My silence builds a sanctuary
2024
Upcycled fabrics, lace, and ribbon, hand-sewn and embroidered

“א"ר אלעזר שתיקה דילי בנה מקדשא לעילא ובנה מקדשא לתתא”

“Rabbi Elazar said: my silence builds a sanctuary above, and builds a sanctuary below.”

Hakdamat haZohar

This tallit is made from reclaimed and repurposed fabrics, layered and pieced together to form something both delicate and strong. When I create monochromatic tallitot—especially those for the High Holidays—the focus shifts from emphasis on color and shape to the interplay of textures, from which patterns emerge. It is a process I think of as creative silence: Working intuitively, letting the fabric guide me.

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Untitled
2024
Upcycled fabrics, lace, and ribbon, hand-sewn and embroidered

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You Are Missed

2025
Organza and thread on a cotton base

“שנִשְמָתִי הִיא קֶרֶן שֶל שֶמֶש לֹא תִתָפֵס בַכַף”

“For my soul is a ray of sunlight, never to be caught in the palm”

Zelda

This tallit was created in memory of my uncle, Avigdor Jacobowitz, who passed away on 9/3/2024. My uncle was a chiloni, did not practice religion, and had a noticeable aversion to the religious establishment. He loved modern art and clean-line architecture. He loved theatre, and he loved NYC.
I never got to ask him whether his rejection of religion was because he felt Judaism rejected him and his way of life. Thinking about him, I wish he could have felt loved and celebrated within our tradition—a tradition that is not only about prohibition but also about recognizing the uniqueness of each individual and the beauty of the human soul, a spark of the divine.

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A Prayer for a Different Tomorrow
2024
Recycled sari silk, embroidery and beadwork on Dupioni silk base

Linger a moment, gently close your eyes,
hold on one heartbeat—no longer, no more.
For night is not only dream and skies;
at times it’s a prayer for a different tomorrow

חכו נא עוד הרף, עיצמו העיניים
חכו עוד שנייה - זאת ולא יותר,
הלילה אינו רק חלום ושמיים
לפעמים הוא תפילה למחר אחר.

Tirzah Atar

In Judaism, the night is considered the beginning of the new day. I sought to capture the magic of night—a time when the world softens and quiets. When our eyes adjust and colors emerge from the dark, when the air carries its own fragrance, when sound drifts farther. Night is when prayers rise, and when our minds become still enough to dream of another tomorrow.
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The Song of the Sea I: A Meditation on God’s Might – not for
2025
Ink on canvas overlayed with layers of organza on silk dupion base.

מִקֹּלוֹת מַיִם רַבִּים, אַדִּירִים מִשְׁבְּרֵי־יָם; אַדִּיר בַּמָּרוֹם ה׳.

Mightier than the roar of many waters,
mightier than the waves of the sea,
mighty on high is God.

Psalms 93:4

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Song of the Sea II: A Meditation on The Song of the Sea in Zelda’s poem Facing the Sea
2023
Patchwork cotton on a Rayon base

When I released the golden fish
the sea laughed—
and drew me close to its free heart,
its ever-flowing heart.

Then we sang together,
the sea and I:
“My soul shall not perish.
Can decay command
the rushing stream of life?”

It sang
of its restless soul,
and I sang
of my wounded one

כַּאֲשֶׁר שִׁחְרַרְתִּי אֶת דַּג הַזָּהָב

צָחַק הַיָּם

וְאִמֵּץ אוֹתִי

אֶל לִבּוֹ הַחָפְשִׁי,

אֶל לִבּוֹ הַזּוֹרֵם.

אָז שַׁרְנוּ יַחַד

אֲנִי וָהוּא:

לֹא תָּמוּת נַפְשִׁי. הֲיִשְלֹט רָקָב

בְּזֶרֶם חַי?

הוּא שָׁר כָּךְ

עַל נַפְשׁוֹ הַסּוֹאֶנֶת,

וְאָנֹכִי שַׁרְתִּי

עַל נַפְשִׁי הַכּוֹאֶבֶת

Zelda

The Song of the Sea III
2025
Ink on canvas overlayed with layers of organza on silk dupion base.

כַּמַּיִם, הַפָּנִים לַפָּנִים – כֵּן לֵב הָאָדָם לָאָדָם

As water reflects face to face,
so the heart of a person reflects to another.

Proverbs 27:19

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A Magical Moment After Sunset
2025
Cotton appliqué with new and repurposed beads on a polyester base

A meditation on Erev Shabbat inspired by the poem “shabbat v’chol” by Israeli poet Zelda-

“To light candles in all the worlds
this is Sabbath.
To light Sabbath candles
is the leap of a soul pregnant with secrets,
mysterious with the fire of sunset,
to a magnificent sea.”

לְהַדְלִיק נֵרוֹת בְכָל הָעוֹלָמוֹת –

זוֹהִי שַבָת.

לְהַדְלִיק נֵרוֹת שַבָּת

זוֹהִי קְפִיצַת-נֶפֶש הֲרַת נְצוּרוֹת

לְיָם נָהְדָר, שֶיֵש בָה מִסְתוֹרִין

שֶל אֵש הַשְקִיעָה.

zelda

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Pride VIII
2022
Cotton patchwork on Rayon base

This tallit belongs to a Pride series created in 2022, inspired by the stripes of various Pride flags.
It is an exploration of queer identity in the context of the Torah story of Joseph, whose multicolored coat set him apart. Some contemporary readers view Joseph as a queer figure — one who endured hatred and exclusion, yet transformed his very difference into a source of blessing. In creating Pride tallitot, it is my hope that they, too, help the wearer find blessing in their uniqueness.

