The Day Started with a Ring

“I like your Magen David ring,” said the cashier.
Pause.
“Thank you,” said the customer. “I try to wear something meaningful each day.”
“I notice those little things,” said the cashier.
Pause.

This was an interaction between a cashier and a customer, me, a few months ago at a local donut and coffee shop. I will tell you that I paused at hearing her comment about my ring because when I heard those first six words, I wasn’t sure how to feel or respond.

Yes, I wear a Magen David ring on my right hand. It’s on my pinky finger. I’ve owned this ring for over four decades, having purchased it at The Pyramid, a store on Washington Avenue in Bergenfield, N.J.

This ring measures less than one-half inch in diameter, from point to point. It’s been with me through college graduations, weddings, funerals, baby namings, b’nei and b’not mitzvah and some job interviews and other events.

Why some and not all? Concern and fear. Uncertainty might be a more suitable word choice.

Admittedly, there have been a few times since October 7th that I made the choice not to wear the ring. I was afraid. You may have an opinion about my sense of trepidation. I realize that it is a feeling some people understand, while others do not. Whether you think the way I felt is rational or irrational, it emanates from my lived experiences.

During the past four decades of employment, and community and civic engagement, I have found that it has not always been easy to obtain information about the opinions and hiring practices of prospective school boards and organizational personnel.

Therefore, sometimes the pinky ring was left in the small dish on the wooden bureau. Would job interviewers notice the Star of David on my pinky finger? Would that deter them from hiring me?

Today, the cashier’s comment still unsettles me and gives me pause: If I feel the need to hide the ring or not wear a specific piece of jewelry in order to obtain a job or volunteer position, is that a position I want? Is that an organization I want to work for or with?

You may be curious to know what happened after that cashier and I had that verbal exchange. After she stretched out her arm and gave me my change, we made eye contact. A shared, though fleeting, relatable moment replaced my uncertainty. In that moment, I felt okay.

I needed to feel okay because a full day was waiting for me. Hot coffee in one hand and bagged donut in another, I was heading to a community event that I was cohosting. Over the past three years, a series of programs evolved from Voices of Survivors to Honoring Survivors to Legacies of Survivors. The uniting thread were these six words, “Inspiring Hope, Sanctuary, Compassion and Community”.

On this day, the local shul and I collaborated for a screening of the documentary, Fiddler on the Moon: Judaism in Space. This film explored whether Judaism could survive in outer space. I was looking forward to it going smoothly. I had arranged for one of the directors, Seth Kramer, and local rabbi Rav Chuck Diamond to conduct a question and answer session after the screening. On a hot summer afternoon, 30 people watched, learned and schmoozed.

There was a difference this year, though. It was subtle, yet apparent. It came in the form of a large SUV, with an armed guard. However nice and congenial, the guard represented our need for security – to keep our attendees safe.

With each of these events, as the host, I speak at the opening and closing. This time, while acknowledging and thanking people, I did include the security guard, although as people murmured, we wished his presence was not necessary.

The bookend to this day was the closing of an art exhibit, Iterations of Hope. We had a nice two-month run, with the artists meeting one another, a reception, and a workshop creating Ribbons of Hope.

People came and went, exchanging contact information and grasping their framed artwork, canvases and copies of various local newspapers. For me, as co-curator, it had been an opportunity to learn from the head curator, meet new people and become acquainted with another locale. It certainly felt worth the time and effort.

I think about time and the many ways we mark it. How do you note the passage of time? Do you use a watch, a clock or a timer? Is time calibrated in your online calendar, in 15-minute or half-hour increments? Does time seem to move slowly or quickly for you?

And effort. How do you measure that? Is it by how much you sweat? Is it an intrinsic feeling? Do you quantify it? If something is effortless does that mean it is easy? Time and effort; companions yet not synonyms.

Reading about Henrietta Szold, one can only imagine her passion and the toll in time and energy that she expended. Did the founder of Hadassah wear a Magen David-themed piece of jewelry? A Google search yielded no such confirmation, leaving us to speculate and draw our own conclusion. Certainly, Szold’s life was rich in associations with Judaism and Palestine.

In 2026, are we living in a time and place where such passion is a point of contention? In contemplating Henrietta’s achievements, what conclusion can we draw as to why Hadassah membership is dwindling in some areas of the country?

Despite Robert Kraft’s Blue Square Alliance (with its mission to “educate and inspire Americans to recognize and stand up to hate wherever and whenever they see it”), Hadassah’s far-reaching advocacy programs that strive to eradicate antisemitism and all the webinars that teach how to confront antisemitism and address societal pressure, this sexagenarian was caught off guard and unsettled by a young adult’s six spoken words: “I like your Magen David ring.” Even though they were simply an observation – and a compliment.

Perhaps, one day in our lifetimes, the words, “Nation shall not lift up swords against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore” (Isaiah 2:4) will become a reality. And, as I turn 64, my ring will be worn forever more.

The author does not speak on behalf of Hadassah and the views expressed herein are the author’s own and not necessarily those of Hadassah.