Little has changed in the 25 years since Ron Holder became a shoemaker

Photos and text by Avrom and Raizy Rubinfeld

The aged sign over “Ronnie Hasandlar” on 4th street in Lakewood proudly displays “Shomer Shabbos.” Inside, little has changed in the 25 years since Ron Holder became a shoemaker: Shelves of shoes line the walls, while tools, taps, and scraps of leather are scattered around the workbench. It smells like polish and purpose.

Ron Holder

​Ron Hasandlar

243 4th St, Lakewood

Since 1998

It’s no wonder that a sign on the wall announces “I finished Shas twice! You can do it too”

R

onnie didn’t become a shoemaker by chance. “I only got into this because of Rabbi Shlomo Gissinger a”h,” he says as he hammers away at a heel. Nothing was too big or too small for Rabbi Gissinger, a kashrus expert and sought-after posek who would be dealing with life-and-death matters and then segue into doing small favors to help people. “I spoke to him about what kind of job I should take on, and he told me, ‘shoemaker.’ I came home and told my family, and they said, ‘No way. Why that?’ ” He shrugs. “I think he talked to G-d.”

Following Rabbi Gissinger’s advice, Ronnie apprenticed under a Turkish shoemaker in Deal, learning the craft from the ground up.

The bell above the door jingles constantly with customers coming and going. “We have a great relationship with our customers,” Ronnie says. “Baruch Hashem, we have a good reputation.”

A Gemara sits open on his workbench. Whenever there’s a quiet moment, he’s learning. It’s no wonder that a sign on the wall announces “I finished Shas twice! You can do it too!” Alongside his learning — in a throwback to the holy shoemakers of old — he’s constantly reciting Tehillim. A stack of papers with names to daven for is within arm’s reach, and people are always bringing him more.

Orthopedic work is now a big part of the shoe repair industry, and Ronnie collaborates closely with podiatrists — or “footsie doctors,” as he calls them. He’s also done plenty of work for police officers, especially in the days when their uniforms and shoes were subject to inspection. His clientele is diverse: He’s had all types of people walk through his door, from a gubernatorial candidate to a senator to Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky.

In the last two decades, Ronnie has seen the industry shift. “People buy disposable shoes these days,” he says. “Would you bother to repair a cheap shoe?” But when it comes to high-end brands — Jimmy Choo, Louis Vuitton, Gucci — people want to protect their investment, and they come to Ronnie.

On the wall hangs the tefillah of Rabi Meir Baal Haneis, often said when searching for lost items. “That’s saved me many times,” Ronnie says. He recalls a time when a woman brought in designer shoes from Italy that cost her $3,000. Ronnie was sure the shoes were already picked up, but the woman claimed they were still in the shop.

“I was putting money in the pushke and saying the pasuk over and over again,” Ronnie says. If the shoes hadn’t turned up, he would’ve owed her $3,000. Later that day, the woman called — her daughter had found the shoes in their closet.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1090)