July 13, 2010

An orchestral anthem fades into church bells as a dim stage light focuses on an inert group of six human “stones.” Slathered head to toe — hair, faces, hands, clothing, shoes —in Dead Sea mud, the performers stand as still as statues. Slowly, the innocuous clanging bells shift to the threatening sound of marching boots. The haunting whistle of a train, its metallic wheels rubbing rails in a tinny screech, is interspersed with gunfire. In the distance, a baby begins to wail. Doors creak. Bombers circle overhead. Unknown voices whisper incomprehensibly as the stones slowly reveal the skin-colored numbers scratched into their forearms.