FOLK DANCE

First things first, skip about forty seconds into the first track and be transported outside music shops in the Old City. I know music can trigger memories, but when I heard this I was flooded with all the scents and stresses of the city. My shoulders unconsiously tensed and I became alert, but I smiled! I felt among friends again, and I was picturing myself rounding a corner to Damascus Gate with some sage bread in my hand--geez, I'd forgotten about that stuff. Man is it tasty.

For those of you who don't know, I'm a member of my University's folk dance club. I'm on a dance team, and I take loads of classes, from Chinese to Hungarian. My favorite style has long been Israeli, if you can believe that. Since long before I ever thought I'd travel there, actually. I love it. Why? I think its because it is the closest representation of they way I like to dance--and the reasons why I dance. With Israeli dance I feel joy, energy, grace and power, and worship. And unlike Ukrainian, Scottish, or American clogging, Israeli feels natural and human. I searched everywhere for a traditional Iraeli-folk dress, but couldn't find one. Ah well. So I thought I'd post about the dancing that I saw while I was there.

First, a note to the music. I found "The Sabras," a band which seems to be the Israeli version of the Beatles. I haven't been able to stop humming "aleinu shalom alechem," since this morning. I've been laughing as much as I can, but I'm still listening. "Yerushalyim Shel Zahav," is the famous song "Jerusalem of Gold," by the way. I learned it in my Hebrew class--forced to listen to Barbara Streisand sing it, actually. "Ehab Tawfik" is currently famous in Egypt. Good Hebrew music was harder to find than Arabic, dash it all. Unfortunately I couldn't find anything good on project playlist. :P

If your ears can't stand the noise any longer, listen to "Ma Navu." It's beautiful. Hebrew at it's best. The English the words mean, "How beautiful on the mountains are the steps of the messenger bringing tidings of deliverance, bringing tidings of peace." LOVE IT.

Back to the dancing...

While we stayed in Kibbutz Yotvata on our way to Egypt a band played for us during dinner, and afterwards they taught us simple dances. It was rather bland, but novel to most everyone. Mildly fun. I had a better time dancing with the Torah in the streets during Hanukkah (with Israelis, I might add.) Dancing joyfully with the scriptures--I know a dozen seminary teachers who might encourage that.

I'm not sure I mentioned, but every Friday sundown at the Western Wall during the Shabbat welcoming ceremony CROWDS of Jews dance in circles, singing as well. Teenagers especially. Repetitive patterns and formations, hands joined in a ring of friendship, smiles wan and broad--the girls huddled in the back of the women's courtyard, respectfully far enough away from the worshipers at the wall, but singing and dancing sweetly all the same. Respectful.

The young men were...boisterous. That's putting it mildly. Mosh pit? Almost. More like mosh-circles or chains that start on the far plaza and move closer and closer to the men's courtyard. They sway, they sing, they yell, and they'd smile bigger than most teenagers are capable. Full of energy. Full of emotion. But still doing the teenager thing, hanging out together. Hanging out at the wall, arms around shoulders, tzitzis from their tallit hanging from beneath shirttails--dancing.

I caught notice of their clothes the first time I went and dressed similarly the next. I wanted to join. I had to borrow some clothes from other center girls, but I found some long-sleeved black tee that worked okay, and a skirt conservative enough to blend in. Or so I hoped. The next Shabbat at the wall, I was terrified. I didn't want to offend them. Would they even let me in their circle? There's no etiquette for intrusion. How was I supposed to do this? I inched forward, hovering at the fringes of their circle, trying to pick up on the melody enough to mimic it. Incredibly reluctant, I was too afraid to make a move. Just before I was about to back away some girls behind me moved in and swept me with their momentum. I joined hands with a dark-eyed girl and a red head. Their hands were warm.

I only stayed in the circle two minutes, but I recalled my experience with them months later; I'd heard of a poetic girl who'd written, "I walked to the wall and touched it, and it touched me back." I smiled and thought to myself, The wall didn't touch me, but they did. I remember edging out of the circle after the song was over. A girl called out, "Rachel!" and I turned around only to see another Rachel answering her call. I grinned, although she had not called me. Life's quirks are often surprising. My parents never knew when they gave me the name Rachel that I would love Hebrew culture and study it. They couldn't have known. But I don't think it was a coincidence. Not really. And what luck that as "Rachel Mildenstein," I was mistaken for Jewish often enough. A fish salesman on Ben-Yehuda street even made a bet that I was a jew from Norway. No kidding! He lost five shekels when I told him I was American.

Again, back to the dancing.

The young men at the wall were...boisterous. That's putting it mildly. Mosh pit? Almost. More like mosh-circles or chains that start on the far plaza and move closer and closer to the men's courtyard. They sway, they sing, they yell, and they'd smile bigger than most teenagers are capable. Full of energy. Full of emotion. But still doing the teenager thing, hanging out together. Hanging out at the wall, arms around shoulders, tzitzis from their tallit hanging from beneath shirttails--dancing.

I know I've heard my teachers say over and over "Americans don't dance." But I didn't really understand that truly, we don't. Community dancing just doesn't translate into American suburbia. The suggestion would probably wouldn't meet with friendly reactions either.

When I went to a synagogue on Shabbat (did I talk about that? Somebody please tell me if I haven't, and I'll write that up POST HASTE, you'd love hear about it)someone in the congregation was a groom, getting married the next day. The men's side of the partition shouted and vigorously danced in a large circling snake, their arms around each others shoulders. I saw connections to mormon baby blessings, actually.

Cultural dances follow holidays and celebrations: national, family, and religious. All cultures. (Except perhaps Americans. Haha.)

Last summer I saw a college dance troupe of Israeli's from Netanya. They were fantastic, despite the Barbi dance. In Jerusalem I saw a poster for El-Fonoun, a Palestinian folk troupe. They were putting on a concert and I wanted to go, but realized we'd be in Jordan while they were performing. I never mentioned it to anyone and I bet I was the only one who'd noticed. I'd scribbled the name on a slip of paper so I could try to find tickets. That scribble helped me find a picture of them online--looks like it would have been a good show.

I never did get to see any Palestinians dancing, though I've heard of dances in Bethehem's square. I found pictures of that too. That would have been something to see, I believe.

Also, I sadly do not have pictures of dancing at the Western Wall. Cameras are prohibited there during Shabbat, and unlike many of my JC counterparts who sneaked pics anyway, I observed their rules. So no, I have no good photos. I tried tracking some down the internet, but could only find dancing on Jerusalem Day. Still, I guess it's better than nothing.

Listen to the music, even if all you do is scan to choruses. Imagine something for me. Or if you remember the words of Porthos the Pirate on Three musketeers, hear the music and say,

"Ah. A lively tune. I'm inspired to dance!"