I had definitely worn it earlier. Seen it on my wrist in shul. Walked all over since then. It could be anywhere

A

couple of weeks after our world teetered off its axis, my husband suddenly remembers Simchas Torah night.

“What’s with your bracelet?” he asks, and I look at him, thinking, What? And then when I realize what he’s talking about, I still think, What? Because who is thinking about bracelets when we’re still trying to comprehend — no... absorb? Compute? Grasp? — what has happened to us.

But now that I’m reminded of it, here’s the story of a bracelet:

A bracelet long dreamed of, a white-gold minimalistic piece of art that I treated myself to in honor of a milestone simchah. One I had custom-made to match a yellow-gold piece I’d seen and loved, because. I really wanted white gold.

It came too late for the milestone simchah. No matter; it was beautiful. And Tishrei was coming up, with so many days I could wear it and enjoy it.

Rosh Hashanah it encircled my wrist, light and delicate and adding significantly to my simchas Yom Tov.

Yom Kippur — no jewelry.

Succos, worn and enjoyed.

Simchas Torah night. I got dressed, got my children ready for hakafos, and left the house. I was slightly nervous because I knew I’d be running around town to make it all happen — I have a three-year-old little boy who was raring to go to Tatty’s shul and dance with the Torah, finally, after talking about it for so long! I have a seven-year-old who wanted to go to a different shul with her cousins, because it’s easier to see over there, and they give out such nice pekelach, Mommy. I have a special teen who had a volunteer scheduled for 30 minutes so that her Mommy could take a peek at the hakafos, too.