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More sublime than summer school:
My Summer of Two
Tallitot
 
Spring was waning
when my friend Maria emailed me from Sweden and asked if I would make her
daughter Emi’s tallit for the August bat mitzvah, to be held
in a forest in upstate New York. Well, of course! I’d been offering for
months!
A week later, at Hebrew school pickup, I
bumped into my dear friend Pilar. She mentioned that she needed a tallit for
her son Leo. She’d long dreamt of making one herself, but since she is not a
sewing person, I’d been offering to help her, too. At this point, his
bar mitzvah was in….three weeks.
Thus, as summer dawned hot and smoggy (like every other Southern California season), my sewing table was swept clean of
quilts, and covered instead with 3 yard cuts of high-quality white
fabrics, and my favorite tallit-making literature, (see
Resources),
mostly quilting books that don’t even know they’re Jewish.
Making a tallit for a child’s Bar
or Bat Mitzvah is one of the most sublime pleasures a quilter can
undertake.
The best part, as far as I’m concerned, is
the Tallit Interview. Much like a Quilt Interview, but even more of a
religious experience. I ask nosy questions like: What are you into?
(Sports? Hobbies? Music? Colors? Textiles? Skateboards?
Hebrew school? )
What’s your Torah portion? Haftarah? What do they mean? What’s
your speech? How do you SEE yourself at this event? Are you happy? Are
you nervous? Did you eat enough? I take copious notes, and offer snacks, if
necessary.
This process turns up plenty of
inspiration. Leo has doubled over with laughter as he described his
portion (in which Moses compared the kvetchy wandering Jews to filthy,
ill-tempered she-camels.) We enjoyed lively speculation about the Six
Cities of Refuge. (Convicted murderers were sent there, so that relatives of
the murderees wouldn’t kill them back..)
Then Leo told me his favorite colors –
blue and gold. I opened up my fabric cabinets and buried him under a
mountain of them.
He surfaced, gasping., and clutching a
beautiful hand-dyed medium blue, of which I heartily approved---and an
unspectacular brownish gold (a fabric I’d bought because it reminded me of challah crust).
In circumstances like these, I have
learned not to argue. I knew the universe would prove the child’s color
sense better than mine. Not that I'm bitter.
Next, I handed him the book ‘Basic
Seminole Patchwork,’ by Cheryl Grieder Bradkin (C&T Publishing, 1990).
About a hundred years ago, the Seminoles came up with intricate-looking but
easy straight-line machine piecing designs that are perfect for tallit
stripes. (More evidence for my ex-dentist’s theory that Native Americans are
really lost Tribes of Israel?) Leo picked Design #1 from the book, which
fit his personality exactly: Simple, direct and evocative of shining
stars.
Then we hauled the poor kid in front of a
full-length mirror and draped him with different sizes of cottons and silks.
He preferred cotton, a beautiful thick white Kona. He wanted it narrow,
about 15”―another surprise to me (I’d imagined him in something wider)―and a length of 72” (a mystically powerful number. Worked for him).
With Emi, who lives on a farm in rural
northern Sweden, I had to do all this electronically. "How do
you imagine your tallis?" I emailed. “I can’t imagine any tallis,” she
answered. So I sent her urls where she could look at handcrafted and commercial tallitot,
and asked her to tell me what she was drawn to. I also gave her a
series of short essay questions. And I told Maria to stand Emi in front of
a mirror and drape a variety of Swedish shmatas (horse blankets, sauna
towels, milking rags, whatever) around her neck, for size.
I pressed her
Brooklyn-born father, Dave, who would be conducting the ceremony, for the
religious details. ‘What’s Emi’s full name, and her Hebrew name?,’ I asked.
Dave wrote back promptly: “Emelie is her proper English name,” he told me, “and her Hebrew name
is Harvey.”
Emi’s answers were more
coherent. What’s the theme of the bat mitzvah reading? “Economic equality
and how Jews should be thinking about helping the poor.” What are some of
her favorite hobbies and activities? “Violin, soccer, small furry animals.”
What colors might she like? “Mixed.”
After a fitting session with her mom,
Emi decided she wanted twice the width, but the same length as Leo.
It wasn’t a lot to go on. But she also
sent me pictures of the tallitot and other Judaica that she admired. She
even made up a little drawing.
From those, I perceived that Emi was not
interested in the straight stripes of our Seminole
machetunim. She was obviously drawn to contemporary designs that
featured…. wavy lines. Like ocean waves?
Bummer in the summer. Thus was I forced
to take a flying leap into the world of curved piecing - something I had
slyly managed to avoid for years.
