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On the first Friday of every month, a community center in Petah Tikva becomes a busy workshop. People arrive carrying broken radios, torn jeans, lamps that don't work and bicycles with flat tyres. They are not customers, and the volunteers who help them are not paid. Welcome to the Repair Café.

The idea began in Amsterdam in 2009 and has spread to thousands of places around the world. The rules are simple: you bring something broken, and a volunteer helps you repair it. The service is free, but you are expected to sit next to the volunteer and learn. "We are not a shop," explains Uri, a retired engineer who has volunteered here for three years. "We want people to leave with a working radio, but also with more confidence."

Many visitors are surprised to discover that their "useless" machines are easily repairable. Often the problem is small: a loose part, a dirty part, a missing piece. "Companies want us to believe that it is cheaper to buy a new one," says Uri. "Sometimes that is true. Usually it is not."

For some visitors, the experience is about more than saving money. Tamar, a student, brought her grandmother's old sewing machine, which had not worked for years. When it started again, she was speechless. "I can't describe the happiness I felt," she says. "It's not replaceable. It's part of my family."

Of course, not everything can be saved. Some modern machines are built in a way that makes them almost impossible to open. The volunteers are honest about this, and they never promise success. But even an unsuccessful repair teaches something. As Uri likes to say, "Every broken thing is a lesson. The only real mistake is throwing it away without looking."

On the first Friday of every month, a community center in Petah Tikva becomes a busy workshop. People arrive carrying broken radios, torn jeans, lamps that don't work and bicycles with flat tyres. They are not customers, and the volunteers who help them are not paid. Welcome to the Repair Café.

The idea began in Amsterdam in 2009 and has spread to thousands of places around the world. The rules are simple: you bring something broken, and a volunteer helps you repair it. The service is free, but you are expected to sit next to the volunteer and learn. "We are not a shop," explains Uri, a retired engineer who has volunteered here for three years. "We want people to leave with a working radio, but also with more confidence."

Many visitors are surprised to discover that their "useless" machines are easily repairable. Often the problem is small: a loose part, a dirty part, a missing piece. "Companies want us to believe that it is cheaper to buy a new one," says Uri. "Sometimes that is true. Usually it is not."

For some visitors, the experience is about more than saving money. Tamar, a student, brought her grandmother's old sewing machine, which had not worked for years. When it started again, she was speechless. "I can't describe the happiness I felt," she says. "It's not replaceable. It's part of my family."

Of course, not everything can be saved. Some modern machines are built in a way that makes them almost impossible to open. The volunteers are honest about this, and they never promise success. But even an unsuccessful repair teaches something. As Uri likes to say, "Every broken thing is a lesson. The only real mistake is throwing it away without looking."

On the first Friday of every month, a community center in Petah Tikva becomes a busy workshop. People arrive carrying broken radios, torn jeans, lamps that don't work and bicycles with flat tyres. They are not customers, and the volunteers who help them are not paid. Welcome to the Repair Café.

The idea began in Amsterdam in 2009 and has spread to thousands of places around the world. The rules are simple: you bring something broken, and a volunteer helps you repair it. The service is free, but you are expected to sit next to the volunteer and learn. "We are not a shop," explains Uri, a retired engineer who has volunteered here for three years. "We want people to leave with a working radio, but also with more confidence."

Many visitors are surprised to discover that their "useless" machines are easily repairable. Often the problem is small: a loose part, a dirty part, a missing piece. "Companies want us to believe that it is cheaper to buy a new one," says Uri. "Sometimes that is true. Usually it is not."

For some visitors, the experience is about more than saving money. Tamar, a student, brought her grandmother's old sewing machine, which had not worked for years. When it started again, she was speechless. "I can't describe the happiness I felt," she says. "It's not replaceable. It's part of my family."

Of course, not everything can be saved. Some modern machines are built in a way that makes them almost impossible to open. The volunteers are honest about this, and they never promise success. But even an unsuccessful repair teaches something. As Uri likes to say, "Every broken thing is a lesson. The only real mistake is throwing it away without looking."