This response critically examines an Instagram video of part of @leila.posts’ lecture at UC Berkeley about Zionism, modern dance, Martha Graham, and Ohad Naharin. I demonstrate that the speaker presents incorrect information as facts and does not provide substantive evidence for her claims, despite the framing and reception of her lecture as rigorous academic research. Moreover, I show that the speaker conflates individuals and organizations with each other, suggesting a lack of familiarity with her subjects, and I raise the concern of conflation between artists’ and institutions’ positions with those of the Israeli government, which suggests an ideological agenda. I argue that this polemical approach is similar to that in the current discourse about the Israel-Hamas war and that it is dangerously sensationalist. I call for responsible evidence-based scholarship and for nuance and depth at a time that demands them.     

Introduction

I feel compelled to respond to the video of @leila.posts – “Zionism in US Modern Dance: Martha Graham – Ohad Naharin,” circulated on Instagram by @thedanceunion on November 7, 2023. The incorrect information and lack of evidence presented by the speaker for her claims demands a clear response, both because this video is received by at least some commentators as a praiseworthy example of rigorous dance scholarship and because the content stands to further inflame tensions in the discourse during the Israel-Hamas war. 

I cannot respond to her entire lecture, which according to @thedanceunion’s post was delivered at UC Berkeley. Just two clips appear on Instagram at this time, and I will relate only to the above-named video. The ~4-minute video is edited, so I will primarily focus on what is present in these snippets rather than on speculation about what is not heard. I will also not address all the video, but rather focus on some points that stood out to me upon my initial viewing of it.    

In writing this, I wish to be fully transparent about my bias. Besides being a certified teacher of Gaga, Ohad Naharin’s movement language, for over a decade, I have worked as a part of the Gaga organization for 14 years. So not only am I not neutral, I am invested in and related to the subject at hand.

I recognize that @leila.posts is also not an unbiased interlocutor of her subject. She is somewhat transparent about that as well, albeit with less specificity about her identity and background shared explicitly in the available video or accompanying text (in fact, her full name and academic status are not presented alongside this material; I will continue to refer to her as @leila.posts throughout). Her screeds and my responses should be heard or read with our distinctive standpoints in mind.  

False “Facts,” Unsupported Claims, and Other Concerns

As a researcher and educator with a specialty in Israeli contemporary dance, I want to begin by questioning some of the claims made by @leila.posts – especially, though not exclusively, those which are presented as basic facts. I raise the below points because they indicate a lack of clarity and thoroughness of research, which then situates @leila.posts’ further claims on shaky ground. The historical record, when distorted whether through guileless ignorance or willful purpose or some combination thereof, ought to be corrected. Stating something does not make it true. Building academic claims on faulty information renders the claims hollow, even if there are ideas that bear further examination.  

1. How did the “new state” of Israel have a “say so” in Martha Graham’s choreographic content, and what potential “censorship” might Israel have had of Graham?¹ If @leila.posts is referring to the Graham company’s tours to Israel and the programming during these engagements, she should provide concrete proof of such influence. 
   
   If she is referring to Graham’s work with Batsheva Dance Company, where the choreographer served as artistic advisor in its early years, @leila.posts offers no evidence to support the claim of state intervention in this context either. There are, however, a couple of arguments against such a claim. First, during the time that Graham worked with Batsheva, the company was privately funded by Bethsabee de Rothschild. The troupe did not receive state funding until after Rothschild pulled her money from the venture, instead supporting Bat-Dor Dance Company, which she founded in the late 1960s. The state simply did not have control over Batsheva’s repertory via funding mechanisms. 
   
   Second, a survey of the Graham repertory performed by Batsheva reveals a sampling of previously choreographed works that do not hew to a narrow ideological agenda. Graham’s Greek cycle featured prominently, with restagings of Errand into the Maze and Cave of the Heart as well as The Learning Process, composed of solos and duets from Clytemnestra. Batsheva also performed the more abstract Diversion of Angels and “Saraband” from Dark Meadow as well as Herodiade, which draws on a biblical tale via Mallarme’s poem, and Embattled Garden, set in the Garden of Eden. The only original work she choreographed for Batsheva was Dream, in 1974, which took its inspiration from the biblical story of Jacob. 
   
   If @leila.posts or other scholars have further information about if or how state actors exerted some influence on the Graham repertory performed by either her company or Batsheva, I would be happy to examine this evidence.
   
   
2. Graham did not “co-found the Batsheva school.” There was no Batsheva school during that era. Indeed, when Rothschild swung her support to Bat-Dor in the mid-1970s, the agreements stipulated that Batsheva could not open a school – a measure taken to ensure the success of the Bat-Dor school, which had been founded with Jeannette Ordman at its helm in the late 1960s.  

3. @leila.posts refers to Gaga as “Gaga technique,” a term that is never used by Ohad Naharin himself (he prefers “movement language”). While questioning the categorization of Gaga is a legitimate scholarly pursuit, simply calling it “Gaga technique” without citing Naharin’s terminology or providing a reason for this choice of label suggests a lack of familiarity with the subject matter.

4. @leila.posts cites Naharin as “referring to his technique as a playground that allows dancers to construct their own reality.” I would be curious to know the source of this and see Naharin’s precise quote in context, since I have been present in numerous press conferences and question-and-answer sessions in which Naharin has used the playground metaphor for his choreographic process, describing each work as having a series of codes with which he and the dancers can play in the studio. Despite over a decade of work with him in this field, I cannot recall him using the playground metaphor – and certainly not the idea that it (in @leila.posts’s telling) “allows dancers to construct their own reality” – for Gaga itself.  

5. Naharin himself is not funded by “Brand Israel” or the state. Individual artists affiliated with companies in Israel do not receive state funds. Rather, non-profit structures, including Batsheva Dance Company, receive state funds.² Unlike in the U.S., in Israel the model of arts funding is heavily based on public money drawn from citizens’ taxes, with no robust tradition of private donors or sponsorships, so Batsheva’s acceptance of state funds does not represent an exception or a choice but rather a necessity for the institution to operate. Meanwhile, the Gaga organization, which is responsible for sharing Gaga via classes and workshops, was established as a private company and thus has been ineligible for public funding from its inception. 

6. @leila.posts claims that Batsheva has hired “zero Arab dancers,” which is factually incorrect. There have been at least two dancers of Arab descent (albeit not from Israel) in the Batsheva Ensemble in the past decade, and in the current season, the junior company includes a Druze dancer from Israel. It bears mentioning that the pool of potential professional-level contemporary dancers hailing from the Arab sector in Israel is relatively small for several reasons, including demographics and religious restrictions within the observant Muslim population.³ Batsheva has, incidentally, frequently employed Jewish Israeli dancers whose families hail from North African and Arab countries – Mizrahi Jews, or Jews of Arab descent. The company, which has an international roster that is only about half Israeli, hires dancers based on their artistry and without regard to their nationality, race, ethnicity, or religion; this has been stated by Ohad Naharin frequently, including in a personal conversation with me on November 11, 2023.        

7. In conjunction with point #5, there’s an overall conflation of Naharin, Gaga, and Batsheva, exposing a lack of understanding about the relationships among these entities. @leila.posts notes that “his website is offered in Hebrew, English, and Arabic.” Naharin does not have a website; it seems the reference is to Batsheva’s website instead, for it does feature these three languages, albeit more in its graphics than in its full text. And while @leila.posts correctly notes that Israel has removed Arabic as an official language, the company’s inclusion of Arabic in its logo and online presence can be read as a highly visible pushback against the national policy, an insistence on the importance of inclusion even in a charged climate. 

If we can’t agree on a responsible pursuit of evidence when making our arguments, don’t allow room for depth and nuance, and can’t problematize something without hardlining that something as a problem, then we are not engaging in scholarship but are simply conducting a self-righteous exercise in polemics. There is room for critique in dance scholarship. Indeed, it is critical to the field. Yet there is a line between critique and a pointed political takedown of individual artists or companies (or even the entire field of dance in a specific country), and I believe that line has been crossed. Here there is an abandonment of facts and a twisting of information to make such a takedown.

Conflation and Sensationalism

I want to return to the issue of conflation. It’s problematic, both specifically with regard to this scholarship and more broadly in the context in which this lecture has been propagated, that of the global response to the war between Israel and Hamas.  

Beyond @leila.posts’ conflation of Naharin and the various organizations with which he works, there is the repeated conflation of an artist and a dance company with their government’s policies and actions. There is no indication from the 4 minutes posted that @leila.posts is aware of Naharin’s frequent public statements against the occupation and in support of Palestinian self-determination and a two-state solution; of the political interpretations of his choreography which reveal the alignment of his artwork with his verbal statements; or of the mass Gaga classes taught by Naharin and held in conjunction with Batsheva, which have served as fundraisers for the Association for Civil Rights in Israel (a non-profit which actively operates in the arena of civil rights for Palestinian citizens of Israel and opposes the occupation, both through legal outlets and the education of Israeli society). All of the above and more underscore the significant distance between each of these individuals and organizations and their government on the question of the Israeli-Palestinian issue.  

I fear that this type of approach is indicative of how much of the world operates right now as it observes the current war in the Middle East. The ignorance of facts; the lack of nuance, depth, and complexity, which can include uncomfortable and inconvenient contradictions; the pervasive conflation between people and their governments or leaders or armed forces – we see these in the popular discourse. The internet and the media at large have become a sea of short sound bites and infographics and words that become divorced from their definitions, often lobbed with and for violent impact. In this environment, it is the most sensational claims that garner attention, though were we to unpack them, we would have to face difficult truths that the world is not black and white.   

At the end of the day, this is relatively small potatoes when we’re talking about dance rather than the actual war. Naharin will continue to develop Gaga and choreograph. Batsheva Dance Company will continue to perform. I will note from my perspective that these kinds of polemics do take their toll on those against whom they are launched, both emotionally and potentially with other concrete ramifications. Though not inflicting physical violence, this clip does inflict harm. 

We should be wary of this sensational approach, whether in dance scholarship or in news or social media posts about the truly weighty, highly flammable situation in Israel/Palestine. Rather than provide clarity and raise questions – a project that may sound contradictory but is more intellectually honest – this approach wields ideology to spread hate instead of increasing understanding. It sows divisions and sharpens sides instead of broadening empathy. And it reduces human beings to narrowly focused, agenda-driven actors rather than recognize humanity in all its complexity.  

1. @leila.posts opens this clip as follows: “The U.S. State Department and the Rothschild family eerily funded this partnership, giving the new state a say so in her [Graham’s] choreographic content. However, this is not to say that Israeli censorship of Graham was an issue, when in fact she paralleled Zionism’s logic quite well, given her universal rhetoric, romantic individualism, and frontier-facing choreography. She would even go on to co-found the Batsheva school in occupied Palestine.” 
   Without hearing the preceding text, it is not fully evident whether she is referencing the Graham company’s tours to Israel or is already in the midst of a discussion of Graham and Batsheva Dance Company. It is also challenging to discern the through-line of the video’s opening sentence, with the mention of the U.S. State Department immediately followed by a claim that Israel (rather than the U.S.) had “a say so” on Graham’s “choreographic content.” However, the suggestion that Israel (and, by extension, Jews) exerted undue influence through the halls of power and finance tracks uncomfortably closely with anti-Semitic tropes.  
   ︎
2. Independent choreographers are able to receive public funds via their affiliation with the Choreographers’ Association or other non-profit organizations; these bodies are able to disperse state funds to individuals. ︎
3. Regarding religious restrictions and their impact on dance training and professional representation, a similar issue can be observed in Israel’s Jewish sector; Orthodox Jews also do not appear in the roster of Batsheva or other mixed-gender companies.
   ︎

Going to a performance used to feel as natural as breathing.  

Now, it’s a matter of breathing behind a mask.  

After more than 3 months of corona times – 3 months during which theaters in Tel Aviv and around the world have been darkened and empty, 3 months during which most rehearsals have been suspended, 3 months during which I normally would have seen shows on a weekly basis – there was finally to be a live performance at the Suzanne Dellal Centre, and I had the opportunity to attend. Since returning to the studio just a few weeks ago, Batsheva Dance Company and Batsheva – The Young Ensemble had been rehearsing Session, the dancers quoting phrases from across Ohad Naharin’s body of work while a DJ mixes tracks in the corner. And on June 25, they would perform for a small group of invited guests.    

From the outset, I knew that this experience would be fraught with logistical and emotional complications. I battled some doubts about sitting inside a public place for a prolonged period of time, even if precautions were taken, before accepting the invitation. Reserving my place online, I successfully selected a seat only after an error message popped up repeatedly to say that my previous choices did not abide by the rules of social distancing. The confirmation notice accompanying my e-ticket assured me that the venue was fully compliant with the Ministry of Health’s regulations.

By the time I arrived at the center that evening, attendees were scattered throughout the courtyard, maintaining appropriate distance from one another as they caught up, their words and smiles muffled from behind their masks. At the bottom of the stairs, one staffer clad in gloves and mask took my temperature before another scanned the ticket on my phone. A dispenser of hand sanitizer was mounted at the door to the building, and the studio’s soaring windows were open, allowing for whatever airflow the sticky June evening would permit.  

Inside, I found my seat, and indeed, in line with the local standards, there was no one sitting next to me on either side. From across the empty seats, and from behind our masks, another audience member and I chatted about the strangeness of this new world, occasionally glancing around to register the bizarre sight around us. The dancers were not yet visible, but we theater-goers – carefully arrayed across 3 rows on our side of the studio and 3 more rows on the far side – were costumed with facial fabric and choreographed in medically-mandated spatial patterns. Had I witnessed this scene six months ago, it might have been part of an experimental performance set-up. Now it is our new normal.

