Lalo

Here we have two rings and a group of bracelets created by the Israeli designer Lalo. She is known for her whimsical and vibrant resin production and also makes judaica with the same bright materials. Her curved, platicy forms are fun to wear and are always conversation starters. There is nothing that colors them distinctly Jewish, except for the memories that I associate with them. Each purchase was done in conjunction with my mother, so that when I even see a piece of Lalo jewelry out in the world, I immediately think of her. We happened upon the designer together and both own rings by her. I bought a bracelet for my mother while in Israel, to commemorate an award my mother received because of her dedication to Jewish education. For these reasons, the jewelry has become "Jewish" for us. We are aware of the Israeli origins of the pieces due to the nationality of the designer and our buying experiences, and additionally own pieces that are connected to Jewish events in our lives. The jewelry has become part of our Jewish existence, similar to the way non traditional elements of life such as "nonverbal gesture, rituals, daily experiences, and life stories" marked the religious life of older Jewish women who attended a Day Center in Jerusalem, according to scholar Susan Starr Sered in her article Women as Ritual Experts(Sered 5). The Jewish jewelry narrates our Jewish life, which is punctuated by simchas and gift giving, as well as travelling to what we consider our homeland. The memories embedded in the shiny resin are not just intergenerational between mother and daughter, but are also textured by a distinctively Jewish nature. We are creating our own Jewish traditions through our jewelry wearing, something that can only be sensed by us.

Modern, Feminine Tefillin

I bought this bracelet at an outdoor market in Tel Aviv. I was drawn to the fact that it is a long black leather cord that can be continuously wrapped around one's wrist, thus making it appear as if you are wearing scores of bracelets. I also liked the fact that is is strung with a score of symbols. The symbols that are markedly Jewish to me are the Jewish star, the hamsa, and a Roman coin. I speak about the hamsa and the Jewish Star on the blog, but here I will mention my feelings about the coin. The Roman coin evokes historical memory about the region we now refer to as Israel and how the area has consistently been embattled territory. After taking this course, I realized that this leather cord has another aspect of Jewish identity wound within it. Because it has the ability to wrap, I liken it to a metaphorical tefillin. That is why I took the photograph with the bracelet as an imagined tefillin. With its Jewish adornments, it becomes my own Jewish ritual. The routine of wrapping myself with it before leaving my home becomes a moment in which I decisively dress myself as a Jew, affirming a connection to God and the Jewish people through the symbols adorning my arm.

Hadaya

This bracelet and heart shaped pendant are classic works from the Jerusalem jewelry store Hadaya. I wear this bracelet everyday, because of its simplicity and its ability to go with everything. Hadaya advertises unique one of a kind jewelry, which entails blank hand hammered silver bracelets, necklaces, and rings on which one chooses their own Hebrew phrases to be engraved. Jewelry such as this has become a staple among girls who visit Israel on organized trips, to study at seminary, or even for a family vacation. I myself first saw Jewish girls wearing the iconic heart shaped necklace and was at once interested in having one for myself, however, imbued with my own phrase of significance. In preparation for receiving my own side swung heart, I scanned my siddur for a message of strength or security, finally deciding upon the phrase: ושמור צאתנו ובאנו לחיים ולשלום מעתה ועד עולם

Originating in the Arvit or evening service on Friday night, the sentence translates to: And God will protect your going out and your coming home, in life and peace, now and forever. Always somewhat of an obsessive and superstitious person, this phrase elicited comfort and stability for me. It gave me peace of mind before leaving home in the morning, as I imagined the Hebrew words floating off the pendant and snaking around my body as a sort of home security system but for my person. I see now that this necklace functions as an amulet for me, allowing me to derive superstitious security from its lettering when I place it around my neck. It acts as my own mezuzah, which adorns Jewish doorposts, onto which I am projecting my own occult mysticism. Martin Gordon, in his article Mezuzah: protective amulet or religious symbol? grapples with the same realization, as he claims that the inscription written on the mezuzah "is possessed of its own potency, generating protective benefits, [which] perverts a spiritual instrumentality into a cultic charm" (Gordon 25). I have allowed a simple silver heart to have a say in my destiny, supposing that this object will offer me protection and piece of mind, and in a way it does, just because I allow it to. One thing is for sure, whenever I see anyone with a necklace of similar styling, I can rightly assume they bear some connection to Israel and/or the Jewish people and they likely will look at my own necklace and assume the same. Thus, a visual marker that adorns us becomes a linking chain to the Jewish people. Unlike the markers forced upon Jews, by choice, we bedeck ourselves with a marker that identifies us as Jewish. However, it is something only recognizable by people who have had some sort of Israel experience. We are asserting our Jewishness, but in an unassuming way that does not signal our Judaism in a strong manner.

