It was a modest ring, just a slender circlet with no fancy engraving or ornamentation. If not for the fact that it was made of silver, you might have thought it no more than a child's toy, a thing made out of clay or plastic in an idle moment, just large enough to fit a young finger.

Not that the ring was crude-looking. On the contrary, it was extremely graceful. It had clearly been made by a master craftsman. And yet, there was something hurried-looking about it, as though the long-ago silversmith had shaped it with rushed but loving hands... As indeed, he had. But there was no way that Estie could know that.

She held the ring up to her eyes and gazed at it dubiously. "It's -- very nice, Ma."

Her mother smiled. "I know it's not very much to look at, but that ring has been in our family for a long time."

"How long?"

"I'm not sure... But it was given to me by my grandmother, when I turned twelve. So I thought it only fitting to give it to you now, on the day you turn bas mitzvah."

Estie's best friend, Mindy, had gotten a trip to California as her bas mitzvah present. Her other good friend, Sarah, received a stunning necklace-and-bracelet combination with real ruby and emerald chips. Estie eyed the modest ring again. "Thanks, Ma," she said politely, fighting down her disappointment.

Her mother didn't seem to notice anything amiss. She was half- turned away, closing the jewelry box from which she'd tenderly extracted the ring a few minutes before. "You're welcome, honey. Wear it in good health."

Estie went into her own bedroom, the ring clenched in her fist. She thrust it into a dresser drawer and tried to push it out of her mind as well. It was not that she didn't appreciate a family heirloom. It was just that... A vision of the ring rose up in her mind, unbidden. It was so simple -- so plain! She'd be almost embarrassed to show it to her friends.

That night, at the family dinner table, Estie was immensely relieved to find her real present, sitting at the side of her plate. She opened the colorful wrap with eager hands. Inside was an expensive-looking camera, complete with all the lenses and gadgets she'd been longing for. All her hints of the past few months, then, had not been in vain!

In addition, her older brother, in yeshiva, had arranged for a present, too: a gift certificate for her favorite bookstore. Her two younger brothers had contributed a World's Best Sister mug out of their own allowances. And her grandparents had pitched in with generous gifts, too. So, all in all, it was a much happier Estie who returned to her room later that night. She piled all her gifts on the dresser, admiring them.

Suddenly, she remembered the ring. It didn't bother her nearly so much now as when she'd thought it was her only bas mitzvah gift. She pulled open the drawer, took it out, and slipped it onto her ring finger. She was a petite girl with slim hands, and it fit neatly, almost as though it had been made for her. In the lamplight, the silver took on a warm glow, like pale fire.

It was actually a pretty ring, if you stopped to really look at it. And it was a family keepsake. Estie felt a rush of love for her mother, who'd saved it just for her all these years -- and another of curiosity about the original owner. Who had she been, and what had she been like?

She supposed she would never know.

A little while later, she was climbing into bed, pleasantly weary after her exciting day. It had been a special day, a turning- bas-mitzvah day. Life would never be the same after this. And as if to underscore the thought, she felt the unaccustomed weight of the slender ring on her finger as she slipped her hand comfortably under her pillow and prepared to sleep...

Another girl had done just the same thing, more than sixty years earlier, when the ring had been brand-new. Dina was only five years old -- in fact, she'd celebrated her birthday that very day. As a special treat, her mother had taken her down to Papa's workshop, where he crafted silver into all sorts of breathtaking shapes. Dina could never have enough of Papa's shop. She loved to look at all the gleaming silver objects on the shelves, formed by Papa's own hands and waiting for the customers to come fetch them home. But best of all was the back room, where the delicate crafting of the silver took place. Dina would gaze wide-eyed at the strange-looking chemicals and brushes and tools that her father used in his mysterious work. It seemed to her nothing short of magic.

"Ah, my Dina, have you come to visit me?" Papa asked heartily as she and Mama walked through the front room and into the back, where he was bent over a smooth silver fruit bowl. She grinned happily and came to stand by his side. "What are you doing, Papa?"