We audience members had already been transformed by the coronavirus regulations, but how would the situation impact the dancers’ behavior and the work, if at all? Many educational and professional frameworks seem to be focusing on solos, outdoors site-specific work, or video dances, but I was about to watch a live performance in the studio with over 30 dancers, with material created years if not decades earlier. While the movement might not have been designed with COVID-19 in mind, placed in the current context, the motion of these bodies through a shared space would no doubt affect my viewing of Session. Close proximity and physical touch are fundamental both to dance and to our existence as social beings, yet we have been restricted from engaging in such activity even with those we hold dearest. I don’t know when I will next see my parents, who live a 12-hour flight away; I don’t know when my daughter will be allowed to hug or even visit her other grandparents, since the 15-minute drive separating them is complicated by an 80-year age gap. I haven’t seen many of my local friends since February, and even when I do greet them for the first time after months, it is without an embrace. So to see so many dancers together – their sensitive bodies measuring the distance between each other yet showing no special acknowledgment of 2 meters or 6 feet, their skin and flesh sometimes brushing and pressing against another person’s envelope – would inherently feel charged, significant.

As the performance started, it seemed oddly foreign yet comfortingly familiar. The dancers lined the studio and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, unmasked, wholly unprotected. There was something unnerving and thrilling about this closeness and this baring of the body (not even the body, the lower face!), something once so elemental that now read as either a lack of caution or a triumphant signaling of human perseverance. The main company dancers entered the space one by one, their solos carving individual paths without contact – and I found myself thinking about the early days of corona, each pedestrian cautiously avoiding the others on sidewalks and in stores. More and more dancers streamed towards the center, and solos morphed into duets and trios. One dancer advanced as another retreated, the negative space between them palpable to a viewer so attuned to maintaining distance. Three women undulated, waves traveling down their spines, as they rotated around themselves; they were close, and yet their synchronized body rolls kept each safe in her own cocoon. Soon, though, the bubbles of personal space were pierced by the normalcy of physical touch. There were clasps of hands and dancers hauled over others’ torsos; some paired off to quote the fleet-footed partnering from Venezuela, and one perched regally atop another’s shoulders. The clump of dancers usually mid-platform in The Hole assembled in the far corner next to a masked, observant Ohad Naharin and artistic director Gili Navot. The dancers leaned in, sniffed attentively, sensed with every cell, and then, eliminating any last millimeters between them, started juicily pushing into each other. There were no corona pods here, no pacts to minimize transmission. Dancers flitted from one partner, one grouping, to another, and partway through the evening, the cast members’ shared smiles turned into encouraging pats as their compatriots sidled back into the sidelines. The act of touching was contagious.

Meanwhile, I was intoxicated by another act that had been off-limits for the last few months: the act of experiencing a live performance. Throughout the lockdown, I tuned in eagerly to the variety of works now offered online by presenters, companies, and choreographers. Watching dance on screen was, at first, a gift. I could see works which have never come to Tel Aviv and revisited some favorites that were available online. But over and over, I felt let down by the experience. Admittedly, I could not create ideal conditions for my viewing. I watched sitting in my desk chair, slouched on the sofa, or sprawled on my bed, looking at large-scale dances on small tablet and mobile phone screens. I watched during the day with my toddler, who periodically chimed in to say she wanted to see more or fewer dancers onstage, and I watched blurry-eyed late at night after a full day juggling childcare and work, headphones piping the sound into my ears so as not to disturb either my sleeping daughter or my still-toiling husband. I often admired the concept, the craft, and the execution. Sometimes I appreciated the intellectual basis for the work and the historical, aesthetic significance of the dance. But I was not transported from the confines of my home. Separated from the dancers by a screen, and by the years since the dance was filmed, I did not experience any transcendence. I did not feel.  

In the studio, though, I felt. There were emotions, some no doubt connected to this unusual context but others spurred by the work itself. And there were feelings springing from and blended with sensations. Presented with a dizzying array of layered choreographic material danced by a large, phenomenal cast, I felt giddily overwhelmed by the choice of what to focus on, my gaze no longer determined by a videographer or editor’s decision. My ears were attuned to differences in volume, perking up with curiosity to catch the softer strains of melodies and filling as the music swelled. When the dancers skipped with loose strides across the length of the space, I could feel the thuds of their footfalls vibrating up through my chair and into my body; when they whooshed by, I enjoyed a slight breeze. As the action grew, as the music built, I readily gave in to a rhythmic swaying, pulsing along with the dancers and other audience members. Then, once the performance ended, I delighted in the act and the sensation of applauding. I have heard the recorded applause at the end of streamed shows, but never was I moved to join in. The repeated rhythmic motion of bringing my hands towards each other, the striking impact reverberating upon contact, the sound I make melding with the sound people around me make – and the knowledge that the dancers can hear our appreciation as we spectators perform this physical act – this has been notably absent from my dance viewing experience during lockdown.  

To be in the moment together with these generous performers, to share the space even if the fourth wall remained intact, to breathe the same air even if it was filtered through multiple layers of cotton . . . To measure my own distance from the moving bodies, to register my own stillness and my shifts of weight in my seat, to witness others witnessing . . . On this evening, the full-bodied, multisensory experience and active spectatorship offered by live performance was a revelation – as was the fact that I have taken this for granted, as if live performance was an indestructible condition of our discipline. 

Grateful as I am that some artists are sharing their work online – and cognizant as I am that for safety’s sake, online may be the primary if not the only channel for our field under certain circumstances – I emerged from Session more convinced of the necessity of live-ness. For all the innovative approaches to dance-making and presenting that are mediated by technology and may enrich our field moving forward, we also need to preserve the most low-tech, time-honored tradition of bringing performers and audiences together for an in-person experience. Live performance is vital. It is essential, perhaps not to our medical survival of this pandemic, but to our survival as humans. Coming back to the theater will take time and patience, careful adherence to guidelines, and no small dose of vulnerability and courage on the part of artists and audiences alike. A real return to the packed houses and busy performance schedules of yesteryear may take longer than we would like to admit. But return we must, and return we will. It is worth it. 

Put together Ohad Naharin’s two most recent works – Venezuela (2017) and 2019 (2019) – and the titles alone create clear associations with space and time, respectively. Yet while Venezuela is unmoored from the geographical turf of its namesake, rooting itself instead in grounds of form and spectatorship, 2019 presents a full-bodied embrace (and full-throated interrogation) of the current moment – and, further, it delineates a specific location. If Venezuela exists in and expounds upon the world of the stage, 2019 exists very much in our world, spilling off the platform and onto our laps in Tel Aviv. We, the viewers, are in Israel, and so too is this work.

My instinct is frequently to focus on the movement of a work, but as 2019 echoed in my mind after two viewings, the elements of space and time surfaced repeatedly. With these two dimensions as the linchpins, I began sorting through my own multilayered reading of Naharin’s dance. Spoilers ahead – this is best read after you, too, have taken in 2019 and turned it over in your mind. 

I. Space: Studio Varda, Batsheva Dance Company’s largest rehearsal hall, is rendered unrecognizable by Gadi Tzachor’s stage design. Although the space of the work is unconventional – resembling a fashion show runway – 2019’s location comes sharply into focus as the opening announcements forbidding photography and cell phones are cheekily delivered in three languages: Hebrew.  English. Arabic. The first two are standard for Batsheva shows drawing an international crowd, but the inclusion of the third points to the site not only of the performance but of its subject matter. And when a dancer slowly turns his back to the audience during the Arabic announcement, hands raised as if apprehended, his physical position signals, perhaps, the work’s critical position in relation to its locale.  

II. Space and time: From this opening, bridging the pre-performance and performance worlds, 2019 alludes to the world outside Studio Varda with a series of references to “here” and “now.” Here: A soundtrack dominated by Hebrew lyrics, with a not insignificant dose of Arabic. A brief ululation. Now: The inclusion of songs in English and Japanese, perhaps a reflection of porous cultural borders in a globalized world (and perhaps a reflection of the artist’s personal life). Also now: Bold, strikingly individual clothing and edgy jewelry that would not be out of place on the runway or in a club, and that in some cases upends gender norms. Here: A line of dancers hopping rhythmically, their boots stomping on the floor and their leader briefly flicking his wrist as if kicking off a debka. Now: A movement vocabulary that at times would not be out of place at a club or in a music video, with hints of twerking, pelvises jutted out, saucy snaps, deep squats and soaring legs, explosive acrobatics, and suspended freezes. Also now: An attuned performance presence and physical facility nurtured by Gaga, Naharin’s decidedly contemporary training practice. Though less obvious to viewers from outside the field, this too is reflective of the moment.  

III. Time: The first time I saw 2019 was December 2, 2019. The second time was December 9, 2019. The third time will likely be in February 2020 – at which point, 2019 will automatically reference the past even while it exists in the present. Sharing its name with the year of its creation, Naharin’s work foregrounds the passage of time – and it is fitting that 2019 will exist in the world of 2020, 2021, and beyond, for the nowness of this work speaks to the ethos of a period rather than that of a specific, self-contained calendar year. It stretches back to the optimistic 1970 “BaShana HaBa’a” (“Next Year”) and to the honeyed voice of the Lebanese singer Fairouz crooning “Ana La Habibi” (“I Am for My Lover”), a voice that – even if recorded in 1995 as Google indicates – evokes an undefined, earlier golden age. It connects the childhood chant of “LaKova Sheli” (“My Hat has Three Corners”) to the chilling adult experience of Hanoch Levin’s “At, Ve’Ani, Ve’Hamilchama” (“You, Me, and the Next War”), penned after the Six-Day War of 1967. 2019 reflects at least a few decades, and perhaps, even a full lifetime; there are glimmers of light, hope, and peace – glimmers from the past, and of a more innocent, idealistic youth – but these shine out from a mature, darker view of the world.  

IV. Here and now: And yet, there is something about 2019 itself, as it unfolded in Israel. At the time of 2019’s premiere, Israel’s government was in an unprecedented situation. The year saw not one but two elections which failed to yield a governing coalition, and as audiences filed into Studio Varda in early December, the announcement of a third round of voting seemed increasingly inevitable. We are in a holding pattern: unable to move forward decisively, though time marches onward and decisions must be made. Meanwhile, the Israeli-Palestinian “situation” continues as “normal,” with Tel Aviv’s bubble briefly punctured by sirens indicating incoming rockets from Gaza on the morning of November 12. On this front, too, we are in a holding pattern: cycles of violence and fragile cease fires, a morally questionable status quo that is alternately upheld or upended by proclamations of building, annexation, sovereignty . . . 

V. Now, whether here or not: And yet, Naharin titled his work 2019, not Israel. 2019 – the year, though perhaps also the choreographic work – is not exclusively Israeli. The name 2019 obviates the necessity to translate or transliterate the title. We may all pronounce 2019 differently, but we do not need a multitude of alphabets to make it widely legible. And around the globe, 2019 had no shortage of political turmoil and impasses, conflict and violence, and -isms that threaten to rend relationships, dash dreams, and endanger lives.  

VI. Space and time: Reading 2019’s deployment of space and time as “here” and “now” provided the foundation for my initial reaction to Naharin’s creation. But excavating further, I found myself intrigued by the compositional workings of space and time in 2019. Naharin often talks about the interplay among many elements in his choreography, about the tensions and balances he creates for each world. If 2019 at first appears to amplify content, theatricality, and a more concrete and even obvious message, it can do so only because the form is meticulously crafted. Each element’s volume is subject to a plethora of precise adjustments so that alone or in tandem with other elements, the impact is powerful. Space and size: A stepping pattern is performed exuberantly, with loose-limbed strides propelling dancers through the space with a confident ease; now it’s marked nearly in place, just a hint of what was. Space and time: The glacial pace of a processional across the space sets off speedy, complex solos; protracted periods with little action provide room to digest the action – and challenge us to stay as alert as the dancers, ready to catch the next flurry of movement. Time: Time is stretched, with songs looped or slowed down nearly beyond recognition and compositional structures audaciously extended, matching the length of the audio tracks. Space, time, stillness, weight: From the beginning, the stage design draws us close to the dancers, underscoring our shared world – and the separation between performers and spectators breaks down towards the end of 2019 as the dancers climb into the risers. The volume of the movement is dialed down to total stillness when Hanoch Levin’s haunting text resounds through the space, each word delivered in an unhurried drone. In the absence of motion, these words carry more weight. There is time and space for them to sink in, and the unmoving mass of each dancer’s body lying corpse-like across the viewers’ laps amplifies the message.  

VII. Here? During the general rehearsal on December 2, a colleague turned to me and asked if I was familiar with the song to which the dancers were swaying and singing. I was, for growing up in a strong Jewish community in the U.S., “Hinei Ma Tov” was part of my repertoire from a young age. Likewise, I sang “LaKova Sheli” at Purim celebrations, and “BaShana HaBa’a” was a favorite at camp singalongs. I do, however, recognize the different relationship many Israelis have with these songs. And so I wondered: how would it be to watch 2019 with different eyes informed by a different upbringing in a different place? How do we as individual spectators, each with our own background, locate ourselves in relationship to the sights, the sounds, the content of a choreographic work that itself is so rooted in a specific place? Questions about viewership that swirled after seeing Venezuela flooded back to me, but with twists molded by the form and content of Naharin’s newest creation.   

VIII. Where? Although some of the Hebrew songs in 2019 were familiar to me, at other times I found myself wondering what language I was hearing. Were the slowed-down lyrics in Hebrew, Arabic, or another tongue? Does it even matter? Naharin offers a specific series of references, but there is universality beyond the specificity. This is the tale of our time in Israel, but it is also the tale of our time outside Israel. A flock of dancers weaving through the space, arms raised up, brings to my mind both prisoners of war and refugees, more a category and less a nationality; four women hanging from the wall of the set could be hanging from one of many walls erected around our globe. Rich with form and content, there is room for a layered reading of 2019 that does not require the viewer to be steeped in Israeli culture and society. The images resonate across context, across space, and across time. As 2019 comes to a close, as the second decade of the 2000s reaches its end, we live in a world that is rife with conflicts and challenges. As Naharin’s 2019 is born, as it begins its lifespan as a work of art and welcomes viewers to spend 75 minutes of their time in its space, it provides opportunities for reflection, on aesthetic and political grounds alike. 

