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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.”


The post Embracing their place on ‘the fringes,’ queer artists reimagine Jewish ritual garments for all bodies appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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Poland Returns Jewish Religious Objects to Greece Stolen by Nazis During WWII

A Torah scroll. Photo: Wikimedia Commons.

Poland on Wednesday returned 91 Jewish religious objects to Greece that were stolen by the Nazis from Greek synagogues and Jewish families during World War II.

The handover took place at a ceremony in Warsaw and marked the first time that Poland has repatriated cultural items illegally taken from their country of origin. The returned items included Torah scrolls, hanging ornaments, and fabrics.

The objects were stolen by the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg, a Nazi organization that focused on looting Jewish cultural items throughout Nazi-occupied Europe. The items were discovered in Poland after the war, and in 1951, the Polish Ministry of Culture transferred the Greek-Jewish artifacts to the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw, where they were stored until this week.

“These relics, which were removed from synagogues throughout Greece during the Second World War, are today on their way back to their homeland,” said Greece’s Minister of Culture Lina Mendoni. “These relics do not only have historical or artistic value. They are part of the memory of my country and of the Jewish Greeks. They are intertwined with narratives passed down by parents and grandparents. They connected with the memory of relatives who never returned from the camps, victims of the Holocaust … Their emotional weight is great and the desire of all of us for their return has been particularly intense.”

“In order to demand the return of what rightfully belongs to one, one must be ready to return what rightfully belongs to others, when there is a clear legal and moral obligation,” Mendoni added.

The Greek government officially requested the restitution of the Greek-Jewish artifacts in December 2024, and the World Jewish Restitution Organization worked with Greek and Polish authorities to organize the return of the items. The objects will now be transferred to the Jewish Museum of Greece in Athens.

“We have been waiting for this moment for many years,” said Poland’s Minister of Culture Marta Cieńkowska. “Today, we are living a historic moment. Thanks to the close and determined cooperation of our two ministries, to the systematic engagement of experts and researchers, in less than two years, we can deliver today this remarkable piece of history.”

Before World War II, approximately 77,000 Jews lived in Greece, according to Yad Vashem, Israel’s national memorial to the Holocaust. After Nazi Germany and its allies occupied the country, Greek Jews were deported to Nazi extermination camps and a total of 60,000 of the country’s Jewish population died in the Holocaust.

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Trump Seeks Kurdish Allies Against Tehran, but Analysts Say Plan Is Risky, Could Take Years

Iranian Kurdish fighters from the Kurdistan Freedom Party (PAK) take part in a training session at a base on the outskirts of Erbil, Iraq, Feb. 12, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Thaier Al-Sudani

The Trump administration, weighing whether the war with Iran could eventually require US troops on the ground, has begun reaching out to Kurdish opposition leaders in Iran with an offer of “extensive US aircover” as it looks for ways to destabilize the regime while the American-Israeli campaign intensifies, an idea one analyst told The Algemeiner would be very difficult to translate into action.

The outreach comes amid reports from Iran that it had preemptively attacked Kurdish forces in Iraqi Kurdistan, claiming the strikes caused heavy losses.

According to The Washington Post, which cited people familiar with the matter, US President Donald Trump held calls with Kurdish minority leaders in Iraq, including Masoud Barzani and Bafel Talabani, as well as anti-regime Iranian Kurdish groups about taking control of areas in western Iran.

A senior official from the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan said Washington asked Iraqi Kurdish authorities to “open the way and not obstruct” and to “provid[e] logistical support” to Iranian Kurdish groups mobilizing in Iraq.

“He told us the Kurds must choose a side in this battle — either with America and Israel or with Iran,” the anonymous official told the paper.

Trump himself on Thursday encouraged Iranian Kurdish forces to go on the offensive but did not indicate whether the US has been coordinating with them.

“I think it’s wonderful that they want to do that; I’d be all for it,” the president told Reuters in an interview.

When asked if the US would provide air cover, Trump responded, “I can’t tell you that,” but noted that the Kurds’ objective would be “to win.”

“If they’re going to do that, that’s good,” he added.

Iran’s intelligence ministry said it had information that “separatist groups” intended to breach its western borders for an attack.

“We targeted the headquarters of Kurdish groups opposed to the revolution in Iraqi Kurdistan with three missiles,” the ministry said, according to a statement published by the state-run IRNA news agency.

