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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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Anti-Israel Streamer Hasan Piker Reaffirms Hamas Support
Hasan Piker. Photo: Wikimedia Commons
Controversial streamer Hasan Piker raised eyebrows Monday after reaffirming his support for the Hamas terrorist group during an interview on the popular left-wing podcast “Pod Save America.”
While speaking with Jon Favreau, former speechwriter to US President Barack Obama, Piker doubled down on his assertion that Hamas is a preferable governing entity compared to Israel.
“This [quote] is from January,” Favreau said while reflecting on previous comments made by the streamer. “‘Hamas is a thousand times better than a fascist settler colonial apartheid state.”
“I stand by that,” Piker responded.
Favreau then asked Piker to clarify whether his comments were genuine or hyperbolic.
“[T]his is the one that bothered me most when I first heard it …. Even if you believe what happened in Gaza is genocide and what’s happening in the West Bank is apartheid, those are different claims from ‘Hamas is a thousand times better,’ because Hamas is an organization that has massacred, raped, kidnapped civilians on Oct. 7,” the former Obama speechwriter said, referring to Hamas’s invasion of and massacre across southern Israel in 2023. “They’ve also been catastrophic for Palestinians by almost every measure … Do you actually mean that or is that a rhetorical move or like a solidarity signal?”
“I mean, it’s all of the above. I do mean it,” Piker affirmed. “I’m a lesser-evil voter and therefore I would vote for Hamas over Israel every single time.”
Jon Favreau: “When you say Hamas is a thousand times better, do you mean that?”
Hasan Piker: “I do mean it … I would vote for Hamas over Israel every single time.” pic.twitter.com/1dNxvOGslo
— Shannon Watts (@shannonrwatts) April 13, 2026
Hamas, which openly calls for the destruction of Israel and the murder of Jews, has launched a brutal crackdown on dissent among fellow Palestinians in recent months. Social media videos widely circulated online show Hamas members brutally beating Palestinians and carrying out public executions of alleged collaborators with Israel and rival militia members.
Piker also suggested that Hamas is “entirely comprised” of orphaned children whose parents were killed in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict — remarks that critics say distort reality and risk minimizing the group’s violent actions. He framed Hamas as a product of trauma, arguing that many of its members are driven by personal loss tied to Israeli military operations. The comments quickly drew backlash from analysts, policymakers, and pro-Israel advocates, who say the characterization is both factually inaccurate and morally problematic.
Piker continued, comparing Israel to Nazi Germany and repudiating Zionism as “an ethno-religious supremacist ideology that is exterminationist.”
The US and several countries around the world designate Hamas as a terrorist organization. On Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas-led Palestinian terrorists murdered 1,200 people, kidnapped 251 hostages, and perpetrated widespread sexual violence during their rampage
Piker’s remarks are the latest in a series of contentious statements on Israel and the broader Middle East, which have drawn scrutiny from both media watchdogs and political figures. His large online following has amplified the impact of his commentary, fueling debate over the responsibility of digital influencers in shaping public understanding of global conflicts.
Piker has drawn immense scrutiny in recent months as his popularity has surged and mainstream Democratic politicians have increasingly appeared on his livestream show.
Beyond Hamas, Piker has also expressed support for authoritarian regimes in China, Russia, and Iran.
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Iran Executed More People in 2025 Than Any Year in Nearly Four Decades, NGOs Find
A February 2023 protest in Washington, DC calling for an end to executions and human rights violations in Iran. Photo: Reuters/ Bryan Olin Dozier
The Islamic regime in Iran has continued to accelerate its execution machine into a steady grind of state-ordered killings, now rising again to a peak unseen since 1989.
According to a joint-annual report released by the European groups Iran Human Rights (IHR) in Norway and Together Against the Death Penalty (ECPM) in France, Iran executed at least 1,639 people in 2025, a 68 percent leap from the 975 killed in 2024 and the highest seen since tracking began in 2008. All known executions were reportedly conducted by hanging.
The number of executed women also rose to 48, a jump from 31 in 2024. Courts convicted 21 of these women for murdering their husbands or fiancés.
The figure of 1,639 human beings represents an average of four executions each day; however, IHR warns that the full body count is likely much higher, as the group requires two sources to confirm an execution.
“By creating fear through an average of four to five executions per day in 2025, authorities tried to prevent new protests and prolong their crumbling rule,” IHR director Mahmood Amiry-Moghaddam said in a statement.
“The death penalty in Iran is used as a political tool of oppression and repression, with ethnic minorities and other marginalized groups disproportionately represented among those executed,” added Raphaël Chenuil-Hazan, executive director of ECPM.
The report cites the higher levels of executions targeting Sunni Muslims such as Kurds in the west and Baluch in the southeast.
A significant number of executions involved non-lethal offenses, with nearly half of documented executions – 747 people – convicted of drug crimes. While most executions took place inside prisons, the number of public hangings more than tripled to 11.
The report begins with a foreword written on Feb. 20 by human rights lawyer Nasrin Sotoudeh. On April 1, Iranian police arrested her and today her whereabouts remain unknown.
Beginning by noting that Iran has ranked highest in executions per capita for many years and remains one of the highest for total killings, Sotoudeh writes that “the reasons for opposing the inhuman punishment of execution are so clear that they hardly require repetition. Nevertheless, governments such as the Islamic Republic of Iran often invoke public opinion to justify this inhuman punishment.”
Sotoudeh explains that the regime justifies executing murderers and drug traffickers because of a supposed public demand, “as though that settles the matter.” She points out that historically executions can rise after revolutions following dictatorships.
