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Embracing their place on ‘the fringes,’ queer artists reimagine Jewish ritual garments for all bodies
(JTA) — Binya Kóatz remembers the first time she saw a woman wearing tzitzit. While attending Friday night services at a Jewish Renewal synagogue in Berkeley, she noticed the long ritual fringes worn by some observant Jews — historically men — dangling below a friend’s short shorts.
“That was the first time I really realized how feminine just having tassels dangling off you can look and be,” recalled Kóatz, an artist and activist based in the Bay Area. “That is both deeply reverent and irreverent all at once, and there’s a deep holiness of what’s happening here.”
Since that moment about seven years ago, Kóatz has been inspired to wear tzitzit every day. But she has been less inspired by the offerings available in online and brick-and-mortar Judaica shops, where the fringes are typically attached to shapeless white tunics meant to be worn under men’s clothing.
So in 2022, when she was asked to test new prototypes for the Tzitzit Project, an art initiative to create tzitzit and their associated garment for a variety of bodies, genders and religious denominations, Kóatz jumped at the chance. The project’s first products went on sale last month.
“This is a beautiful example of queers making stuff for ourselves,” Kóatz said. “I think it’s amazing that queers are making halachically sound garments that are also ones that we want to wear and that align with our culture and style and vibrancy.”
Jewish law, or halacha, requires that people who wear four-cornered garments — say, a tunic worn by an ancient shepherd — must attach fringes to each corner. The commandment is biblical: “Speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages” (Numbers 15:37-41) When garments that lack corners came into fashion, many Jews responded by using tzitzit only when wearing a tallit, or prayer shawl, which has four corners.
But more observant Jews adopted the practice of wearing an additional four-cornered garment for the sole purpose of fulfilling the commandment to tie fringes to one’s clothes. Called a tallit katan, or small prayer shawl, the garment is designed to be worn under one’s clothes and can be purchased at Judaica stores or online for less than $15. The fringes represent the 613 commandments of the Torah, and it is customary to hold them and kiss them at certain points while reciting the Shema prayer.
“They just remind me of my obligations, my mitzvot, and my inherent holiness,” Kóatz said. “That’s the point, you see your tzitzit and you remember everything that it means — all the obligations and beauty of being a Jew in this world.”
The California-based artists behind the Tzitzit Project had a hunch that the ritual garment could appeal to a more diverse set of observant Jews than the Orthodox men to whom the mass-produced options are marketed. Julie Weitz and Jill Spector had previously collaborated on the costumes for Weitz’s 2019 “My Golem” performance art project that uses the mythical Jewish creature to explore contemporary issues. In one installment of the project focused on nature, “Prayer for Burnt Forests,” Weitz’s character ties a tallit katan around a fallen tree and wraps the tzitzit around its branches.
“I was so moved by how that garment transformed my performance,” Weitz said, adding that she wanted to find more ways to incorporate the garment into her life.
The Tzitzit Project joins other initiatives meant to explore and expand the use of tzitzit. A 2020 podcast called Fringes featured interviews with a dozen trans and gender non-conforming Jews about their experiences with Jewish ritual garments. (Kóatz was a guest.) Meanwhile, an online store, Netzitzot, has since 2014 sold tzitzit designed for women’s bodies, made from modified H&M undershirts.
The Tzitzit Project goes further and sells complete garments that take into account the feedback of testers including Kóatz — in three colors and two lengths, full and cropped, as well as other customization options related to a wearer’s style and religious practices. (The garments cost $100, but a sliding scale for people with financial constraints can bring the price as far down as $36.)
Spector and Weitz found that the trial users were especially excited by the idea that the tzitzit could be available in bright colors, and loved how soft the fabric felt on their bodies, compared to how itchy and ill-fitting they found traditional ones to be. They also liked that each garment could be worn under other clothing or as a more daring top on its own.
To Weitz, those attributes are essential to her goal of “queering” tzitzit.
“Queering something also has to do with an embrace of how you wear things and how you move your body in space and being proud of that and not carrying any shame around that,” she said. “And I think that that stylization is really distinct. All those gender-conventional tzitzit for men — they’re not about style, they’re not about reimagining how you can move your body.”
Artist Julie Weitz ties the knots of the tzitzit, fringes attached to the corners of a prayer shawl or the everyday garment known as a “tallit katan.” (Courtesy of Tzitzit Project)
For Chelsea Mandell, a rabbinical student at the Academy of Jewish Religion in Los Angeles who is nonbinary, the Tzitzit Project is creating Jewish ritual objects of great power.
