Tag Archives: family

May 4, 2026 · 7:30 am

How Hebrew Jewelry Became My Family’s Legacy

Esh Hadaya (Jerusalem, Israel)

I grew up in Jerusalem, where my father, Baruch Hadaya, made Hebrew words shine. At his workbench, with the hum of the Jewish Quarter outside his window. At first, it was a simple silver ring engraved with the words Gam Ze Ya’avor — “This too shall pass.” It was meant for a friend going through a hard time, but it struck a chord with the stream of students, soldiers, and travelers who wandered into his shop. Before long, he was engraving biblical verses, lines from S.Y. Agnon, and phrases whispered in prayer, each one hand-lettered in Hebrew and then etched into silver and gold.

For my father, this was never only craftsmanship. It was a way of spreading the holiness of our language — letter by letter, word by word. He believed Hebrew carried a kind of spiritual charge, that the letters themselves could uplift, comfort, and connect a person to something eternal. For many visitors, their Hadaya piece wasn’t just jewelry; it became a personal amulet, a reminder of faith and resilience they could carry with them anywhere in the world.

As a child, I didn’t just watch this happen — I absorbed it. I saw how someone would walk into our shop carrying a burden and leave with something in their pocket or around their neck that made their shoulders sit higher. It taught me that being a Jew isn’t only about a synagogue’s ritual, it can also be about the quiet rituals we make in everyday life — wrapping tefillin in the morning, yes, but also turning a phrase of Torah into something that rests against your heart.

Over the years, my father’s dream was for all of us — my two brothers, my mother, and me — to work together in the family shop. He didn’t live to see that dream fully realized. But in the way of other tzadikim who plant seeds they never see sprout, his vision is now our reality. We engrave the same verses he did, tell the same stories he told, and pass Hebrew into the hands of new generations, one piece of jewelry at a time.

His legacy is more than the thousands of rings, necklaces, and bracelets scattered across the world — it’s the way he taught us to carry Hebrew, to wear it, and to let it shape our Jewish lives. For me, it’s impossible to separate my own Jewish identity from this work, because it’s through this work that I learned the power of our language, our history, and our small, beautiful way to keep both alive.

Esh Hadaya is a singer, songwriter, and world traveler who manages the family’s worldwide business as the spokesperson and IT manager of Hadaya Jewelry, the Jerusalem studio founded by his father, the late master engraver and storyteller Baruch Hadaya. In the studio, Esh carries on Baruch’s beloved storytelling, gathering visitors to share the origins of treasured quotes, designs, and the Jerusalem spirit behind each hand-engraved piece. Through words and craft, he continues Hadaya’s mission to spread Hebrew wisdom and handmade love across the globe. To visit Hadaya Jewelery, check out the studio’s website: https://hadayajewelry.com/

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December 5, 2025 · 7:30 am

The Miter Box

by Ron Linden (Pittsburgh, PA)

“May their memory be for a blessing.” This Jewish invocation is pronounced when a loved one passes. It serves to comfort and remind us that the departed will continue to bless us with their presence as we remember who they were and what they did. Sometimes, such a blessing can take an odd form. Like that of a miter box.

A miter box-and-saw is a simple yet frustrating contraption that allows the user to cut wood or metal at a precise angle. Usually this is done to let the pieces fit together; for example, in the ceiling molding whose ends must be cut at the proper angles so the pieces can blend at the corners. A miter box-and-saw makes that possible.

In theory.

In practice, it takes the ability to conceptualize how the pieces fit together and even more important, the ability to handle the saw, the box and the wood simultaneously.  Of all the Jewish males in the world, an estimated 75% think they can do it. But a long concealed yet scientifically scrupulous test of the Jewish men in my family showed that exactly one could do so: my brother-in-law Jules.

Jules was one-of-a-kind. He was the first “married-in” to join our family when he wed my sister.  He embodied all the best qualities you would want in a new sibling—good humor, caring, respect, and understanding when his make-out sessions with my sister were interrupted by one of us.  He was extraordinarily and spontaneously generous with his possessions, his time, and his skills. The miter box proves it.

Some years ago our family moved to Pittsburgh and, like many in the city, bought an old house.  Windows, roofing, plumbing, kitchen–all needed attention. As a plumber and carpenter, I was more of a college professor. Jules, however, was a stereotype buster. He was a Jewish guy who knew which end of the hammer to use.  He was the Sandy Koufax of home repair.

But his skills are only part of the story. He and my sister visited us often in Pittsburgh and whenever they came, Jules fixed or built things in our house. He could do this and—to be honest—was a guest who could not sit still and be “entertained.” He had to do things while he visited and our old house provided a rich playground. Knowing this, he always brought the tools he would need—including a miter box.

Jules not only brought the miter box-and-saw to cut the molding strips, but he actually used it correctly without littering the basement with “first drafts.”  He was a one-person episode of “This Old House,” but that was only part of the story . Upon leaving, Jules would typically give us many of the tools he brought with him (probably hopeful of my potential). One of these was the miter box.  

Over the years it lay mysterious and unused as a tool.  But it glowed as a symbol of both my brother-in-law’s multifaceted talents and his expansive generosity. Now, more than a decade after his passing, when I see that miter box I feel the power of Jules’ energy, re-experience his nature, and see the many things he did with us and for our family. This curious contraption, this miter box, is a physical symbol of his generous spirit. In other words, it is–and remains–a memory and a blessing to those left behind.

Ronald H. Linden is professor emeritus of political science at the University of Pittsburgh, where he directed the Center for European Studies and the Center for Russian and East European Studies. He served as Director of Research for Radio Free Europe in Munich, Germany during the extraordinary changes ending the Cold War in Europe. In addition to his scholarly publications and international commentary (see his professional profile here) Ron has authored essays on “The Night The Berlin Wall Came Down,”; “Changing the rules — in life as in baseball”; “Finding Boba Fett: The Pandemic Leaves a Gift,” “The New Pogroms.”

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