I am sat on the edge of my seat. So are the performers: 15 people in suits sit on the edge of wooden chairs. As the music starts, eventually so do they. The movements become patterned, and I notice that for every line in the chanted soundtrack there is a phrase that belongs to it, which the ensemble repeats, time and time again, accumulating movement as they go.
My attention is grabbed by the performer in the corner, who forcefully collapses on the floor and lies there as the ensemble chant the chorus at us. After the third fall, I surrender to the nature of this role and feel strangely empathetic for the performer who has been made the odd one out.
Time passes: instruments play jarring notes, the tempo increases, clothes and shoes start flying. After 7 minutes, what remains is a sea of bodies standing still in grey undergarments. All but one; the dancer in the corner sits with his suit on.
With a piece restaged countlessly since its inception, Naharin makes a powerful statement on unity and synchronicity through his dancers. Set to a Jewish Passover song, the choreographer presents us an ode to his Jewishness, combining physical intensity with precision and attention to detail to produce explosive technical prowess on stage, unrestrained by an ensemble “junior” only in age.
As for the takeaway, Naharin does not impose a political or cultural interpretation of this work onto his audience, he offers us no context beyond what we are shown on stage. However, as I look at the image I am left with when the silence hits - carelessly rustled clothes and piles of shoes - I ponder the ways in which this scene looks so familiar and recall where I have witnessed such a striking image before.
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