"Just finishing this bowl for Mrs. Minkin. But if you'll wait just a minute, there's something else I want to show you." He got up from his stool, wiped his hands on the apron he wore to protect his clothes, and went over to a table in the corner of the workshop.

He picked something up and brought it over to Dina.

"See? I made it just for you. It's for your birthday. Hold out your finger, Dina. That one."

Obediently, she held out a pudgy finger. Her father carefully slipped the ring onto it. "I made it in a bit of a hurry this morning," he apologized, glancing over the little girl's head at her mother. "I'd planned to spend the whole morning on it today, until Mrs. Minkin came by demanding that her fruit bowl be ready by noon." He glanced at his timepiece. "She should be here any minute."

"We'll be on our way, then," Mama had replied, smiling. "Dina, aren't you going to thank Papa for your gift?"

Dina was radiant. "Thank you, Papa!" she cried, flinging her short arms around his waist and hugging him with all her might. "It's the most beautiful ring in the world. Except for baths and things, I'm never going to take it off!"

But Dina did take it off.

It didn't happen right away. True to her promise, she wore the ring faithfully for seven years. And before she finally removed it permanently from the finger where her father had placed it, her world had changed so completely that it was hard to remember what it had once been like to be five years old, safe, and secure...

At first, she stopped often -- sometimes as often as ten times a day -- to admire her Papa's beautiful present. After a while, as people will do, she got used to the ring and didn't admire it quite as often. Still, for a long time it remained her most treasured possession. Then she turned six, and got a lovely doll, and the ring was relegated to second-place in her young heart. At seven her present was an ermine collar and muff to go with her new winter coat. That was also the year that Perel, her new baby sister, was born. That was the best present of all!

The next two years were happy ones for the two little girls, though not so happy for their parents. Clouds were massing on the horizon of their world -- clouds of war. A madman in Germany was spouting all sorts of hateful things about the Jews, and people were beginning to listen. Papa and Mama often conferred late into the night, their voices blending into the night-sounds of the street outside as Dina lay dropping off to sleep in her bed next door. The voices became a part of the fear she was beginning, vaguely, to sense around her. It was the same feeling that she saw in her aunts' and uncles' faces when they came to visit. But, being a child, Dina was able to push such dark things out of her mind most of the time. She played with her playmates and her little sister, paid occasional visits to Papa's shop, wore her beautiful clothes and played with her dolls, and was happy.

Then, in a frighteningly short time -- or so it seemed to her -- her world turned abruptly upside-down. The German army was on the move -- and so was Dina's family.

"But why can't I take Tina with me?" she wailed. Tina was the name she'd given her favorite doll, the seventh-birthday- gift.

"We must travel very light," her mother answered soberly. "And as fast as we can."

There was something in her voice, and in her stricken look, that dried Dina's tears and made her stop protesting about the doll she must leave behind. That night, she took her place beside little Perel in the farmer's cart her father had bought at enormous cost, and watched her beloved house slip behind them until it was swallowed up in the darkness. The horses clip-clopped slowly, and then a little faster, down the road that led to the unknown. From that moment, Dina never cried again.

What she felt went too deep for tears. She had lost her world, but she must not show Mama and Papa how much that frightened her. They expected her to be brave, and to look after Perel. She would not cry.

Dina was nine years old.

After weeks of traveling at night, in the most uncomfortable ways imaginable, and hiding through the days trying to snatch what little sleep they could, Dina was overjoyed when they crossed the border into Russia. Everyone knew that life in that country was no picnic, but at least Germany was not at war there. There would be no terrifying black-booted soldiers marching past their new home. For that, Dina had to be grateful.

But this, it seemed to her, was the only advantage their new home had over their old one. Sometimes, shivering in front of the inadequate fire on a bitterly cold morning, she would remember the hearty blaze that had warmed her room all winter long, back home. Chewing her meager rations of potatoes and dark bread, she would think wistfully of the heaping plates of good food she'd been served at home, and how she'd often leave half of it over, untouched. How she wished she had all those uneaten portions now!

