2
On the day of my bar mitzvah I went to the mikvah and I was adorned like a bridegroom. They dressed me in a new jacket, a silk cummerbund whose two fringes extended down to my knees, a black hat, black shoes, and around my neck a silk kerchief with a pearl fastened to it. Any time I raised my head to say Amen to a blessing, it would radiate a flash of light. In my hand when I came to school were my tefillin in a carrying bag of black silk with filaments of pale silver spelling out a Star of David as well as my name and my father’s name. The bag was tied with a reddish yellow drawstring and inside were my two tefillin. I took out my tefillin, and my schoolmates could see that they were antique. They gasped and asked: How much money did some father waste on this boy instead of buying plain new tefillin? They immediately started to tease me by saying that these tefillin must have belonged to the dead who were raised by the prophet Ezekiel; King Saul’s daughter Michal used to wear them! I thought to myself that it was inappropriate to talk while praying so I didn’t bother to answer them. After finishing my prayers I told my friends that my father had gone to the scribe with the intention of buying a plain new pair of tefillin. Oh, well, they said, when your father discovered that the scribe would charge him eight or ten crowns for them he took the old ones instead and brought them home. I asked them: How could they think that my father would balk at paying eight or ten crowns for a new pair when the old pair cost him many times that amount? So they asked me to explain. I told them that on his way to buy tefillin he happened on the opportunity to buy a pair written by Rabbi Elimelech. He said to himself that these were the most beautiful tefillin he had ever seen and he insisted on buying them for me. When they heard that, my friends bit their tongues and kissed my tefillin. On that day, my coming of age, my father set out a spread of cakes and wine, and everyone there praised my tefillin and offered me blessings. My friends were particularly proud of their own tefillin because they sparkled and smelled of new leather, but they expressed their admiration for my tefillin because even though they were old, they had been written by Rabbi Elimelech.
3
And just who was Rabbi Elimelech the Scribe? He was a transcriber of holy books and objects who lived during the time of the Tzaddik of Buczacz. But if I were going to tell you of the greatness of this holy man I wouldn’t know where to begin. For someone who was eager to learn the laws of the Halacha, this righteous man of blessed memory would review eighteen laws every single day. And for one who wanted to hear about miracle workers, this Tzaddik of blessed memory would dwell on tales of miracles. And if it chanced that he heard it said about himself that he received revelations from the prophet Elijah, he would say that any man, after all, could receive such revelations from Elijah. How? By studying a chapter from Tana Devei Eliyahu. How wonderful for the righteous that they know whom to cling to and how equally wonderful for the righteous that they know whom to clasp to themselves. How fortunate for Rabbi Elimelech that he followed the Tzaddik of Buczacz and how fortunate for the Tzaddik that he embraced Rabbi Elimelech. The entire alphabet is insufficient to encompass his wonders. And I haven’t gathered here more than can be contained in one small drop of ink.
4
Writers of holy books and tefillin also transcribe a get, a bill of divorce. And a scribe earns more from the latter than from the former. After all, someone who wants to be rid of his wife and asks a scribe to write a get doesn’t bargain over pennies. One penny more, one penny less…just as long as he gets his divorce. We’ve heard of cases where a wedding was called off because the two sides could not agree on a dowry, but we’ve never heard of a case of a man who called off a divorce because he couldn’t come to terms with a scribe on the cost of writing the get. So when a man in such a circumstance comes to a scribe, the scribe gathers his writing equipment and writes a get. But in the case of Rabbi Elimelech, before he would write a get he would fast all day, and that night he would approach in tears the involved couple and plead: I am a frail man. I can’t prolong this fast.
Have pity on me and make peace between the two of you. If they agreed, he would make a party that very night; if they refused, he would continue his fast. It was said of Rabbi Elimelech that he would not budge until the couple reconciled and passed from gloom and confusion to peace and celebration. If they had had no children before, they subsequently had children; if they only had girls, then boys were born to them. And that’s why, when someone is about to arrive at the age of commandments, the bar mitzvah, one seeks out Rabbi Elimelech to inscribe a pair of tefillin. It has been said that one who is fortunate enough to wear tefillin inscribed by a peacemaker will himself be a peacemaker and will live happily with his wife. Thus the tefillin of Rabbi Elimelech.
5
Mornings I would run to the synagogue. Sometimes I would arrive before the appointed hour for prayer and I would stare out the window at the sky to spot the sunlight when it would first appear so that I could then put on my tefillin. When prayer time arrived I would take out my tefillin, and a fragrance of prayer would emanate from them. As I lay the tefillah on my arm I could feel my heart pounding alongside them and I would then wind the warm straps around my arm until they pressed into my skin. And then I would circle my head with the other tefillah. When the cantor recites the prayer that thanks God for “girding Israel with strength and crowning Israel with splendor,” I stand astonished that I myself am “girding” and “crowning” like a man of Israel and I am overjoyed. I ask my tallit not to be cross with me for being less enthusiastic about it. After all, when a holiday falls on the Sabbath, isn’t it true that the standard Sabbath prayer of the Shemoneh Esreh is set aside in favor of a special prayer for the holiday?
That’s how I used to stand in the old synagogue praying, one tefillah on my arm and the other on my head. Sometimes my praying would be soulful and plaintive, sometimes melodious and joyful. In either event, I would continually touch my tefillin — something like a shepherd making music out in the field who periodically remembers his charges and looks around to see if any of them have wandered off — until I completed my praying, removed my tefillin, and saw pressed in my arm’s flesh the remaining evidence of the straps. I wouldn’t eat or drink until the indentations on my arm had completely disappeared. Often I would spend time studying before I removed my tefillin. My eyes would focus on a book, accompanied by my tefillin, or would pause between the letters on a line, and the tefillin would pause with them. I was filled with sadness for having been born into this generation. If only I had been born during the time of the Talmud I would have worn my tefillin for the entire day. How I loved them. Maimonides, of blessed memory, had surely done the right thing when he included the regulations pertaining to tefillin in his Book of Love.