The plane glided smoothly over the wood boards, birthing
perfect curls of shavings. It would be a table fit for a king’s palace, but was
crafted for the Levite who led the local synagogue. Sturdy and large enough for
feasts and councils, with some adornment of abstract design along the legs and
edges, consistent with the prohibition against graven images in Law, yet
elegantly simple, it’s artisanry understated.
Twenty-seven year old hands, muscular, with remarkable
dexterity, gripped the plane with the confidence of a skilled tradesman. They
had gripped tools for nearly all of their days, and formally for fourteen years,
since the hands’ owner’s apprenticeship that began after he celebrated his bar
mitzvah. At twenty-one he began to cultivate his own style and clients, while
still in the family shop.
If all went well, another few months would see him
established sufficiently to wed his fiancée. He wondered as he whistled over
his work a tune from the synagogue service, where did the fourteen year
training period for crafts and trades come from? Did it originate with Father
Jacob, who labored fourteen years for his two brides, a week of years for each?
If so, why did one these days have to work fourteen years to just get the one
wife? Not that he wanted more than one! No, no! He’d observed that one was
plenty for most men. He just wished it could be seven for the one, and then get
on with life.
