Some of my earliest childhood memories were going through both my grandmother’s and mother’s jewelry boxes. I loved trying on the shiny and sparkly pins, rings, bracelets and necklaces, imagining being old enough to wear “real” jewelry.
My first piece of jewelry that represented something more than a birthday or a bat mitzvah gift was the MIA bracelet I wore for over a decade engraved with the name of a Vietnam soldier missing in action. I wore that bracelet from the early 70s until sometime in the early 80s when the Vietnam War Memorial was dedicated, and “my” soldier, James Metzger, was listed as deceased in action.
Soon after I removed that bracelet, I began wearing another, this time an AIDS bracelet. The first person I knew to contract and die of AIDS was a wonderful man, my hairdresser at a Beverly Hills salon. I was a struggling graduate student who could not afford the salon prices but Ace Davis took pity on me and found a way. Supervising apprentices who “learned” on my hair under his strict tutelage gave me the haircuts I wanted while not forcing me to eat ramen for three meals a day. Ace was the first, but far from the last, person I knew who died from AIDS. Wearing that bracelet reminded me every day of the plague befalling some of the most wonderful men I had ever known.
This “jewelry of memory” was a part of me during my most formative years. As time passed, I began wearing other symbolic pieces: an engagement ring, a wedding band, items with my children’s birthstones. These more standardized items represented my life moving forward. I thought the chapter of jewelry for a cause had been closed, or at least paused. That was until October 7, 2023.
First there were blue ribbons, then pins, each with a photo of a hostage. At the march in Washington, I reached into a bag and randomly withdrew a pin with the face of a child, Erez Dan Kalderon, a beautiful 12-year-old boy who had been kidnapped along with his sister and father from Kibbutz Nir Oz. For weeks I wore that pin until on November 27, as part of an exchange of prisoners for hostages, Erez and his sister, Sahar, were released. Their father Ofer remains in captivity.
Then the dog tags began to appear on Facebook and Instagram. As the daughter of a US Army veteran, I had always viewed dog tags as a symbol of my father’s service. But now, I have my own, inscribed with words in both Hebrew and English. The Hebrew translates as “My heart is enslaved in Gaza” and the English says, “Bring them Home Now”. The dog tags are obvious around my neck and have inspired conversations with random strangers from my Starbucks barista to a flight attendant. Honestly, in the beginning I was hesitant to wear such an obvious symbol but I came to realize that I generally lead with my educator’s hat, and engaging with others about the dog tags was a way of sharing the story of the hostages with those who get their news on TikTok. I needed to step into this space and do what I do best: educate.
Recently I gifted a necklace with dog tags like mine to a colleague who had been resistant to wanting to begin wearing one. She had hoped to put one on in Israel and, as she was unsure as to when that would be, she decided to begin wearing one now. She asked a few of us to gather as she placed the dog tag on her neck, wanting to ritualize the moment. We all stood together with her reciting a bracha, Baruch ata Adonai, eloheynu melech haolam, shematir asurim, Blessed are you Adonai, who frees the captives.
I hope that soon, we will all be able to remove this new piece of jewelry from around our necks. I know that when I am able to remove these symbolic pieces from my body, they will not be removed from my heart. James Metzger, Ace Davis and the lives of all those who were murdered on October 7th….I remember you all.