“It deepens the meaning and it just feels more radically spiritual to me, when it’s handmade by somebody I’ve met, aimed for somebody like me,” said Mandell, who was a product tester.
Whether the garments meet the requirements of Jewish law is a separate issue. Traditional interpretations of the law hold that the string must have been made specifically for tzitzit, for example — but it’s not clear on the project’s website whether the string it uses was sourced that way. (The project’s Instagram page indicates that the wool is spun by a Jewish fiber artist who is also the brother of the alt-rocker Beck.)
“It is not obvious from their website which options are halachically valid and which options are not,” said Avigayil Halpern, a rabbinical student who began wearing tzitzit and tefillin at her Modern Orthodox high school in 2013 when she was 16 and now is seen as a leader in the movement to widen their use.
“And I think it’s important that queer people in particular have as much access to knowledge about Torah and mitzvot as they’re embracing mitzvot.”
Weitz explained that there are multiple options for the strings — Tencel, cotton or hand-spun wool — depending on what customers prefer, for their comfort and for their observance preferences.
“It comes down to interpretation,” she said. “For some, tzitzit tied with string not made for the purpose of tying, but with the prayer said, is kosher enough. For others, the wool spun for the purpose of tying is important.”
Despite her concerns about its handling of Jewish law, Halpern said she saw the appeal of the Tzitzit Project, with which she has not been involved.
“For me and for a lot of other queer people, wearing something that is typically associated with Jewish masculinity — it has a gender element,” explained Halpern, a fourth-year student at Hadar, the egalitarian yeshiva in New York.
“If you take it out of the Jewish framework, there is something very femme and glamorous and kind of fun in the ways that dressing up and wearing things that are twirly is just really joyful for a lot of people,” she said.
Rachel Schwartz first became drawn to tzitzit while studying at the Conservative Yeshiva in Jerusalem in 2018. There, young men who were engaging more intensively with Jewish law and tradition than they had in the past began to adopt the garments, and Schwartz found herself wondering why she had embraced egalitarian religious practices in all ways but this one.
“One night, I took one of my tank tops and I cut it up halfway to make the square that it needed. I found some cool bandanas at a store and I sewed on corners,” Schwartz recalled. “And I bought the tzitzit at one of those shops on Ben Yehuda and I just did it and it was awesome.”
Rachel Schwartz stands in front of a piece of graffiti that plays on the commandment to wear tzitzit, written in the Hebrew feminine. (Courtesy of Rachel Schwartz)
Schwartz’s experience encapsulates both the promise and the potential peril of donning tzitzit for people from groups that historically have not worn the fringes. Other women at the Conservative Yeshiva were so interested in her tzitzit that she ran a workshop where she taught them how to make the undergarment. But she drew so many critical comments from men on the streets of Jerusalem that she ultimately gave up wearing tzitzit publicly.
“I couldn’t just keep on walking around like that anymore. I was tired of the comments,” Schwartz said. “I couldn’t handle it anymore.”
Rachel Davidson, a Reconstructionist rabbi working as a chaplain in health care in Ohio, started consistently wearing a tallit katan in her mid-20s. Like Kóatz, she ordered her first one from Netzitzot.
“I would love to see a world where tallitot katanot that are shaped for non cis-male bodies are freely available and are affordable,” Davidson said. “I just think it’s such a beautiful mitzvah. I would love it if more people engaged with it.”
Kóatz believes that’s not only possible but natural. As a trans woman, she said she is drawn to tzitzit in part because of the way they bring Jewish tradition into contact with contemporary ideas about gender.
“Queers are always called ‘fringe,’” she said. “And here you have a garment which is literally like ‘kiss the fringes.’ The fringes are holy.”
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Chuck Schumer faces new challenges in the Senate — and now a challenger for majority leader
(JTA) — The clock may be running on Chuck Schumer, the most senior Jewish elected official in U.S. history as Democrats flipped at least seven Senate seats in midterm elections last week. The Democratic takeover of the Senate has led to some carping that he is too old, moderate or not aggressive enough against President Donald Trump to continue as leader. Maryland Sen. Chris Van Hollen, an outspoken critic of Israel who has led efforts to investigate the country’s human right practices and pressure its right-wing government, announced on Thursday that he will challenge in December’s election for Senate Majority Leader.
