I strum jewel-tone warp threads on the loom—the tension is even, but a little loose for actual weaving. Experienced weavers never leave looms with tight tension overnight; it stretches out the yarns. 668 lengthwise threads, cotton and rayon for softness, each twenty-two yards long. Emerald, turquoise, ruby, a flash of gold sparkle adds light and completes the palette.

Seven meditation shawls—different prayers, different traditions. I’m eager to begin, but first a silent dedication: tikkun olam—may my hands help repair the world.

In Arabic and Hebrew, As-Salām and Shalom for peace. I wind bobbins for two shuttles—ruby chenille for warmth and coziness, and a tie-down in a contrasting color using three-ply cotton, every other thread for strength. Chenille breaks easily; if the weft were only that, the shawls wouldn’t hold up for the decades I intend. The one I take to retreats is thirty-seven years old. It has a couple of pulls I need to attend to—coax loops back in with a fine crochet hook—but other than that, it is intact and still carries the prayer I wove into it—may I awaken.

Ten bobbins wound, I settle on the bench and tighten the tension one notch, feel it with the flat of my hand, and tighten once more. As-Salām on my breath, I throw the first shuttle, place the thread with the beater, change the shed—which moves the pattern forward—then throw the second shuttle breathing out Shalom, and beat again. I imagine peace floating out, like sunrise warming, welcoming, and soothing our restless world. These shawls need to swathe the body with a comfortable drape. Beaten too firmly, they end up stiff. As I warm up, my rhythm settles. Throw, beat, treadle a harness change (changing the shed), throw, beat, treadle. My body falls into a prayerful rhythm.

At the beginning and end of each shawl, I hand-hem on the loom, and weave thick filler to be removed later for the length of fringe I’ve chosen.

At the start of the second shawl, I pick up the word мир (mir), peace in both Ukrainian and Russian. May you find your ways back to home and family.

For Myanmar, ငြိမ်းချမ်းရေး (nyain-chan-ye), may tranquility settle on your shoulders.

The Sudanese conflict, As-Salām again. For Ethiopia, the Amharic, ሰላም (selam)—these words in every language meaning wholeness, safety, harmony, well-being.

The final two shawls, I dedicate to my own country— “may we listen to the other” on my breath for one, “spread kindness” for the other.

When the whole twenty-two yards are woven, and the back beam is fat and full, it’s time to cut off the shawls. But first, I put in a pick to retain the cross—the specific order of the threads—so I can tie on to this warp without having to re-thread the loom.

Tikkun olam. May it be so. It requires each one of us.

Feature photo is an image of the prayer shawl. Final photo is of the author working at her loom many years ago.