2021a
Book / Poem
Language Hebrew
Published 2021
Editor David Neo Buhbut
Punctuation Esther Peled
Designer Ohad Hadad
Book Series RAF
Publication House KTAV
Print House A.R (tel aviv, israel)
Buy HERE
A four-part poem (0, 1, 2, 3). Its title can be translated in two ways: “We Are Burrows” (hollow passages), or “We Are Forgiven.” The title above is the original Hebrew. Although its underlying logic is musical rather than thematic, part 0 can be read as a “family elegy,” while parts 1–3 form a kind of prophetic–epic manifesto.
I completed the first draft just before beginning my studies at the School of Visual Theatre in 2017. It was 115 pages long. I then asked David Neo Buhbut to edit it. Four more years of work followed. From that 115-page draft, only one line remains in the final version: “to discover something like a phenomenon.”
The work was made “on the side,” fed by remnants, disappointments, and hallucinations. It was written and rewritten throughout, in a boundless collaboration with the one who became, over time, not only editor but chosen family: David Neo Buhbut. Along the way, Esther Peled served as a necessary external reader—an incisive anchor preventing the poem from collapsing into pure idiosyncrasy. Eventually the poem was tightened into a form that serves nothing but itself, a form that can appear only once. This is it.
Thank you David Neo Buhbut, Esther Peled, Menahem Goldenberg, Tal Rosen, Orna Levi
2021b
Exhibited at The School of Visual Theater, FINALE (Graduation FInal Project)
plywood, pure linen, paper pile, book, a room
I created a room with the intention of reckoning with the Hebrew language. Publicly, there is no other point. At its center, I placed the object in which, over four years, I distilled my relationship with Hebrew. The possibilities of invention and expression within it. A long vise of love and anger. A poem, a debut book.
This is how I quietly invited the reader to come and place their body on one of three benches I built, so they could unite with it, not necessarily alone. At the entrance to the room, I hung two wide cotton wings. Shrouds, hanging, balanced. And the reader came and passed through them.
The room was open for six days, almost a shiva, days of mourning and joy. I could watch those who responded to the invitation. After all, I left myself a peephole. Thus the appearance was reversed.
Thank you Esther Peled, Menahem Goldenberg, Maya Avin, Dror Hibsh