The life of Vienna's beloved butcher Berel Ainhorn proves that a Yid is blessed wherever he is

Photos: Ouriel Morgensztern

Berel Ainhorn is Vienna’s beloved mohel, retired butcher, shul gabbai, and baal chesed. But that’s just the last chapter. Reb Berel’s personal history, growing up in the Carpathian region under Soviet rule in a family dedicated to preserving Yiddishkeit at all costs, attaching himself to the Ribnitzer Rebbe and finally being released from the arms of Mother Russia to go to Eretz Yisrael, taught him that a Yid can find blessings wherever he is

Everyone in Vienna’s heimish kehillah and beyond knows Mr. Berel Ainhorn.

He’s been Vienna’s main mohel for decades, traveling as far as Prague and Budapest to perform milah, and closer to home as well, when refugees from oppressive regimes have, over the years, made Vienna their first stop under the protection on HIAS.

He’s a community stalwart in Vienna’s frum enclave, known for his warm smile, open hand, and as gabbai of the Tempelgasse shul. But mostly, he’s known for his famous kosher butcher shop, where his delicious sausages and salamis have garnered a loyal following (and where he would keep the most special salamis to give to his friends for free) and where, on Fridays, he’d be cooking Shabbos food for needy families.

Mr. Ainhorn has just recently retired from his popular kosher butcher shop, which is now managed by his son-in-law under the name Fleischerei Hager. It’s a business he built up through hard work. After arriving from Eretz Yisrael as a mashgiach and menaker, he gradually taught himself the meat trade and was able to buy out the retiring previous owner.

But he never let money or profit get in the way of basic and often hidden chesed for his community. Like the time a certain family had hit upon hard times and simply couldn’t pay their bill. The loyal cashier at the till had had enough, and, not wanting anyone to take advantage of her boss, kept pressuring the hapless customer to pay. Not wanting anyone to think he was playing favorites, Berel Ainhorn himself gave a friend a wad of bills — the balance this customer owed — and told him to go to the cashier and clear up the family’s account.

Eventually he rebuilt the shop, moved location, and he still lives upstairs in a comfortable yet humble apartment where we meet; his preferred language is a juicy Yiddish, but what is that Russian-accented Ivrit he occasionally throws in? It’s a giveaway that Berel Ainhorn has a story that reaches much further back than the storefront on Grobe Stadtgutgasse 7.