balls sitting above goals.

He cited the philosophy of abstract expression-
ist Franz Kline, also a professor at the Philadelphia
Museum School of Art in the 1950s: “He said,
‘I don’t paint black on white; I paint black and
white.’” Rosenstein’s inspirations come from Jewish
thinkers across millennia, beyond the mid-century
artists of Philadelphia.

“In Kabbalah, they say that the space between
letters are letters,” Rosenstein said, shading a shin
with his pen. “This space, if you alter it, you affect
the letters; you change them.”
Rosenstein’s art has always been woven into his
Judaism. Attending Akiba Hebrew Academy — and
graduating as part of the school’s first class in 1951
— Rosenstein fell in love with Hebrew letters but
had an absence of materials from which to learn.

“As far as I knew, there was no scribe in
Philadelphia, no sofer,” he said. “And there were
no books from Israel showing all the typefaces.”
Rosenstein instead began to act as an amateur
scribe, creating a Purim Megillah with intricate
lettering and vibrant patches of color.

Born in 1934 in Strawberry Mansion, Rosenstein
grew up with an American-born mother and
Russian immigrant father, who would tell him sto-
ries of sipping tea from glasses — including empty
yahrzeit candle holders — in his mother country.

Sticking to his immigrant sensibilities,
10 DECEMBER 15, 2022
Mordechai Rosenstein recently visited a Jewish
community in Lombard, Illinois, with whom he
created a piece depicting the Tree of Life.

Rosenstein’s father was skeptical of his son’s artis-
tic passion.

“He felt that it would be really difficult and
chancy to make a living,” Rosenstein said.

But Rosenstein’s mother supported him, buying
THE GOOD LIFE
him a big art set one year for Chanukah, con-
taining crayons, clay and colored pencils, which
Rosenstein fiddled with as a child. Rosenstein’s
two uncles in the framing business helped guide
the young artist, who decided to attend art school.

“I bought a pack of Camel cigarettes, a pair of
what we call dungarees; I took off the kippah,
and I went to the Philadelphia Museum School of
Art,” Rosenstein said. “I wasn’t studying chumash
anymore.” In art school, Rosenstein was studying “to
become the next Matisse,” doing figure drawings,
paintings, weaving and silkscreen printing. But by
the time he graduated, Rosenstein was a far cry
from the famous French impressionist.

He instead joined the Army for two years,
stationed in Columbia, South Carolina, drawing
training aids for weapons and equipment. He
then moved to New York City to get a job in the
textile industry, working at 40th and Broadway as
an assistant stylist, mostly doing administrative
work and continuing his calligraphy art at home
after hours.

It was there he met his wife and created the
ketubah for their wedding. Rosenstein began to
find his footing as an artist once more, creating
ketubot for the several other Jewish couples
getting married around the same time; he did the
silver work for an exhibit for The Jewish Museum
in Manhattan.

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