Even if that isn’t exactly how he said it, underneath his perfectly trimmed eyebrows, I could tell that was what he was thinking. I had just completed my first ballet class with a renowned professor at the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance. Surrounded by graceful swans with long necks and light-as-feather-arms who were born with tutus attached to their hips, I galumphed through the entire hour and a half. The dance professor, an imposing man wearing what to me looked like very flexible combat boots(later I was informed that they were in fact jazz shoes), had kindly glued himself in front of me after five minutes of watching me try really, really hard to follow his instructions. With twinkling eyes, he unclenched my iron grip on the bar and commented generally “We want to barely touch the bar. After all, it is not supporting us. We simply rest our hand on it. Lightly.” Later in class he poked me in various places until I was standing with a “supported, strong ballet posture.” I felt more so that I had just been made into a very awkward shape, with my neck sticking out, my bum tucked in and my stomach sucked in determinedly. But he was pleased. So class continued, with me attempting to fake my way through the steps. After a floor portion, which I basically ended up can-canning, class was over and I approached the professor.
He raised his eyebrow with amusement at my admission and I grinned back at him. We both knew I was an absolute disaster in the class. He graciously told me I had taken his corrections well and didn’t look too lost. “We will work together and then we can talk about a suitable class for you during the semester.” I thanked him and walked away, grateful to have finished my such a humiliating experience.
I began dancing at Wesleyan as a freshman in an Introduction to Dance class that I loved. It was the most fun thing I had ever done and I couldn’t believe I was getting credit for it. I have always loved moving and I am fascinated by the human body. Studying dance, which combined my interest in the capabilities of the body, my love of art, my interest in creating and my obsession with movement, seemed like a dream come true.
Finding DanceJerusalem, the program that I am on, was too perfect. I, a Dance and Religion double major exploring my Jewish heritage, could simultaneously study dance at an Academy of Dance, religion at Hebrew University, and live in the city that the three major monotheistic religions claim as critical to their birth and continuation.
I knew that coming here would push me, challenge me as a dancer and as a creator. I am surrounded by people who have been dancing their entire lives. This puts me at a distinct disadvantage. Picking up movement quickly, replicating it exactly and adding one’s own style to it is a very difficult task, one that I have practiced very much. I moved from the Wesleyan Dance world, where I am encouraged to develop my own movement to an Academy environment where I am meant to replicate and enrich movement placed upon my body.
Thus has begun my latest quandary about my choice to dance, to claim to be a dancer. I find myself torn between a real love for movement and a very real, elite dance world. Even as I sit here writing this, my mind is churning with the prospect of choreographing a dance that has sprung up from themes I have encountered in Israel. But I am still faced with this choice: to conform, to strive to reach the level of technical training that is most basic to the dance world or to continue to develop my own style, my own movement language.
Ballet class number two and I felt much more at home. The fast-paced combinations explained in a mix of English, French and Hebrew and demonstrated with quick hand, head and foot gestures were a bit easier to remember and to replicate. I felt less afraid. I can do this, I realized. I am a dancer.
This affirmation was all I needed. It is all I needed. (I just need to keep repeating it. Over and over and over again!) I am a dancer. But I am also much more. I do not want to spend my entire time in Israel in the studio or the classroom. I will continue my liberal arts education! I will do a bit of everything and I will love everything I do!
So I won’t take ballet. This still scares me a bit. But, in my free time (although I am still taking between 3 to 10 hours of academic and/or dance class 5 days a week), I will go to the shuk, a beautiful open air market where I do all my grocery shopping. I will walk to the Mount of Olives, the oldest Jewish cemetery in the world. I will sit in a cafe and read Jewish philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel while eating shakshuka. I will spend time soaking myself in the experience of being here in ISRAEL! right now.
Meanwhile, ballet reminds me to laugh at myself. I only have two more classes to complete before my actual dance classes for the semester begin. So what if I am a balagan (Hebrew for mess)? It can only help me to grow.
This little girl is taking her first ballet class. We have a lot in common 
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