Also, as a resident of Russia she was obliged to go to a Russian school. The children there made fun of her because she was a Jewess, though she was a bright enough student to earn a grudging respect from all but the worst of them. Lessons were a relief because they distracted her from the dreariness of her life, from Papa's stooped shoulders and Mama's lined, worried face, and little Perel's crying. Perel cried a lot these days.

There were better day and worse days, but no really good days. Still, they were safe. Even when Germany declared war on Russia and the men were mobilized to fight, there was little chance of the enemy army marching into their tiny village... or so she hoped.

Then another problem reared its head. Food, never in lavish supply, grew very scarce indeed. All the farmers were required to give up most of their crops to feed the army. There was little left over for the farmers' families, and almost nothing for the villagers who depended on them for food. For the first time, Dina learned what it was to be hungry. Really hungry.

One gray afternoon when she was twelve, she trudged home from school in her too-thin coat and too-small boots to find her mother on the point of going out. "Papa went this morning to see if he can find us some food. He was supposed to be back by now, and I'm worried. I'm going after him."

"But Mama --"

"You stay here, Dina, and watch Perel. I won't be long." And with the strange, hard look Mama had been wearing more and more often now, she slipped through the door.

Dina was left alone with her little sister, who took one look at the door closing behind their mother and promptly burst into tears. Dina did her best to comfort her, playing childish games to while away the hours. The winter afternoon drew into an early dusk. When the house grew almost unbearably cold, she placed a carefully hoarded stick of wood onto the fire. It hardly made a difference to the cold.

"I'm hungry," Perel whimpered.

So was Dina, but she held her tongue. Another game succeeded in diverting the little girl's mind -- but not for long. Soon Perel said again, with a woebegone look and quivering lip -- "I'm really hungry."

Dina went into the larder to see if there was anything to eat. She found only a few wormy potatoes and a cupful of moldy cornmeal at the bottom of a bag.

"Mama and Papa have gone to get food," she told her sister with a semblance of cheerfulness. "It won't be long till they're back."

"But I'm hungry now!" Young as she was, Perel had grown accustomed to waiting longer than she would have liked between meals, and to going to bed never fully satisfied. Dina looked at her with pity. She must really be feeling awful to complain this way.

Involuntarily, her mind went back to their old house, and the plentiful meals she'd taken so much for granted. Perel was crying in earnest now, low, hopeless sobs that shook her thin shoulders and wrung Dina's heart. She reached out a hand to stroke her sister's head -- and saw the ring.

It was so much a part of her that she couldn't remember the last time she'd noticed it. Vaguely, she wondered how it still fit her. It was probably because her fingers were so thin, and had been that way for all these hungry years... As she gazed at it, the ring gleamed dully in the weak firelight. It needed a good polishing. She remembered when she'd been five years old and Papa had first put the ring on her finger. Five years old -- the very age Perel was now. What a very different life she'd led than her poor little sister!

Impulsively, she pulled off the ring.

"Perel," she said softly. "If you'll be a good girl and stop crying and wait for Mama and Papa to come home, I'll give you a very special present."

Perel lifted her head. It had been ages since she'd last had anything that could be called a 'present.' "What?" she asked, her voice thick with tears.

"This." She held out the ring.

Perel's eyes widened. For the first time in a very long time, she smiled in pure delight.

"Can I keep it, Dina? For always?"

Dina hesitated. Then she smiled and said, "Yes. For always. Now, no more tears, Perel."

There were no more tears as Perel grasped the ring in one chubby hand and pushed it onto her own ring finger. She didn't even cry when Mama came home -- alone, without Papa and not a morsel of food.

"I couldn't find him," she gasped, on the verge of tears herself. "Girls, let's daven."

They said Tehillim and took turns looking out the window. And at ten o'clock that night, many hours after they'd expected him, Papa finally staggered through the door, a bundle tucked under his arms.

