Why I Wanna be Like My Watch Repairman
In the Weisberg home we call it “the watch store that looks like a closet,” and when a watch needs a new battery or a watchband or we need to buy a new watch altogether, “the watch store that looks like a closet” is where we go.
I don’t only prefer this store because it’s one of the cheapest watch stores in Jerusalem, and the service is quick, high-quality, and courteous.
I like that every time I walk into the store and see the 60-something owner humming a tune as he opens a watch with his antique pocket knife or reading his ancient book of Tehillim with tea stains on the edges, I feel like I’ve turned one of those clocks on his wall back 80 years.
Yesterday, as he was concentrating on fixing a watch my husband received from his grandfather, I asked him, “How many years has this store been here?”
The man stopped humming, looked up from the watch, and said, “43 years.”
“And how many years have you been working here?”
“43 years. Since the beginning, I’ve been here.”
Funny, I thought. I am 43 years old. This man has spent an entire lifetime inside this closet of a store. And he is still fixing watches and reading his psalms.
I am inside the four walls of my home. It is summer vacation.
Older children come and go—occasionally needing food or advice or money between their outings. Younger children go out to camp and then come home in the afternoon, hungry and in need of attention and entertainment for the rest of the day.
And in the center of it all, in the center of this buzzing hive, is me.
Feeding. And cleaning. And dressing. And helping.
Sometimes, surrounded by this many offspring in this tight a space, I lose it. And when that happens, this queen bee can sting.
But I do my best, when I can, to be like that man in the watch store that looks like a closet, emulating the rich man who is happy with his lot.
Being there when I’m being here
And filling these crowded four walls with the beautiful sounds of….
A heartfelt hum from a hardworking mum.