"How long does it take you to make a pair of
tefillin?" asked Uncle Mark.
Uncle Mark had come to Israel for a few days and wanted to
take home the tefillin for his first grandchild's bar
mitzva. He was irritated by the fact that they weren't ready
yet. They had been ordered months ago and according to his
calculations, should have been sent to America already. The
bar mitzva would be held in a very upper class hotel in four
months time.
"A good year," answered Shloima solemnly.
Shloima had become a batim-macher to supplement a
kollel income for his large family and his uncles and
cousins ordered their tefillin from him.
"What do you mean by `a good year'? That's a very
yeshivishe answer!" They were seated on a comfortable
sofa in the lobby of the Ramada hotel where Uncle Mark was
staying.
"If you want to make more money, you should come up with a
way to make them faster. There must be a more efficient way
to produce battim. Maybe on assembly line or
something."
"There are many halochos involved in the production
of batim. They are mostly hand-made and the process
takes a long time. Your son Moishe only ordered them six
months ago. As is, I'll have to give you a pair which I had
started a while ago for someone else. He has time to
wait."
"Why do you do it all by hand?" Uncle Mark didn't see why,
with all those modern inventions, there shouldn't be a
machine which made batim as well. Shloima tried to
calm his uncle. "Moishe wanted the most mehudar and
these are done by hand. Besides, he wanted a sofer
whom I trust to write the parshiyos. Hopefully, your
grandson will have the best quality tefillin."
Shloima could almost hear his uncle's thoughts. Past
occasions had shown their usual trend. "What a shlemiel that
Shloima is. `A good year,' he says! That's no way to make
money."
"I have an idea for you, Shloima," he said out loud. "You
could learn from me. I was in electronics and I offered the
suppliers more and faster for less. If an order usually took
six months to come through, I'd promise them I could produce
it in three. This made them want to order from me. I worked
very hard." Uncle Mark took a sip from his diet Cola,
avoiding the twisted lemon slice, and continued expounding
his theory on how to make big money.
"I flew to Hong Kong, got a hold of the current design and
built a mold. Then I hopped over to Mexico, where labor was
cheap, and had the molds poured. While they were making the
outer shell, I flew to Japan and bought the inner workings.
When both were ready, I had them assembled in Puerto
Rico."
A self satisfied Uncle Mark leaned back and gazed at his
nephew. He had been in the camps and after the war, had
started out as a delivery boy,working his way up until he
became a rich man. Now he expected everyone else to be able
to do the same; certainly to respect and desire to emulate
him.
No amount of explanation succeeded in convincing Uncle Mark
that decent batim could not possibly be made any
faster.
"What about the parshiyos? How long does it take to
write them?"
"About a week."
"What if you hired the sofer to write exclusively for
you?"
"It would cost me too much and I'd have to market what he
writes."
"O.K. Do it your way, then."
Uncle Mark had clearly knocked the wind out of Shloime. All
year long, when members of the family were peacefully
ensconced in their respective luxurious homes in various
locations around the world, he felt competant, content and
very spiritually fulfilled. But each year, when the Yomim
Tovim came along and relatives came to Israel to visit,
Shloima had to defend his simple lifestyle and low income.
The accusation that he was not industrious enough was not
explicitly stated, though implied often enough. No one took
into account the many long hours he spent each day learning
in kollel.
After reassuring Uncle Mark for the umpteenth time that the
tefillin would be be ready on time, Shloima left the
hotel and rushed off to put the finishing touches on the by
now, famous pair of batim.
Once he entered his small machsan-workshop, he forgot
about rich uncles and cousins and worked assiduously on his
life's calling. Carefully concentrating on the work at hand,
he pronounced a fervent "Lesheim kedushas tefillin",
over and over. He shook off the fetters of the stopwatch
mentality and deadlines and let his soul connect to this
piece of leather which attested to timeless eternity. The
battim were perfectly shaped through hours and hours
of devoted patience. There weren't many laymen who could
appreciate the precision, craftsmanship and devotion which
each pair represented. This was important to Shloima,
however; big time for him. Above and beyond Time.
*
Uncle Mark also left the hotel. He headed for shul,
hoping to catch a minyan. Sure enough, he had a lot
of catching up to do, but that didn't deter him from joining
the people already there.
"Sholom aleichem, Mendel! How are you? Good to see
you here again! Your grandson should be bar mitzva soon, no?
I know what brings you here. You must have ordered the
tefillin from R' Shloima. They say you can't find a
more professional man." R' Itzik's warm welcome and jovial
expression at seeing a long time friend mirrored Mendel's --
or Mark's -- feelings exactly. It was one of the things he
looked forward to when visiting Israel. Meeting a
landsleit from a bygone era, both Holocaust
survivors.
"Yes, and as a matter of fact, he happens to be my nephew.
They say he's the top man in the field and for us, only the
best will do." Uncle Mark basked in a newfound pride in
Shloima, who had earned an excellent reputation, he had to
admit. In a confiding tone, he went on to explain, "These
are the most expensive ones on the market, you know. All
painstakingly hand made, the parshiyos written by a
sofer who is a genuine tzaddik, yerei
shomayim. Why, you have to order these a year in advance
if you want them for your bar mitzva!"
Uncle Mark, with his super developed business acumen, knew
how to impress different people and what to say to whom.
Here in Israel, they appreciated different kind of things
than the congregants back in his shul in America. But
he couldn't help adding, in a voice full of pride, how his
son, the bar mitzva boy's father, had hired the top man to
ghost write the speech and teach him the art of delivery.
*
Uncle and nephew met again. This time, it was the non-
assuming Shloima who was the center of attention. The family
had gathered to celebrate the yahrzeit of their
grandfather. Everyone knew that Shloima could be counted on
to prepare an impressive siyum drosha in honor of the
deceased. The affluent relatives crowded around him,
congratulated him with pride and appreciation, and expressed
their gratitude that the family had such a member to do them
credit. What a merit for the deceased. What nachas he
must be having from this talmid chochom. This was
power. Big Time.
