Yesterday I saw the dance performance SAABA conceived and choreographed by Sharon Eyal. It was unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life.

I’ve always disliked classical ballet. To me it feels rigid, forced, and fake. Almost as if the years of abuse the dancers go through seep through the performance, flawless movements and a bright but unconvincing smile concealing the inner anguish and physical exhaustion. A fake smile more telling than a thousand words.

Yesterday’s performance felt different though. The moving scenes unfolding before our eyes were enthralling, dreamy, eerie, claustrophobic, expansive, robotic, fluid, alien and human. A harmonious and captivating mixture of contradictions. The dancers perfectly embodied the choreographer’s vision, morphing into a single pulsating and unruly organism. They fluidly stretched, contracted, unfurled, and recoiled across the stage, conjuring up otherworldly images of dizzying and haunting beauty.

But perhaps the most striking aspect was the freedom of movement interpretation that was extended to the dancers. A clear departure from classical pieces. A freedom that allowed for maximum expressiveness, letting the dancers’ individuality fully untangle on stage. Each motion only an echo of the previous one, a series of quasi-identical renditions. A diversity of expression that added nuance and depth, greatly enriching the experience.

Each element — the choreography, the music, the light and smoke, the costumes, the make-up and the interpreters — contributed to a unified whole, clearly conveying a synchrony and unity of intent. A Gesamtkunstwerk.

It was a deeply moving experience; evocative yet elusive, still firmly etched in my memory.

Something happened yesterday. But I’m not quite sure what. It was impossible to remain a passive recipient. The intensely expressive and emotional nature of the performance lured you in, making you an active part of the unfolding sequence. I’m not even sure what emotion I experienced. It wasn’t one, it was an overwhelming cacophony. But it triggered a process, a change. The person who entered the auditorium is not the same as the one who left.

It’s almost as if the public and the dancers entered a third dimension in which emotions flowed freely in synchrony with the pulsating music and the moving bodies on stage.

What made this piece so emotionally evocative and resonant? What happened to me? Why was I so deeply affected? Why do I even want to know? Why can’t I just relish the memory, without needing to dissect it and make sense of it?

Am I bound to break the spell if I don’t stop?

I don’t know.

Maybe I should stop.

I’d better stop.