Journey to the Last Shoemakers in Israel: Resilience of a Dying Craft

Meet Eli Bizarayov, the friendly shoemaker from the corner of Rabbi Akiva and Ben Petahiah Streets in Bnei Brak. Anyone who has met him, like I have, will attest to his warm nature. His words are interspersed with jokes that inevitably bring a smile to your face. "About a decade ago," he tells me with a grin, "Knesset member Gafni came to me. He’s human too, right?"

It’s Bnei Brak on the eve of Pesach. The bustling city hums with pre-holiday chaos. Stores are packed with shoppers. Shoemakers see customers frequently. One needs the insole repaired, "It doesn’t fit the shoe," he insists. Another client wants the toddler’s Velcro fixed, but Eli repairs backpacks too, just for variety’s sake.

It's clear the shoemaker’s stall is far from quiet, contradicting our initial guesses. Like the falafel shops nearby, it feels like erev Pesach.

Eli has been a shoemaker for about 20 years and witnesses the stark generational divide. "Today's generation is spoiled," he declares, meeting my gaze wistfully. "I get fewer customers than before."

Do you think there’s a future for shoemaking?

"You see, in this era, this profession is dwindling. By the next generation, it might not exist at all."

Surely you give the Bnei Brak locals some discounts?

"Of course. This isn’t Tel Aviv; people here aren’t wealthy."

In Bnei Brak, the shoemaker also has spiritual musings: "Without shoes, how far can you walk? Imagine it’s 40 degrees outside, your feet could burn. Look at birds or horses; they go without shoes. It’s all crafted by the Creator, ensuring even in summer, they don’t get burned, and in winter, their thick skin protects them."

Bizarayov, an immigrant from Bukhara, learned the trade from his father. "They say a shoemaker goes straight to heaven because he hears many customer complaints." He sighs, "Things will be alright."

Is being a shoemaker tough?

"Everything in this world is tough. Nothing’s easy. Except light bread..."

Have any righteous figures repaired shoes with you?

"Righteous?" he responds as any Jewish person might, with a question, "Everyone in Bnei Brak is righteous. Who lives here? Yeshiva students, kollel scholars."

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Beit She’an: Jacob the Shoemaker

In a room adorned with pictures of Rabbi Mordechai Sharabi of blessed memory, in the colorful Rasco Center in Beit She’an, sits an elderly man who seems out of place in the modern setting. He is R’ Yehuda Amsalem, the local shoemaker.

"He has quality goods," attests his acquaintance, R’ Yaakov Avraham, the first native of Beit She’an, "He’s been at it since my childhood."

"But if you’re writing about Beit She’an and shoemakers," Avraham stirs, "you can’t ignore the figure of Yechia – the shoemaker from the state’s founding days, known for distributing new shoes to the needy. He was special, very special."

Returning to R’ Yehuda Amsalem, it’s noted he’s the most experienced shoemaker around, having held the trade for 60 years, even before immigrating to Israel. He learned the trade at age ten in Morocco from Rabbi Yosef Azulai of blessed memory. "He was the ultimate shoemaker," describes R’ Yehuda while sharpening a shoe heel. "It was a special time; back then, everything was genuine, without deceit."

Giving an example, R’ Yehuda says, "People bring me torn shoes. Sometimes the adhesive I use costs 20 shekels, but it might come undone in two days. For another 10 shekels, you get sturdy glue. I don’t hide anything from customers. I tell them the options clearly: The choice depends solely on them."

Yehuda's father, Rabbi Eliyahu, was a tailor. But Yehuda, driven by necessity, took up shoemaking due to financial constraints.

For 20 years, R’ Yehuda was a shoemaker in the religious kibbutz Sde Eliyahu near Beit She’an. Although machines eventually took over the market, he eventually opened his own business. As evening fell, he spent hours working for the aforementioned Yechia the shoemaker.

If Enoch, the son of Noah, was a shoemaker, then our shoemaker maintains the rare craft of shoe production, something he did at the kibbutz. Most modern shoemakers only handle technical shoe repairs.

"I know this craft is vanishing. It’s like doctors; each specializes in a field. I mastered it thanks to my teacher and divine help. He had a good system, rotating pupils through tasks – one day heel, another day sole. He was a righteous man, supporting needy families."

Many respected figures, including city rabbis, visited him in Beit She’an. "All the city’s righteous figures, including the holy city rabbis Makhloof Elasri and Eliyahu Cohen of blessed memory, praised my work. But honestly, I don't need the praise. Only Hashem deserves all glory."