“We experienced this ourselves within the past half-century. After the 1979 Revolution, many officers and senior officials of the monarchy were executed without fair trials,” Sotoudeh writes. “Yet the cycle of violence did not end, and the execution machine went on to claim the lives of others, including those who had contributed to the revolution’s victory. This cycle has not ceased to this day, nearly half a century later, and has in fact accelerated.”
Invoking one of history’s most famous victims of unjust execution, Sotoudeh adds, “This is precisely why death sentences should never be issued under the influence of public opinion. Socrates, too, was sentenced to death at the age of 70 by a vote of the Athenian majority and chose to drink the cup of poison rather than leave Athens.”
The report reveals the extent to which the regime has sought to conceal its bloody hands. Official government sources only announced 113 executions (less than 7 percent), down from 9.7 percent in 2024 and 15 percent in 2023.
Rape is a capital offense in Iran, with 37 people killed after convictions. The report notes that “as in previous years, people accused of crimes were tortured and forced to confess. Criminal convictions are frequently based on information extracted under torture.”
The execution increase established in 2025 appears to have continued into 2026.
On Monday, for example, the Human Rights Activist News Agency announced that Judge Iman Afshari of the Tehran Revolutionary Court had sentenced to death protesters Mohammadreza Majidi-Asl, Bita Hemmati, Behrouz Zamaninejad, and Kourosh Zamaninejad.
The charges which Afshari judged as worthy of execution included “destruction of public property,” “chanting protest slogans,” “throwing objects including bottles, concrete blocks, and incendiary materials from rooftops,” and “participation in protest gatherings on Jan. 8 and 9, 2026.”
The Iranian regime unleashed a brutal, nationwide crackdown on anti-government protesters in January, resulting in the deaths and arrests of tens of thousands of people. Activists fear that many of those detained will be executed.
The report cites Max du Plessis, a UN Fact-Finding Mission expert, who said in October after observing the increase in killings, “if executions form part of a widespread and systemic attack against a civilian population, as a matter of policy, then those responsible – including the judges who impose capital punishment – may be held accountable for crimes against humanity.”
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Hampshire College closure reverberates for alumni who treasured a Yiddishist hub
Hampshire College, once a hub for Yiddish scholarship thanks to its proximity to the Yiddish Book Center, will close by the end of the year amid financial challenges.
The Yiddish Book Center will not be affected by the closure, said spokesperson Rebecka McDougall, noting that the Yiddish Book Center owns its land and building, located adjacent to campus.
Even so, the closure signals the end of an era for Yiddishists who found their footing at Hampshire. Among its alumni are Yiddish singer Miryem-Khaye Seigel, the Yiddish Book Center’s academic director Madeleine (Mindl) Cohen, and the Forward’s archivist, Chana Pollack.
“It connected me to other people that were very instrumental to my broader Yiddish interests,” said Lana Adler, a 2013 Hampshire graduate who went on to work at the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, which houses the largest collection of Yiddish-language works in the world. “It was an incredibly important space for Yiddish.”
Hampshire and Yiddish
Founded in 1970 in Amherst, Massachusetts, Hampshire College was conceived as an experiment in alternative education, offering self-designed concentrations instead of traditional majors and “narrative evaluations” rather than grades.
A decade later, it became home to a major Yiddish revival effort when alum Aaron Lansky returned to found the Yiddish Book Center. Alarmed that American Jews were discarding irreplaceable Yiddish books, Lansky set out to save them.
New York City seemed the obvious base. But mentors warned he might “get swallowed up” among the city’s many Jewish institutions, recalled Penina Migdal Glazer, a former Hampshire professor, in a 2024 interview.
Instead, Lansky chose Amherst — a place he knew from his college years, with faculty mentors who could support the project, and more affordable land. He purchased 10 acres on an apple orchard next to the Hampshire campus and, in 1997, built the Harry and Jeanette Weinberg Building, designed to evoke an Eastern European shtetl.
In the years that followed, the Yiddish Book Center and Hampshire College became a magnet for students interested in Yiddish. The two partnered to host Yiddish language classes and programs like the Yiddish Book Center’s Steiner Summer Yiddish Program, where participants immerse themselves in seven weeks of Yiddish language and culture while staying in Hampshire College dorms.
The closure’s impact
Facing declining enrollment and mounting debt, Hampshire College’s Board of Trustees voted to permanently close the school following the fall 2026 semester, president Jennifer Chrisler announced Tuesday.
McDougall told the Forward that the Yiddish Book Center’s summer residential programs are independent of Hampshire College and will continue, adding, “There is currently no programmatic partnership with Hampshire College.”
“We are saddened by Hampshire College’s announcement,” Susan Bronsin, president of the Yiddish Book Center, said in a statement. “Hampshire has been a valued neighbor for many years, and we recognize the significance of this moment for its community.”
For Aleks Ritter, co-founder of the student group Hampshire Jewish Life, the campus’ proximity to the Yiddish Book Center was a large part of the school’s appeal when he first applied. Ritter had studied Yiddish through YIVO in high school and hoped to continue in college.
He and his friends would often go to the Yiddish Book Center to study and hang out, and several of his friends worked part-time jobs there.
“The school has been really wonderful for Jewish students,” Ritter said.
Now, Ritter will have to transfer to another college in the area.
For alumni like Adler, the loss also feels personal. Hampshire was the first time she had formally studied Yiddish — an experience that shaped her career.
“There was something special happening at Hampshire,” Adler said. “It was very important to me and to a lot of other people. I’m just so sad. I can’t believe it’s closing.”
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