The rich colors that Emi
liked suggested that I should use silk dupioni rather than cotton for her
tallit―but dupioni, I learned, frays violently if you look at it twice.
(At about $7 a yard in the L.A. fabric district, I rationalized, it is
actually less expensive than hand-dyed cottons, thus not obviating her bat
mitzvah theme of economic justice).
How to turn dupioni into waves? In
desperation, I was forced to crack a book I’d purchased in a frenzied but senseless bidding
war on ebay the year before: Vicki Pignatelli’s ‘Quilting Curves.’ (The
Quilt Digest Press, 2001).
This technique―which is actually a form
of machine appliqué―holds the fabric between layers of stabilizer (on
bottom), and freezer paper (on top), giving it virtually no opportunity to
fray. It turned out to be perfect for curved designs in dupioni.
Of course, a tallit is not a tallit—it’s
just an ungapatchked scarf – until there are tzizis dangling from the
corners. Tzizis (sometimes transliterated as tzitzis, tzizit, tzit-tzit,
etc.) are a long macramé of 4 thick strings, doubled into 8, dangling
from each tallit corner. These strings are tied in a prescribed series of winds
and knots, which carry mystical significance. They stand
for numbers, which, when interpolated complexly, amount to 613, the number
of ‘mitzvot,’ commandments enumerated in the Torah.
Another meaning: By drawing the eye to the
garment’s four corners, they remind us that spiritual energy comes from all
corners of the universe. Which is about how far I had to drive to
buy them.
Many crafters make their own tzizis from
strands of perle cotton or other beautiful fibers, but traditionalists feel
that the strands must be wool, spun with intention. While I didn’t feel that
the pedigree of the tzizis would be a huge issue for either of these
families, I also wanted to do it right. For that, I had to travel.
My destination, by cosmic coincidence,
was a place called ‘613: The Mitzvah Store.’ This well-known Los Angeles
Judaica store on Pico Boulevard stocks a vast selection of incipient tzizis packs (That is, the bundled strands, not yet tied).
The store was staffed by shy young men
who would only toss monosyllabic fragments of information in my general
direction before scurrying to safety behind the mehitza (i.e. the
cash register). I was left alone in the anteroom to select tzizis the same
way I select wine: The label was beautiful, and the price was mid-range. (
Like, 3 bucks. Seriously, the label said “No Fray,” and the slightly
vanilla white matched the fabric better than the alternatives.)
(The other reward for my ordeal in urban
parking was the best falafel of my life at an Israeli hole-in-the-wall a
block away. The texture! The taste! Back to our story…)
Home at last. Husband takes offspring to
swimming pool. Alone, I think about the kids and their ‘rents; the Six Cities,
the silk, the cotton, the stabilizer, Dave, Harvey, and, most powerful
of all, the looming deadlines.
Medico-spiritually speaking, it all gets Vitamixed together in the neurons, the juices run down the toes, out the Bernina pedal, and into the dry goods.
VOILA! A week and not all that much
seam-ripping later, out comes a pair of bona fide Hiddur Mitzvot.
Beautification of the Commandments. Two tallitot far better than they
might have been, because everybody helped: The kids, the parents, Bradkin &
Pignatelli, the affluent Swiss sewing machine engineers, the oppressed
Chinese silk workers, the falafel chef, my husband, the pool lifeguard, and
the ChairOne of the Board . How I love my hobby!
Emi’s ocean waves came together like a
jigsaw puzzle. Pignatelli’s process is a ridiculous amount of fun. And to
someone used to working in cotton, the dupioni colors were intoxicating,
like drinking a glass of cream after years of skimmed milk.
The dubious crusty gold fabric that Leo
chose contrasted brilliantly with the blue. It created an understated,
subtle, dignified, masculine and rich effect. Just like Leo.
In the end, I really don’t want to keep
all the fun to myself. The giftees may not know how to sew, but I felt
certain that most of them (except maybe Dave) could tie their shoes, and
thus were qualified to tie their tzizis. I had a session with Leo’s family,
and a session with Emi’s family. Everyone got a corner – parents, kids,
siblings, good friends.
Talk about your kvetchy camels! Just
kidding, only a few people kvetched (you know who you are, I won’t mention
your names here, both of which begin with a “D”.) Leo’s mom used the
experience as the basis for one of her talks at the bar mitzvah, a beautiful
metaphor for community, and pretty much the high point of my existence.
At least until the next tallis.
