead us down different paths—to different destinies?

Well, Brazer’s story confirmed the younger risk-taker-verses-the-older-risk-adverse-child theory.

Further, Brazer has authored a family saga into “Huberman World.”

A world filled with epic moments: the Nazi invasion into Poland, Soviet labor camps, the family’s life in the early days of the State of Israel and the wars of 1956, 1967, 1973 and 1982.

Eli’s story added the complexities of the ups and downs in the life of a scientist and its effects on a loving family.

Brazer demonstrated her writing skills, in her ability to simplify complicated cancer studies, to the point where even I, seemed to understand them.

As I have often said, “Good books leave you asking questions.”

And Ellen Blazer’s book left me asking a bunch:

Were these Jewish brothers separated by destiny or was it due to something as trivial as their birth order?

Why is the small nation of Israel, so blessed and fortunate or lucky to possess such great men like Meir and Eli?

What is my destiny?

Can families really be separated by destiny?

Is sibling rivalry all it’s cracked up to be?

For all of the above, I recommend you read, I Am Meir’s Brother—Biography of A Family Separated by Destiny” by Ellen Brazer.ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“So my little pisher, do you want to hear another spiel about seltzer or do you want to learn how to make a great sandwich?”

“Mort, how about both?”

“Okay, ya got both.”

After removing the silver cap from the bottle, I stood in front of my white LG refrigerator, pressing down on front door’s water valve and listening to the pishing sound as cold, clear, filtered water filled my SodaStream bottle. (A sound, you guessed it, that makes old men think about taking a leak.)

In an easy cadence, I counted to 80, knowing that at around 80 seconds the water reached the level of the thin black line imprinted on the clear plastic bottle.

Carrying the bottle to my SodaStream machine, I pushed back on the lever, inserted the bottle and tightly twisted.

Then I pressed twice the center black button found on the top of the machine. This button with the pictures of air bubbles printed on it. I heard and watched the fizzing of compressed CO2 gas being shot into the cold water.

Within seconds, I had created seltzer.

Unscrewing the bottle, a whoosh of excess carbon dioxide escaped into the air. (I wondered any long-term repercussions to the environment.)

I lifted the bottle to my lips, took a long swig of the soda water and felt the effervescence run down my throat.

Life was good.

Closing my eyes, I flashed back to the summer of my sixteenth year; to my early addiction to club soda.

A year when my summer nights were filled with trying to pick up girls, watching the Tonight Show, eating Dagwood sandwiches and washing them down with egg creams.

You remember Dagwood Bumstead from the Blondie comic strip?

You remember his shapely wife, the eponymous Blondie?

You remember the size of the sandwiches he whipped up and the size of his wife’s breasts, waist and derriere?

Well, I confess. I was a Dagwood copycat.

And in the summer of  ’66, I followed his sandwich-making ritual; thanked G-d, for my overactive metabolic rate.

But boychick, before I start with the list, I want you to pay particular attention to this recipe. It’s not a bissel-of-this-and-a-bissel-of-that recipe. It’s a flavors-by-proportion recipe. It’s a culinary work of art—framed in two dark slices of rye.”

So if I had not found female companionship—my Blondie—by 11:00 pm, which was most nights, I sublimated of my sex drive with food. (Who knew?) and I retreated to my kitchen, opened my GE refrigerator and pulled out the following

Levy’s real Jewish rye pumpernickel, I’d pull the two largest slices from the middle of the loaf. I touched the slices for freshness;

Hellman’s mayonnaise (which I schmeared on thick);

Ba-Tampte mustard , yup, “Ba-Tampte means tasty.” Look for the lit menorah on the label of this kosher delicatessen-style mustard;

Two slices of imported Swiss cheese;

Three thick slices of Genoa salami;

Two slices of turkey or roast beef or both;

Eight thin slices of Vlasic kosher dill pickles (With all these kosher products in my sandwich, who says I ain’t a  good Jew?);

Two slices of Boar’s Head ham (Okay, in the eyes of the religious and maybe in the eyes of the Lord, I’m not.);

A shtickle or two of onion and tomato;

And as a crowning touch, you top off the Dagwood with an olive skewered on a long toothpick;

Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup (“A Brooklyn original—Same great taste since 1900”);

Whole milk;

A blue glass bottle of seltzer.

