Healing Through Dance

Healing Through Dance: A Veteran’s Journey of Trauma and Transformation

“People are trapped in history, and history is trapped in them.” – James Baldwin 

The Shadows of Trauma

Participating in Diavolo Dance Company’s Veteran Project was a transformative experience. I expected the shadows of trauma to emerge, and they did—but the depth, the rawness, and the physicality of the experience surpassed anything I could have imagined. What caught me unprepared was the profound somatic awakening I underwent during the weekend workshop—a visceral reckoning that transcended words.

I wasn’t sure my application would even be considered. After all, I served not in the U.S. military but in the Israeli Defense Forces as a paratrooper from 1978 to 1981. Yet I knew my battle with PTSD had deep roots, beginning long before I donned a uniform—perhaps even before I took my first breath. 

Born into a family of Holocaust survivors, I inherited a legacy of pain and loss. My parents, who narrowly escaped death, bore beyond words grief: the loss of their firstborn son just months before I was born. Their anguish wrapped around me like a shroud from the very start—grief, fear, anger, and sorrow saturating my earliest moments. 

Dance as a Somatic Awakening

On the dance floor, which I visit weekly, I surrender completely to the energies that take hold of me. They grip tightly, weaving through every fiber of my being, dictating the steps, the rhythm, and the urgency. In those moments, I’m not dancing—I’m being danced. These energies—demons, spirits, muses, call them what you will—entangle themselves in my essence, commanding my movements, guiding me from above, and anchoring me to the floor below.

I become a vessel, a channel of emptiness between something greater and the ground beneath my feet. The origins of these energies trace far beyond my military years, which only added new layers to their presence. They have never left. They linger, constant yet familiar. But the transformation lies within me. I’ve learned to see them, to acknowledge their weight, and to let them exist without resistance.

Dancing has changed me. It has taught me to coexist with these shadows, to hold space for their heaviness without losing myself. I don’t fight them—I see them, feel them, and anchor myself in their midst to something greater: my breath. My breath is the anchor that sustains me, allowing me to move and to live both within the dance and beyond it.

The Diavolo Workshop: A Circle of Vulnerability

On Saturday morning, we began in a circle. Ten of us—four veterans and six professional dancers, “The Civilians”—stood under the guidance of Jacques Heim, Diavolo’s Founder and Creative Director. Jacques’ assistant, France, and Moses, the skilled sound editor, completed the room. A microphone was passed, and we were asked to share our names, our military branches, and a story about ourselves. 

As the microphone moved closer, doubt crept in. What story would I share? How much of myself was I willing to expose? Anxiety tightened its grip—an all-too-familiar presence during public speaking. But then I reminded myself of the countless times I had bared my vulnerabilities to strangers, turning fear into connection. I steadied my voice and leaped. 

I spoke of my relationship with dance: how it began, how it intertwined with the milestones of my life, and how it has shaped who I am today. 

Then the physical work began—and it didn’t stop until late Sunday evening. 

Diavolo Dance Company is no ordinary ensemble. Their performances blend dance, gymnastics, and acrobatics, pushing the human body to its limits atop or within colossal apparatuses: towering slides, spinning wheels, and enclosing cages. Jacques Heim’s creative vision is unmistakable, informed by his time directing a Cirque du Soleil show in Las Vegas. 

For two days, we moved, climbed, leaped, and spun, testing the boundaries of body and spirit. The apparatuses demanded trust—in ourselves, in each other, in the process. The choreography wove together narratives of resilience, fear, and hope. 

Confrontation in the Cage

It was more than a workshop; it was a container—a place where trauma and transformation collided. It was a reminder that while history may be trapped within us, so too is the power to shape our future.

Observing the inner workings of a dance company was nothing short of captivating. After the warm-up session, our focus shifted to mastering Diavolo’s “vocabulary,” a unique language of movement. Before progressing to the rehearsal stage, where Jacques would orchestrate our dance, we had to conquer the fundamentals: various flips on the floor and maneuvers within the towering aluminum cage. 

Initially, I felt agile, flexible, and strong, effortlessly concluding my flips with spontaneous gestures dictated by my body. It was as if my extended hand might have signaled, “I am here, ready for whatever comes next,” or was I in some imaginary martial art move – I don’t know! I listened intently to my physique’s non-verbal wisdom rather than my mind’s chatter.

By midday, however, fatigue began to set in. Perhaps it was the turkey sandwich I ate for lunch—or, more likely, the unrelenting physical effort required by the workshop. My body was drenched in sweat, and exhaustion coursed through me. Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than physical. After all, I was here to process the deep, unspoken scores my body had been keeping. 

Needing a break, I excused myself and sought a place to lie down. As I surrendered to exhaustion, I drifted into sleep, recognizing my body’s urgent demand for rest. 

Among the workshop participants was Francisco Marcus Castillo, a fellow veteran, and dancer with whom I’ve shared countless 5Rhythms sessions over the past decade under the guidance of our teacher, Jo Cobbett. Though our off-floor interactions have been limited to polite greetings and occasional small talk, our connection on the dance floor has always been profound.

