





































The Clock Shop Sage 
By Rabbi Steven M Leapman 

Salve Time's sting amidst instruction and risk a lesson dimmed 

A state of affairs my mentor would not endure 

You see, my father was a watchmaker, a trade school graduate success story 
Made prosperous by the GI Bill's generosity as Korea's aftermath and worthy cast 

Returned to safe democratic shores, secure despite China or Stalin's rage 

Come December he was carried off, each Cbanukab season's absentia, 
Snatched high away by the talons of retail's American eagle in mercantile ascent 

Held tight and tedious those long hours by the whims and wiles 

Of owning a business blind to Jewish time 

Early tbe next morning as ended Thanksgiving's abundant fare 

My father, partially concealed by dawn's early light, did as would many dutiful men 

Raise a garage door and depart to serve and sell in the year's dark twelfth month 

When Light is sought and whether electrical or inspired we celebrate so as to guarantee 

Income and a way of life for which his immigrant parents risked an ocean's roar 

And an earlier America's accusations, on behalf of all unborn's better future 

Out onto PA Rt. 30 then westward holding to 283 W. aboard bis O lds '98 

At 70 mph and more Dad's daily reenactment amidst hurried ruminations 

Of our Lithuanian ancestors peddlers' path, though adjusted to the days he knew 
Adorned and delivered in a mid 70's metal cloak of four-door, 8-track sound prowess 

While snow fell and ice formed as cash registers rung and customers shopped 

A mother and son of the upper middle-class and a merchant's fond, unspoken affections 

Were necessarily abandoned celebrants and audience of a father-absent Festival of Lights 

A proprietor and throughout all Decembers' delirium so sadly less prevalent as a parent 
Whose presence became a nightly telephone line's contingency 

While son and spouse kindled light and recited lin1rgies in a glow suburban and solimde 

II 

We reclined every Passover to be ready for prophetic redemption 

He reclined after Thanksgiving's rich repast to rest for an arduous retail season 

One winter vacation's late afternoon at bis hours' drenched store, 

During my insensitive high school days, whi le packing up Santa displays 

And pi ling wreaths which never hung in our home 

Came forth this son's decree, shallowly seeing myself a latter-day Maccabee 

Now freed of an anxious mercanti le legacy 
My sureties soon to strike at and shove aside an industrious father's loving intent 

6 Poetry 

-
I cringe as adulthood's unforgiving refit 

"You don't need to keep this business 

Smug certainty dismissing the fragile e 
My father's duties, the sales-driven bas1 

Failing to secure validation before a bo 

Amidst adolescent arrogance when im1 

All too shrill and surely proclaim, a sec 

Yet too much a child to discern how ear 

And pass onward a man's practiced era 
A previous generation's priorities, and m 

A gender lame with words hoped to fir 

The communion of deeds wherein ide1 

Are remedied by proximity, not emotion: 
And leave their audience mute if dazzlt 

A seasoned merchant shall wisely displ: 
For far beyond making a living, it is virtu 

This too is an Art whose studio is shop 

Availability of proprietor and product are 

These are skills books will not impart ar 

So too one family's Willy Loman groM 

Quicken and become the daily felt substa 

I ponder the sentences he couldn't forr 

Appeals and acclamations though somt 
Amidst the shoppers and trade well am 

So poorly attuned, to the vocabulary of 
Slowly pushed open as decades pass on 

And I now watch my young boy's eyes s 

My own gestures of legitimacy and stun 
As I recall a clock shop's unappreciated 



n med 

uate success story 
:ermath and worthy cast 
or Stalin 's rage 

on's absentia, 
:le in merca ntile ascent 

d wiles 

lt fa re 

Nould many dutiful men 
H's dark twelfth month 

'.!ebrate so as to guarantee 
. ri sked an ocea n's roa r 

barn 's better future 

oa rd his O lds '98 
rried ruminations 
sted to the days he knew 
x, 8-track sound prowess 
md custo mers sho pped 

; fond, unspoken affections 
ler-absent Festival of Lights 
{ less prevalent as a parent 

1gency 
;low suburban and solitude 

mptio n 
arduous reta il season 

1ed store, 
'Santa displays 

tter-day Maccabee 

•LIS fa ther's loving intent 

The Clock Shop Sage - Analecta 

l cringe as ad ulthood's unfo rgiving reflections rewind to a son's needless distinction 
"You don 't need to keep this business fo r me!" 
Smug certa in ty d ismiss ing the f~agile epicenter whereupon fe ll 
My fa ther's duties, the sales-d ri ven bastion of his dign ity 
Faili ng to secure valida tion before a boy we ll shy even two decades on this earth 
Amidst adolescent arrogance when imprudent passio ns, if given tongue 
All too shrill and surely procla im, a secession from all thi ngs paternal 

Yet too much a child to d iscern how earnestly fa thers wish to vouchsafe, not separate 
And pass o nward a man's practiced craft into welcoming hands, strong to embrace 
A previous generation's prio ri ties , and maybe too, a profession it may come to impart 
A gender lame with words hoped to find in shared skills and hours together, 
The communion of deeds wherein identities and unannounced anguishes 
Are remedied by proximi ty, not emotions' eruption when well-styled words burst out, 
And leave their audience mute if dazzled 

Ill 

A seasoned merchant shall wisely d isplay and array timely attractions 
For fa r beyond making a living, it is virtue and vendor's skill to know one's customers 
This too is an Art whose studio is shop, stall, and aisle 

Ava ilability of proprietor and product are to commerce and cl ient as free will to the soul 
These are skills books will not impart and as dawns this insight and understand ing, 
So too one fa mily's Willy Lo man grows fo rgiven as consciousness and compass io n 
Quicken and become the daily felt substance, indeed the penance, of all those tuitions 

I ponder the sentences he couldn ' t fo rm , those sentiments remain concealed 
Appeals and acclamations though so mehow never spoken , went better heard 
Amidst the shoppers and trade well attended , while a son stood by illiterate, 
So poorly attuned , to the vocabulary of the marketplace, an occlusion of the hea rt 
Slowly pushed open as decades pass once death has come and taken my Dad away 

And l now watch my young boy's eyes stare at me and scrutinize, 
My own gestures of legitimacy and stum bling linguistics of affirmation 
As I recall a clock shop's unappreciated soul , what will my offspring pass me by? 

7 