Schumer has led the Senate’s Democratic caucus since 2017, including as majority leader from 2021 until 2025. A pro-Israel stalwart who prides himself as a Shomer Yisrael (“guardian of Israel”), Schumer has found himself increasingly out of step on Israel-related matters with the party’s caucus and its voters. Progressives are also pushing for a bolder agenda that includes policies such as Medicare for All, which Schumer has not taken up.
Van Hollen told reporters on Monday that he is also kicking the tires on a 2028 presidential run. He has drawn blowback from some Jewish leaders in recent years over his criticism of Israel and of AIPAC, the pro-Israel lobbying group.
Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders, an independent who caucuses with the Democrats, and Michigan Sen.-elect Abdul El-Sayed both said Thursday that they back Van Hollen. 59% of Democratic voters said they want “someone else” to lead Senate Democrats versus 22% who prefer Schumer, according to a poll commissioned last month by a progressive PAC.
Political strategist Hank Sheinkopf told JTA that a Van Hollen leadership would “move the Senate more to the left, unquestionably,” and cautioned that Van Hollen would “permit” discussions that would jeopardize defensive military assistance to Israel.
But he noted that it was difficult to imagine Van Hollen winning the leadership position for a number of reasons, not least of which, the Democrats just retook control of the Senate on Schumer’s watch.
“Unless the entire [class of] new Senate members are completely disloyal, it’s hard to imagine them saying no to Chuck Schumer and yes to Van Hollen,” he said. “Schumer just raised an extraordinary amount of money, has probably extracted pledges from them for committee positioning. You know, this is straight-ahead politics, not about ideology and not about Israel.”
Schumer, long an ally of Israel, broke with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in March 2024 when he said on the Senate floor that Netanyahu had “lost his way” and called for the country to hold new elections. Schumer also called for a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and said the U.S. should use its leverage to push for its goals in the region if Netanyahu remains in power.
But Schumer’s leadership since then has not quieted critics who say that he should have done more to exert pressure on the Israeli government during its military campaign in Gaza and West Bank settlement expansion. He is among the small minority of Senate Democrats who have continued to vote against Bernie Sanders-led resolutions blocking weapons sales to Israel; all but seven out of 47 voted with Sanders earlier this year.
Van Hollen, meanwhile, has consistently voted to block those transfers and has said he would oppose selling offensive weapons to Israel “so long as Israel is violating international law and American law.” Van Hollen also said this year that there is “an important distinction” between selling offensive and defensive weaponry, and that he supports selling components for the Iron Dome missile system given that Israel is in “a tough neighborhood.”
Hadar Susskind, president and CEO of progressive Zionist group New Jewish Narrative, told JTA that Van Hollen would “meet the moment” and “prioritize and steer toward real, meaningful things that can leverage U.S. influence” as majority leader.
“I think he has always been and remains a proponent of a strong U.S.-Israel relationship — but one that is different than what we’ve seen between Trump and Netanyahu,” Susskind said.
“There are people who perhaps would stand up there and simply say, ‘OK, the Israeli government’s been doing bad and we don’t support it.’ Van Hollen is much more thoughtful than that,” Susskind said.
Van Hollen was long seen as a pro-Israel politician in his time as a Maryland congresman, though pro-Israel groups criticized him after he called for a ceasefire to end the 2006 Lebanon war.
In 2019, he opposed anti-BDS legislation, clarifying on the Senate floor that he disagrees with boycotting Israel but asserting that people should not be punished by the government for doing so. Schumer supported that legislation, which facilitated states’ ability to pass laws banning business with supporters of the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement against Israel.
Van Hollen has taken a more vocally critical stance on Israel and the pro-Israel lobby since the Israel-Hamas War started in 2023. Ron Halber, CEO of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Greater Washington, took aim at Van Hollen’s outspoken criticism of the Israeli government during a JCRC event last year, which prompted a Van Hollen spokesperson to call Halber an “apologist for the Netanyahu government” who is out of step with his constituents. Halber called the comment “laughable” and other Jewish leaders responded with outrage, while Susskind rushed to Van Hollen’s defense, saying he had “always been there for his Jewish constituents and in support of the people of Israel.”
Speaking at this year’s J Street national convention, held in Washington by the liberal Jewish Middle East advocacy group, Van Hollen panned AIPAC and said that it is neither pro-Israel nor pro-American, drawing pushback from some Jewish leaders.
Neither AIPAC nor J Street returned a request for comment on the possible battle for leadership in the Senate.