IX. 2019: “You will yet see, you will yet see, 
How good it will be,
Next year.”  
To a better 2020. Happy New Year.

Photos by Ascaf.

Besides the fact that Suzanne Dellal Dance Centre brought together more than 130 international personalities interested in dance Dec. 4-Dec. 8, what I saw brought me to some new thoughts and quandaries.

Of course one person couldn’t possibly watch all the dance offerings in large and small spaces (starting in the morning and lasting past midnight), nor could one meet all who came from such far distances. I’m always curious about political perspectives, dance tastes and choreographic motivation, what someone else thinks are the ideal and the practical, plus who executes the choreographic intentions effectively in performance. Some of these concerns I talked about with a dashing woman from a big festival in Eastern Europe, and the gallant, elderly director of a theatre in southern Europe who gave me a picture postcard of his most beautiful 18^th century theatre. The comments were far different with a radio personality who spoke Arabic as well as several European tongues, English and Hebrew—she’d grown up in North Africa and fled a hostile situation against Jews when she was young. She was upset and left one of the dances described below; her responses to what she saw were decidedly different than a Broadway dancer I also spoke with who’d graduated to handling a big American university theatre.

Politics come up all the time in Israel, but just this morning in conversation with dance writer Gaby Aldor, she mentioned that politics aren’t necessarily a defined political act or obviously from the right or the left– it could be an action of everyday life. But after watching a few of the new performances I wondered about politics from several different points of view: what were the politics of the presenters watching the dances and how might they affect what the international presenters bring to their venues? In fact, the issue of what is overt and what subversive, what is clear to us viewers and what is not became more and more interesting. Obviously political was Arkadi Zaides’s 4 Years 4 Projects 40 Minutes presented in one of the Centre’s studios. Once an acclaimed Batsheva dancer, he’s left behind the demands on an extraordinarily accomplished company dancer for Naharin dances in favor of his own highly individualized post-technique moves. We sat on the floor in front of two large screens. Zaides sat on a chair with a microphone in hand and typed papers he later read from in English.  Rather than a live performance we saw a video of Zaides dancing, in regular guy garb, his movements distorted and agonizing to watch. Next to the large screen showing his relentless moves was another showing a loop of video clips he’d chosen from an archive of the Israeli Information Center for Human Rights. Program notes indicated he was strict in choosing only clips “recorded by Palestinians” that “portray Israelis only” seeking, he wrote, to map the movement of the human body in the “local reality of ongoing conflict and emergency in Israel/Palestine.” We seemed to be peeping at roadways and some separation barriers or yards with encounters recorded in everyday shots, sometimes parents with children, sometimes religious Jews with soldiers. It was hard to understand what the incidents were about with no context. All the while, on the screen to the right, Zaides’s convulsive movements pulled his body askew in disturbing ways. He read a monologue about being a refugee himself and how he was searching for ways of connecting  “political and personal spheres.” After the presentation, I got to talking to a presenter at Zaides’s performance who mentioned his own facial scar from barbed wire. Without asking where was his encounter with the barbs, I knew they weren’t from a cattle ranch in the Western U.S.  A different presenter had walked out and later told me she didn’t agree at all with what Zaides was presenting.

I sat in a much bigger audience for the second afternoon of the Festival in a surprising place. How much of a political act was it that we were bused to a new alternative space outside the Suzanne Dellal Centre for Dance and Theatre? Not as comfortable as their main hall because it’s an unheated proscenium theater but it’s a daring cooperative venture, controlled by dancer/choreographers within a huge old building known as the “hanger.” In one of the Old Jaffa Port’s weathered warehouses, it opens out to the sea. Just because I was sitting in the “hanger” I had the odd feeling that a plane might swoop down with the gulls and come right in. But I settled down to watch several dances, and I want to disclose that my politics agreed with those in the dance Bodyland. I was delighted with what Oded Graf and Yossi Berg choreographed, for 5 men including the choreographers plus Soren Linding Urup, Pierre Enaux and Robin Rohrmann.  Before they began speaking to the audience (in English) I could imagine from their names in the program that some of the cast were European. By their accents and autobiographical comments, we learned the dancers were Israeli, Danish, French and German.  The mélange of comments were put together with movement to humorous as well as physical and political effect.

 Yossi Berg and Oded Graf’s Bodyland.  Photo by Christoffer Askman.

All kinds of unexpected things happened in an almost childlike, nonsensical way: balloons attached to fingers and toes of one of the dancers making an extraordinary, colorful bouquet before rocketing off or an inflated, enormous Mylar arm shape joined by a gargantuan inflated pair of silvery hands (designed by Sille Dons Heltoft) engulfing the dancers. The first performer came onto the stage in gym shorts, t-shirt and silver high-tops. He started a cumulative movement routine about body parts, talking and pointing out “heart, brain, butt” with comments, some morphing into self-deprecation. Some Jewish audience members could personally relate to his aside “I hear my nose is too long.”  Eventually four men in their work-out shorts and gym shoes join him in jumping rope, a sequence as staggering a show stopper as 32 whipping fouette turns from Swan Lake. Flawlessly they jumped and jumped, their ropes beating an unceasing rhythm before beginning to talk in their different accents—the Frenchman saying as he pulls up his shirt, “This is the welcoming face of France,” then pointing to one of his nipples reporting “this is my home town.” The audience laughed from the unexpected comments. The Dane explained where is Copenhagen as if his bare torso also was the map of his country.  Movements accompanied the repartee with a remark that “Since the creation of the European Union it has become very flexible.” The commentary got a little more provocative and cutting as the two Israelis indicated on their bodies how enmeshed is the map here, including a certain male part to stand for the territories. True invention ran amuck as one explained where is there a bakery and where is the Western Wall, while one mooned the audience. Legs and body parts entangled with outstretched arms evolving into an obvious reference to the sacrifice of Jesus. Through daring, physical originality we then witnessed a recapitulation of the original body parts: “butt, brain, heart, cheek.”  Now however, we saw them as locations in a “bodyland” map that had taken us on a journey we could not have imagined.

Dancers at the second Dalia Festival.  As pictured on page 111 of pictured in Judith Brin Ingber’s book Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance.

The Festival showed so many different solos and group pieces by women and about women that it caused me to think about womanhood anew. It used to be in the 1920s and 1930s and even in early days of new Israel in the early 1950s through the early 1960s, decorative arts and dances showed young women with jugs on their heads or held on their hips. The jugs tied to ancient Biblical stories of matriarchs at the well, and symbolized renewed Jewish life on the land. (These thoughts were crystalized for me when visiting a recent Haaretz Museum exhibition on jugs and young women.) Classic Israeli dance choreographers like Yardena Cohen and Sara Levi-Tanai plus countless folk dance creators evoked these thoughts too. Nowadays however that image of an Israeli woman no longer fits. Instead the dances are posing questions about what are the expected and unexpected roles for women, and how do choreographers approach femininity and feminism? Many dances we saw dealt with different phases and ages of women. I report below on a few that struck me.

Anat Grigorio’s Mr. Nice Guy.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

I was instantly caught up in the solo called Mr. Nice Guy by the outstanding dancer/choreographer Anat Grigorio. It graphically or should I say choreographically and performatively dealt with the politics of The Male Gaze as it’s come to be known. What is the effect of the male looking at the woman and objectifying her? In this case, we in the audience are captivated watching Grigorio dancing in her chic, black, backless short dress, sometimes covered with a lush leopard coat. She tries over and over to physically answer the demands of a guy for whom she’s apparently auditioning. With no set to soften what we see and no music to distract us from the voice, we watch Grigorio trying to please the demanding voice. She changes her body and her dance to fit his directions. His disembodied cloying voice is relentlessly demanding and asks what seem to be impossible moves and positions.  Amazingly, she succeeds as she’s led into faster and faster executions of more and more grueling shapes and phrases. We cheered for her at the end for two-fold reasons: to buck up the maligned and underappreciated woman we had seen auditioning and also to cheer the superb dancer that is Grigorio who has such pizzazz and an extraordinary technical facility.

A different view of women altogether but still related to the Male Gaze was Michal Herman’s Plan B. It began with two women also on a bare stage—Herman and Inbal Shahar. They were perfectly dressed and coifed as old fashioned stewardesses in high heels in belted and elegant suits (was that in the 1950s or 1960s that women looked like that?). They showed us exits with the conventional stretching out of arms and pointed figures to direct our gaze. These gestures were also to a voice over, but it turns out the directions were not for exits in an airplane, but for the theatre where we were seated. Suddenly there was a black out and when the lights returned, we were presented with the Present. The stewardesses were now two young women dressing as modern dancers, the audience laughing at their transformation from elegance to rags as they pulled on leg warmers and stretched t-shirts, so different from their previously perfect lady-like looks. We watch them effortlessly fulfilling the directions of the teacher-director-male voice, “improvising” he says. The demanding voice causes them to show familiar movements necessary to master in dance today, aping contemporary class movements (even images that come out of Gaga classes, in fashion today).  They seemed to be showing us pages from a current dance manual. Through wit, clever costuming and moves, we watched how young women are expected to look and move, transported through a portal of time from past to present in a satiric, very successful piece.

Many dances showed the difficulties and challenges that could arise as time goes by in a woman’s life. These might include: does she accept herself? Will someone else accept her? What might have been true in other eras? What is true for her in the moment? In Yasmeen Godder’s See Her Change a figure is set apart as she ages. Or, is she questioning how to accept her aging body in her dance profession? Three dancers — Dalia Chaimsky, Shuli Enosh and Yasmeen Godder –- performed on a messy stage littered with costume pieces, a dressing table and a patchwork of ideas, the sections, seemingly casually presented. There was strutting in high heels, then shuffling in clogs, coffee cup in hand, changes of clothing topped off with wigs, or not, boas and pieces of clothing off and then on, hung up on the stage curtains, or not. A child’s voice is heard saying “mama, mama” but the lead character is too distracted to respond; instead there are silent screams, chocking gestures and many repeated movements pulling scraggily hair unhappily across the face.

Instead of obscuring the face, obscuring the hair was the subject of a more modest piece, Hat with a Feather choreographed by Tami Izhaki for the all-women Nehara Dance Company shown in one of the studios.  I was fascinated with its originality and have been pondering a situation it portrays for observant Jewish women. We are introduced to four young women and one older in demure pastel colored pantaloons or dresses. Two primly walk next to each other and we realize their braids are attached as if they are Siamese twins. Their movements are therefore circumscribed, one skirting only just so far around the other, their heads held just so. Another young woman perches mermaid-like on the floor, trying to rise but as she moves, we notice her big toe is entangled in the end of her incredibly long braid. Her foot jerks her head backwards menacingly whenever she tries moving, her extremely arched backward position a marvel. The demands of her hair stretch her head towards her foot in painful-looking pulls. A mother figure arrives, seemingly to straighten things out, first flicking off some awful sounding music, and corralling the young women. She matter-of-factly demonstrates how to properly adjust a long scarf over one’s hair to conceal all of it as required by strict Jewish code once a woman marries. On the one hand she frees the braid from the young woman’s foot, but the freedom is circumspect. Another young woman struggles and is tamed through the reins of convention and traditional expectations. She is finally crowned; the hat with the feather ending the moves for self-sufficiency and bringing modesty.  In truth, the five accomplished dancers practice traditional Judaism exploring through their dancing some of the challenges of their observance. The Hat with a Feather serves them well.

Much more menacing was Cassandra, the duet by Ronit Ziv, based on Aeschylus’ texts about Cassandra’s power of prophecy cursed by disbelief from others. The paradox begins when we confront two dancers standing with their backs to us. We assume they are naked on top with their bare torsos, their flowing skirts incongruous in their fullness. When Gefen Liberman and Sofia Krantz turn, however, their nipples are taped over with wide black swatches. It was a hideously disturbing look throughout as I watched their torsos freed of clothing yet marked with the terrible tape.  Even though their torso movements were so articulate, they were stifled and marked. The two moved often in unison leading me to believe they were two sides of one, reaching one way and the other in their yearning madness –huge reaches of limbs whether stretching in their uprightness or pulling on the ground in one direction and then another. Are we watching something of the dark and painful state, maybe even a feminine flaw dealing with uncomprehending, authority figures who ignore and refuse to accept what is present, never mind what might happen in the future?

Other dances were also disturbing and unsettling on the same subject of womanhood. Atom by Oded Zadok and Kazuyo Shionoiri with animation by Neta Canfi was enhanced by extraordinary shadow puppetry enacted by the two choreographers. But it was a cruel depiction of a submissive wife who never figures out an alternative to her doomed life.  All we watch happened to her in her kitchen and bedroom. In Ich Bin Du by Ella Ben-Aharon and Edo Ceder, the two choreographer/dancers sometimes showed a Madonna figure that was needed but repulsive. Aging was also the thrust of two pas de deux in a collaboration between Ido Tadmor for himself and Elwira Piorun. Danielle Agami’s Shula danced by women in the Batsheva Ensemble remains a fascinating piece in my memory. Young women making a real salad, and serving dinner for each other, carrying on with life as they straighten enormous upturned structures that transform into tables and chairs, literally straightened things out for one in their social group. Another voice over in English harasses a young woman listening on the phone to her supposed lover’s sarcastic, cruel remarks: “Call me in April to remind me of your birthday in May” he says. Her apt moves with dismissive flicking legs, or crashing off upended benches and crawling into others showed her state of mind.  The young women help each other in understated moves that literally still carried weight and showed us they would manage, unlike some of the other women characters we had seen in other dances.

