Heather DeAtley’s Musings on ‘Home Work’ by Maya Brinner
*Photo by Efrat Mazor
“I learned to choreograph by choreographing.”
As I began to write this piece, these words from Ohad Naharin surfaced in my consciousness. Choreographing is the ultimate act of creativity–it is truly multi-sensory in every possible way. It affords a level of agency and sovereignty alongside the possibility of making new rules with your body and then breaking them, over and over again.
Maya Brinner’s beautiful piece, ‘Home Work,’ embodies every sense of this learning curve while weaving motherhood into the tapestry seamlessly. We learn to dance by dancing. We learn to mother by mothering. We’re all in this delicious state of learning.
In this piece, Maya dances with her two wonderfully cheeky sons, Zohar and Michael. The trio has been performing all over the country the past year. What a privilege it was to see this piece now, when our hearts and bodies are so heavy with war and politics as Maya offers us a little respite of levity, a sanctuary of movement, a refuge of play. To remember dancing as a child with our Giants, the feeling of safety and play it imbibes. And now, we are those Giants for the next generation.
We live in a world of so much disconnect. But the potential for connection is always there at our fingertips. And we’re reminded of this potential with Maya Brinner’s creation. We forget that we, as adults, are Giants to our Littles. They look to us as Giants. During the early months of the war, my kids asked, as all of our kids did at some point, “Where do the sirens come from?” Their Aba responded with a very practical explanation of the nature of alarms, what they do, etc. I paused for a moment, gently interrupted, and spontaneously offered a tale. The story of a Giant named Ho-No.
The story of a Giant.
Taller than the highest trees
Even the mighty cypress and eucalyptus trees behind our house
A tale of a Giant
With a glorious white beard
Freckles that danced on his cheeks like stars
And kind eyes of a hazel persuasion
Just like Aba
This Giant is so tall, his head bumps into the clouds
He sometimes even fashions a hat from a Rainbow!
His name is Ho-No
(Short for Ho-No-Pa-Mi-Ta of course)
And he loves to wear polka-dot suspenders
And wriggle his nose with glee
Every time a butterfly
Makes her way up to him!
Ho-No uses one of his special voices to make the Siren sound
Afterall, his job is to watch over us and help to keep us safe.
Every community has their very own Ho-No
Giants as tall as the sky
With kind souls and eyes
Our Guardian Giants
Who can touch the stars
And bring one to you
On their Finger tip
In many ways, Maya Brinner’s piece is a beautiful embodiment of the Tale of Ho-No. To this day, we continue to talk about Ho-No. Stories matter. They’re a gateway into lost bids for connection, the perfect antidote to fractures, whether soulful or societal. Maya and her boys offer this deep remembrance through movement as storytelling.
‘Home Work’ is divided into little chapters, indicated by markers at the front of the stage that are flipped up (often by the boys or a little audience member) to indicate a shift. Chapters included a range of activities from explorations in rolling, leaning, falling, catching, an unfolding of duets and solos as well as group dancing. One of the most memorable parts of the soundtrack was set to Alicia Keys’ “Fallin’”, perfectly capturing the essence of the movement. These chapters were alive and dynamic, a mix of choreography and engaging improvisation, essential with kids as co-pilots. Laced with comical, light-hearted, and honest moments of presence, I felt lighter with each chapter, especially “Broken Butt.”
Amidst war, chaos, uncertainty, this mother/choreographer made a statement. She danced with her kids, created a time capsule of movement. What a beautiful legacy. A potent statement and stance of non-violence. There is nothing overly performative or pretentious to it, similar qualities I had so admired with Ori Lenkinski’s ‘A Dance Piece.’ There is a level of authenticity and accessibility that makes it so real. And that’s where the beauty resides, in its realness, its unwavering simplicity. A mother dancing with her sons, for over a year now, making each performance its own masterful archive of youth. Always dynamic, ever-changing, subject to the whims and moods of two brothers existing on a stage with their mother for a brief moment in time, rolling and catching one another, climbing…all the while offering continual invitations to the audience of Littles and their Giants to join in the festivities.
There was one boy in particular who caught my attention. His name was Omer and he was there with his mother, Dalia. At first glance, you can see something special about Omer; a radiance, a light, a connection to other worlds that is still so pure and rife with magic. A young boy of about 9 or 10, he moved more than he spoke. When invited to the performance space, he danced with such fervor, enthusiasm, such passion, an expression of unadulterated, unbridled joy. To watch his mother watching him dance on stage offered its own magic and nourishment. To be fully present in witnessing another dance is a revolutionary act, as I see it. A riot of attunement that extends a glimpse into the hidden world of the individual dancing. I spoke to them after the performance. Dalia spoke of how much she appreciated the realness of it, the weaving of daily life, the authenticity and accessibility of it all. When I asked her son Omer, he offered three words: “Excellent. No words.” He accompanied these words and followed them up with a wave-like motion of his left arm. That gesture seemed to say it all for me–a gesture deeply connected to and extending from the heart space. A wave, a movement that never stops and never ends. This is the remembrance. It was the kind of wave that re-connects us all.
Dance matters. Connection matters. Joy matters. In these days of war and outrage, Maya and her sons help us to remember these truths. And in so doing, they become our own sort of Ho-No. The stage, our shelter. Dancing together, our refuge.
Maya Brinner presented ‘Home Work’ as part of the Kids Summer Festival at the Suzanne Dellal Centre on July 25, 2025.
Heather DeAtley
Born in the United States, Heather arrived to Israel in 2011 to dive into the rich movement and dance culture here. Suzanne Dellal became her sanctuary as she immersed herself in the rich worlds of Gaga and the Ilan Lev Method. As a former Division I collegiate gymnast and dancer, movement was always at the center of her life but everything shifted dramatically following a herniated disc that required surgery at the tender age of 19 her sophomore year at the University of Iowa. Her journey into the healing powers of movement had thus begun.
Heather pulls from her long history of movement practice to create synesthetic experiences through her words, event production, poetry, tipulim and intuitive movement journeys. Creatrix of Wombyn in the Water and Wombmynt, alongside Body Poetry (Ilan Lev Method tipulim), Heather blends her fascination with somatics, neuroscience, embodiment practices, pregnancy, birth, embryology, and so much more into all she does. A love of all things dance has always underscored these other passions.
Prior to becoming an ima nearly 6 years ago, Heather had helped in coordinating Suzanne Dellal’s International Exposure festival, graduating to positions of international development and promotion with individual choreographers: Galit Liss, Sally Anne Friedland, and Adva Yermiyahu. These experiences served as the inspiration behind creating/curating the Salon Series in which she hosts female choreographers in her living room of Sde Yitzhak (including fellow Creative Writing contributors Yulia Frydin and Ella Greenbaum!). Movement and poetry are at the core of all she does.
Heather looks forward to launching her body-sourced “Poetry of” workshops later this year.