The Hadaya bracelet I wear is actually my mother's since it bears her name on the side. She wears a bracelet that has my name inscribed on the back. This is a bracelet I rarely take off, because it feels as if she is constantly with me, almost like an engraving on my forearm...

Hamsa

I have several pieces of jewelry that display "hamsas" or the "Hand of God," as I grew up understanding it to be. It wasn't until I interned at Beit Hatfutsoth, or the Museum of Jewish Peoplehood in Israel, that I learned about the textured history of this symbol. In Islam, the "hamsa" was referred to as the "Hand of Fatimah," the daughter of Muhammad, but no doubt due to the interplay of culture seen in many Middle eastern lands, the hand also became known as "Miriam's Hand." I considered this a natural progression of symbols, but after taking this course, I view the change as a reappropriation of signs. Even if Jewish thought did not invent the "hamsa" and are borrowing the symbol, Jews have done something to it that is historically Jewish. While considering the eruv within the context of reconstituting Jewish ritual, in her work Space and Place in Jewish Studies, Barbara Mann refers to the eruv as "a durable and age old form of recylcing [which] is also one definition of tradition: the preservation and conservation of old customs within new settings" (Mann 143). As a student of Jewish Art History, I have found that the recycling and reuse of ritual objects is something that punctuates Jewish art and custom. "Hamsas" now adorm our necks, hang on our walls, and even keychains (like my own). They have become pervasive in our culture, visible by the many artistic interpretation of their form. This can be seen even in my small collection of various "hamsas". The "hamsa" now worn by Jews has come a long way from "Fatima's Hand" with regards to material, form, structure, and embellishment, often times created by Jews for Jews with a Jewish purpose and intent. Now, by marking ourselves with a "hamsa" we are subscribing to our Judaism.

To be quite honest, the symbol has an aura of exoticness for me, I believe I can trace a parallel culture in the wide phalanges, exciting and otherworldly compared to my own Ashkenazi heritage. Even if this symbol does have Islamic origins, I can only recount seeing Jews wearing this symbol. It has become a Jewish signifier, all the more popular with Jews of varying cultural backgrounds populating the land of Israel. My necklace with the blue beads is by a Israeli designer named Adaya Bar, the bracelet is something I picked up at a flea festival in Chicago, and the floral "hamsa" is another design of Michal Negrin.

Michal Negrin

At first glance, some may overlook this ornate rococo style as perhaps too flowery and decidedly not Jewish, however these earrings and ring are created by one of my favorite Israeli designers, Michal Negrin. Entering her store in Israel is like walking into the most colorful candy store in the world. She has revolutionized Israeli style with her technique and design; known for feminine and ornate embellishments that appear on rings and bracelets to journals and dresses. Whenever I wear these earring in Jewish circles, I usually hear the question, "Are those Michal Negrin?" Male and female alike who have been to Israel can recognize her flowers, whose designs are only sold in Israel, including at Ben Gurion Airport. If you are wearing her jewlery, you have a direct connection to Israel. You have either been there yourself or know someone who brought them back for you. Although they do not overtly signify my religion, they indicate a link to the country of Israel and thus a support of the nation. I am approving of her style and indirectly supporting Israel's economy. When I see someone wearing Michal Negrin, I assume they are Jewish because of the ISrael connection I link to the jewelry, and they could assume the same of me by seeing my own floral arrangements. Thus this symbol acts as an "eruv" between us. Because we choose to don these flowers, we are accepting an unspoken link to a location of Jewish heritage, thus allowing it to be part of our identity. We understand this tacit symbol linking us, which we approve of by simply wearing it. According to Charlotte Fonrobert in her work The Political Symbolism of the Eruv, "The eruv emerges as a theory of community, of collectivity, of neighborhood as a unified community with collective intent" (Fonrobert 16). If we understnad an eruv to present a physical community with mutual mindset, the jewelry functions as such, allowing strangers to see religious connections between them due to the tangible wearing of symbols. On a side note, I have a keener affection for Michal Negrin, because she designs for my needs. I do not have pierced ears and those who do not have pierced ears know how hard it is to find earrings. Michal designs a whole slew of earrings made for girls like me. I'm not sure why she does it, but it could have something to do with her clientele.

