A Humble Beginning
In 1983, Baruch Hadaya opened a small workshop in Jerusalem’s Old City and called it Hadaya. Back then, the work was big: sculptural Judaica and artful, one-of-a-kind jewelry for patrons who came looking for something substantial. Baruch would sell one or two pieces a month—enough to sustain a family of four: a wife and two young sons. That was phase one. The pace was slow, the craftsmanship exacting, and the satisfaction came from watching a single piece leave the bench and head out into a lifetime.
Engraving pieces
Almost by accident, Baruch started playing with engravings—not as a service, not even as an upsell, but as a private delight. He would inscribe the inside of those expensive pieces with a word or two in Hebrew, something the wearer might not notice for weeks or months. Sometimes it was a tiny drawing: a small flower first, and, as his hand grew bolder, little scenes. His favorite became the skyline of the Old City of Jerusalem, etched along the hidden curve of a ring or pendant, a city in miniature that only the wearer knew was there. Customers would come back wide-eyed, twisting a ring between fingers or turning over a pendant, telling him about the moment they discovered the surprise. That quiet encounter—between a person and a secret engraving—changed the energy in the room. The inside carried more weight than the outside. Baruch felt it.
The Gam Ze Yaavor story
Someone once told him the short version of a teaching—Gam Ze Yaavor (גם זה יעבור), “this too shall pass.” Baruch, a natural storyteller, spun it into a full tale, the kind that stretches time and pulls a crowd to the doorway. He told it the way only he could: with pauses, with jokes, with a sudden softness right where the message lands. People stayed for the story; then they wanted to carry it. He began engraving Gam Ze Yaavor onto pieces—first on his own expensive work, and then, as he watched the response, on anything that could hold the words. Somewhere in those months, he understood that the price of the piece wasn’t the center. The center was the Hebrew itself—the way it felt to wear language with meaning, to touch a word and remember a lesson. He realized: Hebrew could be worn.
The Yeshiva Girls Era
Filling up his studio, laughing, pointing and trying on everything. Seminary students in their year in Jerusalem—Baruch nicknamed them, with affection, the “yeshiva girls.” They loved the engravings, loved the stories, and then asked the question that reoriented the business: could he make something less expensive, so they could take it home? Baruch said yes, and designed a simple, sturdy band that still had room for Hebrew. He called it the Yeshiva Ring—today known as the Classic Yeshiva Ring. It was the first Hadaya piece that sold not by twos per month but by dozens, then hundreds. For the first time, we had a piece that people came in asking for by name, day after day.
The yeshiva girls didn’t stop at rings. Once they wore a verse on their hands, they wanted blessings on their wrists. Baruch designed the Yeshiva Bracelet—plain enough to be timeless, generous enough to let the letters breathe. Necklaces followed: at first simply “Yeshiva” necklaces, and, as the line grew, each design took on its own name and personality—the Bagel necklace, the Heart, the Israel Map, and more. Engraving moved from a hobby to the heart of the work. Baruch spent most of his day etching Hebrew onto metal: names, verses, dates, mantras, little sketches that made someone’s whole week when they found them later.
Going Online
As Hadaya’s engraving voice grew clearer, the shop around it grew too. Demand rose; so did our team. Baruch’s sons began helping in earnest, learning the rhythm of the bench, the care in spacing, the right moment to polish and the right moment to leave a whisper of matte so a letter stands out. We improved the flow in the studio, trained hands to the Hadaya script, and, in 1999, took a leap that changed everything: we put Hadaya online.
The website was basic at first, but it did something the Old City alone could not: it allowed anyone, anywhere, to choose a piece, decide exactly what it should say—front, back, or inside—and send those words straight to our bench. Orders began arriving from across time zones. Thank you emails flooded our inbox, along with the stories behind the words. Online sales didn’t replace the magic of the Hadaya studio; they amplified it, spreading the practice of Hebrew engraving and the idea of wearing meaning out into the world.
Challenges
Then came a long shadow and a deeper pivot. In November 2017, after a seven-year battle with cancer, Baruch passed away. He had dreamed, for years, of seeing his whole family working together in the business. That dream came true—but too late for him to witness it. Shortly after his passing, the youngest son, Almog, joined full-time. He took the chair at Baruch’s bench, the very spot where the first secret flowers and Jerusalem skylines were etched, and began engraving new pieces every day. He wasn’t replacing a founder; he was carrying a torch. The letters remained human, the stories kept being told, and the family kept building the business Baruch started.
When COVID emptied the streets, that business stood on two foundations: the bench and the website. The Old City went quiet. Flights stopped. The walk-ins we’d relied on for decades disappeared. But the online home Hadaya had built in 1999 became a lifeline. People customized pieces from kitchen tables and small apartments. They sent blessings to grandparents they couldn’t hug, encouragement to friends they could only see on screens, gratitude to caregivers and teachers. The engravings shifted—חוסן (resilience), נשימה (breath), מודה אני (I give thanks)—and the work kept us moving. The site didn’t just process orders; it kept the relationship alive. It kept Hadaya alive.
In the years since, the world has kept changing, and so have the words. October 7th sent a shock through every part of our community. The messages people chose took on a sharper edge and a deeper tenderness: עם ישראל חי (Am Yisrael Chai), יחד ננצח (Together we will win), לא נשכח (Never forget), עוד נשוב לרקוד (We shall dance again). Star of David designs surged; the Israel Map found new resonance. We introduced a Magen David with an ember at its core—our “Jewish Flame”—because customers described a light that would not go out, and we wanted to give it a form you could hold. Through grief and determination, the bench stayed steady. We engraved names we knew and names we’ll never forget, and we did the work that is ours to do: make room, in metal, for people to carry their meaningful words.
The Hadaya Trend
Along the way, something else happened that we could never have scripted. What began as Baruch’s private joy—secret inside engravings—grew into a language worn around the world. Other jewelers began engraving Hebrew, too. Designs echoed; ideas traveled. We noticed our aesthetic appearing in places we’d never been. We could have narrowed ourselves in response; instead, we doubled down on what makes Hadaya Hadaya: hand-drawn letters, a conversation with every customer, designs that honor text and stories that keep one standing in the doorway a little longer than planned.
Today, visitors still hear the same sounds: the low hum of a polishing wheel, pencil marks finding center, the soft click of the door. The Gam Ze Yaavor story is told now by Baruch’s sons—pauses in the same places, the lesson landing with the same warmth—because stories here are a kind of tool, and also inheritance. Rings and bracelets by name, a map that means more than shape — all become a quiet promise.
Some names are engraved where the world can read them; others are kept inside, where only a thumb can find them. The choice feels small in the moment and large later. That was true at the beginning and it remains true now.
The studio keeps working: letters drawn by hand, pieces finished at the same bench Baruch used. The words change with the times—verses, dates, private phrases—but the intent is steady. What began in 1983 in a small room in the Old City has become a family practice: giving language a place to live in metal, so meaning can be personally carried, quietly, daily.
Esh Hadaya is a singer, songwriter, and world traveler. Joined his family’s business in 1999 and today is 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.