Forging Peace with Metal Art & Judaica

Forging Peace with Metal art & Judaica

I am the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors on my mother’s side and a sixth-generation metal artist. My grandfather was a precision tool and die maker—he built the machines that candle companies used to make light. That image resonates with me: even in dark times, my family was creating the very tools to bring light into the world.

When I was a student at San Francisco State University, I discovered metalsmithing for the first time. I didn’t know then that I was stepping into a lineage, not just of craftsmanship, but of meaning-making. It felt natural, even sacred. Since then, for more than 30 years, I’ve created hundreds of mezuzahs—small ritual cases that hold the klaf, a sacred scroll that goes on the doorpost of Jewish homes. These pieces are among the most special and essential objects in Jewish life. They embody everything I believe in: memory, beauty, protection, values, and continuity.

But since October 7th, it feels like the wounds of the world have been torn open all over again. Antisemitism is surging, not in dark corners, but out in the open—normalized, justified, even celebrated. I see Jews being hated, misconstrued, dehumanized. Our symbols, our values, our very humanity are under assault. This time, we are alive and vocal, but the silence of allies has been deafening.

And yet, my response—like my ancestors’—is to create.

Judaism, at its heart, is a love letter to life. We are taught to uphold compassion, justice, truth, beauty, and the dignity of every living soul. The mezuzah is a reminder of those values—not just for Jews, but for anyone who passes through a doorway with intention. The verse inside tells us to carry these teachings with us “as we come and as we go.” Though only Jews are commanded to place mezuzahs on their doors, anyone can benefit from what it stands for: living a life of awareness, care, and sacred responsibility.

I often ask myself:
How are we to be a light among nations if we’re not allowed to share our teachings?
And how can we be a light if we are hated across the world?
What would happen if, instead of hating the Jews, people chose to trust us? To love us? To learn from us?

Hating Jews has never helped humanity.  But loving Jews—and hearing what we have to offer—just might. Judaism teaches love of neighbor, care for the earth, sanctity of time, and reverence for the stranger. Would the world be better off if more people embraced those teachings? I think the answer is yes. These questions live inside me, and they live in my art.

Right now, I’m working on two deeply meaningful sculptures—both collaborative, both rooted in love and legacy.

The first is a monumental Tree of Life sculpture, six feet by seven feet, created in copper for Hospice of the Valley. It’s a collaboration with artist Lisa Rauchwerger, a calligrapher, paper-cutter, and chef. We hope this Tree of Life will offer comfort and hope in times of grief—a living testament to memory, healing, and connection.

The second is a sculptural gift for Debbie Artz-Mor, in honor of her retirement from the Brandeis School of San Francisco. My husband and artistic partner, David Casella, and I have designed a book that opens into the shape of a heart, with hand-formed silver covers and a quote from Hillel inscribed inside. Lisa will again contribute her calligraphy to bring the words to life. It is a piece about education, love, and the soul of a community.

Both of these sculptures, like all of my work, are rooted in collaboration, intention, and a fierce belief in the possibility of peace. They are not made in response to hate—they are made in devotion to love.

Art, for me, is not decorative. It is declarative. It says: We are here. We have survived. We love life. We will build a future with our hands and hearts and tools of meaning. My metalwork is a practice of Jewish memory, but also a prayer for the world. A prayer that we stop turning away from one another—and begin to turn toward.