No One Comes to This World Just to Sew Buttons

Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman, may Hashem avenge his blood, was a great Torah leader and head of a yeshiva in Europe between the two World Wars. At one point, the yeshiva faced severe financial difficulty, and Rabbi Elchanan decided to travel to America to raise funds to support the Torah learning. “This is Hashem’s will,” he said. “If American Jews help support Torah, they receive a share in the mitzvah and the merit of the learning.”

This was about a hundred years ago, when such a journey was long and exhausting. First by train through Europe, then weeks at sea on a ship. After about a month, Rabbi Elchanan and a few companions arrived in America.

He immediately set out on his mission—visiting Jewish homes, explaining how supporting a yeshiva is not just charity, but a great honor and eternal merit. But the materialism in America made things hard. One of the students suggested: “There’s a wealthy Jewish factory owner here. He runs two massive clothing factories with thousands of workers. But he’s married to a non-Jew, doesn’t come to shul even on Yom Kippur, and he’s known for his stinginess. No one’s ever gotten even a dollar of tzedakah from him. But—you should know—he used to learn in the same cheder as the Rosh Yeshiva in Europe. His name now is Jacob, but back then, everyone called him Yankel.”

“Oh dear Yankel,” Rabbi Elchanan said with pain. “Hashem have mercy on what became of him.” Without hesitation, he put on his coat and said, “Let’s go.”

They arrived at Jacob’s office, and Rabbi Elchanan warmly began a conversation. Jacob was curious and asked questions about the old town, about mutual friends, and about the yeshiva. Rabbi Elchanan answered kindly and patiently. Eventually, Jacob asked, “Rabbi Elchanan, why did you come to America?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he replied. “You see my coat? This button keeps falling off. I’ve been to the tailor several times to fix it, but it always comes loose again. I heard you have a large clothing factory, so I thought maybe you could help me find someone who can sew it on properly, so it won’t fall again.”

Jacob smiled in relief. If that was the request, he was happy to help. He called for his factory’s best tailor and asked him to sew the button so tightly that it would never come loose again.

The tailor took the coat, worked on it, and soon returned. “It’s fixed, Rabbi,” he said. “That button will never fall off again.” Rabbi Elchanan thanked both men warmly, blessed them, and returned to his lodgings.

That evening, the phone rang. It was Jacob. “Rabbi Elchanan, thank you for coming. But... you still haven’t told me why you really came to America.”

“What do you mean?” he answered gently. “I told you—this button kept falling off and it really bothered me. Baruch Hashem, it’s fixed now. Thank you again.”

The next morning, another phone call. Jacob again. “Please come back. I must speak with you.”

Rabbi Elchanan returned, and Jacob looked at him seriously. “Please, Rabbi, be honest with me. You didn’t really come to America just to fix a button, right?”

“I already explained,” Rabbi Elchanan answered kindly. “This button caused me so much distress. In the freezing European winter, a coat is essential. A loose button is a real issue.”

Jacob shook his head. “But no one travels across continents, changes trains, spends weeks at sea, and pays endless taxes—just to fix a coat button. With that money, you could’ve bought a hundred coats!”

But Rabbi Elchanan stuck to his story, with calm patience. The next day, another call. “Rabbi,” Jacob said with a trembling voice, “I haven’t slept or eaten in two days. Tell me the truth—why did you come?”

“I told you already,” Rabbi Elchanan answered, “I came to sew the button.”

Jacob broke down. “It’s not true! You’re hiding something from me. You’re a great rabbi, head of a yeshiva, you’ve written holy books, you have hundreds of students—and you leave it all and travel here for a button? It can’t be!”

Rabbi Elchanan paused. Then he looked Jacob in the eyes and said:

“You’re right. No one travels from Europe to America just to sew a button. But Yankel! Listen to what you yourself are saying! You understand how foolish it would be to make such a difficult journey just to fix a button. But tell me—why did your soul come down to this world?

“Do you really think your neshama (soul) left the World of Truth, came down from under Hashem’s Throne of Glory, your mother carried you for nine months, went through pain to bring you into the world, and you grew up and built businesses, all just to sew buttons? Just to make money? To build factories? Really?

“If I didn’t come here just to sew a button—then what are you doing here?”

The words hit deep. Jacob’s heart opened. He understood. He stopped being “Jacob” and became Yankel again. He returned to Torah, made time to learn every day, and lived as a proud Jew. His children and grandchildren are Torah observant to this day.

Each of us who reads this story can ask ourselves: Why am I here? Did my soul come into this world just to earn money, build a career, or buy a nice car? Or is there something more—something eternal—that I was sent here to do?

No one travels from Heaven to Earth... just to sew buttons.

Courtesy of the Dirshu website.