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Connected by a Thread of Yearning
2025
Cotton appliqué with new and repurposed beads on polyester base

שְׁלוֹמִי קָשׁוּר בְּחוּט אֶל שְׁלוֹמְךָ
… עַל חוּט הַכְּמִיהָה

My peace is connected by a thread to your peace,
…on a thread of yearning.

Zelda

I have long been fascinated by the kinship of Hebrew and Arabic, and the echoes they both share in Aramaic. This tallit reflects that interwoven connection. When our languages touch, they awaken the hope that peace, however fragile, is still possible.

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Shahar and Darya’s Chuppah
2017
Patchwork of repurposed linens from the couple’s grandmothers, with batik cotton and embroidery

This chuppah was created for the wedding of my friends Rabbi Shahar Colt and Darya Mattes. It is made of linens that once belonged to their grandmothers joined with blue and green shades of batik cotton to harmonize with the color of the table clothes. The letters of the Shehecheyanu prayer—words that hold special meaning for the couple—woven into the canopy were embroidered atop the batik.

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The Mourning Shechina
Oct 2023 – Sept 2025
Paper mounted on cotton backing, with a top layer of very thin silk on a cotton base.

And I, a tender fledgling, was forgotten from the heart beneath the wings of the Shechina.

Alone, alone I remained—and the Shechina too,

Her right wing, broken, trembled above my head.

My heart recognized hers: quivering, she trembled for me,

For her son, for her only one.

וַאֲנִי, גּוֹזָל רַךְ, נִשְׁתַּכַּחְתִּי מִלֵּב
תַּחַת כַּנְפֵי הַשְּׁכִינָה

בָּדָד, בָּדָד נִשָּׁאַרְתִּי, וְהַשְׁכִּינָה אַף־הִיא

כְּנַף יְמִינָהּ הַשְּׁבוּרָה עַל־רֹאשִׁי הִרְעִידָה

יָדַע לִבִּי אֶת־לִבָּהּ: חָרֹד חָרְדָה עָלַי
עַל־בְּנָהּ, עַל־יְחִידָהּ

H.N. Bialik, levadi

The Mourning Shechina tallit is a representation in fabric of a journey through grief.

Since childhood I have been drawn to Bialik’s image of the Shechina with broken wings—trying to comfort us, yet herself in need of comfort. This image rose up for me again while reciting El Malei Rachamim for a congregant’s yahrzeit, the week following October 7. When I reached the line about resting under the wings of the Shechina, I felt overwhelmed by the thought that her wings themselves might not be wide enough to hold the magnitude of our grief. From that moment, the Mourning Shechina Tallit began to take form.

Every person has a name
that was given him by God,
and that was given him by his father and his mother.
***
Every person has a name
that was given him by the sea,
and that was given him by his death.

לְכָל אִישׁ יֵשׁ שֵׁם

שֶׁנָּתַן לוֹ אֱלֹהִים

וְנָתְנוּ לוֹ אָבִיו וְאִמּוֹ

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לְכָל אִישׁ יֵשׁ שֵׁם

שֶׁנָּתַן לוֹ הַיָּם

וְנָתַן לוֹ מוֹתוֹ

Zelda, Lechol Ish Yesh Shem

The lists of names in Hebrew, came from Israeli records. I felt it was essential to honor the dead in their own language, and translated the names into Arabic, Vietnamese, Cambodian, and other languages, adding ages, places, and circumstances of death. With Rabbi Lior Nevo’s help, I translated everything into English. The names became feathers: each printed list backed with stabilizer and overlaid with silk, sealing them into the Shechina’s wings. I tried to keep as many names as possible visible, though this remains an ongoing struggle, as feathers inevitably overlap.

God is full of mercy,
yet if God not so full of mercy,
there would be mercy in world, not just in Him.

I, who plucked flowers on the moutain
and gazed into all the valleys,
I, who brought corpses from the hills—
can testify that the world is void of mercy.

אֶל מָלֵא רַחֲמִים,
אִלְמָלֵא הָאֵל מְלֵא רַחֲמִים —
הָיוּ הָרַחֲמִים בָּעוֹלָם וְלֹא רַק בּוֹ.

אֲנִי, שֶׁקָּטַפְתִּי פְּרָחִים בָּהָר
וְהִסְתַּכַּלְתִּי אֶל כָּל הָעֲמָקִים,
אֲנִי, שֶׁהֵבֵאתִי גְּווּיוֹת מִן הַגְּבָעוֹת,
יוֹדֵעַ לְסַפֵּר שֶׁהָעוֹלָם רֵיק מֵרַחֲמִים.

Yehudah Amichai, El Malei Rachamim

To avoid this overlap of names as much as possible I extended each feather with a Hebrew-English rendering of El Malei Rachamim and the Yizkor prayer, as well as Yehudah Amichai’s poem “El Malei Rachamim” as a way of countering the grief with anger.