London, touch and televizya metzuyenet

ONE

I tried and tried to write a little something about touch - the sense that comes next but always first where I am concerned. I am no biologist but touch maybe is what we are first aware of, no? It is not only where we come from but also when you start growing you are embedded in something so it is physical proximity which leads to everything else coming together?

It is very difficult at times to detach touch from sound. We have this expression "touching", don't we...and all this "touching the heart" etc...it makes me uncomfortable, it doesn't sit right. Touch originates from a wordless situation. The Nalagaat Theatre, its process and development rely on touch and how it can make visual and aural language possible (via the interpreters I mentioned before).

The British are known for their formality where touch is concerned. This rubs off heavily on their children and then on their children et al. The etiquette is hard because, now there are lots of connections with the outside world (much as the UK loves its autonomy and sovereignity and not having the Euro etc) and all sorts of euro-chic and sixties remnants and eighties remnants and drugs and severely mind-altering use of them, it's all a bit messed up and noone knows quite what to do. And does an overt sensitivity and appreciation of touch...using the mouth to feel, skin-on-skin, love of texture...necessarily go hand-in-hand with being tactile?


I really don't think it does. This evening I went to a beautiful evening of music and performance poetry hosted by the very, very touching Yarona Caspi. She sets poems by contemporary Israeli writers to music as well as performing more established pieces and accompanies herself on keyboard and guitar in a way I have never seen before. The evening was in the Galeria Shoreshim (Roots Gallery)...a small space with, at the moment, angel-focused pictures and a huge lion sculpture outside. Between her songs, Yarona invited different performance poets to come and read their work to the audience. My teacher L was one of them and, during one of her pieces, she needed to cry and leave the stage.


Now how and why this focused to the touch-sense I can hardly explain, but it did. The music, the emotion and the atmosphere all pointed towards a small, smoky little cabaret bar with red wine and beers but the gallery was clean, bright and cheerful. We sat in attractive, comfortable chairs, didn't need to make eye-contact with or touch one-another at all, and there was no drink of any kind to be had. When L left the stage in tears, other artists who were performing at different times went to comfort her and Yarona continued her repertoire without batting an eye. In Israel, touch is acceptable in a way it is not in the UK and I do not mean people are physically more open or tactile. It is more that if someone is uncomfortable with being hugged and kissed you know without having to test the water. Likewise, if someone not only likes and appreciates but needs physical affection they will just go for it and the recipient, whether or not they are like that themselves, responds and acknowledges and any awkwardness is dispelled.

It was this sense of unity...a very different type of harmony...that revealed itself to me in an evening of bizarre yet completely functional clashes. I suppose the principal one was that all the songs and poems were in Ivrit and whilst my understanding has improved I could by no means decode the meanings and metaphors. But this only occurs to me now as I write.

TWO
It's less than 2 weeks now before I go back to London. The thought fills me with a type of intense dread I could never have attached to coming here. I am not going to describe it or dwell on it but it leads me on to how walking the streets of Tel Aviv (I never take the bus or sherute now if I can avoid it...I would rather save the shekels and eat granola out in the mornings) puts skin-on-skin, sex and feeling and talk all the time in my head. The sun is on my arms and legs and I walk, always to somewhere with some (probably false...hopefully false) sense of purpose and I fall deeper and deeper in love every step I take.

Last night Liron taught me the words to London - an Israeli song written by Hanoch Levin (I never knew he wrote songs) and performed by Chava Alberstein. Listen to it here...it's grand. The nub and crux is that even if she dies lonely as a bitch in London at least it will be in front of some good telly. She also can't wait for the indifference of people in London. Or perhaps its their friendliness...I've had 2 different stories now it is most confusing. But the loneliness transcends both Israel and London in the song.