In fact, at an orthodox wedding in Israel several summers ago, I began to speak with a close family friend who hails from an Orthodox community in Jerusalem. I remarked how gorgeous her white flowery earrings were and she of course admired my own. In a moment of awkward shyness with nothing else to say, I began to tell her of my plight with earrings. She grew wide eyed and expressed the same issue as she smoothly slid one earring off. I asked why she could not have pierced ears and her response had something to do with Kabbalah. She could not pierce her ears for risk of ruining the fields of energy that run through her body- or that was what her father said. I simply form keyloids, but it is not unheard of that those who follow talmudic or kabbalistic texts also must refrain from piercing on principle. If that is true, Michal would be wise to advertise with this consort.

Dressing to Impress

Growing up, I was always taught that I should consistently present myself in the best light possible. This always meant neat, matching clothing, primped hair, and clean socks. As I grew older, the stakes rose. Make-up, nails, and jewelry now fit into the equation. I may not have always listened, especially with regards to wearing lipstick, but I learned to value the importance of appearing professional and lady like depending on the event or location. It is rather empowering to know that I possess the control of knowing how to dress to impress or quite simply how to allow my personality and ideals to show through my modes of fashion. A product of a Conservative Jewish home, the laws of Tsniut or modesty were never impressed on me with regards to long skirts or high necked shirts, therefore I never felt that there was anything in my dress that could distinguish me as specifically Jewish. However, as I sorted through my immense collection of jewelry, I realized that it is through these adornments where my Jewish identity manifests itself. These tangible objects with their symbolism, design, and style have the power to point out my Jewish identity. Of course this also depends on who is looking... I wear jewelry to accessorize, give my outfits a polished look, and to express my personal style. However, my "Jewish jewelry" has always gone beyond ornamentation. Foremost, I have always considered any Jewish related jewelry as markers of my Jewish identity in the general sense, but since taking this course, I see that each piece of jewelry has more nuanced meaning in its symbolism and style. Both my experience and perspective personally imbues each stone and hammered surface with Jewish meaning and memory. Furthermore, it is not only I who project significance onto these markers, but also the observers of my jewelry, who can feel linked to me by the chain around my neck or conversely excluded due to my earring choice.

Jewish Star

A Jewish star is stereotypically the most prevalent Jewish symbol worn as jewelry. Ironically, it is one that I wear least often in comparison to the other jewelry that I own of which I label "Jewish". I never questioned why the Jewish Star became so popular, but this course has enabled me to look at historical events that led to its popularity. I see now how Zionism contributed to its increased importance and gaze at the star with slight skepticism when remembering how it was the marker which was forced upon Jews during World War II. The star has a long history fraught with positive and negative characteristics. Like the Hamsa it has been re-appropriated and recycled throughout the years, continuously remade for adornment in many different shapes and forms. I think back to my first paper for the class which analyzed an earring on display on the first level of the Museum of Jewish Heritage. A six pointed star, it’s angles were more fluid, resembling a pinwheel made of roped silver. Miniature balls adorned its edges while undulating lines encircled its center. It was made by a Yemenite Jew by the name of Zacharia Jamil who came to New York City at the turn of the century. In order to unlock the discourses dissecting this earring, it was imperative to reference semiotics and the socio-historical roots embedded within the object itself. By doing so, it was then possible to see the earring as more than an object, but as a symbol, a “form which expresses more than it indicates, and so has the power beyond its literal denotation," as said by Erwin R. Goodenough in Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period (Goodenough 33). The Jewish star is no longer just a pendant that I wear around my neck which links me to the Jewish people, but its angles point to a nuanced story of differing perspectives. Both of my stars hail from Israel and I rarely wear them. I am not sure why, but I think it is because I do not like to overtly advertise my Judaism. Even today in America and the world over, there are places I go where I would rather not display my religion, because in the context of the world as a whole, a Jewish Star is recognized by all as a Jewish sign. One of my stars is yet again designed by Michal Negrin, while the other is from Tiberias, Israel.