I began to wonder why were there so many dances with male voice-overs? And why were the voice-overs in English? I asked one of the choreographers if there were versions in Hebrew for Israeli audiences.  “No,” he slowly said, surprised, “Dance is so international and performers come from all over to work in Israel, so English suffices for all of us from all over, and besides, audiences here, too, all understand English.” Is that a political statement, I wondered? Who in Israeli audiences is left out from fully understanding the layers of a dance if the language projected is English? Does it also represent something of the invasive style of America and her expectations? I couldn’t get away from the feeling the sound scores were created with foreign audiences in mind, ready for tours abroad.

I don’t remember voice in the sound score created by choreographers Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak’s for their group dance Dust performed by their company of eleven on opening night of the festival. It wasn’t outwardly political, nor about the plight of women, filled with the choreographers’ signature plethora of imaginative images. Real dust invades everything on earth, so perhaps they thought that justified the endless unearthly images? The set was enchanting with a door upstage that opened to let in a flood of dust motes like children in odd school uniforms of white caps and white knee-length gowns. These unruly children in their classroom sat at their desks, a stymied teacher barely managing in stuttering steps, often crossing the room to no effect. The desks collapsed with odd legs, others were up-ended and transformed into spinning flip books of animated images; others were projected on the upstage wall (by Roni Fahima and Shimrit Elkanati). Through the door odd characters emerged, a boneless figure oozing to the floor and canes of the blind tapping as many pushed in through the classroom door. The canes became lines of structures and suddenly we saw a construction, a house, invaded by the children/dust.  Whether seen or not, the ubiquitous dust motes in the hands of Pinto and Pollak took over all the space in an orchestra of originality.

After watching so many dances, another set that stood out was the askew playground in Nadar Rosano’s Asphalt, a broken down bench and slide inhibiting the dancers’ freedom and possibilities.  Another set piece was a bird’s nest in Idan Cohen’s Songs of a Wayfarer to Gustav Mahler’s music of the same name.  It became a surprising mask, blinding the solo dancer in a evocative piece that connected the choreographer to his European-born grandmother, who suffered from the Holocaust despite a life of freedom afterwards in Israel. Rami Be’er’s Undividided Void for his Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company had a monumental set for his evening length piece featuring a sensual figure (Renana Randy) sought after by all the men—in a beige leotard she was sometimes seen in a raised space outlined by a metal frame upstage—showing off parts of her sinewy torso undulating in alluring ways; at first there was one wooden panel also placed upstage, opposite the screen. I misunderstood it to be an empty bookshelf, as if culture and history were missing in the rush of movement and aggression. The sensual figure came down off her pedestal, out of the shadow box even becoming a regular figure in the crowd. Sometimes however she was threatened and sometimes she was danced with lovingly—was she the old sides of the desired but the object to discard? Or just a part of all of us? Whatever the murky meaning to her, the oddest part of the dance to me remains the set. More and more wooden sections were brought in by stagehands during the evening, standing them contiguously, upright along the perimeter of the stage. The wooden panels did add a warmth and a sheen as the stage lights bounced off the wood.

One could never level triteness as a criticism of the dances presented at the Festival, but repeated movements did cause visual fatigue. Of course there are arabesques, turns and deep knee bends in many dances, but when a gesture seems specific but then pops up in many dances, it loses its punch. Unfortunately the sequential bending backwards requiring virtuosic control by the dancer became a matter-of-fact accomplishment as did a sudden swirling to the floor in sudden dramatic falls. Nonetheless, profound originality in a myriad of dances (often dealing with womanhood, the politics of place and coping with everyday living) confronted me in so many of the dances. Based on my impressions and what I’ve tried to describe of the extraordinary International Exposure 2013, the foreign presenters who came to Suzanne Dellal Centre for Dance the Theatre have provocative and thrilling choices for their audiences world wide.

Judith Brin Ingber lives in Minnesota but returns often to Israel to teach dance history and to catch up on dance performances.  She lived in Israel from 1972-1977 teaching apprentices for the Bat Dor and Batsheva Dance Companies. She also choreographed a program for young audiences for Batsheva, assisted Sara Levi-Tanai at Inbal Dance Theater, and co-founded the first dance magazine with Giora Manor called The Israel Dance Annual. Her recent book, Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance, was published by Wayne State University Press. 

 Photo still from the film Mr. Gaga.

Filmmaker Tomer Heymann released Out of Focus the same year I arrived in Israel to research the country’s contemporary dance scene.  I still recall excitedly watching a DVD of the documentary, which offered an inside look at Ohad Naharin’s process as he worked with Cedar Lake Contemporary Ballet on a staging of Deca Dance.  Between clips of Gaga classes and rehearsals – which were themselves both revealing and compelling – Heymann interspersed footage of refreshingly honest interviews with his sometimes reluctant subject.

Heymann’s fascination with Naharin continued, and now, with his brother Barak as producer, he is completing an ambitious and far more comprehensive documentary about Naharin.  The title?  Mr. Gaga, a clever play on Naharin’s movement language and the pop diva of the same name (for those wondering, the choreographer chose the name Gaga years before the singer became an international phenomenon). In the trailer below, the Heymann brothers – along with special guest Natalie Portman and Naharin himself – discuss the film and the significance of this project.

Trailer of Mr. Gaga

As the brothers attest, this documentary is a major undertaking, and in order to fund the completion of the film, the pair launched a Kickstarter campaign.  Week after week during the campaign, the Mr. Gaga team has released tantalizing teasers that testify to this project’s great importance.  Not only has Heymann captured Naharin’s masterful choreography in performance, but he takes the viewer into Batsheva Dance Company’s studios and into Naharin’s personal life.  Some clips have highlighted humor, joy, and camaraderie during rehearsals; others have focused an unwavering lens on more challenging, emotionally fraught moments.

Beyond the scenes that Heymann and his team have filmed, the director has also amassed a veritable treasure trove of archival footage hearkening back to Naharin’s youth on Kibbutz Mizra, his stint as a performer in the Israeli army, and his early professional life.  The sneak preview below reveals what happened in 1974 when Martha Graham came to choreograph for Batsheva Dance Company, where Naharin was then an apprentice.

Sneak preview of Mr. Gaga

With more rare footage like this, Mr. Gaga stands to make a substantial contribution to the historical record while offering an intimate and in-depth look at one of today’s most acclaimed choreographers.

The Heymann brothers’ Kickstarter campaign is welcoming support from around the world through January 4, and they are rewarding contributions with a variety of souvenirs including either a download or a special-edition DVD of the finished film.  For more information, visit the following websites:

• Mr. Gaga Kickstarter campaign
• Mr. Gaga official website
• Mr. Gaga YouTube channel
• Mr. Gaga Facebook page

 The view from the port.  Photo by Judith Brin Ingber.  

This is a guest article by Judith Brin Ingber.  

The sea was stormy today as I walked along the seashore to get to the Suzanne Dellal Dance Center from Jaffa where I’m staying. It’s the first full day of the extraordinary International Dance Exposure, in its 19th year of bringing dance presenters, producers, performers too from all over the world to see Israeli dance. I wondered what kind of dance gales or becalmed ideas would I see?

According to last night’s audience barometer the dance that swept everyone off their feet was Hillel Kogan’s We Love Arabs. In reality John Kerry has traveled again from DC to Tel Aviv for negotiations, but we heard a different kind of story told with spoken text. “I’m not really into text,” said Hillel chatting non-stop as the audience roared, hardly interrupting his musings about how he feels certain parts of the space reject him as he works, about how hard it is to occupy one’s space and keep one’s identity….the dance duet played out with humor for the wrong assumptions we make, for the naïveté of politics, for what a choreographer takes and demands from the dancer — is there a metaphor here? Two of the funniest images? Hillel says there should be outside symbols of who was the Arab and who the Jew and gives his young charge a black pen. The obvious Magen David symbol with its two interlocking triangles is drawn on Hillel’s blue t-shirt. But where to put a symbol on the young Arab dancer’s black shirt? Hillel goes for his forehead and the Arab dancer asks, “What did you draw?” Hillel holds up his fingers in a half moon shape, “You know, the ummmm, the crescent…” “Yes but I’m a Christian.”  The audience roared at the confusion. Text and dance interlocked as the two flipped into and sashayed out of each other’s supposed sides. A bowl of hummus appeared and Hillel slathered their faces with it, beard and all, since it’s something in common both cultures love. Then he hopped off the stage and sardonically passed out pita with hummus to the audience members sitting down in front.

 Hillel Kogan’s We Love Arabs.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

All 135 guests from 28 countries plus 8 cultural attaches and perhaps some of the diplomats who attended the opening of International Exposure were bused to a new performing space in the old Jaffa fishing port the first afternoon. We saw seven different choreographers’ works before busing back to the dance center. Clearly the International Exposure is one of the reasons for the interest in Israeli dance all over the world — I have spoken to presenters from Senegal, Russia, Rumania, Bulgaria, Germany and that dance country known as New York, plus words of Korean, Swedish, Chinese, Italian and many others swirl around as we wait to get into studios and theatres big and small.

This doesn’t count all that we might see today and tomorrow… Countless rules and expectations are upended in this Festival as the storm of dance pours over us.

Judith Brin Ingber lives in Minnesota but returns often to Israel to teach dance history and to catch up on dance performances.  She lived in Israel from 1972-1977 teaching apprentices for the Bat Dor and Batsheva Dance Companies. She also choreographed a program for young audiences for Batsheva, assisted Sara Levi-Tanai at Inbal Dance Theater, and co-founded the first dance magazine with Giora Manor called The Israel Dance Annual. Her recent book, Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance, was published by Wayne State University Press. 

It’s time for an annual ritual in the world of Israeli concert dance: International Exposure.  From December 5-10, arts presenters and journalists from around the globe will view a substantial amount of the dance productions created in Israel over the last year.  This is International Exposure 2012 by the numbers: in its 18th year, the 6-day festival will showcase 39 choreographers in 27 performances for over 100 guests from abroad.

Beyond these impressive numbers, several Israeli choreographers are marking major milestones at this event.  Noa Wertheim and Adi Sha’al are celebrating 20 years of their Vertigo Dance Company, Rina Schenfeld is celebrating half a century of creativity, and Sharon Eyal and Gai Behar – who in recent seasons created repertory for Batsheva Dance Company and major international companies – are introducing their new troupe, L-E-V, to the world.

Below is a schedule of International Exposure 2012.  While there are also private studio showings in addition to these listings, most of the performances mentioned are open to the public, with tickets available at the Suzanne Dellal Centre and Tmuna Theater’s box offices (Suzanne Dellal: 03-5105656; Tmuna: 03-5611211).  And if you’re not in Israel, you can still get a glimpse of the International Exposure lineup by viewing the video trailers.

Wednesday, December 5

After an opening celebration, guests of International Exposure will enjoy a program celebrating Vertigo Dance Company’s 20th anniversary in Suzanne Dellal’s main theater at 20:00.  The first evening will be capped off at 22:00 with Shelly Alalouf’s Megida in Yerushalmi Hall.

Thursday, December 6

The second day of International Exposure starts at 10:00 at Suzanne Dellal with the Be’ersheva-based Kamea Dance Company in Status, choreographed by artistic director Tamir Ginz.

Video: Kamea Dance Company in Tamir Ginz’s Status

Guests will then travel across Tel Aviv to Tmuna Theatre for the afternoon.  The programming begins at noon with Dafi Altabeb’s Sensitivity to Heat.

Video: Dafi Dance Group in Dafi Altabeb’s Sensitivity to Heat

After a short lecture about Israeli dance by dance scholar Gaby Aldor, the afternoon continues with a mixed bill including excerpts from Renana Raz’s YouMake, Remake series, Michael Getman’s Face to Face, and Idan Cohen’s 3 pieced swan, op. 1.

Video: Renana Raz introduces YouMake Remake

Video: Michael Getman’s Face to Face

Video: Idan Cohen’s 3 pieced swan, op. 1

Back at Suzanne Dellal, Tamar Borer presents BOHU, a collaboration with Tamar Lamm, in the Yerushalmi Hall at 17:00.

Video: Tamar Borer’s BOHU

In Suzanne Dellal’s main theater, the Orly Portal Dance Company will perform Portal’s Rabia at 19:00.  Then Vertigo Dance Company will offer artistic director Noa Wertheim’s Birth of the Phoenix outside on the theater’s plaza.

Video: Vertigo Dance Company in Noa Wertheim’s Birth of the Phoenix

The second day closes with Yossi Berg and Oded Graf’s Black Fairytale at 22:30 in the main theater.

Video: Yossi Berg and Oded Graf’s Black Fairytale

Friday, December 7

Friday kicks off at 10:00 with the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company performing artistic director Rami Be’er’s If At All in the Suzanne Dellal Hall.

Video: Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company in Rami Be’er’s If At All

After meeting Rina Schenfeld, who is currently celebrating 50 years of achievement in dance with photography and video exhibition, guests will continue to the intimate Inbal Theatre for C.A.T.A.M.O.N.’s performance of Elad Shachter’s Trilogy.


Video: C.A.T.A.M.O.N. in Elad Shechter’s Trilogy

At Tmuna Theatre at 14:00, Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor present their reconstruction of Two Room Apartment, originally choreographed by Nir Ben Gal and Liat Dror in 1987.

Video: Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor in their reconstruction of Two Room Apartment

Returning to Suzanne Dellal, Sharon Eyal and Gai Behar unveil their new company – L.E.V. Live Entertainment Vultures – in House.  A shorter version of House was premiered in December 2011 by Batsheva Dance Company.

Video: Sharon Eyal and Gai Behar present L-E-V in House

In the Inbal Theatre at 19:00, the Moving Hold Group presents Year of the Hare, with choreography by Efrat Rubin and animation by Osi Wald.  The program also features Ella Ben-Aharon and Edo Ceder’s Pericardium.

Video: Moving Hold Group in Year of the Hare

Video: Ella Ben-Aharon and Edo Ceder’s Pericardium

Studio Varda will host a showing of Land Research by Arkadi Zaides and his collaborators.