So does human touch alleviate loneliness in the shorter term? Does sex? Is that its main purpose in the average closed-off, free-for-all-living person's closed-off, free-for-living little world? It seems that yes, it really does. The fine line between feeling united with someone and just not being lonely is made up of sex and touching. And fine lines are not about satisfaction or fulfilment...they are fragile, not solid and stable. But what is? We are conditioned to think, for example, of good marriages as being these things but I would say that we must think carefully of what they actually are. When a fundamentally happy husband and wife have sexual contact, to what extent does it meet that fine line? Are they are quite assured that they are not alone, and to regularly have sex provides that stability?

There are so many different types of marriage, of relationship, in which touch is expected to create...maybe babies or maybe intimacy or both. But when I walk with a truly awakened sense of touch it is above and beyond any sexual experience I have because it both enforces and reconciles the inherent sense of loneliness I cherish. Heat hugs very tightly and I suppose it is not always comfortable but its intrusion is welcome. Cold is just inconvenient and repellent where my body is concerned. When I went to the Pashut Festival in the Ashram there was a workshop on touch. Some of my friends who also did it were really moved and felt connected to the other participants, their isolation diminished via the openness and acknowledgment of how important physical contact is. But my lasting memory will be of the men who just ejaculated after hugging me in the conclusion. Because of course.

Touch will always be my favourite sense, I think. though there's never any telling. It's so raw, so dangerous...you can never detach from it if you have it. It's connection to everything else...all the other senses...is unique.

And when someone is touching me and I feel nothing it makes me feel sadder and sicker than bad food, sad sights, sour smells and unwelcome sounds ever could.

Sense 1: Momentous manipulation...should it be momentary?

As I leave my full-time work at the Karov and instead focus on the different ways to get it abroad as a part of my, Nico, Dorit's and the other Karovians' Israel, there are other things to relate. They link to much of my learning here and to record them with a sense of consideration because others might read will also be helpful to me as I use this archive throughout my life and work.

My first week-long blog project is about the senses...sight, sound, touch, taste and smell.

Like always, it is amazing for me to hear anything that my writing or its components may spark in you so do consider sharing if you ever want.

On Thursday evening we went to see Not By Bread Alone at the Nalagat ('please do touch') Centre - a theatre and restaurant geared towards the work and productivity of deaf and/or blind actors. This show is famous now and will be at the Arts Depot in London, hopefully featuring also at the LIFT Festival. During the show 12 actors - some of them completely without sight or hearing, others with varying but generally low degrees of one or the other, make bread and relate their lives, dreams and observations (sorry) with immense creativity, aided by a special touch language 6 interpreters impart to them over the hour.

Afterwards C and I ate at the wonderful little Cafe Yafo up the road, forgoing the 30shekel live jazz an hour later to continue our talk as we walked back to Tel Aviv along the tayelet.

One thing I have been constantly intrigued and at times frustrated by over the past 5 months is the obsession with taking photos. Photos photos photo opportunity come on photo posing photo oh my god oh my god oh my god All The Fing Time. A told me her friend actually forgo swimming with dolphins in Eilat because nobody would be there with her to take pictures. wtf. And within this crazy scene I am increasingly aware of my own attitude to being in pictures. In the final leadership seminar one leader was taking individual pictures of us as we explained a project and I found myself, completely unintentionally, asking her not to photograph me. Put me on my trampoline, a swing, a stage of any kind and take whatever. But it's not that I just like not knowing when exactly someone's clicking. Sometimes it's fine...when there is no pressure, I suppose, to pose. I can't pose really. I just can't. Unless.....

Unless the moment is manipulating me...there's a stimulus. Being photographed is often aligned with the subject manipulating the moment, turning nothing into an inanimate animation - making a piece of film or a screened image amazing. At the top is a photo by D and at the bottom one created by A (although she is in it) and in both I found the situations (one I was aware the picture was being taken, the other one no) so sexy sexy sexy being photographed was great.

Stepping out of self-focus zzzz for a second, I love the pictures some of my photographer friends take...I mean those which are considered so highly, so thoughtfully, with the immense vision and angle in every sense of the word that a true photographer possesses. There are 2 people who really come to mind and to have an example of what I mean read the introduction on JP's wedding photography website. The other, R from my program, reflects the light of her presence, depth of emotional perception and extraordinary engagement with the bigness and smallness of the world in every moment she captures.