Comments from Dave:
Hej (sic) Cathy and
Family!!! Has one of the members of my family answered you previously as I
hope they have, however hopeless they may be at taking the time to respond
to such polite and heartfelt requests, if so you are free to disregard any
or all of this communication. It is early in the morning and my brain is
forming thoughts in Swedish, I can feel the Swedish neurons fighting with
the mutant english neurons for supremacy, even as I write. We sincerely and
heartily approve of your article and the subsequent distribution of it in
cyberspace. It is lovely and eloquent, and except for a few small problems,
should be very successful. As for the question of royalties paid to Emi,
please contact (lawyer friend), esquire of Steven in New Jersey. We are so
grateful still for the Tallis, that I nearly don´t dare, (woops, a swedish
grammatical infiltration), take up the few small innacuracies regarding the
particular stitches and methods used. I believe you underestimate the
complexity of the stitch in paragraph 8, line 4, and take a typically
Californian, leftist spin, on what is traditionally, in the heartland of
America at least, a basic and down to earth means of holding the fabric of
our nation together. It is this liberal, intellectual attempt to make the
world of stitching and subsequently, the politics of everyday life, into
something that we, regular folk, feel is beyond our comprehension, and
instead of being alienated we reject this elitism. So, despite the beauty
and inherent truth of your quilt, it diminishes my simplistic approach to
the world, quilts that warm and hold together, or quilts or even worse,
jewish-intellectual tallis-thingys that attempt to overwhelm the good things
in life, hard work, dirty fingers, car loans, and even pork. So, I´m
voting for Bush. Thank you very much. Love from us.”
He’s kidding about voting
for Bush. Dave’s an extreme social welfare state leftist who doesn’t know
diddley-squat about sewing. Though he conducts a very beautiful bat mitzvah.
MORE ON THE TALLIS-MAKING PROCESS
There are very few rules for tallitot,
except that there must be correctly tied tzitzis in four corners (and
different traditions have different ways to tie those knots!)
My tallitot are sometimes one layer,
sometimes lined, with
designs and decorations appliquéd on top. With my
approach, after choosing the size, the base, and making the stripes, there
are a several more steps:
Lettering the Atarah
Tallitot can (but are not required)
to have a long horizontal strip called an 'atarah’ (plural atarot),
along one long edge. The atarah may (but is not required to) include words
or a blessing. For the tallitot described above, both youngsters told me they wanted the specific Hebrew
blessing for donning the tallis on the atarah.
With an embroidery machine, making neat,
professional quality Hebrew lettering is a snap (see ‘Resources’ ‘Judaic
Embroidery Designs’).
Since I don’t own an embroidery machine,
here’s my less snappy but equally effective approach:
On the computer, I type out the Hebrew
blessing in the size I need. (An elegant font for Emi, a simpler one for
Leo). (I buy my fonts from Davka – See ‘Resources,’
‘Putting Words onto Quilts.’). These are printed mirror image
onto regular copy paper.
The sentences are cut into strips and
taped together in the correct order. I spray the back (blank side) of the
paper strip with temporary adhesive, and adhere it to the wrong side
of a long strip of the atarah fabric. (Blue dupioni for Emi, blue cotton
for Leo).
Load the top of the machine with thread
that matches the fabric. Put on a free motion or darning foot. Load the
bobbin with a thick decorative thread. (Metallic gold for Emi, a
non-metallic thick Guterman polyester gold for Leo.)
From the back, stitch along the outlines
of the printed letters. They show up gold on the front.
Gently tear away the paper. The next
question is whether to fill in the letters, and, if so, how. For Emi’s
atarah, I used a Gold Sakura fine-tip paint marker. It
makes an incredibly rich line on dupioni For Leo, I wasn’t so sure. The
marker didn’t make as good an impression on cotton. So I let him decide.
He liked the letter outlines, empty and
floating, in the blue sky (Very kabbalistic. I approved.)
Finishing the edges.
The edges of the fabric shawl must be
finished. For both tallitot, I turned all four edges under 1/4”, twice,
and sewed down along the fold with a straight stitch. I sewed commercial
white fringe along the hemmed edges (Some people leave the short ends unhemmed, and pull threads to create a decorative fringe that enhances the
look of the ritual tzitzis.).
Aligning, pinning, and appliquéing the elements.
The stripes must meet exactly the same
length down from the center, and up from the ends, when the tallis is folded
in half. And the atarah must be centered precisely. My best advice:
Measure early and often, in every possible direction.
Once pinned, I sewed down everything to
the scarf by machine, with invisible thread on top, white thread on
bottom. Finally, I did a little “hand quilting”---a running stitch through
two layers---along some of the seams of the pieced stripes and atarah . This
kept the strips from poufing.