J Street’s president Jeremy Ben-Ami has written positively about Van Hollen, calling him “a true friend of Israel” in a 2024 opinion piece for the Washington Jewish Week. The piece came in response to an editorial claiming that Van Hollen is “not our friend” because of his “self-righteous spewing of anti-Israel accusations and positions,” and Ben-Ami countered by pointing to Van Hollen’s record of voting to send “tens of billions of dollars” in aid to Israel.
Van Hollen voted yes on a $14 billion security assistance package to Israel in February 2024, even as he accused the country of committing “war crimes.” (Van Hollen has since accused Israel of “ethnic cleansing” and said he agrees with organizations and scholars who say that Israel’s actions in Gaza meet the legal standard for genocide.)
This week, Van Hollen led a letter signed by a dozen Senate Democrats, addressed to House and Senate leadership, about the 2027 National Defense Authorization Act, urging them to remove provisions on U.S.-Israel military and intelligence cooperation.
Senate Democrats will pick their next majority leader in a December vote. A number of them have said they want new leadership and a fresh voice to steer the caucus and direct its legislative agenda.
Still, Schumer says he is “confident” that he will win the leadership election. Jim Kessler, vice president of the Democratic think tank Third Way and a former Schumer aide, agrees with him.
Kessler told JTA in an email that it’s “hard to imagine anyone mounting a serious challenge to Schumer after he led the most successful midterm for Democrats in 50 years.”
“He can say, well look at me, I was the leader when we had this big win,” said Democratic strategist Steve Jarding, in a JTA interview.
Schumer played an active role in recruiting candidates who won Senate seats in red and purple states, such as Sherrod Brown of Ohio, Roy Cooper of North Carolina, Josh Turek in Iowa and Scott Colom in Mississippi.
“It’s hard to imagine them saying no to Schumer and yes to Van Hollen,” said Sheinkopf, who pointed out that a number of the new Senate Democrats are moderates.
Progressive critics have said Schumer’s choices were too old and too moderate, and pointed out that his top choices in Michigan (Rep. Haley Stevens) and Maine (Gov. Janet Mills) were unsuccessful. Van Hollen said during an event on Tuesday that Schumer and the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee “sided with the crypto industry and AIPAC against” a pair of progressives who were elected, including presumably El-Sayed. (The Schumer-aligned Senate Majority PAC spent $30 million boosting El-Sayed in that election after he won the primary.)
Jarding, a past executive director of the South Dakota Democratic Party, opined that it would be “good for the party” for another senator to “emerge and at least test Schumer.” Should that happen, Jarding said, the leadership race could be “much closer than people think.”
“There’s a lot of people in that caucus that want a change. They may not say it publicly, but I know people in that caucus that want a change,” Jarding said.
Michigan Sen. Elissa Slotkin, who is Jewish, has said she would “certainly not vote for” Schumer without seeing a satisfactory 100-day plan from him, according to Politico.
Minnesota Senator-elect Peggy Flanagan said one day after her election that “it’s time for new leadership.” She has not said who she would support instead of Schumer, but told Politico that she has been “very impressed by Senator Van Hollen’s leadership.”
Incoming freshmen Troy Jackson of Maine and Juliana Stratton of Illinois have explicitly said that they would not support Schumer, while Annie Andrews of South Carolina says it is “time for a generational change on both sides of the aisle.” New Hampshire Senator-elect Chris Pappas has been noncommittal, saying that “this is a moment to see a passing of the torch.”
Kansas Senator-elect Adam Hamilton, meanwhile, has said that he won’t support Schumer because he is too far to the left, in the eyes of his constituents. Hamilton did not have a specific successor in mind, but said that there are senators who could “lead more from the center.”
Connecticut Sen. Richard Blumenthal, who is Jewish, told reporters on Monday that he would not endorse Schumer and that Democrats “need a conversation about leadership going forward because we need new energy and ideas.” But he changed his tune later that day, saying he will in fact support Schumer.
Pennsylvania Sen. John Fetterman, Arizona Sen. Ruben Gallego, Rhode Island Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse and Sherrod Brown have said they will support Schumer, while most senators have not publicly committed either way.
This article originally appeared on JTA.org.
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Call Your Mother bagel shop, JCC were refuge during deadly DC shooting
As a deadly shooting unfolded Thursday in Washington, D.C., people fleeing the scene in the Logan Circle neighborhood took refuge in a bagel shop and a local Jewish Community Center.
The shooting took place at VIDA gym, and outside the gym in the street, just north of the White House. One person was killed, four were injured, and the suspect took his own life, authorities said, after barricading himself in his apartment.
The bagel chain Call Your Mother, located just around the corner from the gym, helped locals stay safe.
