This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

My family’s jew­el­ry shop in Jerusalem has always been a place where Hebrew words meet pre­cious met­al — vers­es, bless­ings, and lines of poet­ry car­ried out into the world on rings, bracelets, and neck­laces. Since Octo­ber 7th, some­thing has shift­ed in the way peo­ple choose the jew­el­ry we make. Now, the words have an edge of urgency, the hope of uni­ty, and the imper­a­tive of remembrance.

The Israel Map Neck­lace has become one of our most request­ed designs, often cho­sen with the inscrip­tion עם ישראל חי (Am Yis­rael Chai — ​“The Peo­ple of Israel Live”). Star of David neck­laces, too, are in greater demand than we’ve ever seen. We’ve even added a new Magen David design to meet the moment, inspired by the flame of the Jew­ish peo­ple — our Jew­ish Flame pen­dant, a star with a liv­ing ember at its core. These sym­bols have always been part of Jew­ish life, but today they car­ry a renewed defi­ance: I am here. We are still here.

The engrav­ings peo­ple choose tell their own sto­ry: יחד ננצח (Togeth­er We Will Win), עוד נשוב לרקוד (We Shall Dance Again). Phras­es that speak to resilience after trau­ma, to a shared deter­mi­na­tion to rebuild and find joy. And לא נשכח (Nev­er For­get), a long-stand­ing vow, has become much request­ed on bracelets and pen­dants — this time mark­ing a new chap­ter in our col­lec­tive memory.

When cus­tomers share why they chose these words, it’s clear they’re not only buy­ing jew­el­ry; they’re cre­at­ing some­thing they can hold onto when the head­lines feel heavy. A neck­lace becomes a tal­is­man against despair. A ring becomes a promise of hope. We’ve watched fam­i­lies choose match­ing pieces to stay con­nect­ed across con­ti­nents, sol­diers’ loved ones inscribe prayers for pro­tec­tion, and stu­dents pick vers­es that car­ry them through the year. The words are per­son­al, but the sto­ry is shared.

Hadaya (my family’s jew­el­ry shop) began as a small bench and a big belief — that words mat­ter, and that wear­ing them keeps them close. From the start, peo­ple brought us their lives in brief lines: a name for a new­born, a pasuk for courage, ini­tials that held a whole his­to­ry. Over time, our cat­a­log grew along­side our com­mu­ni­ty. The Clas­sic Yeshi­va Ring became a rite of pas­sage for stu­dents learn­ing in Jerusalem. The Yeshi­va Bracelet and Extra Nar­row Bracelet car­ried bless­ings and dates from mile­stones that still make us smile when we think of them. Neck­laces like the Name Bar, Bagel, Heart, and Israel Map found their place over count­less hearts. And on busy days you could hear the soft rhythm of the ham­mer in the back room, the scratch of let­ters being hand-drawn into met­al, the front door open­ing to a famil­iar ​“Shalom, I think I know what I want written.”

Our craft has always been inti­mate. Every let­ter is drawn by hand, every word placed with inten­tion. We mea­sure, stamp, pol­ish, and read the engrav­ing out loud before it leaves our hands. We’ve learned that the small­est phrase can car­ry the heav­i­est mean­ing. Like adding a heart next to your name on the inside of your piece – a reminder to love your­self. This is not mass pro­duc­tion. It’s a con­ver­sa­tion between your sto­ry and our art.

In the after­math of Octo­ber 7th, that con­ver­sa­tion changed — but it did not break. We’ve been engrav­ing not only sil­ver and gold, but also the unshak­able truth the Jew­ish peo­ple have car­ried for gen­er­a­tions: we sur­vive, we remem­ber, and we keep liv­ing — togeth­er. If the words you need are bold, we will carve them bold­ly. If they are qui­et, we will engrave them soft­ly. Whether it’s תקווה (hope), כח (strength), גם זה יעבור (this too shall pass), or the name of some­one you car­ry in your heart, we will set those words into some­thing you can hold.

The pieces we make are not an end in them­selves. They are reminders to lift our eyes, bless the good, hon­or the fall­en, and to walk for­ward. The words we wear do not change what has hap­pened – they shape how we live with it, how we stand with one anoth­er, and how we build tomor­row. So we keep engrav­ing. We keep lis­ten­ing. Keep choos­ing life, with every letter.

Every­day, we pray for the return of our peo­ple who are still in Gaza.

The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

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