The Corners
Many tallitot include extra appliquéd
squares of fabric in each corner, (called pinot or confes) to stabilize
the area where the tzizis will be tied. These are not required, but will
make the punctured area much more durable. Buy them from the same people
who sell tzizis (see Resources), or make your own. I cut 4” squares from
the same white fabric as the scarf base, and fused medium-weight interfacing
on the back of each. I then satin-stitched them into position. Finally, I
sewed and cut a buttonhole through the middle of each. (You can
embellish these squares, too).
But is it kosher?
There are a lot of interesting questions
in traditional Judaism about whether a garment is kosher. No, not whether
there’s shrimp in the fibers---but rather, whether the garment
contains a specifically forbidden mixture of linen PLUS wool. Either, alone
is fine. But together? That particular combination clearly forbidden in
the Torah, twice, for reasons that are never explained. (That,
my Hebrew teacher Danny explains, puts it in the category chok, not to be
questioned, as distinguished from mitzvoth that are 'explainable by
reason.')
This particular
prohibition is referred to as shatnes. (also transliterated satnez,
shaatnez, etc.)
Nonetheless, sages have tried to explain, with rationalizations that
run a paradoxical gamut, from the theory that pagan idolaters wore this
combination, thus rendering it unclean for Jews, to claims that the
ultra-pure Temple priests , the Cohanim, wore the combination, and
therefore it’s way too good for the rest of us.
And if that’s not enough to argue
about,
there’s one more debate: Whether shatnez applies to tallitot. Customarily,
the the tzizis are made from wool. So can the scarf itself, or
embellishment, contain linen?
To make a long story longer, the answer
may depend on how you feel about the authenticity of a potentially extinct
Mediterranean snail. Follow me closely here: If only we knew which sea
creature
made the blue ‘techelet’ dye for one of the threads in the tzizis of our
Biblical foreparents, explained a local shatnez inspector that
I called (I found him at http://shatnez.n3.net/) . If we did, and if
our tzizis had one of the blue threads made from the right dye from the
right snail/fish/?, it would be okay to combine wool tzizis with a linen base. But
if we are unsure, his community’s feeling is that we must NOT combine linen
and wool in our tallit. Got that?
However, other Jewish authorities have
told me unequivocally that it is fine to use wool tzizis on a linen scarf .
(Some of these people either don’t care about the sea creature, or they
fervently believe that the right one HAS been identified. Some of these are the same
people making and selling blue threads from one or more sea creatures,
threads called techelet).
In other words, Jews disagree. (I’m
shocked!) My best advice would be this: Avoid combining wool AND linen in a
tallit, unless your rabbi (or the rabbi of your giftee) has positively
affirmed that he is in the camp that says it’s okay, sea creature authenticity not
withstanding.
For more, less confusing information, on
shatnez, see Resources.
Thanks to Danny Chodos, my Hebrew teacher, editor,
and dialogue coach for his valuable input on language customs, comic and
cosmic timing. The best line in this essay is his.
More images of tallitot, made by other quilters,
can be seen on my Gallery pages.
My Resources page has a
list of suppliers and links to more information about tallitot.
1. Tallit: Prayer shawl (pl:
‘tallitot’ or ‘talliot): That's the Sephardic pronounciation. In Ashkenazi Hebrew,
the singular is ‘tallis’ (pl: Tallesim).
2. Bar mitzvah
or bat mitzvah: Literally, the terms refer to the youngster who is
participating in a Jewish coming-of-age ceremony. ('Bar' means 'son of'; and
'bat' is 'daughter of.' The 'mitzvah' refers to the Torah
commandments). One could say, 'The bat mitzvah looked wonderful in her new tallis and matching kippah!" However, in common parlance, bar and bat
mitzvah have also come to be used for the ceremony itself, and even for the
party. "The bat mitzvah looked wonderful at her bat mitzvah!" - That
actually makes sense!
3. Ungapatchked: Yiddish for 'decoratively
overwrought.' Victorians call it 'horor vacui.'
4. Machetunim: Yiddish. 'In-laws by
marriage.'
5. Mchitza:
Traditional barrier separating males from females at any orthodox Jewish
ritual gathering. I was kidding about the cash register.
6. Kvetch: Yiddish, for 'complain.' Usually
people. Sometimes, I learned from Leo, camels.
7. Shmata: Yiddish:. 'Rag.' Alternatively,
whatever a decoratively overwrought Jew may be wearing.
8. Hiddur Mitzvot: Beautification of the
Commandments. A longstanding principle of Jewish tradition: If you make it for HaShem, make it beautiful.
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