We will call her Erika, my favourite photographer personally known to me. She knows my "issues" with being photographed though we never had really the need to speak about them...I just knew she knew from her gentleness with me on one such occasion. She turns down some paid photographic work that doesn't incorporate the kind of thing or vibe she wants to picture...not out of snobbery or even real an idealism...it just doesn't come naturally. The way she talks about her art projects and those of her brother has taught me so much in its unknown humility and honesty. I won't write too much for discretion but Erika, if you are reading this, know how you touched me.

In a nutshell, when I have a conversation with people about this subject I dwell on my fear of camera-brandishers missing out on the moment itself because they are so keen to capture it on film. I really think a lot of the time they do. And it's an age-old cliche I know, the best photographs being imprinted on your memory. But even if you don't remember, does it matter? On the way back from Nalagat, C and I sat for a good while on the rocks overlooking the sea and talked at length. We came back to the moment itself and how we would cherish and remember it. The power of the sea, the sun, of how whether we call it G-d or science or struggle to define a greater creator or force it's to some extent immaterial. We spoke of personal impact, the definition of ambition and success. I said to C how she has effect already through her writing, through her conversations. Any subsequent development of her work, professional or otherwise, will carry on the success but on many levels she has already succeeded. As far as I am concerned anyway. :-) Moments and minutes count every day, whether we are waking, sleeping or dreaming. And isn't photography a wonderful thing to explore and extend those experiences for those with the gift of sight?

Karov and the ARDC - our upcoming website page...

In August 2009 the Karov joined forces with the African Refugee and Development Centre to combine community, learning and theatrical fun.

We welcomed 40 children for a day of exploring our little theatre from the lighting board to the scene dock, from production process to mixed media. Dorit Nitai Neman led a special talk and workshop of the set of Hotel Europe assisted by the Karov team. In-house technician Ronen Bachar showed just how different lights and sounds transform a story into a full-on play experience.

Keeping children stimulated during the long summer holidays is a real challenge whatever your material status. When funds are low or non-existent, however, kids miss out even more with the advent of Playstations, computers and videogames being the modern solution.

The Karov believes in the power of theatre beyond the experience of just seeing a play. To give children the tools to create their own worlds, use their imagiations and, most significantly, see their neighborhood in a new light enriches our philosophy to the full.

Marketing manager Liron Ben Ezra remarked, It was an amazing day - we learnt as much from the kids as they did from us. Acting Artistic Director Dorit said, To see the children touching the projected film on the wall was really just incredible - many of them had never even seen a movie before and I had tears in my eyes.

Nearly a year on, we want to re-create this special day on a bi-monthly basis, extending our audience demographic beyond the expected age and social background of the average 2010 theatregoer in Tel Aviv. Our new International Relations department is looking for sponsors and fundraising opportunities to make this special project happen.

If you can help in any way, have any ideas, or would like to know more, please comment or email Alexa at skarov3@gmail.com.

Let's take Community Karov and Israeli Fringe to the next level.

She 2010...First coverage and mucho excitimondo

Well, we have been invited to the Lik Festival by Grigory Kofman (the nice Russian director from the bench in Kiryat Motzkin). Liron and Linor spoke to Nico to propose the task of adapting and directing Chekhov's Spirit Of The Forest for 7 actors, 1 and a half hours and, er, a forest. Nico is in Romania and says that they are all too nice to him there and it is unnatural. In celebration we opened a pleasant bottle of wine and created a bar-type arrangement in the corridor.

Last week Linor took some lovely pictures of Dorit and me for the She Festival (see Woman In the Wall for more on my piece). Some very exciting contortions occurred, many of them involving a ladder.