When we ask about the monstrous tools a typical shoemaker uses, he lists them: "The primary tools are the anvil and hammer. Also, there's a scissor-like tool for cutting insoles, a grinder for shoe sides, and a sewing machine specifically for making shoes."

Where does the leather come from? Is it from pure animals?

"To be honest, it’s a tough question. In Morocco, we knew where the leather came from and which animals. Nowadays, we have no such information."

Admit it, fewer people visit your store now compared to the past.

"True," admits R’ Yehuda somberly, "It used to be an art. We did it all by hand. Sadly, that era has ended. Now it's all industrial."

In recent years, Yehuda began selling shoes too, but not due to declining customers. "It happened by chance," he says. "My son suggested expanding into a shoe store, which I agreed to. After six months, he left for the yeshiva, and I’ve been full of gratitude to Hashem ever since."

"Truthfully? Today’s generation isn’t like ours were. We grew up with respect, as it says, ‘Derech eretz kadma le’Torah’. Now people are cunning. Every word elicits disapproval: ‘Ah, he's self-interested.’ We could use some courtesy."

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Jerusalem: The Shoemaker-Clockmaker

Welcome to Ein Yaakov Street in the conservative Meah Shearim neighborhood. Known as "Meah Shearim Market," the street features prominent fish shops and unassuming workshops for the simple tradespeople sitting outside their shops. One of those is the shoemaker, under a sign declaring "Express Expert Shoemaker". Perhaps due to today’s haste or oversight, the shoemaker is left basking in the sun’s warmth.

The small shop, near the old central synagogue “Yeshuos Yaakov”, offers more than just footwear needs. Belts and other items are also available, yet passersby continue on with indifference.

When we arrive with our photographer, Jonathan Zindel, the shoemaker eagerly presses him, "Would you like to buy a camera with film for only 150 shekels?" However, understanding its little use nowadays, Zindel declines swiftly.

The shoemaker's bleak world in Meah Shearim of 2016.

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Jerusalem: The Righteous Shoemaker

Not far from there, in the heart of the legendary Bucharian Market, close to ‘The Hidden Jeweler’ Rabbi Reuven Hakashur, under a humble signboard, we found shoemaker R’ Nisim Borochov. He once shared in an interview: "There was a yeshiva where I used to study years ago. Students often came for shoe repairs. I’d charge high, but when it came time to pay, I’d charge them less. Torah students deserve discounts. I can tell who can afford things from their shoes."

R’ Borochov’s tales echo those of other shoemakers lamenting a downturn in business as people prefer buying new shoes over mending old soles. His heart aches at this shift.

(Illustration: Flash90)

We haven’t forgotten the old shoemaker of Beit Yisrael neighborhood, R’ Naftali Borstein (locally known as ‘Naftoly’). You might engage him on topics of old Jerusalem during the British Mandate, not his personal trade, which he performs dutifully.

Borstein is a fixture in the old Jerusalem neighborhood, known for his tall, long room near the Beit Yisrael shtiebelach. A yellowing cutout of Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach of blessed memory adorns his wall, hinting at bygone reverence.

Yet, a few months ago, the shop—and the nostalgia—closed.

Is Naftoly just the first in a series? Is this craft soon to vanish, along with the livelihood of good, honest Jews? It’s in our hands—or feet, actually—to decide.

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"As Long as the Candle is Lit..."

One cannot discuss shoemakers without extracting a message for divine service. Meeting shoemakers on the brink of their craft’s disappearance prompts reflection. What does it teach us?

There isn’t a fourth-grader who hasn’t heard the heartwarming tale traditionally attributed to Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, the founder of the Mussar Movement: Once, Rabbi Yisrael went to fix his shoe at a shoemaker’s late at night. The shoemaker’s light was flickering. "Why work so late, with a candle nearly out?" the rabbi asked.

The shoemaker simply replied, "As long as the candle is lit, there’s still time to repair and fix."

This sentence troubled Rabbi Yisrael, who drew spiritual lessons from everything. He sat by the cobbler, repeatedly whispering: "As long as the candle is lit, there’s still time to fix."

Years later (21 according to some sources), Rabbi Yisrael revealed to his students the moral lesson learned from the shoemaker’s line: "If in the physical world, as long as the candle flickers, a repair can be made, how much more so in the divine light, 'The candle of Hashem is the soul of man'. As long as a person lives and their soul-light burns, they can seize mitzvot and draw closer to their Creator."

The shoemaker spoke of shoe repairs, Rabbi Yisrael imagined repairing the soul.