Video: Land Research by Arkadi Zaides and collaborators

At 22:00 in Suzanne Dellal Hall, the Holon-based Fresco Dance Group will perform artistic director Yoram Karmi’s Cerebrus.

Video: Fresco Dance Company in Yoram Karmi’s Cerebrus

Finally, at 23:00, guests will be able to screen the new film Let’s Dance in Yerushalmi Hall.

Saturday, December 8

The morning begins at Suzanne Dellal with mixed bills featuring selected works from the annual Curtain Up festival.  The first program at 10:00 includes Dana Ruttenberg’s Armed, Eldad Ben Sasson’s Strange Attractor, and Noa Shadur’s We do not torture people.

Video: Dana Ruttenberg’s Armed

Video: Noa Shadur’s We do not torture people

The second program includes two works from Curtain Up – Gili Navot’s May Contain Nuts and Roy Assaf’s The Hill – along with Talia Paz and Mike Winter’s performance of Nigel Charnock’s Haunted by the Future.

Video: Gili Navot’s May Contain Nuts

Video: Roy Assaf’s The Hill

Video: Talia Paz and Mike Winter in Nigel Charnock’s Haunted by the Future

Next, FENIX Dance Company and the National Youth Theater present Offer Zaks and Marria Barrios’s Anne Frank in the Inbal Theatre at 15:00.


Video: FENIX Dance Company in Maria Barrios and Offer Zaks’s Anne Frank

The Jerusalem-based Kolben Dance Company performs Amir Kolben’s Kmehin at 17:00 in Suzanne Dellal Hall.

Video: Kolben Dance Company in Amir Kolben’s Kmehin

Some guests will travel to Yasmeen Godder’s studio in Jaffa to view a work in progress by the choreographer.  Then the festival continues at Inbal Theatre at 20:00 with Rotem Tashach’s Paved Life.

Video: Rotem Tashach’s Paved Life

Rounding out Saturday’s programming at the Suzanne Dellal Hall at 22:00 is Maria Kong Dancers Company in Talia Landa’s Open Source.

Video: Maria Kong Dancers Company in Talia Landa’s Open Source

Sunday, December 9

Some guests will tour Jerusalem during the day.  In the evening, the Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak Dance Company presents Goldfish at the Yerushalmi Hall at 19:00.

Video: Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak Dance Company in Goldfish

After a farewell reception, the festival closes at Suzanne Dellal at 21:00 with the Batsheva Ensemble in Ohad Naharin’s Deca Dance.

Video: Batsheva Ensemble in Ohad Naharin’s Deca Dance

Monday, December 10

While the festivities in Tel Aviv are over, some guests will travel to Nir Ben Gal and Liat Dror’s Hangar Adama in Mizpe Ramon.  There, they will see selections from the Other Dance Project, a festival for young choreographers produced by the Suzanne Dellal Centre this past summer.  The program will include Tvika Izikias and Shiri Kapueno Kvanz’s Tarab, Hanania Szwarts’s No flesh will dwell, Nadav Tzelner’s Anything goes, and Dorit Guy and Zeev Yelinik’s Pic@move.   The Nir Ben Gal and Liat Dror Dance Company will also present Up Chi Down Chi.

Video: Liat Dror and Nir Ben Gal Dance Company in Up Chi Down Chi

It is a truism that dance is the most ephemeral of art forms. When a dance performance is over, there is no concrete art object left behind for posterity; instead, the dance lives on in the minds of the viewers and the bodies of the performers. Yet these traces are fragile and temporary in nature. Once a dance is no longer in active repertory, it is in danger of being lost forever.

Working against the inevitable passage of time, dance professionals have long engaged in the act of reconstruction to bring new life to older dances that have disappeared from the stage. The formidable process of re-creating and re-embodying a dance raises a slew of questions. What is the essence of the dance? What sources do you consult, and when there are multiple versions of the dance – whether in the form of notated scores or videos or memories of previous performers – what rendition do you privilege? What is your goal in reconstructing this work? How do you respect the past while recognizing that this work must now live and resonate in the present? What contemporary relevance do you find in this dance? How do you bring yourself to roles originated by dancers who lived and trained in a different time with different norms?

Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor faced these and other questions as they embarked on their reconstruction of Nir Ben Gal and Liat Dror’s iconic Two Room Apartment (1987). With little precedent in the sphere of Israeli concert dance, the couple forged ahead into unknown territory and emerged with an innovative production that lays bare the complexities of their project. Prior to the work’s premiere, Niv and Oren sat down with me to discuss their process.

Oren Laor and Niv Sheinfeld in Two Room Apartment.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

Q: How did this project start? Do you have anything you want to say about why you chose Two Room Apartment?

Oren: For quite some time we’ve had a desire to create a duet for ourselves, to meet each other on stage. Then we thought, “What, do we go into the studio now and talk about our relationship and try to create something out of it?” It didn’t feel right. We wanted a text that was premade, something that we can mold and play with. It might seem like a paradox, but we felt that choosing material that is not ours will enable us to get close and find each other. We thought the duet [Two Room Apartment] would be a good piece to dive into because of what it enables.

Niv: I even see it as a play, some kind of score that we can refer to, and we can give it our own twists, ideas, and interpretations. For me there is also a personal attachment to Nir [Ben Gal] and Liat [Dror] – I started my dancing career as a dancer in their company between ’92 and ’97.

In terms of Israeli dance, this work had been very significant. After this, the whole dance scene in Israel changed. This work was presented dozens of times, all over the world. It had a relatively long life span, and it triggered a lot of interest.

Oren: I want to add another perspective. I think there are many similarities between Nir and Liat’s artistic statement in this duet and what Niv and I are seeking in our own creations. I think we share the same kind of vision and desire of what we want to give to our audience. We’re trying to reduce, to be more minimalistic as a means to peel off layers that will expose the core. Not to show how tons of money can be poured onto the stage, not to present immortal gods on stage, but the other way around: we are mortal, what you are witnessing is temporary, and it is present only here and only now. We seek simplicity, and this duet was very simple and humble to begin with.

Oren Laor and Niv Sheinfeld in Two Room Apartment.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

Q: Niv, going back to what you touched on regarding your performing career with Nir and Liat, how is it for you to dance Two Room Apartment now? How does it connect physically with what you had done with Nir and Liat in their company?

Niv: Some basic principles in terms of plié, release, falling to the floor, free movement, energetic movement, and psychological behavior in movement – these are all things that I grew up on in their company, and so it felt very natural to get into this work, which is based on those elements. I felt at home in terms of the movement.

Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor in Two Room Apartment.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

Q: Had you seen Nir and Liat perform Two Room Apartment live?

Niv: Yes. I saw it before I joined their company, and Oren saw them on stage three years ago when they did it at the Gvanim [Shades of Dance] in 2009. But they only did the first ten minutes of the work and that’s it.

Oren: It really blew me away. They were, of course, not young anymore, not in shape anymore – still, it was so fascinating to watch the simplicity and humbleness of them doing these repetitions of what seem to be everyday gestures. I felt, “Wow! This is so new; this kind of thing is still missing so much from our stages.”

Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor in Two Room Apartment.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

Q: Let’s talk about the process you have been going through in bringing this work to the stage today.

Oren: We went to the dance library in Beit Ariela, and we took all the material about Two Room Apartment from that time: interviews with Nir and Liat, reviews, reflections on the work. It was important for us to gather as much information as we could about what Nir and Liat thought the piece was about and what the critics thought the piece was about.

Niv: There was also this book that we bought – Preservation Politics – that looks into past reconstructions of dance works. We wanted to learn more about how other artists dealt with reenactments that they did. Then we went to meet Nir and Liat in the desert, to conclude this legitimacy that they gave us in recreating the work the way we want. They told us to feel free to change whatever we want in the recreation. They were generous and they trusted us; we are very thankful to them for that. We also asked them, “What do you think this duet is about?” Liat said, “For me, it’s about two people: when are they alone, when are they together. That’s the basic thing.”

Oren: “Solitude versus togetherness.” I liked that they didn’t speak about the dancing. They spoke about the idea behind it – not that the dance should be so-and-so and the movement should be so-and-so, but about the issues that stir the action onstage from underneath.

Niv: After that, we took the video, and we started working from the video. We had two versions on video. The first version was from 1987 from Shades of Dance. That video was edited, which meant we sometimes had problems learning the material because we couldn’t see all of the body. And then we had one other version that I had found. It was one of their last performances of Two Room Apartment. It’s from 1996 in Berlin at the Podewil. We took a lot from the ’96 version because they had updated small things in it.

I think the main thing for us during the process was to find the key to our own apartment. The process raised many questions for us, and we kept some of them onstage as part of the performance. So there is actually this tension throughout the work between artistically processed material and raw, in-between moments of reflection on what we just did.

Oren: It was really important for us to avoid – by all means – putting a dinosaur onstage just to show how beautiful it was. This is not the aim of bringing it back. After running the work several times exactly like Nir and Liat performed it, we realized that it was not going to work. It was going to be a dinosaur; it was going to be a museum to this work. We had to do something to infuse it with our own awareness: if we’re doing this, we are going to do it our way. This was the second phase of the process – liberating ourselves from the image of Nir and Liat performing the duet, and exploring our own language inside the basic structure.

Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor in Two Room Apartment.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

Q: How are you, Niv and Oren, similar onstage in this work to Nir and Liat, and how are you different? How are you being yourselves in this? Where are there similarities, and where do you diverge from who they are in the piece?

Oren: Two months before the premiere of the work, after having copied all the material from the video and running it several times in the studio, we confronted a crisis. The movement was not ours, the nuances were not ours, the behavior was not ours – it was all theirs. We couldn’t tell whether we were being ourselves or representing Nir and Liat. It was elusive. But it was not only the question of who we are but also questions of artistic choices; some of the choices made in 1987 are not convincing for us today anymore.

So we decided to open up the work for improvisation in the studio. We took the liberty to cut material; to change and re-arrange material; to play with musicality, intensity, and speed; and to insert our own variations on Nir and Liat’s material. We also allowed ourselves to talk during the work if we felt we needed it. Scene by scene, we injected our own sensibilities and our own sense of authenticity into the work.

For example, in the original version there was a seduction scene in which Liat walks over to Nir and starts undressing him in an erotic way, leaving him in his underwear and shoes before walking away. We, on the other hand, had a totally different approach to this scene. We sought emotional, non-sexual intimacy in that moment, so we re-directed the scene. I strip to complete nudity in front of Niv and then climb into his arms like a child seeking comfort and protection, and Niv carries me and moves slowly, as if he is putting me to sleep. This scene became such an intimate scene for us that we couldn’t even leave the original soundtrack untouched; we needed to bring something that we will deeply relate to, something that is “our” music. So we decided to use Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”

Niv: The fact that we are two men on stage – and they are a man and a woman – is by itself a major difference. Elements such as energetic output, nuances, balance, and tenderness all yield to a different set of expression and behavior when it comes to two men with high testosterone levels. The original work reflected on the issue of gender by looking into the eternal battle of the sexes; we, on the other hand, reflect on the issue of gender by looking into the relationship of two people of the same gender.
We also decided to have the public sit around the stage and not in front of it. We wanted to share our intimacy with the audience, and the proximity to the stage allows them to watch every detail and every nuance.

I would say that generally the process developed in three stages. First we had to re-write the text of the work in our bodies, and when we finished that stage, we were a representation of the text that Nir and Liat wrote. We were being “them.” In the second phase we decided to improvise, change, and allow talking while we move or in between movement sequences. We could speak about everything and ask any question that ran in our minds. This situation enabled two layers: one was their score and the second was our reflection. In the third phase we fused these two elements into what today came to be our version of Two Room Apartment.

Performance Information

Two Room Apartment will next be performed at Tmuna Theater in Tel Aviv on December 7, 2012 at 14:30 and 20:30.  For tickets call 03-5611211.

Related Articles on Dance In Israel

• Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor: An Interview with Dramatic Dancemakers (Podcast)
• Curtain Up 6: Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor Host Noa Shadur
• “Then and Now” Brings Old and New Together at Shades of Dance
• Liat Dror of Adama: Dancing from Tel Aviv to the Desert
• Nir Ben Gal of Adama Gives an Inspiring Interview

 Related Links

• Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor
• Tmuna Theater

In commemoration of the maverick and unforgettable performing artist, Nigel Charnock. 

Nigel Charnock. Photo by Hugo Glendinning.

The international dance world is greatly saddened by the loss of one of its most gifted and original artists as well as its most maverick and controversial performers with the untimely death of choreographer, dancer and director, Nigel Charnock. In 1986, together with Lloyd Newson, he founded the DV8 Physical Theater whose works over the next 25 years would revolutionize what we thought of as dance and theater. His pieces, especially his solos, deeply touched, inspired and often outraged audiences. The Arts Council of England hailed him as “a national treasure” while he was branded by London Metro newspaper as the “bad boy of physical theater.”  In 2011 he came to Israel at the invitation of dancer Talia Paz and the Machol Shalem Production House of Jerusalem to create 2 new works here in Israel, a duet and group piece. In mid-June, after completing the duet and back in the UK hard at work on his project 10 Men, he was diagnosed with stomach cancer.  On August 1st at St. Christopher’s Hospice in South London, Nigel Charnock lost his battle with the disease at the age of 52.

Nigel Charnock’s Haunted by the Future. Photo by Tomer Appelbaum.

