"Sewing Machine Almost Kill Me and Sewing Machine Save My Life"

The Amazing Story of Efim Tarakhovskaya, My Friend and Fellow Sewing Machine Man

Last summer, in July of 2023, I took a trip to New York to visit some friends who live on Long Island. I took the train into Manhattan several times, and on one occasion I made a point to visit the Garment Worker statue on 7th Avenue.

Garment Worker by Judith Weller (b.1937, Tel Aviv, Israel) is a realistic rendering of a garment worker, wearing a yarmulke and hunched over a hand-operated sewing machine. The figure is modeled after the artist’s father, who was a machine operator in New York’s garment industry. “When I was a little girl, I recall seeing him at work,” Well explained. “I utilized what I know of him as well as my memory in creating the sculpture.” The sculpture was created to commemorate the Jewish garment workers, the backbone of Jewish life in New York at the turn of the century.

As I was checking out the sculpture, I noticed a very old man walking around the vicinity of the statue. Initially, he caught my attention because he walked extremely well for a man of his age — he must have been in his 90s — but then I realized he was watching me. I approached him and asked if he’d be so kind as to take a picture of me next to the statue. He was more than happy to help, but he had never used an iPhone before, so I taught him how it worked. He is the person who took the photo of me pictured above.

The man’s name was Efim. He asked me why I was interested in the statue, and I told him that I work in a shop in California that sells and repairs sewing machines, and that sewing machines are in my blood. His face lit up when I told him the story of my family’s history with sewing machines. He literally began shaking from excitement and professed that he and I are one and the same. Efim was born in Russia, on the outskirts of Moscow next to a small garment-making factory. His mother worked in the factory, and when Efim was a boy he became an apprentice to the man who repaired and maintained the factory’s machines. When he got older, Efim got a job at a larger factory within the city where he was the one in charge of maintaining and repairing all of the machines.

Efim and I spoke for quite a long time, sitting on a bench next to that garment worker sculpture. He was very excited to talk to someone who knew about sewing machines, and I could tell he had a ton of stories he wanted to share, but at times he was a bit scatterbrained and it was difficult to understand exactly what he was trying to say. Several times he uttered the phrases “sewing machine save my life” and “sewing machine almost kill me.” His face expressed intense emotion, and I couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad or both.

When Efim and I said our goodbyes, I gave him my contact information and told him he could write to me if he wanted to talk about sewing machines some more. That was in July. I didn’t hear from him until the week before Thanksgiving, when I received an email from him that I find absolutely mind-boggling. With permission, I have shared Efim’s email below. English is obviously not his first language, so I did some minor editing here and there. The letter he sent was in one large block of words, so I also added a few line breaks to make it easier to read. Efim has a truly wild story, and sewing machines are at the center of it. Somebody should make it into a movie.

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Dear Cale,

I am Efim Tarakhovskaya. We met at sewing machine statue in Manhattan and you teach me to take photograph on your phone. Remember me? I am old man, struggle to remember detail and organize thoughts. I spoke to you of sewing machine memories of youth on day we met, but I am certain you hear nonsense of old men. Today I have organized thoughts I wish spoken on the day we cross paths.

Sewing machine almost kill me and sewing machine save my life. I am young man 23 years I begin job at Bolshevichtka. Large factory with many sewing machines in operation all day by many seamstress in employment. My job to give maintenance for all machines in factory, reason why I believe you and me perhaps twins across time. I was good mechanic curious about machine with open mind I learn fast. One day police come to factory, they know my name and look for me. I do nothing wrong no secrets to speak but they take me from work. Not good for police to steal you in Moscow I am frightened in car I do not know want from me. Strange is police tell me gather tools in factory, I know will not kill me.

Police drive me to wealthy Moscow neighborhood, escort me inside wealthy apartment unit where lives a woman. She is most beautiful creature I ever see and we are same age. She shows most beautiful sewing machine I ever see. It is Singer from the west, delicate gold painted and black paint shines in the light like a mirror I see my face in reflection. Machine sits in wood table carved by skilled worker. Police demand I fix machine now. I never see Singer machine before. I inspect machine, learn Soviet machine I am familiar must be copy. I am old man now and still I remember problem. The Singer misses stitches each time over. Discover lots of thread behind hook, thread wraps around shaft and hook push forward contacts needle when needle go down. I remove thread and make adjustment for correct distance of hook and needle. Machine sews perfect when I finish work. The beautiful woman name is Darya. During moment while I fix machine she watches as a student impressed by knowledge of sewing machine mechanics I know. She tells she loves to sew most of anything in world, shows me dresses and clothes she make herself. Her dresses beautiful as she and reveal her skill and many hours of practice.

Police drive me back to my home. In car I ask young officer who is that woman. He says she is mistress of Soviet politician friend of Stalin. This news frightens me. I fear feeling when I see that woman, my sweet Darya, glint in eyes that cannot be stopped. I remember Lev the man who teach me fix machines and I must thank him, my life is in danger if I fail to fix the Singer.