“We tried to get as many people who were running out into the building,” general manager Oscar Vazquez told reporters. “After that we locked the doors.”
The shop posted about the incident on its Instagram page. Many users commented thanking Vazquez for ushering people to safety during the crisis.
“We are proud of our shop’s General Manager for leading with care and composure through such a difficult situation, and we thank our entire team for supporting one another,” said the bagel shop in a statement to the Forward.
About 8-10 employees were in the store at the time, Call Your Mother owner Andrew Dana told The Washington Post.
The shop closed for the rest of the day following the incident.
“Obviously, selling bagels is not important,” Dana told the Post.
The Edlavitch DC Jewish Community Center, located a few minutes away from the gym, sent an email to its community members Thursday afternoon assuring them it wasn’t a target of the shooting and noted certain programs would be canceled for the rest of the day:
“Throughout today’s events, we have been grateful that the EDCJCC could serve as a safe, welcoming space for our community, including neighbors who were evacuated from their homes and the law enforcement officers responding to the incident.”
The post Call Your Mother bagel shop, JCC were refuge during deadly DC shooting appeared first on The Forward.
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In a family divided over Israel, which side would Tevye choose?
Sixteen members of my family spent two terrifying years concealed in the attic of a peasant’s home in rural Poland during the Holocaust. Their lives depended on the extraordinary courage of the Polish couple and on the hope that the world outside would eventually become a place where they could live freely again. When liberation came, the 13 survivors emerged carrying memories that would shape generations to come.
My mother was among them. Like so many survivors, she rarely spoke of the past, but its presence was unmistakable in our childhood. We inherited our parents’ anxieties, their sense of vulnerability and their understanding of how suddenly the familiar world could become dangerous.
For the generation raised in the shadow of the Holocaust, the establishment of Israel represented an extraordinary transformation in Jewish history. After centuries of persecution, culminating in the systematic murder of six million Jews, the Jewish people possessed a sovereign state capable of providing refuge and defending its citizens. For families such as mine, whose survival had depended on the willingness of a stranger to risk her life on their behalf, the significance of Jewish self-determination carried an emotional weight far beyond the ordinary language of politics.
For many younger American Jews, their understanding of Israel has been shaped by the occupation of the West Bank, the expansion of Jewish settlements there, the suffering of Palestinians and now the Oct. 7 attacks and the devastating consequences of the war in Gaza.
The result is a profound generational divide in which people who share a historical inheritance increasingly struggle to recognize one another’s moral reasoning. For parents whose understanding of Israel emerged from the Holocaust and its aftermath, challenges to the legitimacy of the Jewish state can awaken deeply embedded fears about Jewish vulnerability. For their children, expressions of unconditional loyalty to Israel can seem incompatible with the moral responsibilities they associate with their Jewish upbringing.
As I began thinking about how to explore these divisions dramatically, I found myself returning to Sholem Aleichem and Fiddler on the Roof. Tevye the milkman struggles to reconcile his love for his daughters with their rejection of traditions he has spent his life upholding. His conversations with God, his humor and his anguish capture something timeless about Jewish family life: the painful realization that the next generation may not embrace the values and beliefs that have sustained its parents.
I wondered what Tevye’s dilemma might look like in an American Jewish family today. The questions have changed, but the underlying struggle remains remarkably familiar. Where Tevye wrestled with his daughters’ choices about marriage and religious tradition, today’s Jewish parents may find themselves confronting children whose views about Israel challenge their deepest understanding of Jewish history and survival. Like Tevye, they must ask themselves how far they can bend without betraying what they believe, and whether holding too tightly to those beliefs risks losing the people they love most.
Marc Chagall’s paintings provided another source of inspiration. His floating violinists, suspended above the rooftops of Eastern European villages, evoke a Jewish world that has largely vanished but whose traditions, memories and anxieties continue to shape succeeding generations. The image of a violinist hovering above a modern Manhattan street became a way for me to connect that lost world to the lives of an American Jewish family struggling with questions their ancestors could scarcely have imagined.
Such tensions form the central conflict of my new play, The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue, which unfolds during a gathering in the Upper West Side apartment of a Jewish family. The evening descends into confrontation when the youngest son arrives with his anti-Zionist girlfriend, whose convictions challenge the father’s understanding of Jewish history and survival.
As the argument deepens, the son insists that Jewish identity carries no automatic obligation of loyalty to a state, while his father, for whom Israel embodies the aspirations and sacrifices of generations, demands an affirmation of the Jewish state’s importance. Their disagreement becomes so painful that the father orders the young couple to leave, turning a family celebration into an occasion of rupture and exposing the fragility of relationships that had seemed secure.
