A Postcard from Tel Aviv
I have been a passionate Batsheva fan for many years. I remember seeing Batsheva perform Anafaza at Lincoln Center in the early 2000s, and that was not my first exposure to the Company. Over the years, I have seen many of Batsheva’s performances, including recent pieces like MOMO, Last Work, 2019, Venezuela, The Hole, and older productions like Telophaza, Max, Hora, and Mamootot.
One thing I find memorable about Batsheva’s performances is that I can lose myself in them. There is so much to see and admire in each piece that I am drawn in - riveted - as I enter a private world. I am overwhelmed by the spectacle.
In January I traveled to Israel for business meetings, and I can describe the reality for most Israelis in one word: horrible. My routine encounters were hardly business as usual. I felt compelled to embrace my associates, hug them, hold their hand, anything to counter the ongoing trauma and deepen our connection. The experience was draining.
What struck me as really horrible, aside from the specific horrors of October 7 and what unfolded in the aftermath, was the subtle psychological trauma that one senses everywhere. Depression is rampant, life is on hold, and people feel guilty about the slightest celebration. Everyone has lost someone to the war. People feel as if there is no hope; gloom is in the air and it is paralyzing. And the gruesome attacks, which targeted quiet, rural communities, have undermined everyone’s sense of safety. In fact, I have heard of longtime Olim considering leaving Israel. Talk about demoralizing.
So naturally, I was glad to have the chance to escape this reality and catch a Batsheva performance in Tel Aviv. Though I had seen Last Work before, I noticed something different this time. When the curtain opens, we see a dancer running on a treadmill. She continues to run throughout the entire performance – just over an hour. I noticed this time, however, at the end of the performance, she gets off the treadmill and takes her bow with the other dancers. She had just spent the last hour exerting tremendous energy, running in place, getting nowhere, but in the end, she got off the treadmill and moved on. This metaphor reminds us that there is reason to hope we can get off the treadmill and break this cycle of endless violence.
Praying for peace …
Mary Sanders, AFB Board Member