We share an unspoken understanding of each other’s movement vocabulary, effortlessly blending our energies to create something authentic and meaningful. In those moments, our steps synchronize seamlessly, flowing together before we each embark on our individual journeys.

These personal voyages always lead me inward, into a realm of introspection where I instinctively close my eyes and delve into the depths of my being. Yet, as I discovered during the solitude of the COVID lockdown, dancing alone at home could never replicate the experience of dancing with others. Even with my eyes closed, fully immersed in my private space, something vital was missing.

It’s not about being watched—none of us on the dance floor focus on anyone else—but it is about being “seen.” The energies of others moving around me make all the difference. Sensing the presence of fellow dancers creates a magnetic pull, stirring something unexpected within me. This shared connection evokes a sense of magic, a spiritual sanctuary, transforming the experience into something far more profound than solitary movement.

After my rest, still groggy and far from my peak, I rejoined the rehearsal. The day was waning, and the afternoon session neared its end. 

Jacques outlined his vision for the next part of the session in his usual precision—a dance duet with Francisco inside the towering aluminum cage, eight feet in all dimensions. He wanted us to improvise, to explore the vast expanse of the cage together.

It was the first time I heard my voice narrating my story. Moses skillfully edited it into a concise two-minute piece. A profound stirring welled up within me as I listened to myself recount the tale of fire, delving deep into the core of my anguish.

My eyes grew moist, and my body trembled, profoundly moved by this raw manifestation of my innermost emotions.

Simultaneously, I stepped into the aluminum cage with Francisco, trepidation coursing through me. I placed my trust in Francisco, assured that greatness would ensue. I closed my eyes and surrendered to my energies, the music, and the narration, allowing them to carry me. I was heavy yet fluid in slow, lyrical motions. I felt the anguish and, at the same time, the triumph. The specifics evade my recollection, but one memory remains etched: we concluded the piece, standing face to face, Francisco poised in salute while I assumed the humble posture of Namaste. Then, I melted. Gratefully, I was also being held by Sarah, a fellow veteran, and other dancers. Lots of love was coming my way at that moment.

Sunday’s Integration and Performance

The duality of the moment—hearing my story and dancing it—created an intense, layered experience. It was not just a performance but a visceral communion with my emotions, my partner, and everyone present. The studio became a sanctuary, holding us all in its embrace.

The drive home tested my resolve as I veered off course, eliciting honks and vulgar gestures from a fellow driver. I felt unsettled. Before I left, Jacques had asked me multiple times, “Will you be returning tomorrow?” I gave a firm “Yes,” though, truthfully, I had my doubts. I had to repeatedly remind myself, “The only way out is through!”

Sunday’s session was devoted to integration, preparing us for the evening performance where loved ones and friends would gather to bear witness. With meticulous attention, Jacques crafted each veteran’s movements, dedicating hours to shaping our individual pieces in collaboration with the civilian participants. As he worked, I took moments to rest and observe, captivated by the intricate creative process unfolding before me.

Jacques’ choreographic genius deserves immense recognition. Each piece poignantly captured the essence of our personal narratives, delving into the depths of our identities and the unique ways we navigate the world. Sarah’s performance radiated the tough resilience forged by enduring trauma and the relentless fight for survival. Anthony embodied unyielding determination, and his every movement was a testament to his unwavering spirit. Francisco, with his playful grace, brought to life the vitality of a youthful acrobat.

As for me, I danced as if confined—a tender soul entrapped within a cage of emotions. Jacques’ choreography perfectly encapsulated this sentiment, portraying the complex interplay of longing and vulnerability that defines my inner world.

The dedication of the crew left a profound impression on me. France and the lead dancers, in particular, shone brightly as they navigated the challenging task of synchronizing narration, music, and dance. As fatigue set in and the clock ticked closer to the performance, they rallied with remarkable determination. Their actions reflected professionalism, deep respect, and admiration for Jacques’ vision.

Reflection and Vision: The Path Forward

Dancing in the presence of an audience, no matter how modest, presented an uncharted and eagerly embraced test. Never before had I ventured into such territory. To perform is to surrender yourself entirely to your audience, baring your soul for all to see. Your body becomes a canvas for their emotions and fantasies – a screen where their desires, anxieties, and aspirations take shape.

The vulnerability was overwhelming, demanding a deep breath of courage. When I shared my apprehensions, Mimi, one of the lead dancers, offered a simple yet profound reassurance: “All they want is to love you.” Her words struck a chord, prompting introspection. At that moment, I realized that the source of my fear was no external force but myself.

As Monday evening descended, just before surrendering to slumber, my mind envisioned the various movements left untaken. Soon, my thoughts transitioned to grand visions of crafting a complete dance performance centered around a subject deeply etched in the collective consciousness – Intergenerational Trauma.

It is time, I believe, to bring this profound matter to the stage, weaving it into the ongoing dialogue about trauma, art, and history. Such a performance could illuminate the enduring impact of human suffering while fostering understanding and connection. Though the scope of such an endeavor is vast and far beyond my capacity alone, a flicker of hope persists within me. At long last, I feel I have stumbled upon the purpose I have long sought.

May 2023