Teddy Weinberger's letter and article


Former Miami professor of religious studies now living in Israel discovers the joy of folk dance...

Got an interesting email the other day from Teddy Weinberger who now lives in Israel with his wife and five children. Formerly an assistant professor of religious studies and a graduate of Columbia University, Teddy now works with the reform movement in Israel as well as being a stay-at-home Dad. He also writes columns frequently published in the US press.

Anyway, he wrote in praise of the video website, and included in the email a recent column he published this past (Northern) summer about his discovery of the joys of Israeli Folk Dance, especially in a beginners' class led by Kobi Michaeli.

Today he gave me permission to publish in full his column, for which he retains full copyright. Makes a nice change to read such an article.

“Dancing and Praying--It’s the Same Thing”

John Fire/Lame Deer

copyright 2003, Teddy Weinberger


In my previous life as an assistant professor of religious studies in the U.S., I would use Sioux holy man John Fire/Lame Deer to teach my (predominantly Catholic) students about a religious tradition that had radically different worship norms than theirs. The words of John Fire/Lame Deer have come alive for me this past year--that is, ever since I started going to Israeli folk dancing.

I had always wanted to do Israeli folk dancing. I connected it in my mind with the Zionist experience and I wanted to be a part of it. Then last May I saw my chance. “Learn Israeli folk dancing from the very first step with Kobi Michaeli” said a flyer in my mailbox. If I ever was going to learn, now was the time, and so, overcoming years of my wife’s telling me that I had two left feet, I gathered up my courage, and with my 22-shekel ($5) admission money in hand, took the plunge.

I felt good right from the first class. Kobi Michaeli is simply a marvelous teacher, and indeed, on that first night, nothing was presumed. Kobi even taught us the basic “mayim” (“water”) step, which I had thought everyone would have already known. It turns out that while most Israelis are exposed to folk dancing at a very early age, folk dancing is not ingrained in the blood but like anything else takes persistence and dedication.

As the weeks went on, a pattern began to develop. And unlike when I taught religious studies, where it was often difficult to ascertain what my students were actually learning, with Kobi there is a definite learning curve. Kobi teaches the dance (using a strap-on face mike and without music) by surgically breaking it up into digestible parts. Gradually we put the parts together and run through the whole thing. Kobi then puts on the music and we go through the entire dance, clapping with glee as we finish, then doing it again for good measure. One week later I have forgotten everything about the dance except for the dry fact that it was a dance taught to me the week before--almost all of the individual steps have been magically erased from my brain. Except that I guess that somewhere my body has stored parts of the dance, because when Kobi reviews it I seem to learn it quicker than I did the first time. Each subsequent week I forget a little less until I arrive at the point (and this can take several months) when my body knows exactly what to do as soon as I hear the opening chords of the music.

An hour into our class the advanced dancers start to appear. There’s a supportive atmosphere in Givat Ze’ev, with the best dancers helping the beginners, and there’s no sense of “what are you doing on my dance floor.” Still, I’m very jealous of the experienced dancers. I’d love it if, magically, I knew a few hundred rather than a few dozen dances.

My favorite dancer is Nurit, a 35-year-old mother of 3 (she also happens to be an operating-room nurse for heart and chest surgery). Nurit has a wonderful sense of rhythm. She never dances half-heartedly, but makes all the moves in all of the dances. Whenever I think that I’m bored with a dance, I look to Nurit and sure enough there are graceful touches that she has added which I can try to emulate.

About 20 minutes of every session is devoted to pair dancing. With men at a premium, many of the women dance with other women. The best male dancer is 23-year-old Dan (who works as a school guard). I love it that of all the women available to him, Dan chooses his mother as his regular partner. Early on, I hooked up with Noa, a 25-year-old recent graduate of Tel Aviv University. There’s something extra special (and difficult) about pair dancing. You are part of a duo that is moving gracefully (or trying to). Noa makes mistakes and I make mistakes and we laugh at them together. I’d be lying if I said that holding Noa was not sensual and sexy. But the overarching feeling during the pairs dancing for me is one of grace and beauty (during the slow dances) and exhilaration during the fast dances.

My experience with Israeli folk dancing has been everything I had dreamt it to be and much more. Folk dancing was a popular expression of the Zionist pioneers’ love for this land, and for those who dance today it continues to be this loving expression--albeit with the noticeable additions of new movements, and of middle-eastern beats and rhythms.

But there’s more, and this is the more that surprised me. It has to do with the words of the songs. Dancers usually sing the song’s words as they dance. There are plenty of songs about love and relationships, and also about the beauty of the land. There are also more religious songs. I love it that the dancers, who are mostly not “religious,” sing these songs passionately as well. There are songs about yearning for the Messiah, songs taken from the Sabbath liturgy, songs about the special meals and atmosphere of Shabbat, and then there are songs that can only be described as petitionary prayers to God. A huge crowd pleaser is a re-make of “Today is the Day” by Israeli pop star Sarit Hadad. And when the crowd sings along with Sarit, “Today, on this very day, I ask God . . . Give us life today from the start, Give us from the start to the finish,” I am powerfully lifted up, up, up out of my little narrow self and immersed in that larger collective known as Israel. It’s an ex statis (ecstatic), transcendent, out of body experience that has eluded me in my praying life, even though I pray three times a day. Maybe that’s because I have been praying all these years with my lips and not with my feet.

Posted: Mon - December 15, 2003 at 12:32 AM         |

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