I’m exhausted, my hands are covered in ink and the printer is still, well, broken. But at least I got a miracle story out of it.
I realized there was a problem because every time I tried to print, the paper would come out blank. I tried various solutions, including replacing the ink with a fresh cartridge, but nothing helped.
In despair, I lifted the printer, opened a mysterious back section and fiddled away. Optimistic that perhaps I somehow fixed it, I returned the printer to its resting position. That’s when I realized that my brand new black ink had begun to gush out. I found myself struggling to wipe up this inky puddle. Many tissues and paper towels later, with my hands darkly stained, I wondered if I had somehow fixed the problem by removing an internal obstruction or perhaps broken the printer entirely.
The good news was that the printer was still operational. The bad news was that it still only printed blank pages. So I was back to square one.
I wondered if perhaps I wasn’t meant to have a printer. Maybe I wasn’t meant to print off this flier advertising my IFS services. I envied the Jews who sat around learning Torah all day. They don’t have to deal with broken printers. Maybe I should just give up on entrepreneurship and consign my life to spiritual matters?
Yet before I gave up on the printer and my professional future, I decided to do something desperate—something I had tried avoiding at all costs. I dug around, found the warranty information and called customer service.
I know, I should have done this much earlier, but customer service is hard enough to deal with already, let alone handling it in Hebrew. I thought I could find the solution online, in English. I was clearly mistaken.
Yet just as I was wrong about being able to fix the printer myself, I was wrong about the customer service. It was a breeze. “Artur” picked up after 15 minutes and made the whole process very pleasant. He had me take pictures and when he heard my explanation and saw the mess, he warned me about using 3rd-party inks (thankfully that didn’t void my warranty). I put back the original ink cartridge and followed Artur’s instructions until we could go no further. An orange light blinked next to an exclamation point, and Artur said I would need to call another number because the printer was broken inside. And as for the warranty, it ended last month, so I would need to pay for it myself.
This was disappointing news, but I wasn’t going to give up just yet. As an “osek patur” aka “self-employed person,” I had saved my receipt from the printer to mark it as a business expense and save money on taxes. I asked Artur how long the warranty had been for, and when he said “1 year,” I was able to point out that I had only bought the printer 8 months ago. After I sent him a picture of the receipt, he updated my warranty, and we were good to go. But this was just the beginning.
Artur sent me a few locations of places to take the printer, and from there, it would be brought to Tel Aviv to be fixed. I thanked Artur, wished him a happy Passover, and with my printer in my “agalah” (cart), walked with Manya into the Talpiot industrial zone to find the store I needed.
Manya was happy to go with me. Our tea kettle had broken that morning and our local Ace Hardware was on the way. We got to Ace, said our goodbyes, and printer in tow, I trudged up the hill.
Finally, I arrived at the street I needed, “HaTa’asiya,” and began walking up it. Yet like Moses, unable to enter the Promised Land, I could see the building I needed to get to, but couldn’t reach it. There was a giant construction site in the way. A man must have noticed my confusion, as he informed me that I needed to enter the street from the other side. I backtracked and continued my journey.
Finally I arrived at this giant building. I saw an electronic store there, but it had the wrong name. Maybe the name had changed? I didn’t have any other leads, so I went inside and waited to ask an employee. He was a Haredi man (ultra orthodox) wearing a white shirt and black pants, as they tend to do. He had two large books in front of him, copies of the Talmud, and his long peyot (sidelocks) swung as he spoke with passion.
He was talking with a couple who were purchasing a refrigerator and figuring out how to maximize their number of payments and minimize their amount of interest. I saw how he cared so much for them, and whether because it was relevant or just to pick up their spirits, he began describing a miracle story which sounded like a Baal Shem Tov story from 1700s Europe. I wanted to hear the story, but I also needed to get home to finish kashering my dishes, so I called the number that Artur had given me. As I half-listened to the story and pre-recorded phone menu, I couldn’t catch the details in either.
When someone came into the store and hugged the employee, I decided I could also cut my way in and quickly asked the man about the store I was looking for. He gave me some instructions about going left which I couldn’t really understand, but I left the store and walked around the building, confident I would find it.
But it was nowhere to be found. A Muslim woman at the nearby Aroma coffee shop had never heard of the store. And as I continued walking around the building, I saw many stores, but not the one I was looking for.
I walked back to the electronic store. Since the first employee was still busy but the other was free, I walked to him. He was also a Haredi guy and he gave me similar instructions I couldn’t understand. I pulled out my phone to clarify and ask him to point the location out to me on a map, but he received a phone call at that moment, and now he couldn’t speak. “Left, left, left?” I repeated back to him what I thought I heard, but he was too deeply absorbed to respond.
Between the electronic store and the Aroma, there was an alleyway. There were no signs in it, so I passed it the first time. But now I went down the alleyway, and to my surprise, I found an unmarked and unlocked door. When I walked in, I noticed on the wall a number of business names and the floors they were on. To my relief, I found the name of the very store I was looking for! Floor 1.
I went to the elevator and found it was broken. Since this was Israel and not America, I was used to their being a ground floor, and then floor 1 the next floor up. But as I bounded up the stairs, the next floors up were floor “Aleph,” and then “Bet.” Aleph was locked, so I went back to where I started and tried different doors, but they were all locked. And then I noticed a glass wall with ink cartridges. Could this be it!? I stopped a man who was walking down the hallway just then and he confirmed that this was the store I was looking for. There was just one problem. It was closed. According to the man, they were only open from 7 AM-3 PM, and now it was already 4:30 pm. After all this, I had finally found the right store, but I was there too late. I snapped a picture of the sign on the door, (which still didn’t mention the name of the store, by the way) but at least it had their phone number.
Crushed, I began heading back. But on my way, I figured I’d stop at the electronic store one more time.
“Can you tell me the story you told to the couple buying the refrigerator?” I asked him. Who knows, perhaps this story was why I needed to have this whole adventure.
He was confused for a moment, then his eyes lit up and he began telling me his story.
His story didn’t happen in Ukraine 300 years ago. It was from earlier that day, when a customer who had ordered an oven called the store to report that he wasn’t picking up the oven today, but would come to pick it up after Passover.
The miracle was that another customer called the store a few hours later looking for an oven, and the oven she wanted, the only one she wanted, was that exact model and brand. The employee told me with amazement that this oven was one he had never had in the store before. And yet now, just when the other customer had decided he could wait to pick it up after Passover, another customer had called asking for that oven. The employee was able to sell her this oven, and the employee would have time to order a new one for the original customer before Passover ended.
Then the employee began explaining to me the debate on how Rambam and Ramban understand Divine Providence. According to Rambam, Divine Providence is more general, with God only watching over humans. According to Ramban, Divine Providence is more particular, with God watching over every detail of creation. “Is Ramban’s approach like the Baal Shem Tov’s understanding?” I asked, thinking of the Baal Shem Tov story where God causes the wind to blow a leaf onto a worm to give them shade. “Yes!” he replied. The moral of the story was that God’s providence extends over everything, even which model of oven ends up in the store the day before Passover.
We shook hands, exchanged blessings, and I was on my way.
I don’t know why I had to go through all that. I dragged my printer to meet Manya in the park and we walked home together. I would need to bring my printer back another day.
Was it all worth it? Doesn’t feel that way. Though who knows–at least I got a miracle story out of it.
Chag Sameach, Aryeh