Day 3

I know the drill now: the music plays, the teacher starts moving, and we follow along. Piece of cake.

This teacher is lanky with curly hair and goatee. He’s wearing a grin and a slight Italian accent. When he starts moving, his arms seem to have no bones.

“Move like your bones are filled with air.” 

Totally suggestible, I’m rolling with his metaphors. Air? No problem. My arms float above my head. Oh shit, too much air. 

Quick, let some out. 

There we go.

The metaphors disengage the logic side of my brain. It gives my left brain nothing to hook into. That’s a good thing.

“Now move your arms through Nutella.”

Nutella is a hazelnut cocoa spread that originated from a town in Italy near where the teacher grew up. 

Nutella is nice, but my heart belongs to Hershey. Hershey, Pennsylvania is right next door to where I grew up.

I remember, as a child, peering over the edge of vats of molten chocolate at the Hershey Chocolate Factory tour. 

Whether it’s Nutella or Hershey, the entire class is stirring a thick chocolate substance and we all have silly grins. 

The teacher tells us to shake our pelvis. Then he tells us to quake our pelvis. What’s the difference? 

Shaking is something that you do. 

Quaking is something that is done to you. 

I love this language. It’s evocative. And playful. It engages the imagination. Yet it’s precise.

“I’m a Slave 4 You” comes on. 

The teacher tells us to imagine we are being quaked by someone who knows well the songs of Britney. 

Whoa, Britney, calm the fuck down. My pelvis ain’t used to moving like that. 

In this moment, in a dance studio in Israel, an Italian with his Nutella, an American with his Hershey, and Britney with her microphone-- We understand each other. We accept each other. We speak the same language.