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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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In the Social Media Age, What the Torah Teaches About Gossip Is More Relevant Than Ever
Social media apps on a smart phone. Photo: Jonathan Raa/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” This often-quoted line is usually attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, although ironically, there’s no proof she actually said it. This makes it a fitting introduction to a discussion on gossip, truth, and our tendency to repeat irresistible stories — real or not.
Modern psychology has devoted a surprising amount of attention to the study of gossip, and its conclusions are rather more nuanced than one might expect. Far from being merely idle chatter or malicious whispering, gossip turns out to serve a meaningful social function. It helps people bond and creates the kind of informal networks that allow individuals to navigate the complexities of social life.
In other words, when people engage in what we dismissively call tittle-tattle, they are often doing something constructive — strengthening connections and quietly laying the foundations of lasting social relationships.
And yet, research underscores a vital caveat: While gossip can build social bonds, its malicious form erodes trust and achieves the opposite effect. When gossip sours, it distorts reality, encourages harsh, often unjustified judgments, and breeds suspicion.
What starts as a seemingly harmless exchange — “Did you hear what happened with so-and-so?” — can swiftly become a narrative with far-reaching consequences, echoing widely and lingering long after the original words.
That has always been the case. But recently, the scale, speed, and stakes have increased. Social media has supercharged gossip, making it far more potent and dangerous. What once occurred in private circles now unfolds publicly, amplified by algorithms favoring outrage and sensationalism. Gossip isn’t just local — it fuels widespread conspiracy and can fracture societies.
The wave of conspiracy theories proliferating online in recent years — claims about hidden forces manipulating events, and viral rumors about public figures spreading faster than corrections — has seeped into mainstream conversation. News of public shootings or assassination attempts quickly sparks theories of “false flag” operations or that those arrested are merely patsies.
Such narratives start on the fringes but spread quickly because they tap into a deeply human urge: to feel privy to hidden knowledge, to believe we see what others do not. By the time facts emerge, the damage is done — and facts are dismissed as cover-ups. Reputations inevitably suffer, and the harmful consequences outlast the true facts.
What all of these examples have in common is not merely their inaccuracy, but their emotional appeal. Gossip, whether ancient or modern, thrives on a particular kind of pleasure — the satisfaction of being “in the know,” coupled with the subtle reinforcement of one’s own worldview.
In a polarized environment, that pleasure is intensified. We are far more inclined to believe, and to repeat, information that confirms what we already think, especially when it casts the “other side” in a negative light.
All this signals a broader societal shift. Modern, digitized gossip now powerfully drives polarization. It is no longer just people speaking ill of each other; it has become a process where entire communities build parallel realities, each sustained by its own ecosystem of rumors, half-truths, and falsehoods.
Given these developments, the Torah’s treatment of gossip in Parshat Tazria–Metzora feels less like an ancient curiosity and more like a strikingly relevant corrective. The metzora — one afflicted with tzara’at, a discoloration that appears on skin, clothing, or walls — is traditionally seen by Chazal as suffering the consequences of lashon hara, harmful speech.
Remarkably, it is not just about the harmful speech producing a physical manifestation, but also the response to the condition: The metzora is isolated (Lev. 13:46): בָּדָד יֵשֵׁב מִחוּץ לַמַּחֲנֶה מוֹשָׁבוֹ – “he must sit alone, outside the camp.” The social fabric once woven by innocuous gossip is now withdrawn; the result of malicious speech is, quite literally, social isolation.
Lashon hara does more than harm its immediate target; it undermines the integrity of the entire community. It distorts reality, erodes trust, and creates divisions where cohesion should prevail. In a society built on shared values and mutual responsibility, that kind of corrosion cannot simply be ignored.
But the Torah does not merely punish — it educates. The isolation of the metzora is not an act of rejection, but an opportunity for reflection. Removed from the constant chatter and the endless exchange of words, the metzora is forced to confront the true power of speech — what it can build, and what it can so easily destroy.
In our world, we rarely experience that kind of enforced pause, especially in an age of addictive smartphone use. We scroll endlessly through emails, messages, videos, and social media, caught in a relentless information stream.
The pressure to respond is immediate, and the urge to share something that is particularly evocative or provocative is ever-present. There’s always another headline, a salacious rumor, or some kind of “inside information” demanding attention and ready to be passed along.
