Batsheva Dance Company - MOMO

The renowned Batsheva Dance Company recently brought their latest performance, MOMO, to Santa Barbara—and it was nothing short of mesmerizing. Batsheva Dance Company is based in Tel Aviv and was founded by Martha Grahm and Baroness Batsheva de Rothschild in 1964. Known for contemporary and modern dance, Batsheva delivered a piece that was as thought-provoking as it was visually stunning.

When I arrived at the Granada Theater, I was surprised to see a mass, not very large but still present, of protesters outside the theater handing out fliers in line and many police officers. These protesters were accusing a dance company – one that has clearly stated their hopes for a permanent ceasefire – of artwashing, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. That surprise evaded after confronting the truth for the thousandth time: the Jews will always be attacked, even for dancing. 

I sat down in my seat and the performance began unexpectedly: the house lights remained on, and there was no music. Four male dancers slowly walked across the stage, each with one hand placed behind their back on their hip. This quiet, unusual, and almost meditative opening created a sense of anticipation that set the tone for what was to come.

As the music entered, it featured string instruments with distinctly Jewish scales, immediately evoking a familiar emotion of Jewish connection - and a melancholic air filled the room as I was reminded of the current and cyclical hate we face. The strings gradually shifted into a classical style, blending tradition with modernity. While the tempo of the music generally remained constant, the dancers alternated between slow, deliberate group movements and sudden, fast-paced solos that stood out like emotional bursts.

That melancholic mood carried through the piece, often expressing a kind of agony that felt deeply personal, current, and raw. Electronic sounds layered with the strings added a haunting and more experimental atmosphere, and the contrast of the dancers’ movement between slow motion and rapid became a recurring theme.

One of the show's most striking moments and aspects came when the original four male dancers began to climb the wall at the back of the stage. With the help of hidden rock-wall-type supports and exact lighting, they appeared to float. Once up on the wall, they sat facing the audience for a while. 

Later, ballet barres were brought out, and the dancers performed a brief yet incredibly satisfying sequence of fast, synchronized movements. The symmetry and precision were visually rewarding, offering a hint of tradition and clarity in the otherwise emotionally and physically complex performance.

A recurring action involved dancers raising one hand – palm facing the audience – as a deep and loud trembling vibration sounded. That action became more frequent until it pulsed every couple of seconds. This repetitive motion, paired with occasional yelling in non-languages, added an intensity and urgency that built throughout the show and left the audience with unlimited paths of imagination and interpretation.

Toward the end, the dancers formed a rotating line at the front of the stage, spinning like a living sculpture. Many of them climbed the wall once again—this time as a way to exit—climbing and crawling off of the stage, unlike any piece I have seen.

Despite the unfortunate scene outside, I felt immense inspiration and pride watching this performance. In a time of noise and conflict, Batsheva delivered something unforgettable: the quiet power of art that dares to speak.