Within six minutes, my Dagwood sandwich and my egg cream came to life.

But before resting, I turned on the TV, twisted the dial till I found Carson. Waited for Johnny’s sidekick Ed McMahon to exclaim, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!!!”

Then I listened to maestro, Skitch Henderson and the NBC orchestra play Carson’s intro music in the background.

“Ya know boubileh, in the early Seventies, I actually met Johnny Carson.

“No way.”

“It’s true.  After his show, in his dressing room at the Concord. He was on the top of his game. But a real kind gentleman.”

I handed him a ballpoint pen and a snippet of cardboard. Then I asked, “Mr. Carson, can I please get your autograph?”

“Of course,” he gently replied.

Johnny signed his name on a small piece of brown cardboard that I had torn from something in that dressing room.

“Ya know, today, more than 55 years later, I still possess that small fragment of paper—as a treasure of my youth.”

Now back to my youthful adventures in my kitchen.

With my legs propped up on the Formica counter next to the TV, I started to try to wrap my mouth around the Dagwood.

I inhaled the flavors.

My taste buds ran as wild as the horses at the Olympic Riding Academy.

With my mouth full, I laughed at Johnny’s jokes and as the monologue ended I remembered watching Johnny take his phantom golf swing.

And within 10 minutes, using both hands to hold my mega sandwich, I devoured it.

I loved how every layer added its own texture and taste.

I gulped the last sip of my egg cream. All the while realizing, “My life was blessed.”.

“Mort, I can’t find a message in  your totally unkosher story?”

“Well, my bubeleh, life is like a Dagwood sandwich, with all its complexities: the selection process, the layering, the binding, the crowning, the finding of the right ingredients and most importantly, the taking of  the time to enjoy your creation.”

The pisher pursed his lips, bobbed his head in thought and said, “Well, thanks Mort. That’s a life lesson if I ever heard one.”

I watched the third season of “Shtisel” on Netflix.

And I loved it.

And I can’t wait for the arrival of season four.

For you see, I am hooked on the show and all of its details.

Well, one of the details, in one of the third season’s episodes — don’t ask me which one — caught my eye, I observed Rabbi Shulem Shtisel sitting at his kitchen table, while the camera panned in on Shulem’s SodaStream machine.

My eyes lit up.

Yes, there was the water machine that miraculously converts plain old wasser into a bubbling, sparkling sensation called seltzer.

Well, it’s not water into wine, but it’s almost as miraculous.

I immediately thought, “Great product placement. How much did SodaStream pay for that shot of their seltzer maker?”

I guessed, “Probably not much, since that machine looked yellowish, like a 20-year-old Israeli-made model.”

Then Shtisel spoon-stirred some fruit juice or purple-colored flavoring into the seltzer and after a quick prayer, he gulped it down.

From Shtisel’s facial expression, I saw how those gaseous, tiny bubbles, pleased him.

Shtisel with his own hands had made a delicious drink.

And I, too, have known Shulem’s pleasure, because I, too, own a SodaStream.

And I, too, love mixing spritzer concoctions with my own hands, like my egg creams with Fox’s U-Bet Chocolate Syrup (Yes, A Brooklyn Original Since 1900).

And I, too, have had a long relationship with seltzer — a sixty-plus-year-old relationship, but who’s counting.

And I, too, like Rabbi Shulem Shtisel, am hooked on my SodaStream machine.

In my childhood, I entered Abe Krutman’s Candy Store, with a nickel lodged deep in my pocket.

This tiny 10′ x 16′ candy store was located on Woodridge’s Main Street.

