The color red is no longer the color of passion, but the stark reminder of massacre. The jokes we told a year ago are no longer a funny stretch of the Israeli imagination. An entire people changed in a single deadly day. No Israeli of any faith or Jew from any part of the world is the same person they were on October 6th.
To find art relating to October 7th, the Israel Daily News visited ANU, the Museum of the Jewish People, which opened an exhibit at their space on Tel Aviv University’s campus back in November. The exhibition displays the work of 25 artists, some still with us and some who lost their lives since the heinous massacre. ANU’s Director of Communications and Public Relations Helit Shay guided us through the exhibit while curator Michal Houminer shared her thoughts with us. They say through their process of curating, they understood there was a sense of life before and after October 7th and that you could see the sentiment in the works. The exhibit was created in an effort to give a snapshot of reality. They worked to gather the best art pieces, stories, and music around Israel.
One of the artists featured is Ziva Jelin from Kibbutz Be’eri who is now an evacuee. She was at home during the massacre and survived it. Jelin was a curator at Kibbutz Be’eri gallery, which was burnt to the ground on October 7th. The terrorists entered her studio and shot her work. The piece put up into the museum’s exhibition came with a bullet hole and a tear – emblems of the action from that horrific day. Jelin describes the color red as an emotional force of passion and love that colored her childhood. She is known for her landscape paintings of the beautiful southern Israeli Kibbutz Be’eri, which she painted with every shade of red. What was once a piece showing the kibbutz’s serenity now reflects the kibbutz’s massacre. The bullet holes in the canvas are absolutely chilling.
Also from Kibbutz Be’eri, Shira Glezerman creates a piece with pencil on paper called Paz, named after her young cousin. She draws a tree top with Paz playing in the branches. On October 7th, tree tops changed from being fun places to play to being hideouts for safety.
Another form of artwork on display are daily entries of sketches and oil paintings, sort of like an art diary. Artist Zvika Lachman creates abstract images from his observations with oil pastels, while Keren Shpilsher makes cartoon-like depictions with felt-tipped pens. They both understand the necessity to document the days after October 7th in real time, as to not let the world forget.
At the end of the exhibit, there is a seating area to view a film called “War Diary” which includes 300 photos taken by journalists in the Gaza envelope on and after October 7th. The slideshow has difficult but important photographs that museum visitors can see projected on the wall. Roee Idan was a press photographer and a video artist featured in the show. He and his wife were both killed on October 7. He managed to send photographs in real time showing the Hamas terrorists entering his kibbutz on paragliders before he was murdered. Idan, from Kibbutz Kfar Aza, worked with news outlet Ynet. He captured images of soldiers, tanks, borders, and rockets, but his passion lay in nature photography. In his honor, a nature-video piece called “Dance of the Starlings” plays on a smaller screen next to the october 7th slideshow. This clip includes footage captured through his multiple visits to the Negev desert between 2012-2018.
Finally, a playlist called “The Pain Front,” created by ANU staff, fills the atmosphere of the exhibit. It is a playlist of songs typically played at funerals and hospitals for Nova festival survivors, evacuees, and soldiers. A QR code to this Spotify playlist is placed on the wall so visitors can listen on their own time as well.
Natalie, a Londoner visiting Israel for the first time since 7/10, told the Israel Daily News what brought her to ANU’s exhibit.
“It’s the first time I’ve been here since October the 7th. I wanted to do things that were somehow showing my understanding of what’s happening. Coming here, coming to the middle of Tel Aviv and seeing the hostage square. These are the things I can do to help me understand what’s happening here since October.”
Natalie’s sister lives in Israel with her two nieces aged 18 and 20, who are currently serving in the Israeli Defense Forces. Natalie was very moved by ANU’s October 7th exhibition, taking note of not only the artwork on the walls but the atmosphere that was created.
“Actually the thing that’s got me most about this is the music. And there’s a spotify playlist playing and I’ve downloaded that because it’s been very beautiful. The music that happened to be playing when I came through was the words of Tfilla from Yom Kippur but set to music in the most extraordinary way and something about it- of course, it was, Sukkot was only just after Yom Kippur. And so that, the music, has been very very powerful, it really made it even more shocking and evocative,” Natalie said.
Robbie Gringras, a friend of Natalie’s, is a musician touring with a show regarding October 7th called “Come Sit With Me,” spoke to the Israel Daily News about his production.
“We started putting together a show built off of songs that are old songs–not written as a response to the seventh of October–songs that were written before the war that now mean something entirely different than what they used to mean before.”
Gringras originates from England but moved to Israel in 1996. He now lives on a kibbutz in the north. He splits his time between theater and education. Many of his performances centered around themes of peace building between different communities in Israel, the concept of which has completely changed since October 7th.
“Come Sit With Me” emerged after October 7th. The performer notes that at such a difficult time, he needed the ‘nechama,’ or consolation, of song. He was also thrilled to collaborate with Adam Mader, the renowned Israeli musician who often performs with superband Teapacks.