Accounts diverged Wednesday night over whether an Iranian Kurdish ground invasion had begun. Fox News said Kurdish militias based in Iraq had crossed into Iran, but Tasnim, Iran’s semi-official outlet, reported via Reuters that its journalists in three border provinces found no evidence of an incursion. Israeli journalist Barak Ravid, who initially cited a US official as confirming the operation, later said reports were “conflicting,” adding that a senior official in one Iranian Kurdish faction also denied that any offensive was underway.

Peshawar Hawramani, a spokesperson for the government in the federated Kurdistan region of Iraq, known as the Kurdistan Region of Northern Iraq, has released a statement denying involvement in any incursions or armament. 

“[A]llegations claiming that we are part of a plan to arm and send Kurdish opposition parties into Iranian territory are completely unfounded,” Hawramani said, calling the reports “malicious.”

The London-based Asharq Al-Awsat outlet reported that Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi and Ali Bagheri Kani, deputy secretary of Iran’s Supreme National Security Council, have pressed Iraqi officials for details about the phone calls between Trump, Barzani, and Talabani.

Iran also told Iraq’s federal authorities in Baghdad that it “must provide sufficient guarantees and take the necessary measures” to prevent Iraqi Kurdish groups from aiding Iranian opposition groups, the report said, citing unnamed sources. 

Iran’s Kurdish population — estimated at roughly 8 million to 12 million people — lives largely in mountainous western provinces along the Iraqi border, where several armed opposition factions have long operated and where some Iranian Kurdish groups maintain bases across the frontier in northern Iraq.

The country’s Kurdish minority has a long history of political activism based on decades of rebellion against central rule, a dynamic that predates the Islamic Republic. Kurdish forces briefly established their own state in northwestern Iran, the Republic of Mahabad in 1946, before it was crushed, and Kurdish groups have periodically clashed with successive governments in Tehran ever since.

A day earlier, CNN reported that the CIA has been working for months with Iranian Kurdish groups to foment an uprising.

US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth told reporters Wednesday: “None of our objectives are premised on the support or the arming of any particular force. So, what other entities may be doing, we’re aware of, but our objectives aren’t centered on that.”

Northern Iraq’s Kurdistan region has long served as a rear base for Iranian Kurdish dissident groups, but only so long as local leaders kept them from launching attacks into Iran. That delicate arrangement could unravel if fighters mobilize across the border as part of the wider war effort, said Seth Frantzman, a regional analyst who has studied Kurdish militant groups.

If Iranian Kurdish factions begin operating from Iraqi territory and the broader US-Israeli campaign fails to decisively weaken Tehran, Kurdish authorities in Erbil and Sulaymaniyah could find themselves exposed to retaliation from Iran, Frantzman said. Leaders in Iraqi Kurdistan “have tried for years to keep the balance” hosting Iranian Kurdish opposition groups while maintaining a working relationship with Tehran, he said.

Even if Washington were prepared to support Kurdish factions, turning them into an effective anti-regime force would take far longer than the current conflict timeline suggests.

Frantzman said any outside backing would take time to put in place, requiring logistics channels and training. “These types of programs, advising and assisting groups, or arming them, takes time,” he said, pointing to past US experiences from Afghanistan to Syria as examples. 

Frantzman said Kurdish factions would be looking for assurances that outside support would last, wary of being pulled into an uprising only to be left exposed if backing fades and Tehran reasserts control.

“They would be very wary and skeptical of taking chances today, having already lost lives and lost territory,” he told The Algemeiner.

He pointed to several examples, most notably the US-backed Kurdish campaign against the Islamic State terrorist group in Syria, when Washington trained and equipped Kurdish fighters to form the backbone of the Syrian Democratic Forces in 2015. The campaign, which took more than four years, required sustained support and came at a heavy cost, with about 11,000 fighters killed.

Even that effort, he noted, which targeted a terrorist group in a limited area rather than an established state, took over four years to complete. Any comparable attempt inside Iran — a country of roughly 90 million people with a far larger military and security apparatus — would be far more difficult.

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Redeeming the Time, Rabbinically

Reading from a Torah scroll in accordance with Sephardi tradition. Photo: Sagie Maoz via Wikimedia Commons.

We live in a culture that is very good at avoiding ultimate questions. Death is kept offstage. Time is treated as infinite. The modern self is trained to strive, consume, showcase, curate, and distract, but not often to reckon. The deepest matters are postponed, not necessarily out of malice, but out of habit: there is always another headline, another obligation, another performance of busyness.

That is why Ben Sasse’s recent conversation with Peter Robinson at the Hoover Institution lands with unusual force. On its surface, it is an interview with a former senator and university president. In reality, it is something rarer in modern elite discourse: an unsparing confrontation with mortality.