And as a kid, I believed Abe’s store sold every known variety of candy. For it housed shelves of Chunky bars, M&Ms, Raisinettes, bars of Joyva Halvah Marble, Pez, Milk Duds, Whoppers, Pop Rocks, Butternuts, Snickers, Mary Janes, Tootsie Rolls, and Goobers.

Also residing in Krutman’s was a noisy, nickel pinball machine — the first machine I fell in love with. My fingers caressed the flipper buttons as I and the machine shook, rattled and rolled.

Krutman’s also accommodated a newspaper and magazine rack, There I bought my comic books: Sad Sack, Felix the Cat, and Popeye, my parents’ weeklies, like Life and Look magazines and hidden in the back of the top shelf, were the raunchy men’s magazines: Rage, Man’s Conquest, True Men, Wildcat, Gala, and Joker.

Of course, I was too short to reach or touch what was on that top rack.

And that addiction would rise up at a later date.

After scanning the store for customers, I stood next to the cash register, removed the red plastic lid, from the beveled glass canister and pulled out a 2-cent pretzel rod.

You guessed it, I had a salt addiction.

I handed Abe the nickel, I politely asked “Mr. Krutman, how about a two-cent plain?”

As I licked and sucked all of the salt crystals off of the pretzel, I watched as Abe jerked the soda lever and seltzer shot into the small clear Coke glass.

I watched the effervescence and sipped the carbonated water.

I felt the tickling of cold bubbly liquid rushing down my throat, until the seltzer reached the pit of my gut. There a mixture of my stomach acids and the CO2 exploded and reversed course and raced back up my esophagus and out of my mouth.

Of course, I greptsed (belched) with the force of a Cat 5; and as all children do, I loved it.

For in my home town, of Woodridge, greptsing-out-loud was a local tradition.

You not only heard the guttural sound in Krutman’s but homies got their seltzer fixes at Sol’s,  Charlie’s and Chonin’s luncheonettes, as well as Rashkin’s Pharmacy. A good burp after drinking a chocolate, vanilla or strawberry ice cream soda or a root beer float or a virgin lime rickey meant happiness; and boy, Woodridge kids were happy.

Even my grandmother excused my uncouth behavior by saying, “A good belch out allows good health to come in.”

As my father the doctor said, “Seltzer, the Jewish digestif is required to assist in the digestion of such fatty meats as chopped liver or flanken. Failure to drink a bissel wasser mit gaz leads to an upset stomach.”

So of course, my health-conscious parents ordered cases of seltzer to be delivered to our home. (Note to readers: In the Fifties, Amazon was just a river and a jungle in South America.)

“You remember those silver siphoned, aqua blue bottles?”

“Yup.”

“You remember the wooden cases they came in?”

“Yup.”

“You remember how heavy those filled cases were?

“Yup.”

“You know where you can find those bottles today?”

“Yup, in antique shops and on Etsy. Those heavy, blue bottles are now decorative ornamental pieces. They cost over 50 bucks a bottle,”

And yes, those heavy blue or clear glass bottles were a staple in my kitchen — only decades later to be replaced by the SodaStream machine.

Well, since you’ve gotten this far in the story, you have a right to ask, “Mort, such a long fakakta story, about an old rabbi and his machine that puts CO2 gas into wasser, making fizzy water, what’s your message?

What does this old ultra-orthodox man-of-the-cloth have to teach us seculars?”

Well, my friend, the answer is quite simple.

Rabbi Shulem Shtisel and his SodaStream teach us plenty:

Sometimes in life, you’ve gotta mix things up;

You gotta experiment with new flavors as if you were a chemist;

You gotta learn to operate new machines as if you were a mechanic;

You’ve gotta be creative to macht things besser.

So in the words of Rabbi Shulem Shtisel, “Zei gezunt. And may your life be sparkling and bubbly like a tall, cold glass of seltzer.”