Our first mention of the year on ynet can be found here. In a brief translation/summary, The Karov Theatre will present a variety of female performers through various media including participants from Berlin and London. Watch this space as The Woman In The Wall grows within various Karov corners. Briut xx

היש משם - The Man From There. Holocaust Memorial Day at the Karov

National Holocaust Day in Israel is like nothing on earth. I went to three commemorative events, the first being a beautiful evening ceremony at the Cameri. Opening with a children's choir, followed by candle-lighting by survivors and solo vocal and guitar performances, the ceremony was incredibly moving. I liked that it was all in Ivrit although I only literally understood 20-30%...but the meaning of everything was clear. Even clearer though was the indescribable union of every person present. I went with J, L and others from the South American contingent. I loved this because after a particularly special piece of music or story J would lean to me and say, "Beautiful, so beautiful." and it was all my favourite moments too.

A lot of people here of my generation and situation are in Israel for the memory, purpose and carrying the word of their great-uncles, aunts and others who died in the Holocaust. My father's family, although Ashkenazim, were okay because they left Eastern Europe (to our knowledge) in the late, er, 20s maybe. My mother's uncles, however, both suffered acutely in the Second World War although they were Sephardic and grew up in Iraq, Persia then Palestine - moving around with my great-grandfather's work as he travelled as principal of the Alliance Francaise. In the late 30s my grandmother went to study at the Surbonne in Paris but then had to leave to go to England because of the war. She had two younger brothers. The middle one, Sammy, was captured and had half his face destroyed in the Second World War. I don't know how long he was imprisoned for. After the war, however, he went on to marry and have children but his wife died when they were 12, 9 and 4 and Sammy sought even further refuge in the shop he owned. He died in 1996. I don't ever remember meeting him but there is one photo of him holding me as a baby. His middle daughter Timna (my mother's first cousin) is my mother in Israel and one of my best friends. My youngest great-uncle Marco took his own life shortly after being sent to fight in France at the beginning of the Second World War. He was 21. My grandmother was the last family member to see him alive. It is him I remember (or rather don't) with particular...I don't know what, but something.

On the morning of 12 April itself a siren sounded at 10am to mark the start of a minute's silence. The whole Oranim program was at a special memorial at Ironi Yud Bet - the school where we have Ulpan. To be honest, it was something of a shambles because the construction work going on outside was so loud we could hear neither the siren nor the speeches or songs by teachers and pupils which followed.

The Man From There (היש משם) was written by Holocaust survivor Tuvia Ornan and directed by Dorit. In it we see the quintessential young Israeli couple at the start of their married life. They are brash and materialistic, she is pregnant, and there is a questionable third party involved - a young man returning at intervals from business abroad, laden with various bits of eurotrash. Amongst all this we have Grandma whose survival of the Shoah is best forgotten or at least ignored...who knows what cans of worms it might open up.

And finally, as we suspend disbelief and peel the layers of our own doubt, we have Moishe: a young man who has lived through Auschwitz to the present day, witnessing the creation of Israel and maintaining his youth and memory. Whilst maintaining an age-old friendship with the grandmother, Moishe proposes an unusual business plan to his contemporary counterparts: a present-day Auschwitz to educate the Israelis of the 21st Century complete with original layout, function and Nazi commanders. Sensing a monetary opportunity, the present-day men comply and relationships, friendships and moral judgement are thrown into chaos.

The kind of modern play which merges time-travel, family drama and social commentary doesn't generally wash with me. However, in the context of Yom Ha Shoah, The Man From There trod the fine balance of past and present, fantasy and reality, and the inevitable questions for modern Jews, particularly in Israel:

In giving birth to our children and then our grandchildren and their children, how do we lighten this burden from prejudice and scapegoating that is so recent? We must never, never forget and this must never happen again. And in the State of Israel - a developed homeland with a democracy where Western living is permitted and modernisation a key component, how can we look back to look forward without the gross intervention of materialism?

Afterwards the writer answered questions which was very moving, particularly those of the young Israelis soldiers in the audience (18-24ish) who started the evening looking bored as whatever and ended it completely engaged and full of thoughts and questions. I can't remember what they were now (they had to be translated for me) but there is something very warm about Israeli audiences on nights such as this. There are tears without sentimentality and people say things they mean.

If you are reading this and are in Israel, please, please come to the Karov. It's a very special place.