 As a tribute to this great man, on August 22nd the Suzanne Dellal Centre and BI-Arts of the British Council presented Nigel Charnock’s  final piece, Haunted by the Future, completed only months before his death. This posthumous premiere of his last new work left no one unmoved as it ran, and at times literally through the audience, the gamut of emotions – from tenderness to sheer rage. “Love versus Sex and Art versus Life” describes well this duet combining dance, theater and comedy and that brought the audience face to face with a couple at war, and yes – sometimes even in love. Michael Winter and Talia Paz, two seasoned and exceptional performers, tested to the limit their desires, needs and the illusions they have about being a couple. Love’s pitfalls and man’s vulnerability and egoism were narrated to hilarious effect through a succinct narration of Pop music favorites, from Motown classics like the 1964 Supremes’ “Baby Love” right through an array of anthems from the 80’s and 90’s.  Charnock’s Haunted… is in fact a high strung masterpiece, where the sinews of the pair’s relationship are pulled taut and not a moment goes by that extremes of brutality and fragility towards each other aren’t vying for dominance. The two repeatedly withdrew to opposite sides of the stage, where chairs, water bottles and towels awaited them, as if in a boxing match, only to begin sparring again after they had regained a semblance of composure and the courage to continue the fight. Michael Winter, with his verbal virtuosity and biting, comic flair, had the audience reeling as he deflowered the topical assumptions of a man’s role, duties and even his own virility. Modern day coupledom, that is in this piece meaning the expectations, ambitions and animosity that the opposite sex has in respect to one another, is put on display with a frankness and an absurdity that both enthralled and disquieted us.

Nigel Charnock. Photo by Hugo Glendinning.

The duet Haunted by the Future was followed by a special screening of Charnock’s One Dixon Road, an improvisational solo performed in Jerusalem last year in which Jerusalem itself is caught in brutal clarity by video artists Sascha Engel and Youval Landsberg. The video reveals in stark relief the volatile panorama of a city submersed in the tension of its religious and sectarian polarities. Fleeting glimpses of  the city awash in saturated colors frame for the viewer a most extraordinary landscape and people. Images known around the world are interspersed with everyday scenes that are compelling in both their ritualistic fever and urban mundaneness. True to form, Charnock’s solo relates this reality in a tour de force of spoken word and dance, served up in a satiric manner of a man who declares emphatically that there is no God. Religion, framed by him as a bamboozle, a sham, no more than a car salesman pitch aimed to the susceptible, is put on display as a forgery of love and faith. In his trademark improvisational style, he segues at breakneck speed from the holy, to the personal, to a comical dissection of the most familiar elements of dance, theater, cabaret and stardom.

Ofra Idel’s Force Majeure. Photo by Hamutal Vechtel.

The evening’s program also included two more duets by Israeli choreographers. Force Majeure, choreographed by Ofra Idel and performed by herself and Danielle Shoufra, tantalizes the audience with a stirring intimacy in which the two women play out a relationship characterized by teasing, compassion and violence. Both possessing powerful presences, they physically test one another to the point of frequent discomfort as they struggle with each other along a journey of separations, reunions and final farewells.  Danielle Shoufra’s quest for self control, her belabored breathing, convulsions and repeated need for resuscitation, mark this piece with a lingering note of death and grief. With a rough and visceral movement language, the two grapple with each other and some unforeseen doom. Accompanying music is an eclectic mix which includes Nick Cave, Kylie Minogue and the Tarantella punctuated by a crystal clear soundscape of rattling chains and a brittle laughter that teeters between hysteria and mockery. Its rawness seems to push the performers to extremes and sometimes even over the edge, in moments that invoke confessions and narrowly aborted suicidal acts. This piece is dedicated to the memory of Tamir Natan, childhood friend of the choreographer, who died in a road accident in La Paz, Bolivia when she was just 21. Further performances of this work will be in Tanzania at the Visa2Dance Festival in October and at the Akko Dance Center later this year. A short film by Betina Fainstein and Lior Har Lev about this piece will be presented as part of a TV series on Jerusalem artists for Channel 8.

Nadar Rosano’s Off-line. Photo by Kfir Bolotin.

The other Israeli work was Nadar Rosano’s Off-line, in which Nadar Rosano and Adi Wineberg dance a duet that resembles a duel of sorts between man and woman, with an almost constant drumming pace set by the two sidestepping in synchronized fashion throughout much of the piece. A series of choreographic recapitulations of well defined movement phrases emphasizes a routine which grows tenser with each repetition.  Control and a consuming drive to maintain it denotes an irreparable imbalance of power between the two dancers, with Adi Wineberg seeking flight and freedom with swift, deft movements but resolved to return and hold her own against her male counterpart. Music by Japanese ambient electronic artists Chichei Hatakeyama and Kouhei Matsungama serves as a backdrop of continuity which emphasizes the restlessness of their power struggle.  The hypnotic melodies and insistent rhythms that permeate the piece act as an atmospheric anchor, pinning down one under the dominance of the other. This piece can next be seen on September 29-30 in Nicosia, Cypress and in March of next year at the Zurich Tanzhaus.

Meredith Nadler is a Berlin based writer, critic, artist and choreographer. For more about her work, see YouTube videos:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6I_4QBNd0I and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyFRyfpGbY8

“Testing Tools – Festival of Art in the Making,” an experimental arts festival in its ninth edition this year, offered audiences an intimate view of both visual and performing arts from a wide array of genres, styles and mediums. The festival, which featured over 20 theater and dance pieces and over 40 works of visual art, utilized every possible space – including playground, bathrooms and even elevator.  Although impressed by the sheer volume of activity, after understanding that the festival provided no remuneration to the over 100 participating artists, I was hesitant to set my expectations too high concerning the professionalism of the work programmed. However, I was very pleasantly surprised by the quality and innovation of many of the pieces I saw.

Untitled Mural by Yael Balaban and Hadas Reshef. Photo by Yuri Divinsky.

Gil Alon, artist director of the festival, explained, “We wanted to focus on the artists’ creative process. Works that were curated tend not to be finished pieces, but rather works in progress which have been substantially developed and are presented here in their later stages of creation.”  Curator Carmit Blumensohn selected works that often took the form of a veritable laboratory, evident in the site specific installation Metabolism by Nivi Alroy and Hila Amran. Or whose actual content clearly evoked genesis and transformation, such as with artist Uri Shapira, who used stop motion and time lapse techniques to create ever-changing landscapes akin to cellular regeneration. Then there was the real life action-painting that took shape over the course of the festival outside at the entrance of the Shenkin Garden by Yael Balaban and Hadas Reshef. Juxtaposing their divergent styles – the former subdued, meditative and precise, the other, a riot of color and cartoon-like proportions – the crowds could watch their mural unfold before their eyes as the two artists worked throughout the festival’s three days non-stop, pausing only for artistic contributions of kids armed with markers and by Tel Aviv’s Mayor himself.

Carrying Him Circling Her. Duet by Sharon Attinson and Ofer Bymel. Photo by Yuri Divinsky.

Carrying Him Circling Her. Duet by Avigail Sfez and Elad Bardes. Photo by Yuri Divinsky.

Dance pieces highlighting the mercurial relationship between dancer and musician, such as the pair of duets, Carrying Him Circling Her, by Sharon Attiinson and Ofer Bymel, and Avigail Sfez and Elad Bardes, laid bare for the audience the constant but ever shifting relationship between the two mediums, music and dance. Their live improvisations underscored the interplay of temperaments and competing desires between artists at play and work, with the latter duet putting in stark relief the co-dependence inherent in two artists who are often at odds with each other, struggling to voice each own’s creativity.

Silence by Orian Michaeli and Adi Shaul. Photo by Anat Merav.

Silence by Orian Michaeli and Adi Shaul, another duet between dancer and musician, relied on the interchanging social dynamics of formal and informal relationships. Adi Shaul’s experimental and quirky live musical mix and dancer Orian Michaeli’s sense of comic vulgarity and deadpan humor made for one of the funniest pieces of the festival. And yet another duo, the performance Clarity by Eden Wiseman and Ovi Dvir, relied heavily on one another to build a palpable tension between themselves and the unforgiving element of glass being crushed and shattered. Impermanence and vivid acts of destruction punctuated this short piece with violence and a raw sexuality.

Clarity by Eden Wiseman and Ovi Dvir. Photo by Liron Narunsky.

Finally the festival’s dance offer was tempered and brought full circle by the piece BE-3, inspired by Tai Chi and choreographed by Michal Huber-Rotschild with dancers/creators Mirit Bergman, Dana Hamburger, Tal Haran and vocals by Tal Haran. It explored the delicate underpinning between three generations of women. Slow movements and well crafted choreography highlighted the eternal constellation between the three women symbolizing daughter, mother and grandmother. Their tenderness and the sincerity of their unveiled compassion for and vulnerability to each other made for an unsettling reminder of how rare these qualities are revealed in the egoism and cynicism of today’s world and contemporary art in general.

BE-3 by Michal Huber-Rotschild. Photo by Danny Berman.

Moving on to the theater works presented at this festival, the motif of the subtly and finespun power present in the relationship between women, Tova Birnnbuam’s and Rachel Gets Salomons’ That Which Is Not One metamorphosed in the two women spinning both wool and tales in several languages. A distinct counterpoint of strength and restraint between the two women and the actual wool that spread out in all directions interconnecting them with the space, gave the piece a genuine feeling of antiquity and Jewish continuity. This coupled with the absurdity and playfulness of the piece’s storytelling, mixing modern day and biblical references, made for a delightful performance.

That Which Is Not One by Tova Birnbaum and Rachel Gets Salomon. Photo by Yuri Divinsky.

The play Contemporary Heart by director Avraham Simhi, who built by hand the circus-like stage set of impressive scale in the garden of Beit Tami, employed a large cast which herded and cajoled the audience, both physically and in chorus, into being avid spectators of a duel between good and evil.  A severe, social satire on modern day materialism replete with a moral heroine, the comedic interruptions of a singular colorful incantation of the Furies, Greek goddesses of retribution, and the final and complete dissolution of the play’s fourth wall. It held the audience captive in a fast and furious play staged and performed with great skill in the grand tradition of Brechtian Epic Theater.

Contemporary Heart by Dir. Avraham Simhi. Photo by Yuri Divinsky.

Meredith Nadler is a Berlin based writer, critic, artist and choreographer. For more about her work, see YouTube videos http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6I_4QBNd0I and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyFRyfpGbY8.

If you have wondered why I have written less on this website lately, it is in large part because I have been pouring much of my time into several other large-scale projects.  Last year, I wrote a book – and today, I am happy to announce that Contemporary Dance in Israel has been published by Asociación Cultural Danza Getxo!

While there are other books about the history of dance in Israel as well as journals and anthologies featuring articles about the country’s contemporary dance, this is the first book in English fully devoted to one of the world’s most vibrant contemporary dance scenes.  Composed of short sections about choreographers, companies, festivals, theaters, and other organizations, the book introduces newcomers to Israeli contemporary dance and enables readers familiar with the field to learn more about leading artists and institutions.

You can learn more about my book on a new website designed as a multimedia companion to Contemporary Dance in Israel.  There you can find short videos of works discussed in the book as well as links to the websites of choreographers, companies, festivals, theaters, and other organizations.  And of course, if you want to read the book itself (and I hope you will do so!), you can buy the English version of Contemporary Dance in Israel at the following links:

• Paperback printed version, through bubok.co.uk

• Paperback printed version, through libreriayorick.com (the website is in Spanish, but the book itself is in English. Note: this site is currently out of stock)

• PDF version (compatible with iPad, e-readers, and computers), through bubok.co.uk

• PDF version (compatible with iPad, e-readers, and computers), through bubok.es (the website is in Spanish, but the PDF is in English)

• Kindle version, through Amazon.com (the Kindle version is also available on other countries’ Amazon stores)

I am very excited about publishing my first book, and I would love to hear any thoughts you have about it either in comments on this blog post or through e-mail and Facebook messages. If you would like to like to help me by spreading the word to other dance fans on Facebook or through e-mail, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you are interested in hearing me lecture about my research, please use the form below to contact me.

Nearly four years ago, I saw Furo – a collaboration between choreographer Ohad Naharin and video artist Tabaimo – when it was performed at Tel Aviv’s port.  Now Furo is back at Batsheva Dance Company’s Studio Varda in the Suzanne Dellal Centre from March 15-26.

Furo fascinated me in 2008, spurring me to write two posts at the time: one after attending the press conference and one after watching the performance on the day of its Tel Aviv premiere.  Both of my reflections are below, and ticket information for the current run of Furo is at the end of the article. 

* * *

Batsheva Dance Company in Furo.  Photograph by Gadi Dagon.

The text below was originally published as “Moving Forward with Ohad Naharin’s ‘Furo'” on The Winger on May 14, 2008.

A question was asked in Hebrew, restated in English, and then translated into Japanese. This was part of the scene at yesterday’s press conference for Furo, a collaboration between Ohad Naharin and the Japanese video artist Tabaimo.

In the last two decades, Israeli choreographers – led by Naharin – have pushed the boundaries of their art form along with their foreign counterparts.  Furo continues this move forward.  Globalization, collaboration, installation, technology, and video art are some of the hot words right now, and every one of these terms can be used in a discussion about Furo.

The seed for the production began in New York City, where Naharin saw an exhibition of Tabaimo’s Japanese Bathhouse, and the collaboration between the Israeli choreographer and the Japanese video artist was initially shown in Stockholm.  Now the installation – with Tabaimo’s video projected onto three screens which shape a stage space dotted with yellow buckets and flanked by two dancers standing on boxes with rotating platforms – is in Tel Aviv.

Over the next few weeks, audiences will flock to the city’s port to see the work, which loops continuously for several hours nearly every day. Viewers can filter in and out as they like; meanwhile, pairs of Batsheva dancers trade off performing duty partway through each loop (one full cycle is 45 minutes). I got to preview the work at the press conference and can’t wait to go back to see it with a regular audience on Friday. I have a feeling I’ll stay for a few cycles . . .

* * *

Batsheva Dance Company in Furo.  Photograph by Gadi Dagon.

After viewing Furo at the Tel Aviv Port in 2008, I wrote some more musings about the work and how it alters performance conventions. This text was initially included in “Two Views of Batsheva: Ohad Naharin’s Furo and MAX,” which was published on The Winger on May 17, 2008.

