Three Necklaces

My first birthday after my brother and sister-in-law were married, I received the second necklace.  They mailed the tiny gift in a giant cardboard box, perhaps for fun, or maybe to hide the true contents.  It was a small circle with shiny stones.  Silver.  My brother had remembered I preferred silver to gold.

I put that necklace on and never took it off, on purpose.  Links opened and broke.  Metal tarnished.  For a decade, I always restrung the chain.

During my visit to Israel last fall, I asked for my sister-in-law’s assistance to replace the chain.  She complied and modified a chain she owned.  We removed the childlike star pendant and replaced it with the sparkly, silver circle and the gold locket I had recently attached alongside it.  I had been inspired by both my sister-in-law and my brother’s pendants that were engraved with their children’s names.  I had worn the silver pendant to keep them close to me, why not the locket.

“Where did you get this?” my sister-in-law had asked, referring to the first necklace.

“My mom.  On my tenth birthday.”

My sister-in-law turned the locket over and ran her finger over the letters.

“My initials.  My mom let me choose what could go on the back.”

She nodded.  “It’s common to get jewelry with names.”

My mind flashed to the bracelet I knew had my mother’s name and the ring with my grandmother’s initials.

“You can give it to someone who shares the letters.  I guess, maybe Eitan could receive this.”

I smiled.

She continued, “So this was the last present your mom gave you.”

“Yes.”

It was winter, the next time the necklaces came off.  The loops my sister-in-law had modified to hold the tiny clasp of the pendant and connect it to the chain, snapped.  I frantically searched the sidewalk outside the gym and its floor.  Resigned to loss, I told the trainer that I had lost a locket and to let me know if she saw it.  My heart vibrated with relief when she immediately produced it.  I continued to wear the second necklace, but fear put the locket in a drawer.

At some point in the spring, I decided that jewelry could be a way to engage interest from my niece.  The connectedness I craved was both to her and to Judaism.  It seemed that necklaces were becoming a common connector to things I was acknowledging I missed. 

I gave my niece several selections and asked her to choose.  Her selection surprised me.  Instead of the feminine, delicate design, she chose the pendant with words.  “Ishat chail.”  Chail shared letters with the word for army.  I looked it up.  “Valor”.

Woman of valor?

I looked up the construct, and its text of origin.  Yes, but no.  Woman of virtue.  Woman of value.  I knew the message.  Anne Shirley had embellished it on a chalkboard.  I held onto the phrase at its foundation, strength.  I readied myself to splurge on the necklace.  My sister-in-law insisted on buying it.

She agreed it was beautiful, but mostly, she wanted to buy me something I wanted.

“Tdashi,” she said.

I attempted to translate the word.  The root letters signaled a connection to newness, but in a form that command someone to ‘be new’.  It seemed an awkward translation.  I texted my brother.  “I don’t understand.  What does this mean?”

“It’s a saying.  When someone has something new.  Like to enjoy it.”

“Hmm.”  I turned the word over as if it was the third necklace, the new chain between my fingers or the pendant in my palm. 

I inhaled deeply when I dropped it over my head.  I pulled my hair from underneath and felt the pinch. 

The gold locket still sat in the drawer.

In the summer, I found myself at the jewelry store with gold pendant.  Either the recent gift opened my wallet, or each chain was somehow a circle calling me back.  A choice to connect beginnings and endings of who I was and wear them.

The jeweler admired the locket.  We explored the case until we found a delicate chain that matched.  I purchased the chain and ordered a bail.  I waited for the phone call to pick up both pieces.  I had already begun to alternate wearing the first two necklaces.  I enjoyed keeping a piece of me close, but in the form that I chose to.  I imagined how the locket would assume its place in the daily reflection each time I opened and then secured the necklace clasp.

After not long, but longer than I expected, I returned to the store.  Once in my car, I took a photo of the newly assembled locket on its chain.

“Tdashi,” my sister-in-law’s response again came back.

“Be new,” I heard.  The root letters did work as a verb in its command, or future form.  A message just for me.  Renewal.