“There’s one particularly ironic song that we sing which is Azvanu et Tel Aviv Avarnu leOtef Aza, we’ve left Tel Aviv and moved to the Gaza Envelope, and that’s a very joke-y song about leaving the noise of Tel Aviv and going to hang out down in Otef Aza. And it has little jokes in it, like you know, in Tel Aviv it’s really awful because there’s all these cockroaches that jump up at you from the sewage, from the drainage, and if you move to Otef Aza then some other assholes are going to jump out at you.
Making jokes about Hamas jumping out of tunnels, because at the time they were jokes. And we show an image of Tel Aviv a couple of years ago, which, actually now, which the images of Tel Aviv look like Gaza looks now because it was an over, this was a view of various streets in Tel Aviv that have been entirely turned up to make the subway, the underground, and we talked about how people did make jokes at the time that it’s taking so long for us to build the tunnels for our underground, we ought to bring in Hamas to make the tunnels for us. And that these were jokes, and now, they are unbelievably painful.”
Gringras also spoke of another song called “Kama Tov She bat HaBayita,” or in English, How Good it is that You’ve Come Home. The song was written to welcome back a family member that had been traveling. In these times, it can be interpreted as a song yearning for the return of a reserve soldier or hostage that’s been through hell and back.
The British performer has found a great amount of purpose in putting on this new show. He tells us that although these songs convey deep emotion and sadness, they also offer comfort.
“So the name of the show, ‘Come Sit With Me,’ it comes from the line of one of the songs that we sing, which basically begins ‘and so I said to sadness, come sit with me.’ And it’s kind of, the song is a dialogue with sadness. And I guess the show is to an extent as well.”
These past few months, Tel Aviv has been enveloped in yellow ribbon, hostage posters, and artwork concerning October 7th. We had an energizing interview with a street artist under the tag Yiddish Feminist, known for their striking statements plastered in block letters all over Tel Aviv.
“When I write I always make a point of, I write manually all my messages. I don’t print anything, I just write everything, sometimes it takes me like one, two, four hours, depending on how long is the message. But I need to feel like I’m physically pulling myself inside what I’m doing. Only when I put it on the wall, then I feel like I can breathe, it’s out. Because it’s in the public space I feel like I’m screaming it to the world.”
The Yiddish Feminist, also known as Morgane, moved from Paris to Israel 15 years ago. What was originally just a visit turned into a love story with a country and a boy.
Morgane has been doing street art for the past four years, beginning with feminist messages in collaboration with a feminist action collective called HaStickeriot.
They’ve also plastered statements about queer representation around Tel Aviv as well. Morgane developed this craft as a way to feel seen and heard, but also because they believed that these are messages everyone should be educated about. In the wake of October 7th, Morgane’s messages have shifted in focus. Morgane has received more and more attention over the work, saying the big bold words are helping others find clarity.
“Especially after November it really became about being Jewish and the rise of antisemitism and how no one talked or cared about what happened in Israel or to Israelis, so I wanted to talk about that, also because I grew up in the diaspora myself I was very affected by that so I really wanted to speak to diaspora Jews as well as Israeli Jews. I really feel like Israeli Jews should speak up for diaspora Jews, not only by saying make aliya and come live here, because, you should be allowed to live wherever you want without being scared or worried for your life or your children or going to study.
I start gathering testimonies from people. Like they start asking about specific events or how they live, like the fact they were betrayed by friends or feminist role models, or all kinds of things. And after gathering a lot of testimonies I am trying to just encapsulate what they were feeling. And then I get this feedback that was speaking to people. But I didn’t do it, I did it selfishly at first. It was just for myself. And somehow it start speaking to people.”
Morgane has also put up work to remind us of October 7th and the hostages still held in Gaza. Just recently, with the help of HaStickeriot, Morane put up a piece covering a large wall outside of Dizengoff center, a mall in Tel Aviv that receives a large amount of foot traffic.
“We don’t want to put ‘bring them home’ again, because this is not what I’m feeling right now. I really felt like we’re all thinking about the hostages all the time. I mean, there is not one day they don’t cross my mind at least ten times per day.”
Instead, the wall reads “our home is not a home anymore without you,” with the picture of a bandaged heart and a Tel Aviv building above it. Surrounding this are images of the hostages that remain in Gaza. Morgane received permission from the owner of Dizengoff center to do this, so they were able to spend two hours thoughtfully putting up the project.
“It’s not even only for the hostages, it’s not only for us. I think it’s for the families of all the hostages. They need to see that we’re not forgetting about them.”
And how could we forget? The color red means bloodshed, treetops are for hiding, the word ‘party’ can be triggering, and messages about combating antisemitism line the streets of a Jewish country. October seventh is something that has altered the collective mind of Israelis and the Jewish world. You see it in the paintings, the music, photographs, and in our daily words. Art has changed since October seventh, and so have we all.
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