This story has various retellings in books, one such in ‘Siftei Chachamim’ by Rabbi Reuven Margaliot and also in Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau’s ‘Yachel Yisrael’ commentary on Pirkei Avot. However, some say Rabbi Yisrael’s encounter was with a tailor. Others say it was a completely different story.

In any case, the shoemaker from Russia and Beit She'an, driven by relentless work ethics, teach us an invaluable moral lesson to seize every moment for divine service before it’s too late.

"As long as the candle is lit, there's still time to fix!"

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The Mysterious Shoemaker

The shoemaker’s trade, for some reason, evokes images of enigmatic, shadowy figures. A well-known Talmudic saying about Chanoch, "Chanoch, the shoemaker, a sayer ‘Blessed be His Name’", casts shoemakers as seemingly simple, grey people who intend their craft towards heavenly work.

On Tishrei 22, 1967, a unique figure, Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Rabikov of blessed memory, known to all as ‘The Holy Shoemaker’, left us. Whoever entered his home left uplifted. Secretly, notable Israeli public figures also sought his counsel.

Rabbi Yaakov Moshe was born in 1873 in Rozhinoi, Grodno County, Lithuania, to a father known to be a saintly tailor. Having absorbed both open and mystical Torah, crafted his son’s education before passing at 98, he also imparted him the shoemaking trade.

He immigrated in 1910, settling in Kfar Uria. Upon hearing he was in Israel, Yaffo's chief rabbi, Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook, passionately urged him to settle in Yaffo, deeming him a need.

Rabbi Yaakov rented a shop on Shabazi Street on the Yaffo-Tel Aviv border. Buying tools and leathers, he hung a sign: "Shoemaker". His nearby home quickly turned into a spiritual gathering place.

He set a standard regimen: seven hours of Torah study before work each day.

At 40, he decided to immigrate. Joining a group purchasing land in Israel, he acquired 150 dunams in Kfar Uria prior to departure.

Upon arrival, advised of threats and danger due to prevailing hostilities, he understood his plans for agriculture—a vision for fulfilling all agricultural mitzvot—was impractical. He sold his land at a quarter value for a parcel in Ohel Moshe (later the Shabazi neighborhood), setting up his shoemaking business in a wooden cabin.

Rabbi Yaakov Moshe’s piety, especially his seven-hour Torah study regimen, was highly regarded. In Israel, he settled into a home and shoemaking shop at the Shabazi district, earning a reputation as a saintly shoemaker.

His practice of learning for hours, even as a respected hidden scholar, became notorious. Israel Goldschmidt, the Chazon Ish’s driver, recalls ferrying the esteemed leader repeatedly to an unstable shack in Shabazi. Curiosity piqued, he once asked what business lay within.

The Chazon Ish replied, "Know he's one of the 36 hidden righteous ones of the generation."

His fame spread rapidly. His shop became a site of stories and marvels with people recounting almost magical tales of his deeds daily.

One known charm came from his lips: recite three times, "Support me and I'll be saved".

Storied whispers of his youth recount weekly Thursday excursions to local bakeries, collecting loaves for orphans and widows, navigating requests for help with an enigmatic, "I know..."

Rabbi Yaakov Moshe’s faith in his Creator was rock solid. When a car once injured his foot, and the driver faced trial, Rabbi Yaakov Moshe dismissed the accusations: "The heavens arranged this; the driver’s not at fault." Cynical, the judge asked for repetition, and Rabbi Yaakov Moshe strongly reaffirmed his belief.

During afternoon and evening prayers, he frequented Bet Midrash 'Heichal HaTalmud' synagogue. Saturday evening notes began accumulating into "Likutei Rabbi Moshe Yaakov on the Torah", a compilation published later.

On Simchat Torah of 1967, the "Holy Shoemaker" returned his soul to the divine at 11 am.

Hundreds accompanied his final journey on Friday evening. Laid to rest next to the Chazon Ish—his first proponent—in Bnei Brak's ‘Shomrei Shabbat’ cemetery. At his passing, he was 92.

A year after his passing, in a leap year, his yahrzeit commemoration took place. At a Tel Aviv synagogue, Rabbi Aryeh Levin eulogized him, moving attendees to tears over the loss of the hidden saint.

"I personally heard them say," noted R’ Aryeh, "that Rabbi Yaakov is undoubtedly one of the 36 hidden saints!"

The community wept, feeling the absence of a righteous figure.

The "Holy Shoemaker" passed into sacred realms, leaving a trail of mystery.