The father’s anguish emerges from a history that has shaped his deepest convictions, while his son’s resistance reflects a different understanding of the responsibilities that accompany Jewish identity. Each approaches the argument with the conviction that something essential is at stake, and each experiences the other’s position as a challenge to values that have become inseparable from his sense of self. Their inability to recognize the emotional and historical foundations of each other’s beliefs transforms a political disagreement into a crisis of familial belonging.
I recognize in this conflict an echo of the questions that first led me to explore my history. In 1988, I made a documentary about my family’s experiences, returning to Poland with my aunt and cousins to meet the couple who had sheltered our relatives. The journey was an attempt to recover a history that had shaped our lives while remaining largely beyond the reach of ordinary family conversation.
My mother’s generation carried experiences whose enormity often exceeded the possibilities of language, while their children absorbed the consequences of those experiences through the atmosphere of family life. The silence surrounding the Holocaust became a form of communication in itself, shaping our understanding of danger, responsibility and the precariousness of Jewish existence.
Today, the challenge facing many Jewish families arises from the intensity of their disagreements and the difficulty of sustaining meaningful conversation across them. The language of political conviction can leave little room for complexities, and can seem to contradict inherited experience, particularly when arguments about Israel become measures of moral character or Jewish authenticity.
I have experienced some of these tensions within my own extended family, particularly in conversations with younger relatives whose understanding of Israel differs sharply from mine. One nephew has been intensely critical of Israel’s conduct during the war in Gaza and deeply sympathetic to the Palestinians, while firmly rejecting Hamas. He accepted many of the accusations made against Israel during the war, including some that were subsequently disputed or discredited, such as an early account of a hospital bombing. Our disagreements reflected the different sources of information we trusted, as well as the different assumptions and experiences we brought to the conflict.
My nephew and I eventually recognized how quickly our conversations became heated and decided to try a different approach, exchanging articles, podcasts and other material that might help each of us understand the other’s perspective. Even that effort generated tension, and we gradually abandoned it, leaving Israel as a subject we largely avoid when we are together. I have often wondered whether the play might help us find a way back to those conversations, allowing us to recognize in the characters something of ourselves and perhaps understand why the same events can provoke such different reactions among people who love one another.
The fears of older generations deserve to be understood within the historical circumstances that produced them, just as the ethical concerns of younger Jews deserve serious consideration on their own terms. Acknowledging the suffering of Palestinians and the legitimate aspirations of their people can coexist with an understanding of Jewish historical vulnerability and the importance of Israel to Jewish collective life. Such recognition requires a willingness to engage with the experiences and convictions that give different perspectives their emotional force.
Families possess a particular responsibility in this regard because their bonds reach beyond the political positions of any given moment. Parents transmit values, memories and traditions to their children, but the meaning of that inheritance inevitably changes as children encounter the world through their own experiences. The continuity of a family depends in part on its capacity to accommodate that transformation while preserving the relationships through which its history is passed along.
In my play, the father eventually encounters a form of ancestral wisdom through a dream in which his family’s long-departed relatives return, including the milkman who, according to family lore, inspired Sholem Aleichem’s Tevye. These ancestors urge him to apologize for the harm he has caused and to leave the door open for his son, an appeal that places the preservation of their relationship alongside the convictions that have divided them. Family can and must prevail, even when the questions at stake touch the deepest elements of identity.
When I think of the 16 members of my family who survived together in that attic in Poland, I think of the extraordinary value of the lives that were preserved and of the generations that followed because a courageous woman chose to shelter them. Their story belongs to a history of persecution and survival, but it also attaches to the human capacity for solidarity and the responsibility we bear toward one another.
The generations that followed inherited both the memory of that vulnerability and the opportunity to build lives enriched by freedoms their ancestors could hardly have imagined. Honoring that inheritance requires an understanding of the fears that shaped our parents, together with an openness to the different moral questions that confront our children.
The future of Jewish family life will depend in part on our ability to sustain those conversations with generosity, humility and a recognition of the profound bonds that connect us across generations. Our disagreements over Israel may remain intense, and the questions they raise will continue to demand serious engagement. Yet the preservation of our relationships is itself an expression of the continuity that our ancestors struggled so desperately to secure.
We can honor their memory by keeping our doors open to one another.
The post In a family divided over Israel, which side would Tevye choose? appeared first on The Forward.