With love,

Alexa.

Shapira - 2nd installment: Alexa and friends

PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE.

Hello. Welcome to Clinca Karov...4 shows for 100nis and an exclusive appointment with "Doktor Cultura" aka Rafael Adi and a scant ushering service courtesy of Achot Alexa.

In the tiny Shapira neighbourhood, men, women and children flocked to songs, sounds and tambourines to learn about Nico Nitai's Karov Theatre.



Although we were stationed a 3-minute walk from the Tachana Merkazit (Central Bus Station), few new friends knew about us although most were familiar with Nico's name and work.
Rafi and I thus created our own bus stop with the aid of an amiable tree, bringing the Karov's location into our larksome playtimes.

For the most part I donned a tambourine.






Alexa and friends:
Left we have the beautiful Linor (chief photographer), pictured in schoolgirl get-up complete with cigarettes and fetching hair ribbon.

Doctor Rafi indulges in a little risque peeping Tomness and Alexa wears an authentic shawl from backstage.

Below we have Liron - a symphony in turquoise and veritable songbird of the Karov quintet. She can ring my bells any day.

Also pictured below is Rudi...lead singer and guitarist of Rutsi Buba and very talented at other things besides. He used to be in-house tech manager at the Karov in the days before girlfriend Linor became resident production manager. You can see me clapping along to the beat in the background. You don't have to look that carefully.

Shapira Shapira Shapira

The Shapira Festival, 06/04...ESI YOFI.

Yesterday we set out from the Karov to the Shapira neighbourhood, 3 minutes' walk South of the Tachana Merkazit but longer with:
- the Karovmobile (not a car, a wooden box-office type contraption on wheels)
- Rafi "Doktor Cultura" Adi
- Linor "naughty schoolgirl (complete with satchel, handbell and hair-ribbon)" Kruzuk
- Me with corset, rabbit ears etc, and
- Liron

Shapira is the new old Nevesedek where there are lots of kids everywhere and small front rooms and grocers turned into public galleries and hang-out spots for the "festival". For the first couple of hours we were the only attraction, singing, dancing and re-enacting the spontaneous "Clinica Cultura" with Rafi the Rofe (doctor). Passers-by - children and adults and pets etc - were all really interested in the Karov and open to the on and off-street Karovian antics on offer. More so than in England. It was a Royal Mile just for us.

Yesterday I didn't have much koach having been up so early to take my dad to the airport et al so my bestest part of the day was playing with the children. There were three huge metal punch bags on chains hanging from a tree and you could bash them into each-other to make a noise. The neighbourhood provides wooden sticks with which to hit the metal punchbags and lo pasabamos bomba!

We stayed to promote the Karov in Shapira for four hours and had beer and cigarettes. Here were the three most beautiful things about it, I thought:

1. Rafi gave out sweets, all the the children as well as the interested adults, and everyone took them.
2. If you smoke and drink whilst promoting at a festival in Shapira it is not seen as derogatory or lazy or immature in relation to your cause. Rather it reflects an affinity which is even more attractive to locals.
3. Today I had an amazing conversation with Linor (naughty schoolgirl) who is the longest serving Karov persona except Nico and she lives in Shapira and said that to see it in festival mode and linked with her work enforced her love of living there.

For those of you living in Israel, we have a membership deal of 4 plays for 100NIS (about 15pounds). You can find more info here or post a comment and I'll get back to you.

Last night I cooked dinner and talked lots with F about the difference between North and South Tel Aviv - how South TA for me is the Israel of the future with its cultural diversity and laid-back welcome so inherent on days like yesterday.

There were a lot of art-recycling projects. Linor's favourite was the one with burnt chairs, reinstalled to become free-moving mechanisms which drew on a white wall with their charcoal remnants. I really liked the dismantled massive cardboard boxes and white paint next to where we were. So many children were going crazy and the way their freedom and inhibition came out in the patterns and sculpture-type things they made was just amazing.

Shapira looks a lot like an Israeli Kennington but without the yuppy wank. If I stay here beyond June I will def live there.