The medium may have changed, but the core dynamic remains. Words still shape reality; they influence how we see others, interpret events, and position ourselves in society. The only real difference is that the ripple effects are now far greater.
Our goal shouldn’t be to eliminate social chatter — which is neither possible nor desirable — but to act with more responsibility. The fleeting satisfaction of spreading sensational news is often outweighed by the long-term cost to truth and trust.
One should certainly resist being the first to repeat a story; instead, be the person who ensures accuracy and fairness. This discipline, difficult in a culture favoring speed over nuance, is what the Torah seeks to instill.
Millennia before social media and modern polarization, the Torah revealed a simple truth: Speech is not neutral. It leaves a mark and, when misused, can fracture people and communities.
Every time we want to share that intriguing, unverified detail, we aren’t just making harmless conversation. We are shaping the world we and others live in. That’s a responsibility to take seriously.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
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Europe’s Counterterrorism Strategy: How Laws and Intelligence Cooperation Strengthened Security
French police and members of French special police forces of Research and Intervention Brigade (BRI) secure the area near Iran’s consulate where a man was threatening to blow himself up, in Paris, France, April 19, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/Benoit Tessier
Over the past two decades, Europe has faced evolving terrorist threats that required a comprehensive and coordinated response. From lone-wolf attacks to transnational extremist networks, European states have been compelled to rethink their security frameworks. In response, the European Union and its member states have developed a multi-layered counterterrorism strategy centered on legislation, intelligence cooperation, and institutional coordination. This approach has significantly enhanced Europe’s ability to prevent and respond to terrorism, although challenges remain.
At the core of Europe’s counterterrorism efforts lies a robust legal framework. European countries have introduced extensive legislation aimed at criminalizing terrorism-related activities, including recruitment, financing, incitement, and travel for extremist purposes. These laws are designed not only to punish acts of terrorism but also to prevent them before they occur. By harmonizing legal standards across member states, the European Union has reduced legal loopholes that previously allowed suspects to exploit differences between national systems.
One of the most important aspects of this legal evolution is the emphasis on preventive measures. Authorities now have greater powers to monitor suspects, disrupt networks, and intervene at earlier stages of radicalization. This proactive approach reflects a shift from reactive policing to anticipatory security, where the focus is on identifying threats before they materialize.
However, legislation alone is not sufficient. Intelligence cooperation has become a cornerstone of Europe’s counterterrorism strategy. Given the transnational nature of modern terrorist networks, no single country can effectively combat terrorism in isolation. European intelligence agencies have therefore intensified their collaboration through formal and informal mechanisms that facilitate the exchange of information.
A key platform in this regard is the Counter Terrorism Group (CTG), which brings together intelligence services from EU member states to share assessments and coordinate responses. In parallel, agencies such as Europol and Eurojust play a crucial role in operational coordination and judicial cooperation. Europol supports law enforcement by providing intelligence analysis, while Eurojust facilitates cross-border prosecutions and legal coordination.
The importance of information sharing cannot be overstated. Timely and accurate intelligence allows authorities to track suspects across borders, identify emerging threats, and prevent attacks. Systems such as the Schengen Information System (SIS) enable member states to share alerts on individuals suspected of involvement in terrorism, enhancing border security and law enforcement effectiveness.
In addition to intra-European cooperation, transatlantic collaboration has also been a key component of counterterrorism efforts. The United States and European countries have worked closely to exchange intelligence, track foreign fighters, and dismantle terrorist networks. For example, data sharing initiatives have enabled European authorities to identify individuals returning from conflict zones and assess the risks they pose.
Another critical dimension of Europe’s counterterrorism strategy is the effort to cut off funding for extremist groups. Terrorist organizations rely on financial resources to operate, recruit, and carry out attacks. European governments have implemented strict measures to combat money laundering and terrorist financing, including enhanced financial surveillance, regulatory oversight, and international cooperation. These efforts aim to disrupt the financial lifelines of extremist networks and reduce their operational capabilities.
Despite these advancements, Europe continues to face significant challenges. One of the most pressing issues is the phenomenon of radicalization, particularly among individuals who are born and raised in Europe. Online platforms have become a major tool for extremist propaganda, making it easier for groups to recruit and indoctrinate individuals. Addressing this challenge requires not only security measures but also social and ideological interventions that tackle the root causes of extremism.
