By Adam Soclof
Debauched, wanton, salacious. Words used to describe a seedy brothel, or, these days, a high school dance in America. As young as fourteen, the once innocent sweat of a young dancer has fermented into something more foul, as members of the opposite sex throw arms and buttocks into the fray. Religious conviction or self-consciousness leads some students to ditch or sit estranged in a corner. However, everyone else is out on the dance floor freaking with the rest of ‘em—or at least trying not to look too out of place. Perversely, teachers and parent chaperones are expected to watch—or ignore—as these young’n’s get frisky like disowned cats in a dumpster. Upon matriculating to college or metropolitan nightclubs, jungle cat imagery would seem more appropriate to describe the scene. Whether in clubs or our schools’ hallowed walls, there is an alternative to American dance ethos, and it rests in Zion.

June 2007, Jerusalem—At the International Cultural Center for Youth in Jerusalem, approximately one Thursday each month is designated “Erev Boogie.” Attendance holds steady at around 300-400 Jerusalemites, ranging in age from eighteen to thirty-something. Statistical outliers include a septuagenarian sporting a red beret, and a dancing infant buoyed by her young hipster parents.

Dancers crowd into a dimly lit room with the feel of a small high school gymnasium, complete with streamers, a stage, and a tall curtain that conceals a women-only dance section. Thankfully, any likeness to American high school dances ends here; with the exception of some men in tattered clothing, and some women wearing pants, shorts or sleeveless T’s, the Boogie-goer’s dress suggests both comfort and modesty. Moreover, the layout allots each individual a personal bubble of space, where he/she may move freely without fear of being ogled or thrust upon. Moral support peppers the night of dancing as people nod and point approvingly at one another, shouting “nice moves” over the music.

The music selection is both eclectic and surreal. Making the DJ’s cut that night are Afro-Cuban; classic Israeli folk dance; reggae; the soundtracks to Hair and Fame; the mid-nineties Hassidic techno phenomenon Oif Simchas; and the suburban bar mitzvah party throwback “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” Noticeably omitted from the musical selection are songs touting misogyny.

For those seeking a reprieve from dancing, the walls are lined with packing paper and markers for rhythmically-induced expression. In a small dance studio across the hall, a live band plays. Along the way, a Bedouin-style chill zone serves cheap ethnic cuisine and beverages, including an alcoholic grapefruit-arak mixture, since everyone save for the dancing baby is legally permitted to drink.

Avi Edry is the Boogie’s founder, and one of eight unpaid core organizers. He attributes the decision to create the Boogie to his interest in martial arts and movement, which he studied “for fun” at the Rubin Academy of Music and Dance in Givat Ram, Jerusalem. “We wanted to emphasize movement, to [let people] bring [their] own dance,” says Avi. “At clubs,” he explains, “you see twelve hundred-thousand people all dancing the same. At Boogie, there are six or seven corners of the hall where people dance differently to different music.”

Eyal Shemesh, an employee, first stumbled across the event about eight years ago. “I was just looking for a place to dance,” he explained. Four years later, he proposed to his wife, Galit—an architect who now lends her talents to the decorating effort—on that very dance floor. Renovations at the Cultural Center that began after the 5767 (2007) season forced organizers to experiment with a few different locations. They finally settled on the Gerard Behar Center in Nahlaot, the decidedly bohemian district of Jerusalem where it all began eleven years ago.

Just like the early days, today’s Boogie begins with a DJ who provides background music for a half hour of guided movement. “The guided part is not like every class you take in movement,” says Avi. “It’s more jumpy, more authentic, which helps people get into the mood [for dancing].” In the past, about 2-3 hours into the dance, live music would strike up in the next room. This “jam session,” as Avi recalls, had a unique vibe. “What’s special was that the people jamming were not a band that normally played together; they were musicians from different bands who came to play together.”

Boogie is an un-sponsored non-profit, serving an e-mail list of 2,000 and an SMS list of 2,500. This past year, organizers expanded Boogie’s programmatic offerings. On Tuesdays, at Beit Avi Chai in the center of town, Boogie runs integrated music, acting, and learning sessions based on both parshat hashavuah (the weekly Torah reading) and the tractate Pirkei Avot. Indeed, Avi is committed to the traditional lifestyle, and his language is seasoned with quotes from liturgy and his rabbi. Nevertheless, he understands the contradictions in his work. “According to halakhah [Jewish law],” he points out, “a religious person can’t dance at the Boogie—but I’m not getting into this corner, what people do in their private life. I leave it open.”

Openness is a principle that Avi emphasizes greatly. “At a club, there’s someone out front telling people ‘you’re in,’ or ‘you’re out.’ They think a big man or a big shot at the door will make a difference. At Boogie, everyone is ‘in’.” The results? “There’s no violence, no bad attitude. [Being open] is what will make the filter at the entrance.”

In some ways, the recent renovations have matured the Boogie. Whereas the Boogiers of 5767 danced past 2 a.m., those returning in 5768 have seen the lights go out at 11:30 p.m. The twentysomething crowd has bemoaned the earlier closing time; still, Eyal believes that Boogie “is the best it’s ever been.” The father of a one-year-old, he and his wife can partake in the 5 p.m.-8 p.m. session for children and parents. “It’s a place for children to dance—and a place for parents who can’t go to dance because of their children.” Another change is that alcohol is no longer sold. While Avi personally prefers an alcohol-free environment, he is “on the fence” about serving alcohol to make people open to movement. “Some people need it. If they can control it, fine. If not, I’m against it.”

Could Boogie catch on in America? “Betach [Of course],” declares Avi. “I think the best place for Boogie is America. But we have to make hachanah [preparation],” for instance, finding a way to lure Jews away from the clubs and towards community centers for a night of movement. Avi, however, remains optimistic. “I think that now’s a good time, with the garbage of the clubs,” suggests Avi. “It’s garbage: smoking, drugs, alcohol. But changing, it is a process; it doesn’t happen in one day.” Reflecting back to Boogie’s beginnings, Avi states, “It wasn’t opened to be counter to other clubs. I’m just trying to make a better chevrah [society] in Jerusalem.”

As with several other aspects of American leisure, it could just be that Jewish students and young adults wish to revel in the same grinding and gritty dance culture as “everyone else.” However, for those bothered by the status quo, the Boogie beacon shines from Zion.

Adam Soclof is the Creator and Producer of HyperSemitic, a Jewish dance & music project.