Sasse has been diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer. The question hovering over the exchange is not legislative strategy or partisan maneuvering, but what remains when the usual distractions and ambitions are stripped of their power. He speaks candidly about regret, forgiveness, prayer, and what he calls “redeeming the time”: learning, as life narrows, to hold ambition lightly and to love more deliberately.

It is a moving reflection. But it is also, in a deeper sense, an ancient one.

Judaism has long insisted that the awareness of death is not a morbid fixation but a form of moral clarity. Kohelet – the book of Ecclesiastes – offers the sober verdict that modern life works so hard to avoid: “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” Not because nothing matters, but because so much of what we chase is mist: acclaim, accumulation, the restless display of importance.

The rabbis sharpen the point further. “Repent one day before your death,” the Talmud teaches. The student, understandably, asks: But how can a person know the day of death? And the answer is the point: Precisely because no one knows, one must repent today.

In other words, the moral task is not postponed until the final crisis. The human condition is already one of finitude. The question is whether we live as if we remember it.

This is what the Jewish tradition calls cheshbon hanefesh — an accounting of the soul. Not an exercise in self-obsession, but in proportion. What matters? What endures? What have we mistaken for ultimate that is, in truth, only temporary?

Judaism’s most piercing liturgical moment, recited each year on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, makes the matter unavoidable: “Who shall live and who shall die … Who by water and who by fire…”

Unetaneh Tokef does not offer comfort through denial. It offers clarity through truth: life is fragile, time is borrowed, and our pretensions are thin.

What mortality does, what Sasse’s diagnosis forces into view, is the stripping away of the false absolutisms that so often govern modern life. Reputation becomes less urgent. The metrics of elite success begin to look strangely weightless. And what remains, if we are fortunate, is relationship: family, forgiveness, obligation, love, and the hope that one’s days have been oriented toward something beyond the self.

Sasse, in his own Christian idiom, is showcasing ideas that Judaism has long institutionalized: the urgency of finitude, the moral demand of time, the necessity of living now as if the horizon is real.

His reflections are poignant precisely because modern America is, in so many respects, a culture of evasion. We have constructed entire systems – technological, professional, political – designed to keep first things at bay. Attention is scattered. Status becomes performative. The self becomes a brand. Seriousness is treated as optional.

And nowhere is this evasion more concentrated than among the people who govern our institutions. Our ruling class speaks endlessly in the language of urgency – power, justice, crisis – while quietly building lives organized around careerism, self-protection, and distraction. We have created a secular priesthood of ambition that cannot speak honestly about death, judgment, or the limits of human control.

The rabbis would recognize the spiritual danger immediately. They were never sentimental about public striving. Honor, they warned, is intoxicating. Recognition is fleeting. The pursuit of status can become a kind of idolatry; not because achievement is evil, but because the modern temptation is to treat achievement as ultimate.

“It is not your duty to finish the work,” Pirkei Avot teaches, “but neither are you free to desist from it.” The line captures Judaism’s balance: responsibility without grandiosity, obligation without self-worship. The work matters, but the work is not God.

That balance is precisely what our age lacks. We live amid unprecedented technological abundance, yet also amid unprecedented distraction. The self is curated. Attention is monetized. Institutions are hollowed out not only by ideology, but by exhaustion and drift.

Nowhere is this more visible than in higher education itself. Our most credentialed institutions often train young people to speak endlessly about justice and power, while offering them remarkably little formation in humility, duty, or the permanent things. They produce graduates fluent in moral performance, yet increasingly incapable of moral seriousness.

Even politics, which once demanded sacrifice, is increasingly consumed as spectacle: another theater of resentment, branding, and noise.

And yet a republic cannot survive on noise. Democracies depend on citizens capable of restraint, gratitude, seriousness, and moral perspective. They require people who can locate politics within a larger horizon of obligation – family, faith, community, the inheritance of civilization itself. A nation that cannot distinguish the urgent from the ultimate will not remain healthy or free for long.

Sasse’s conversation is powerful not because it offers a novel insight, but because it forces an old truth back into view: time is not infinite, ambition is not redemption, and the ultimate questions cannot be deferred forever.

The High Holy Day liturgy does not ask whether we will die. It assumes it. It asks instead what we will do with the time we are given: “Who shall live and who shall die…”

Death is the one fact no algorithm can curate and no institution can evade. It strips away our distractions and reveals what is real. The question is not whether life is short. The question is whether we will go on pretending otherwise – until we no longer have the luxury.

“Teach us to number our days,” we regularly pray, “that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

And wisdom begins when we stop confusing busyness for meaning, ambition for redemption, and noise for life.

Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.

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