Let’s start with where you are today. What does your life look like?

My name is Gili Goverman, and I live in Moshav Kfar Yehoshua, an agricultural moshav in the Jezreel Valley. In addition to being a teacher and teachers’ manager at Citizen Cafe, I’m also a modern dancer, performer, and theater choreographer.

I moved back to Israel three years ago after living in Germany for over a decade, and now I split my time between working at Citizen and specific dance projects I choose to take on. Working at Citizen allows me to combine both worlds – it’s flexible and mostly computer-based, so I can work from Tel Aviv or anywhere else.

Splitting time between two such different worlds – how do you make room for both?

I work on my art project by project, not continuously. When I don’t have a project going, most of my time goes to Citizen. But the moment a dance project comes in, I’m suddenly stretching those 24 hours to fit everything – teaching, managing, rehearsals, all of it. The flexibility at Citizen helps because I can work early mornings or late nights, but that usually means 12-hour days.

The passion for dance has been in me since I was very little. I started dancing at age 4 and never stopped. At 14, I left home to dance at Thelma Yellin High School of the Arts in Givatayim, and right after that, I started my professional career – first at Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company at Kibbutz Ga’aton, then on various projects in Tel Aviv, and eventually I moved to Germany, where I danced for 14 years.
Photograpy: Andreas Etter

What was it like, being so far from home, building a life in a completely different language and culture?

For the first six years, I kept telling myself, “Just one more year and you’re going back.” After six years, I realized – okay, you’re probably staying.

Learning the language took forever, partly because I kept insisting the move was temporary, and partly because even though I worked in a German theater, my colleagues were dancers from all over the world, so we just spoke English all day. But when you actually live somewhere and want to belong, you need the language. It’s so much better to understand what the cashier is saying to you, or to ask a waiter about a dish without that awkward feeling of speaking English.

It took a long time before I had German friends. The language barrier was part of it, but also, I was at the theater all day, so my world was pretty small – my friends were my work friends. The company became my family, and we had our own little universe: birthdays, Christmas, weekends together. And still, every Friday I’d miss my actual family and think, “What am I doing here?”

But the work – the passion and the satisfaction from it – held me in place, even when I felt disconnected. That feeling of not quite belonging takes a long time to pass, and actually, it never really does. When you come from a different culture, a different language, there’s always this internal world that only you fully inhabit. I’d left Israel, and when I went back, I didn’t really feel like I belonged there anymore. But I also never truly belonged in Germany. For years I was happy there, content even – but not rooted. 

And then you came back, after 14 years away. What was that like? Did you feel like you belonged again?

After 14 years and after my son was born, circumstances brought me back. And even though I was returning “home” to a place where I speak the language, it still took three years to readjust. To get used to the pace of life here, find new friends, and settle into new work.

Israel isn’t an easy place. There’s this constant survival mode – like how you have to push onto the train first to get a seat because there’s no real queue, or how you feel like you’re getting ripped off if you don’t buy things on sale. The cost of living is insane. And the emotional and psychological toll of daily life here – it’s just out of proportion to everything else.

And still, I chose to raise my son here. Even knowing how complex this place is, I want his roots to be here. I try to give him tools for growing up in an environment where violence and loss are woven into daily life, where they exist right alongside everything beautiful. I’m trying to teach him that reality is complicated, that Israeli DNA is complicated – but this is who we are. This is home.

Photograpy: Andreas Etter

So what helped you create a new balance? What did life look like once you were back in Israel?

After more than 20 years of dedicating my entire life to dance, everything had to change. After my son was born and we moved back, I went from dancing 8 hours a day to sitting at a computer 8 hours a day. On one hand, working from home let me be a really present mother, and honestly, before he was born, I felt like I needed a break from the stage anyway. But pretty quickly, I realized how much I missed it – working with people, work that engages the body and emotions in the deepest way. I missed being able to move, to connect physically, to process things through my body. That whole world I knew so well just disappeared.

So now I’m grateful for every project that comes my way. I chose to be fully present as a mom, which means I can’t engage with dance the way I used to – not as the center of everything anymore.

You’re working on something new now, right? Tell us about the opera you’re rehearsing.

Right now I’m in rehearsals for “Dido and Aeneas,” a Baroque opera by Henry Purcell. It’s about an hour long, three acts, and tells the story of Dido, Queen of Carthage, and Aeneas, Prince of Troy.

There’s great expectation for a happy fate for both Troy and Carthage following the love story between the two, but evil forces intervene and cause Aeneas to think he must leave Carthage quickly to establish Rome. Aeneas wants to stay with Dido out of love, even if it means violating the decree of fate, but Dido fears the gods and refuses. She rejects him, and when she understands she can’t live without him, she chooses to die.

The opera director is Stefano Poda, an internationally renowned Italian director. He’s handling everything: set, lighting, directing, and choreography to create a unified language.

Working with him is fascinating. He’s not interested in just beautiful movements or external aesthetics. He’s searching for authenticity from each performer, wanting us to feel and convey the full emotional and psychological depth of the story. The most challenging part for me is stripping away all my technique and mannerisms as a dancer to find a very honest, personal place on stage.

We premiered on November 16th, and the opera runs through November 28th. Tickets here!

Photograpy: Andreas Etter

As someone who also choreographs and creates your own work, what’s it like being part of an ensemble?

Whether I’m choreographing or dancing, I’m always looking for the big picture and the collaboration. In both roles, I’m a channel for something bigger than myself. The creation manifests through my body, through my interpretation, but I’m always part of something much larger.

The difference is where I stand in relation to it. As a dancer, I experience the work through my body—I’m inside it, an active partner. As a choreographer, I’m leading from the outside, collaborating with the director, the performers, and the work itself. But in both, I’m in service of something greater. That’s what it’s always about for me.

Looking ahead, where do you see yourself in the coming years?

I hope to keep creating, both here and abroad. I want to work in places that encourage creativity and keep asking questions – places that are always looking for new ways to grow and improve. Places where I can keep developing, both as a person and as an artist. I’d love to continue choreographing for theater, in Germany and hopefully in Israel as well. And as long as my body allows me – I want to keep performing on stage.