When we made aliyah 27 years ago, Beit Shemesh was a quieter, less developed town – a far cry from the bustling city it is today. Adjusting to its slower pace and limited options was challenging, particularly when looking for everyday essentials. Thankfully, we had Kol Bo Yechezkel, a store in the Migdal HaMayim neighborhood, which was far more than just a place to shop. Owned by the warm and ever-patient Yechezkel Tachvillian, it was a lifeline for new immigrants like us. True to its name (Kol Bo, meaning “everything”), the store stocked almost anything you could need (aside from food and clothes). But the true treasure of Kol Bo Yechezkel wasn’t the inventory – it was Yechezkel himself. Kol Bo Yechezkel didn’t just provide hardware; it offered connection, care, and community – a truly “everything” store for Beit Shemesh.
Yechezkel Tachvillian immigrated to Israel with his family from Iran in 1958 and became a pillar of the Beit Shemesh community, helping establish Shaarei Rachamim V’Shalom - fondly known as the Persian Shul. In 1984, he opened Kol Bo Yechezkel. The store quickly became indispensable to olim (new immigrants). Setting up a home in a new country – assembling furniture, installing appliances, and turning an unfamiliar apartment or house into a home – requires a good hardware store. While Beit Shemesh had other options, none offered Yechezkel’s signature warmth and personal touch. Naturally, we all flocked to him.
Shopping at Yechezkel’s was as much a pleasure as it was an experience. His small, old-fashioned store overflowed with shelves stocked with everything from cleaning supplies and photo albums to pots and pans. Often, Yechezkel could be found sitting outside, warmly greeting passersby. Perhaps this was because his store was packed to the brim, but I suspect it was simply because he genuinely loved connecting with people. Those who stepped inside were always met with a welcoming smile and endless patience.
New immigrants often struggle to communicate in Hebrew. Yechezkel would listen intently as customers described their needs, sometimes using pantomime to bridge the language gap. Without fail, he would walk straight to the precise shelf containing the item they needed, retrieving it within seconds. This seemingly effortless service often marked the start of a lasting relationship.
To me, Yechezkel wasn’t just a hardware vendor. He was also my personal Mr. Fix-It. As long as it wasn’t bolted to the floor, anything broken in my home found its way to his store, where he’d repair it with ease and hand it back with a smile. He even re-bound my children’s favorite books with his magical stapler. More recently, when my daughter needed a rare item for an art project, she searched several stores without success. Of course, she should have started with Yechezkel, who immediately handed her exactly what she needed with his trademark warmth.
Yechezkel was scrupulously honest. He often talked customers out of purchasing pricier items if a less expensive alternative would suffice. I find it hard to believe that anyone ever paid full price at his store; he consistently rounded prices down. One new immigrant recalled telling Yechezkel that she had just made aliyah. He immediately gave her a 50 percent discount on all the houseware items she purchased that day.
Sadly, Yechezkel passed away last week. Since my family no longer lives in old Beit Shemesh, I didn’t hear the news from my neighbors. Instead, I learned about his passing in a community chat where moderators share important updates about Beit Shemesh. Naturally, Yechezkel’s passing was news of that magnitude.
Tributes poured into Beit Shemesh community groups almost immediately. Many expressed shock, unaware that Yechezkel had been unwell. Even at 81 years of age, he worked alongside his son until just two and a half months ago. Message after message began with a familiar refrain: “When we made aliyah X years ago, Yechezkel…” A local magazine honored his legacy, highlighting how his store served the entire Beit Shemesh community while becoming a special haven for Anglo immigrants. It was a place where they found not just hardware but camaraderie and advice.
One man likened Yechezkel’s store to Beit Shemesh’s own Aladdin’s cave, complete with a back door that seemed to lead to another world where every imaginable item could be found. A woman recounted going to Yechezkel in search of a mop. In Israel, floors are traditionally cleaned with a stick and rag, but she preferred the mops used in her home country. Such mops are rare in Israel, but Yechezkel didn’t miss a beat. He disappeared and returned moments later with an American-style mop. She faithfully returned to his store each year to buy a replacement.
For Yechezkel, running a store wasn’t just about selling goods; it was about helping people. Someone recounted making aliyah during the pandemic and immediately entering a two-week isolation period. When their refrigerator arrived just hours before Shabbos, they realized they needed special magnets to turn off the fridge light. Someone recommended calling Yechezkel. To their amazement, not only did Yechezkel have the magnets, but he also arranged for them to be delivered to their door – ensuring that their first Shabbos in Israel went smoothly. After October 7, many sought Yechezkel’s guidance on securing their safe rooms, and true to form, he was ready to assist.
Paying a shiv’ah call was an experience in itself. Yechezkel’s wife, seven sons, and siblings (he was one of 14) sat shiv’ah in the very shul he had founded. In true Sefardi fashion, the room was filled with people, warmth, and food. Every few minutes, someone would offer me something to eat. I wasn’t sure if his son would remember me, but to my surprise, he recognized me and even recalled my name. He shared how deeply touched the family was by the large number of Anglos who attended the l’vayah, many of them visibly crying.
Sitting with his family and friends in the shul he founded, I couldn’t help but reflect on how much of Beit Shemesh’s story was intertwined with Yechezkel’s. He was far more than a shopkeeper: He became part of our homes, our lives, and our hearts. He was a bridge, linking people from diverse backgrounds whose paths might never have otherwise crossed. Many described him as a father figure. His family seemed both moved and surprised by how deeply the Anglo community had connected with him. Someone printed the touching tributes shared in online forums and brought them to the shiv’ah house. The family treasured these messages so much that they asked for more, intending to compile them into a commemorative book.
The era of Mom-and-Pop shops is quickly fading. Nowadays, many people don’t even step into stores, choosing the convenience of online shopping instead. Yet people like Yechezkel remind us of the irreplaceable value of human connection. His legacy is not just a chapter in the story of Beit Shemesh, but a lesson for us all – to truly see others, to serve them with heart, and to make every interaction meaningful. Walking through Migdal HaMayim without seeing Yechezkel seated outside his shop seems unimaginable. A piece of Beit Shemesh is gone forever. He will be sorely missed. But his memory lives on in the countless lives he touched.
Y’hi zichro baruch.
Suzie Steinberg, (nee Schapiro), CSW, is a native of Kew Gardens Hills and resident of Ramat Beit Shemesh who publishes articles regularly in various newspapers and magazines about life in general, and about life in Israel in particular. Her recently published children’s book titled Hashem is Always With Me can be purchased in local Judaica stores as well as online. Suzie can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. and would love to hear from you.