Another challenge is balancing security with civil liberties. Expanding surveillance powers and preventive measures has raised concerns about privacy and human rights. European governments must navigate this delicate balance to ensure that counterterrorism efforts do not undermine the democratic values they seek to protect.
Moreover, the return of foreign fighters from conflict zones such as Syria and Iraq poses an ongoing security risk. European countries must decide how to handle these individuals, whether through prosecution, rehabilitation, or monitoring. This issue highlights the complexity of modern counterterrorism, where legal, ethical, and security considerations intersect.
In conclusion, Europe’s counterterrorism strategy has evolved into a comprehensive system that combines legislation, intelligence cooperation, and financial controls. By strengthening legal frameworks, enhancing information sharing, and fostering international collaboration, European countries have significantly improved their ability to combat terrorism. However, the dynamic nature of the threat means that these efforts must continue to adapt. Future success will depend on maintaining this balance between security, cooperation, and the protection of fundamental freedoms.
The author is a political analyst specializing in Middle East affairs, with a focus on political Islam, regional security, and minority rights.
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Gen Z Canceled Critical Thinking
Illustrative: Thousands of anti-Israel demonstrators from the Midwest gather in support of Palestinians and hold a rally and march through the Loop in Chicago on Oct. 21, 2023. Photo: Alexandra Buxbaum/Sipa USA via Reuters Connect
As a society, we haven’t reckoned with the impact that cancel culture has had on Gen Z, and we need to.
Starting in 2020, cancel culture was implemented through social ostracization, major media campaigns, online bullying, and toxic one-sided debates used to demean individuals for their perspectives. For developing brains, cancel culture created a very real fear in their life: the fear of social death.
Because cancel culture doesn’t care about your morals or values, it is used as a form of social control that latches on to anything different from the dominant political ideologies. Social death will be performed through ostracization.
For Gen Z, cancel culture taught us not to share our own perspectives, not to post our own ideas on social media, and, saddest of all, to stop talking with one another about conflicting ideas. Cancel culture has led to a form of self-suppression, effectively silencing ourselves. This in turn has led to the decline of critical thinking and allowed for a mental void to take the spot of a once-busy analytical brain.
Critical thinking has become dangerous in a society that platforms specific ideologies above democratic debate.
As a society, we have not truly realized what cancel culture has done to our generation, starting in 2020. Professors and teachers continue to ask students, “What do you think about this?” and expect an authentic answer, not realizing the student can only give them a safe answer from within the accepted ideological bubble. Because if a student steps outside of what has been deemed “moral” by the virtue-signaling police, they will be shunned and a social death will ensue.
I’ve experienced this firsthand at the University of British Columbia (UBC), a university with over 60,000 students but no room for different views.
The dominant social justice warrior ideology on campus has become anti-Israel, and wearing my IDF hoodie draws vicious UBC Reddit and social media attacks. When I discussed a translation assignment with an English professor and said I’d like to translate a Hebrew prayer, I was pulled aside and asked if I “work for Zionist entities?” Through social isolation, my peers and professors alike have shunned me for my support of Israel, simply because it doesn’t align with the dominant woke ideologies of our generation.
Unless we reckon with cancel culture, which has been branded as a purity test for moral clarity, we can’t begin to discuss how to get children to think critically again.
As a society, we allowed this disease to affect the brains of my generation. Unless we do something about it, we will become Generation Zombie, and the mental apocalypse will be upon us.
I used to feel afraid to share my own opinions when I started university, because for a while, cancel culture won, and I muzzled myself. But this is anti-democratic; intimidation of thought has become a tool to control our young, impressionable generation. We must reckon with this before moving forward and taking accountability for a solution.
My solution to this disease is to ask questions. We have to revert back to our pre-school cognitive development stages, when we asked, “why, what, when, where, and how.” We have to revert back to searching for answers and hearing a difference of opinion.
This sounds simple at its core. However, to Generation Zombie, we have to reteach these fundamental cognitive capacities. I say this as a Gen Zer who has lived experience inside our Canadian university system since 2020 and can attest that academic rigor and the ability to grapple with complex ideas are going the way of the dodo bird.
Be curious. Ask questions.