"That was close," he said breathlessly, closing and locking the door behind him. "The authorities were on the lookout for black marketeers in farm produce. I nearly got caught, and had to hide in a ditch for hours..."

But he was back, and unhurt, and there were potatoes and carrots and some wheat to pound into flour for bread.

That night, Dina went to sleep with her stomach almost full. The ring was missing from her finger, but she hardly minded. It belonged to an earlier time, a time when she'd been safe and happy. Let Perel enjoy it now.

Perel did enjoy it -- for many, many years. After the war, the family made its way to Austria and eventually, from there, to America. Perel grew up, married, and raised a fine family of sons. Her oldest son, in his turn, married a good woman and had several children, girls and boys. On the day her eldest granddaughter turned twelve, Perel gathered her into her arms in a tight hug.

"Bubby, why are you crying?" Yael asked.

Bubby Perel sniffled and tried to smile. "I was just remembering my own bas mitzvah, my dear. It took place just after we came to this country. I hardly knew a word of English yet, but my big sister, Dina, taught me how to say `Happy birthday.' She'd learned some English in the D.P. camp we lived in for a few years after the war."

Yael loved hearing stories of her grandmother's past. "Tell me more," she begged.

So Bubby Perel began weaving scenes for her, sad ones and happy ones. And somewhere among the memories, she came upon the old ring her sister had given her on a dark winter's evening when she'd been crying from hunger.

"Wait a minute," she said, getting up and going into her bedroom. She rummaged around in among her jewellery for a few moments, and then let loose with a triumphant cry. "Here it is! Imagine, I've been carrying it around with me all these years!"

"What is it, Bubby?" Yael asked, drawing closer.

"A ring. A very special ring, made by my father, of blessed memory, for my sister Dina..."

The story of the ring was quickly told. Then Bubby Perel smiled. "I had only sons, you know -- and you're my first granddaughter. I'd like you to have this now."

And that was how Yael became the proud possessor of her bubby's ring.

It didn't fit her finger, so she put it on a ribbon and wore it around her neck. A few weeks later she decided it was too uncomfortable to wear that way, and put it carefully away in her own little jewellery box, alongside the charm bracelet her uncle and aunt had given her for her birthday, and the silver Star of David on a chain that her father had brought back from a trip to Israel. And there it lay, undisturbed, for years.

When Yael married, she transferred the contents of her jewellerly box into the bigger one she would use in her new home. The ring went along with her, too, tucked into its own little corner until it would be needed again.

And Yael had a daughter of her own, and twelve years passed, years filled with joy and mitzvos and good fortune. And then her own little Estie was suddenly a bas mitzvah.

The ring had a new owner.

If the ring could have spoken, it might have told Estie, sound asleep on this special night, all about itself. It might have described the long, long journey from the small silversmith's shop in Europe to her own pretty Brooklyn bedroom.

But rings can't speak. And, frankly, Estie was much more interested in the future than in ancient history, so it was an open question whether she would even bother asking her mother to tell her about the ring's past. She would never know more than the sketchiest outline of the ring's life before it had come to her.

But something of the love with which that band of silver had been crafted by a doting father -- of the courage and self- sacrifice of the big sister who passed it on -- of the devotion of a grandmother who'd lived through so much in her long, busy life -- and, of course, of the tenderness in her own mother's heart as she'd handed it to her today -- must have soaked into the ring. Because when Estie woke up the next morning and saw it there, she felt as though something had changed.

She was a bas mitzvah now, but it was more than that. She carried on her person a keepsake from the past, and she would bear it into the future... Until another girl would slip it onto her finger one day. That as-yet unborn girl might think it plain, as Estie had this afternoon. She might be equally as ignorant of the ring's history, perhaps.

But she would know -- as Estie knew, and as all the other girls who'd had it before her had known -- the most important thing of all: that it was given to her by someone who loved her as much as life itself.

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