Passion, pain resonates for Jews in Spanish dance

NIA MAGOULIANITI-MCGREGOR

“We courageously face our demon shadows and bring them to the light,” she says.

Jacqui Shapiro, flamenco dancer and passionate devotee, loves this portrayal by Maya. “Flamenco has a mystical, mythical quality. It’s hard to explain it. It can only be felt,” she says.

Shapiro, 34, has been part of the world of flamenco, one of the three forms of Spanish dancing that includes classical and regional dancing, from a young age. For her, it’s more of a heartfelt passion than a hobby.

And far from being unusual, Shapiro is just one of many Jewish women (and the occasional Jewish man) who has not only found a home in Spanish dancing, but whose identity depends on it, whose essence revolves around it. “If you look around at the dance companies and studios in South Africa, you’ll see a large proportion of those dancing are Jewish,” she says.

Shapiro presented her reluctant parents with the name of a dancing teacher at age 11. “Nothing was going to stop me,” she says. “I think it’s because Jewish people can relate to the oppression and persecution of the original founders of Spanish dance. I identify with the suffering. You go to a deep place and in that way, learn something about your own life.”

There are many interpretations about the origins of this moving spectacle of hand-clapping, fiery emotions, and twirling skirts. It’s thought to be an expression of the pain felt by the gypsies, Sephardic Jews, and Moors, persecuted in the Spanish Inquisition in the late 1400s, who then escaped into the mountains. There, flamenco was born – a fusion of guitar, dance, and survival in the face of heartbreak.

Another contention is postulated by the late director of La Rosa Spanish Dance Company, Carolyn Holden, in her dissertation at the University of Cape Town titled Flamenco in South Africa: Outsider in Two Places. “One theory is that Spanish Jews who had fled to Flanders were now permitted to sing their religious songs unhindered. These songs became known as ‘flamenco songs’ by Jews who remained in Spain during the Inquisition.”

Certainly, Dame Mavis Becker, honoured by Spain in 2000 for her lifetime contribution to Spanish culture, says Spanish dance and more specifically flamenco “touched something” in her soul from the moment she discovered it. “I felt the desperation of the time,” says Becker, who is also known by her stage name, Marina Lorca.

She is one of the founding members of the Johannesburg-based Spanish Dance Society, formed in 1989. The school helped pioneer an internationally recognised syllabus which is still taught in universities and dance schools around the world.

“Along with the gypsies, Jews had to escape persecution from Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand of Spain,” says Becker. “When I hear the chazonis (songs) sung in shul, it takes me back to that time. There is a strong connection for me.”

Cape Town-based Orit Laskov-Sachar of Flamenco del Cabo dance company, says it was only after falling in love with Spanish dancing that she discovered that her mother’s side of the family were Sephardic Jews affected by the Catholic expulsion. “There is a strong, perhaps subliminal cultural connection.”

Laskov-Sachar says the sense of community in this dance form is highly appealing. “There is something that resonates among Spanish dancers the whole world over. “In real life, I’m reserved,” she says. “Flamenco brings out my alter ego. I crave performing and being on stage. It’s an outlet that expresses another side of me. And, it’s not about faultless steps. It’s about making others feel your pain, your anger, your life experience. It’s an internal process that is expressed to others.”

Spanish dancer Vivienne Katz-Hamburger believes there is a reason that Jewish women become addicted to this dance form. “We have a natural flair for this. There’s the Sephardic connection, but also we have what is known as gein. We have a joy.

“Spanish dancers are a close-knit community. We dance together. We socialise together. We have an idea of what we experience, of how we respond to the feel of this music.”

Joanne Bobrow who co-runs dance company El Rincon Flamenco, agrees with Katz-Hamburger. “It’s inbred for us Jews. We appreciate the arts and musical expression. We’re an emotional people.”

There is also something “adult” about flamenco, says Bobrow, 50, who started dancing at age 18. “You use your life experience to enhance the passion and fire of your dancing.”

Jacqui Shapiro says at the age of 14, she was told by the esteemed Dame Hazel Acosta, “You’re not old enough to dance properly.” It was only recently that I finally understood what she meant. Heartache, loss, pain – all that is imbued in your dancing. You must relate to it all on a soul level.

In 2012, Shapiro and Bobrow went to the Jerez Flamenco Festival in Spain to “catch the air” as Shapiro puts it. “Walking in a street in that little town, hearing Spanish guitar, I felt myself evolve as a dancer. I was at home. There was a different energy about me after that afternoon. My soul was elevated.”

She says culture informs dance. “The Japanese, for example, are technically perfect, but don’t express their emotions. The Israelis, on the other hand, identify with rawness, with intense authenticity, which is why [flamenco] is so popular there.

• Dance company El Rincon Flamenco stages Esencia Flamenca at the Lesedi at Joburg Theatre, 163 Civic Boulevard, Braamfontein, from 30 May to 2 June. Full of passion, power, twirls and drama, the show is directed by Dame Hazel Acosta.
• It is based on the play The House of Bernarda Alba by 1930s Spanish Poet Federico Garcia Lorca. Joanne Bobrow and Rosana Maya, the latter who is performing the lead, co-produce this Lorca classic. To book, contact www.joburgtheatre.com or 0861 670 670. Cost: R230 for all the shows.