Friday was the opening of Ohad Naharin’s Furo, and I made it back to the port for its first few loops (yes, I was hooked – I stayed for 2.5 cycles before tearing myself away).  Besides wanting to view the work itself again, I wanted to see how the installation functioned with a real audience.

As dance-goers, we’re accustomed to being ushered in together prior to the performance, which has a single fixed beginning. We watch, we clap during the curtain calls, and we get up together to exit at the end.  We share an experience within a defined period of time.

With Furo, though, people are issued tickets with a general two-hour time frame. They enter whenever they arrive in that time block, and then they leave whenever they like.  Consequently, there’s a nearly constant trickle of people in and out of the installation.

It takes quite a coordinated effort on the part of the staff to ensure that this movement does not disrupt the performance, and I observed with interest how several strategically placed ushers reminded audience members to turn off their phones and guided viewers to empty spots in the darkened space.  Some fellow viewers stayed for a few cycles, while others chose to leave after they saw all the material (I heard a few whispers of, “We’ve seen this before!”).  Although each pair of performers maintains a clear-cut start and finish, each audience member has a different beginning and end.   It’s still a shared experience – but it’s much more fluid.

Batsheva Dance Company in Furo.  Photograph by Gadi Dagon.

Performance Information for Furo in Studio Varda, March 15-26, 2012

Tickets (80 NIS or 70 NIS with student/senior/Tel Aviv resident discounts) are available at Batsheva Dance Company’s website and the company’s box office (03-5104037).  On each day of performances, there are three sessions, with each ticket issued for a 1.5 hour period during which you can arrive.

Related Articles on Dance In Israel

• “Getting to Know the Batsheva Ensemble”
• “MAX – Connecting to Ohad Naharin’s Choreography”
• “Mamootot – Challenging the Performer-Spectator Divide”
• “Ohad Naharin’s Deca Dance in Israel: A Cycle Completed”
• “Ohad Naharin to Receive 2009 Scripps/ADF Award”
• “Ohad Naharin in America: Out of Focus Documentary”
• “Batsheva Dance Company Premieres Ohad Naharin’s Hora“
• “The Batsheva Ensemble on Tour at Home and Abroad”
• “Batsheva Dance Company: From Graham to Gaga”
• “Phaza Morgana 2009: Batsheva Dance Company in the Desert”
• “Ohad Naharin Receives a 2009 Dance Magazine Award”
• “Batsheva Dance Company: Ohad Naharin’s Project 5“
• “Batsheva Dance Company: Ohad Naharin’s Shalosh“
• “Batsheva Ensemble in Ohad Naharin’s Kyr/Z/na“
• “Batsheva Ensemble in Ohad Naharin’s Kamuyot“
• “Batsheva Dance Company Premieres Sharon Eyal’s Bill“
• “Sharon Eyal’s Bill is Back at Batsheva Dance Company“
• “Reflections on a Batsheva Season”
• “Batsheva Dance Company: The Evolution of Ohad Naharin’s Sadeh21“
• “Batsheva Dance Company 2011-2012: The Year Ahead”
• “Batsheva Dance Company’s Mixed Bill: Yasmeen Godder and Sharon Eyal & Gai Bachar”

Related Links

• Batsheva Dance Company’s website

*This post was made possible thanks to a Fulbright student grant funded by the U.S.-Israel Educational Foundation and hosted by the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance.

George Staib on the banks of the Jordan River.

This is a guest post by George Staib.

It was late in the spring of 2011 when I found myself on the banks of the Jordan River, discussing dance with an Israeli friend of mine, with whom I had shared a stage in Atlanta, GA. The new environment, the reconnection, and the gentle vigor of the words flowed as effortlessly as the river itself. Marked with a bit of sadness, that moment encapsulated my Tel Aviv dance experience, which was coming to a close. It was my intention to be submerged in a dance community that shouted boldly and succinctly from across an ocean, which I did. I did this for five weeks, met open arms, and have been changed forever.

My fascination with Israeli modern dance crept up on me. It was a performance of Deca Dance by the New York based company, Cedar Lake, which drew my attention to Israel, namely to Ohad Naharin. Prior, my wife had seen Naharin’s Mamootot, and though I had no first-hand experience of the work, her words were vivid, and I sat transfixed listening to the account she had given of Batsheva’s performance in Brooklyn. With the wonders of YouTube, I found that the images that presented themselves on my screen were varied, distinct, chilling, and captivating. I fell into an abyss of curiosity, admiration, and overwhelming addiction to what I was seeing. Modern dance, to me, had been reinvented. Rather it returned to what I believe its original intention was: communication.

The people I encountered on a daily basis, either through Iris Erez’s classes, Gaga classes, or contact workshops seemed to be fundamentally driven by the need/desire/want to communicate.; to share an experience in all its open-ended glory, in all its universality. The artists’ experience became my experience, and within each class I found myself being asked to show what I was feeling, reveal what I was sensing, and to not be shy. If ever a phrase resonated with profound impact, it would be that one. Don’t be shy. It was my mantra in Tel Aviv and was affirmed with each new acquaintance and friend asking me to do the same. There was a liberation of the dancer I had tucked away, and a re-introduction to the self. All through movement; all through communication.

Countless articles have been written on the power of Gaga and while I found my sentiments echoed those of other enthusiasts, what was not as easy to discover was what Israelis thought of their own adaptations of modern dance. Many friends I made in Tel Aviv seemed genuinely shocked that I would choose Israel to focus my attention on dance. Many were awestruck that Israel was creating a frenzy in the United States, and all smiled politely with a sense of humility that is rare. I witnessed that there was no shyness on stage, no apologetic movement, no need to move away from movement. Movement was the vehicle, and while many dance-makers in the U.S. seem to use movement as a decoration for text, Israelis use movement to take the place of words that could never be as powerful as an honest gesture, a sincere dance.

Within the countless performances I took in while in Tel Aviv, from Batsheva, to Yasmeen Godder, to Yossi Berg and Oded Graf, to KCDC, to Iris Erez, and many, many others, I saw no need to qualify, no need to have all the answers and certainly no shyness. I marveled at the thoughtfulness of the work, the remarkable skill of the dancers (be they released, Gaga-ed, or other;) and the undeniable connection to the audience. The communications, the exchanges, were worth more than gold. I felt like part of the experience and at the same time, was a spectator. I loved not having all the answers and being invited to make my own answers to the mysterious questions being asked on stage. The open-ended communication and dancer-to-audience dialogue continued long after the curtain closed.

The landscape of dance in Israel is broad and rich and lives in a culture that must continuously endure threats and instability. Thankfully, beauty hasn’t suffered. The warmth of those offering their homes, the generosity of the teachers, the inclination towards communication, and the pretention-free, forward-thinking artists I encountered, never allowed complacency to enter their studios, their dances, their lives. I recognized that what some might perceive as forward momentum is actually a by-product of the way life is led in Israel. There is continuous celebration; there is reverence for the past. Tel Aviv moves forward by stating its presence, by boldly commanding an art form through the form. Dances in Israel really dance. They speak louder than words and rely upon movement to tell a story. Actors act, painters paint, and in Israel, choreographers choreograph, and dancers dance. They move with the impetus of sublime images, they create with an awareness of those who will watch, and they unknowingly made me feel like a citizen of a community that communicates.

George Staib’s Name Day. Photograph by Dustin Chambers.

George Staib, through the generosity of Emory University, spent five weeks in Tel Aviv studying Gaga and being an enthusiastic audience member at Suzanne Dellal. He is the artistic director of Staibdance and is a dance teacher at Emory University, in Atlanta, GA. He looks forward to a return visit to Tel Aviv in June, 2012.

You can see George’s blog, maintained while in Tel Aviv, at the following address: movingtowardshome.wordpress.com

Video: Batsheva Dance Company in Yasmeen Godder’s The Toxic Exotic Disappearance Act

On first thought, Batsheva Dance Company’s new mixed bill seems an unusual choice of programming.  House (titled “Ha’avoda shel hofesh” in Hebrew) by Sharon Eyal and Gai Bachar is a natural pick, since Eyal has served as the troupe’s house choreographer since 2005.  The first half of the evening, however, belongs to someone from decidedly outside of the Batsheva fold: Yasmeen Godder.  Godder is not a complete stranger to Batsheva, having created Green Fields on the Ensemble in 2000, but her The Toxic Exotic Disappearance Act is the first work by anyone other than Ohad Naharin or Eyal to be performed by Batsheva in several years. Beyond the novelty of a guest choreographer working with the company, the combination of these particular artists initially seems to be an odd coupling.  Were I to make a family tree of contemporary dance in Israel, Godder’s branch would be far away from that of Eyal and Bachar.  Indeed, aesthetically, these creators occupy nearly opposite ends on the art form’s spectrum.

Yet watching the performance at Suzanne Dellal on January 4, this pairing started to make sense.

For all their stylistic differences, Godder and the team of Eyal and Bachar do have one key trait in common: they are artists who are audacious and provocative, in the best senses of those words.  Rather than play it safe, these creators unabashedly delve into the realms of the twisted, the disturbing, and even the grotesque in their repertory.  Rarely have I heard anyone deliver a lukewarm review of either Godder’s or Eyal’s work; indeed, it’s practically impossible to not react strongly to their choreography.

Yasmeen Godder’s The Toxic Exotic Disappearance Act.  Photograph by Gadi Dagon.

Batsheva’s mixed bill of Godder’s The Toxic Exotic Disappearance Act and Eyal and Bachar’s House may not be an aesthetically cohesive evening. But it’s savvy programming, for each dance has the capacity to leave a significant impact on the audience – and together, these electrifying works outline the range of contemporary dance in Israel today.

Sharon Eyal and Gai Bachar’s House. Photo by Gadi Dagon.

Batsheva’s new program continues at Suzanne Dellal in Tel Aviv through January 7 and returns from January 18-20.  Additional performances are scheduled later in the season; for more details, please visit Batsheva’s website.

Related Articles on Dance In Israel

• Batsheva Dance Company 2011-2012: The Year Ahead
• “Batsheva Dance Company Premieres Sharon Eyal’s Bill“
• “Sharon Eyal’s Bill is Back at Batsheva Dance Company“
• Close Encounters Series: Yasmeen Godder
• Dancing Through the Intifada: Yasmeen Godder’s Strawberry Cream and Gunpowder
• Experiencing Yasmeen Godder’s Repertory Workshop

Related Links

• Batsheva Dance Company
• Yasmeen Godder

I have been eagerly awaiting the release of Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance ever since writer and editor Judith Brin Ingber first sent me a table of contents.  When I finally met her in person last year at the Modern Jewish Experience through the Lens of Dance conference at The Ohio State University, she whetted my appetite for the anthology even more with her slide show of images from the book.  And now, having carefully read through my copy of this sizable volume, published this past summer by Wayne State University Press, I can vouch that this book was well worth the wait.  For those of us who study the field – and for those who wish to know more about the subject – Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance is an invaluable resource.

Besides a few of Brin Ingber’s own writings, this anthology includes an extraordinarily diverse array of writers: Sara Levi-Tanai, Felix Fibich with Judith Brin Ingber, Janice Ross, Nina S. Spiegel, Josh Perelman, Ayalah Goren-Kadman, Dawn Lille, Shalom Staub, Giora Manor, Zvi Friedhaber, Barbara Sparti, Yehuda Hyman, Jill Gellerman, Dina Roginsky, Elke Kaschl, Naomi M. Jackson, and Gaby Aldor.  Some of these authors are themselves dancers and choreographers who offer their first-person insights, while others approach their topics from a scholarly point of view.  This breadth of voices is one of the book’s greatest strengths, engaging the reader anew with the start of each article.

Moreover, with writings by such a substantial number of authors who boast different areas of expertise, Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance provides perspectives on a remarkably wide range of subject matter.  Articles on Jewish dancing masters in Renaissance Italy, Israeli folk dance as practiced in Israel and New York City, Hasidic dance, Yemenite dance, Kurdish dance, Ethiopian dance, ballet, contemporary dance, and more all find their place in this book.  Spanning history and geography, and encompassing dance performed both onstage and off, the anthology portrays a broad yet nuanced vision of how Jews have danced and continue to dance.

In keeping with the title of the book, Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance features not only texts but also a wealth of images.  182 illustrations illuminate the authors’ points.  You can view some of the images and hear Brin Ingber’s explanations in the video produced by the Jewish Daily Forward below.

Images of Jewish & Israeli Dance from Jewish Daily Forward on Vimeo.

Since the publication of Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance, Brin Ingber has embarked on a series of book signings and lectures, and her travels have now brought her to Israel.  On Sunday, December 18, she will speak at the Dance Library of Israel at 8:00 p.m.  Entrance is free, but due to limited seating, reservations should be made by e-mailing danceba@mail.tel-aviv.gov.il

Related Links

• Judith Brin Ingber
• Seeing Israeli and Jewish Dance – Wayne State University Press

Renana Raz’s The Diplomats.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

As 2011 draws to a close, it’s natural to reflect on the year that has passed – and for those of us who follow Israeli contemporary dance, International Exposure offers the perfect opportunity for reflecting on the works created here in the last twelve months.  From November 30-December 4, International Exposure 2011 will present much of the past year’s bounty to an audience of presenters and journalists from around the globe.  Most of the festival focuses on Israeli contemporary dance, but a few other genres including flamenco and belly dance will also be represented.

While the festival will include a number of studio showings just for guests of International Exposure, a number of programs have tickets available for purchase through the Suzanne Dellal Centre’s box office (03-5105656).  Here’s a video preview of the festival, with an emphasis on the shows that are open to the public.

Wednesday, November 30

After finishing registration, guests of International Exposure will be treated to a performance by Orly Portal and the Andalusian Orchestra in Studio Varda. At 8:00 p.m. in the Suzanne Dellal Centre’s main theater, Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak will offer their brand new work, Bombyx Mori. The first night will finish in Yerushalmi Hall with Maria Kong Dancers Company in a program called Kong’s Night, featuring works by Leo Lerus, Anderson Braz, and Artour Astman.

Video: Maria Kong, trailer for Kong’s Night

Thursday, December 1

The second day of International Exposure starts with a performance of Yoram Karmi’s Jungle Book by Fresco Dance Group at the Holon Theater, followed by the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company’s performance of Rami Be’er’s Ben Kodesh Le’Hol at Suzanne Dellal at noon.

Video: Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company

Yoni Soutchy’s Ben, one of two winners in the biennial Shades of Dance competition, will be performed along with Anat Grigorio’s Eternal Mission in the more intimate Yerushalmi Hall at 2:00 p.m.

Video: Yoni Soutchy’s Ben

Some guests will head to Tamar Borer’s studio for a showing of her work, YAMUNA.

Video: Tamar Borer’s YAMUNA

Everyone will reconvene at 6:00 p.m. in the main theater at Suzanne Dellal for Roy Assaf’s 6 Years Later and Noa Zuk’s Speaker, two dances from this year’s Curtain Up.

Video: Roy Assaf’s 6 Years Later . . .

Video: Noa Zuk’s Speaker

A mixed bill in the main theater at 9:00 p.m. will include Dafi Altabeb’s High Expectations, Dana Ruttenberg’s Poly, and Rachel Erdos’s Why We Tell.

Video: Dafi Altabeb’s High Expectations

Sahar Azimi and Tamara Erde’s Cell in a Human Scale will be presented in Studio Varda at 10:30 p.m.

Video: Sahar Azimi and Tamara Erde’s Cell in a Human Scale

Friday, December 2

The third day of the festival begins at 10:00 a.m. at Suzanne Dellal with Vertigo Dance Company in Noa Wertheim‘s Null.

Video: Vertigo Dance Company in Noa Wertheim’s Null

Yasmeen Godder will present Storm End Come at the Nahmani Theater at 1:00 p.m.

Yasmeen Godder’s Storm End Come.  Photo by Gadi Dagon.

Back at Suzanne Dellal at 4:30 p.m., Ido Tadmor offers Three Rooms.  And after a Shabbat reception, Suzanne Dellal will show its latest production: a mixed bill featuring Renana Raz‘s The Diplomats and Barak Marshall‘s Wonderland.

Video: Renana Raz’s The Diplomats

Video: Barak Marshall’s Wonderland

Saturday, December 3

Saturday kicks off at 10:00 a.m. in Suzanne Dellal with COMPAS Dance Company, a flamenco troupe, in Pavo Real.

Video: COMPAS in Pavo Real

At noon in the Inbal Theater, Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor present Ship of Fools, which premiered in this past year’s Israel Festival.

Video: Niv Sheinfeld and Oren Laor’s Ship of Fools

Across the courtyard in Yerushalmi Hall, Ronit Ziv offers With Subtitles at 2:00 p.m.

Video: Ronit Ziv’s With Subtitles

At 3:30 p.m., the main theater will feature a mixed bill with Idan Cohen’s Mad Siren, Lee Meir’s Translation Included (one of the winners of the Shades of Dance competition), and the Be’ersheva-based Kamea Dance Company in Uri Ivgi’s Four Legs.

Video: Idan Cohen’s Mad Siren

Video: Lee Meir’s Translation Included

Over in the Inbal Theater at 18:00, Tami Dance Company will perform La by Nimrod Freed with Israel Brait.  This work premiered during the Israel Festival in Jerusalem.

Video: Nimrod Freed’s Tami Dance Company in La

Idan Sharabi’s Rak Tamid will be performed in Studio Varda at 8:00 p.m.

Video: Idan Sharabi’s Rak Tamid

Saturday’s programming will end with the Jerusalem-based Kolben Dance Company in Amir Kolben’s Babel in the main theater at 10:00 p.m.

Video: Amir Kolben’s Babel

Sunday, December 4

After a tour to Jerusalem, International Exposure 2011 will come to a close in Suzanne Dellal’s main theater with a 9:00 p.m. performance of Batsheva Dance Company in Ohad Naharin’s Sadeh21, which premiered in the Israel Festival.

Video: Batsheva Dance Company in Ohad Naharin’s Sadeh 21

Related Links

• International Exposure at the Suzanne Dellal Centre

Last week, Batsheva Dance Company unveiled its 2011-2012 season at a press conference in Studio Varda.  And what a season it will be!

On December 30, the troupe will premiere two new works, one by Sharon Eyal and Gai Bachar and the other by Yasmeen Godder.  At the end of March, the junior Batsheva Ensemble will debut another new work by Sharon Eyal and Gai Bachar along with a restaging of Ohad Naharin’s classic Tabula Rasa (1986), which has not been shown in Israel since 2004.  Tel Aviv audiences will also be treated to performances of Eyal’s Bill and Naharin’s Sadeh21, Hora, MAX, Shalosh, Kamuyot, Deca Dance, and Furo, created in collaboration with the Japanese video artist Tabaimo and last staged in Israel in 2008.  Both the main company and the ensemble will travel around Israel, appearing in other cities and throughout the periphery; the troupes will also journey abroad, with several performances in Europe in November and December and a North American tour in February and March.  By the time the season ends, the two companies will have given a combined total of well over two hundred performances.

The press conference kicked off with a peek at an installation that the main company will perform at the Fondation Beyeler, a museum in Basel, on November 23 and 24.  In the museum, the audience will sit around the space and can come and go as they please; in the press conference, we too sat around the perimeter of the space and remained riveted during the brief showing.  As company member Guy Shomroni DJ’ed, the rest of the dancers filtered in and out of the center, quoting snippets from across Naharin’s repertory.  Here and there duets formed spontaneously and unison took shape organically.  Phrases from different works created unusual juxtapositions, while occasionally more and more dancers gathered to build a section from a single work.

Although I was invited to this press conference as a dance writer, I attended it along with the other 29 dancers who are studying Ohad Naharin’s movement language in the inaugural year of the Gaga Teacher Training Program – and in the midst of my total immersion in Gaga, my viewing was undoubtedly colored by my recent experiences in the studio.  I couldn’t help but notice the Batsheva dancers slip in and out of phrases we have been learning in our repertory classes, like the quiet unison from Kamuyot (based on Mamootot) and a short, speedy solo from Sadeh21.

While a thrill surged through my body as I recognized these movements, I was even more fascinated by the dancers’ mastery of Naharin’s movement language.  Trained for years in Gaga, these dancers move fluently in Naharin’s idiom, and their knowledge of his recent repertory is encyclopedic.  Like writers cleverly engaging in wordplay, these dancers rummaged freely through Naharin’s vocabulary and deployed witty plays on movement.

I continued to mull over the Batsheva dancers’ relationship to Gaga as the press conference continued on to previews of the new work by Sharon Eyal and Gai Bachar as well as that of Yasmeen Godder.  Sharon Eyal, herself steeped in Gaga as a former member of Batsheva and as the company’s current house choreographer, has developed a unique voice that nevertheless is a cousin to Naharin’s language.  Having worked with Eyal on previous productions, the dancers moved in her creation as if speaking one of their native tongues.  And even though Yasmeen Godder’s language is further removed on the family tree of contemporary dance, the five Batsheva dancers in her new work adapted admirably to her vocabulary.  This mixed bill is one to look forward to, for it showcases the range of this company’s extraordinary dancers in works by some of this country’s most exciting choreographers.

Founded in 1989, Curtain Up (Haramat Masach in Hebrew) has become a centerpiece of Israel’s contemporary dance calendar.  In many ways, the core of this yearly platform has remained the same over the decades: up-and-coming choreographers who operate outside of the country’s major companies receive financial and artistic support to present new works on a series of mixed bills in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

Yet in its most recent editions, Curtain Up has added another layer: cultivating artistic directors who are themselves choreographers.  Last year, four alumni of the festival – Tamar Borer, Sahar Azimi, Ronit Ziv, and Renana Raz – were each charged with curating an evening.  This year, Borer, Azimi, and Ziv are returning as artistic directors, applying the lessons they learned in 2010 to Curtain Up 2011, which runs from November 3-12.

Curtain Up’s three programs will each be performed twice at the Suzanne Dellal Centre and once at the Jerusalem Theatre.  In cooperation with the Choreographers Association and Tarbut L’Yisrael, the works created for Curtain Up will also be performed in Israel’s northern and southern regions, enabling these younger choreographers to gain further exposure.

So just what is on the bill for Curtain Up this year?  Here is a video preview of the three programs:

Curtain 1

Artistic Director: Tamar Borer
Choreographers: Iris Erez, Maya Brinner, Maya Weinberg
Performances at the Suzanne Dellal Centre: November 3 and 12 at 21:00
Performances at the Jerusalem Theatre: November 10 at 20:30

Video: Shuttered by Iris Erez

Video: Forest by Maya Brinner

Video: Some Fish (swim up the river to die) by Maya Weinberg

Curtain 2

Artistic Director: Sahar Azimi
Choreographers: Doron Raz, Roy Assaf, Gili Navot, Noa Zuk
Performances at the Suzanne Dellal Centre: November 4 at 22:00 and November 10 at 21:00
Performances at the Jerusalem Theatre: November 8 at 20:30

Video: Valentia by Doron Raz

Video: 6 Years Later by Roy Assaf

Video: Subject to Change by Gili Navot

Video: Speaker by Noa Zuk

Curtain 3

Artistic Director: Ronit Ziv
Choreographers: Hillel Kogan, Rachel Erdos, Osnat Kelner
Performances at the Suzanne Dellal Centre: November 5 at 21:00 and November 11 at 22:00
Performances at the Jerusalem Theatre: November 9 at 20:30

Video: Obscene Gesture by Hillel Kogan

Video: In Her Own Words by Rachel Erdos

Video: The sad little, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man by Osnat Kelner

More Information

Tickets for Curtain Up performances are 60 NIS.  For tickets to Curtain Up at Suzanne Dellal, call 03-5105656.  For tickets to Curtain Up at the Jerusalem Theatre, call 02-5605755.

Related Articles on Dance In Israel

• Curtain Up 2010: Video Preview
• Curtain Up 2009: Celebrating 20 Years of Israeli Premieres
• Israel’s Curtain Up Festival: “Another Op’ning, Another Show” for Contemporary Dance (Curtain Up 2008)

Related Links

• Suzanne Dellal Centre
• Jerusalem Theatre
• Curtain Up on Facebook

Lilach Livne’s Monday Larissa.  Photo by Lilach Livne.

 After months of work, sixteen up-and-coming choreographers are ready to unveil their creations in the 2011 Shades of Dance competition at the Suzanne Dellal Centre in Tel Aviv.  Whether you’re wondering which programs to attend or live afar and wish you could see the latest work coming out of Israel, here’s a video preview that will give you a glimpse of this year’s lineup.

Tickets for Shades of Dance performances are available at 03-5105656 or online at the Suzanne Dellal Centre’s website.

Program Alef

September 7 at 20:00
September 9 at 20:00

Video: Gil C. Harush’s TAKANA

Video: Smadar Goshen’s Urbania

Video: Sharon Vaisvaser’s 42 Inch

Program Bet

September 8 at 20:00
September 10 at 22:30

Video: Idan Yoav’s Almost Human

Video: Lee Meir’s Translation in the Body of the Text

Video: Yuval Goldstein’s Expensive Shit

Program Bet also includes Ran Ben Dror’s Agasi Pallas.

Program Gimel

September 7 at 17:30
September 8 at 22:30
September 9 at 12:00

Video: Meytal Blanaru’s Aurora

Video: Moran Yitzhaki Abergel’s Over Me

Video: Lilach Livne’s Monday Larissa

Program Daled

September 7 at 22:30
September 8 at 17:30
September 9 at 14:30

Video: Yoni Soutchy’s Ben

Video: Merav Cohen’s And When the Beast Returned

Video: Amit Zamir’s Buba (Doll)

Program Hey

September 9 at 22:30
September 10 at 17:30 and 20:00

Video: Liron Ozeri’s Caravan

Video: Ido Batash’s Bread and Circuses Blood

Video: Artour Astman’s Foosho

Related Articles on Dance In Israel

• Shades of Dance 2011: 16 New Choreographers at Suzanne Dellal

Related Links

• Suzanne Dellal Centre

Video: Jan Fabre’s Preparatio Mortis

A sixteen-question response to Jan Fabre’s Preparatio Mortis

Guest article by Ori Josephine Lenkinski

How much did those flowers cost?
Where does one buy that amount of flowers?
Who laid them out like that?
How long did it take to arrange them?
Was the organ music in the beginning recorded or live?
How many minutes did we sit in the dark listening to it?
What was the significance of the date on the tomb?
Does the dancer enjoy performing this solo?
Does she have a wound on her knee or is it a stray petal?
How many butterflies were inside the vivarium on stage?
How many butterflies were purchased before the show versus the number that made it to the stage?
How many butterfly deaths have there been since the premier of this piece?
Where does one buy butterflies?
Is it legal?
Did more of the butterflies take flight during rehearsals or other performances?
What went wrong during this performance?

For those who have not seen this performance, it is a one-hour solo, danced by Annabelle Chambon. The piece begins with several minutes of darkness, enhanced in creepiness by epic organ music. When the lights come up, thousands of perfectly laid out flowers are revealed, surrounding a cube-like structure in the center of the stage. This, too, is covered in gorgeously arranged flowers. Slowly, something begins to move inside the structure. It is Chambon, dressed in a lacy, black undergarments. As the piece unfolds, Chambon writhes around the stage, destroying the glorious floral designs. Towards the end of the work, Chambon unveils the structure, which is a tomb, marked with a date. She enters the tomb, nude, contorting her body as some twenty butterflies swarm around her.

Related Articles on Dance In Israel

• Outside of Israel: A View of Impulstanz (Ori’s first guest article)
• Harnessing the Dark Energy (Ori’s second guest article)
• A Conversation with the Bulgarian Choreographer Ivo Dimchev (Ori’s third guest article)