You don’t just meet Chaya Lev. You become part of the positive energy orbit she creates through her indomitable spirit, infectious smile, and original Afro-inspired dance.
We joined her for a raucous dinner of steak, chicken tenders, and wine at The Red Heifer steakhouse on King David Street – near the YMCA where she teaches, and the hotel where once a week she leads a group of displaced women in movements to both calm and invigorate.
A Black Jew in Israel, Lev shares her journey – while dropping some hilarious one-liners – and her mission to bring joy to others.
Salaam, shalom
The youngest of nine children, Lev, 50, was born and raised in Pasadena, California.
She’s always smiling and gesturing; it’s part of her brand. Sipping her wine, she says, “My siblings were like this printer series – copy, paste – then I came along, and they’re like, ‘You take nothing seriously.’ It’s true, I laugh at everything.”
She loves to make other people laugh, too; she does a little stand-up comedy on the side. A taste: “I tell everyone my mother has a magical vulva because she birthed the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. My brother is Muslim. He’s been Muslim for 35 years, and I am a Jewish queen.
“She’s calling me talking about salaam, and I am like, ‘Wrong child.’ He is salaam aleikum, and I am Shabbat shalom.”
But, “You know, you get that in Black families. My grandmother was a huge Zionist. She told everyone she was from Israel, but she was from Mississippi.”
Lev’s parents divorced and moved to Texas; she lived there until she married and had her son, then divorced.
She converted to Judaism 15 years ago with a Reform rabbi in the US. One day, she packed up and moved to Israel, undergoing another conversion here.
“It was Hashem [God]” who called her to Judaism. “You talk to different people who converted and they have similar stories, but this is my story, and I love it because it is quite an honor this became my family. I left my family and must create my own space” in Israel with the Jews.
Survivor
What led her to make aliyah? In part, surviving aggressive breast cancer.
Lev underwent a double mastectomy, months of chemotherapy, and complex implant surgery. “When you get cancer, your hair falls out, and you sort of start to recalibrate,” she recounts.
“When I converted, I told the rabbi that one day I was going to live in Israel, and he said, ‘How? You have a business.’
“After the cancer, I just said now is the time to go, and that’s what I did.”
Throughout her cancer treatment, Lev kept a positive attitude. She would walk into chemo and make jokes and try to have a “good time,” bonding with staff because she felt it would help her survive.
She’s maintained the same attitude through her journey in Israel, learning a new language and making a living teaching her brand of dance.
She does a little shimmy for us across the table. Then she beams.
“Those are the implants,” she says, pointing to her breasts. And she’s super-serious about that shimmy.
Her baby: dance
When Lev moved to Israel, she first lived in Hadera, where she began cultivating her dance movement. Her motto? “We are all dancers.”
She always wanted to be a dancer. “Remember, I am my mom’s ninth child. She asked, ‘Is she going to be the next Misty Copeland [ballet dancer]?’ That teacher said, ‘No, she’s too big.’ So my mother said, ‘Drag her out!’”
Yet, when Lev arrived in Israel, she believed it was time. She had already worked with a yoga instructor, trained with basketball and football players, and consulted with a Zumba instructor “to give me my style.” She is also trained in chair yoga and clap and laugh therapy. “I just took all of that and cultivated it here because I wanted it to be based on the land,” Lev explains. “It’s been seven years of my baby.”
African dance is about lifting people up, according to Lev: togetherness, sisterhood, connection, and trusting your body and yourself. At the YMCA, people constantly tell her they cannot dance. She does not accept that.
“We are all going to dance,” she tells them. “I know what it is like for someone to tell you that you cannot. I don’t want anyone to feel the way I was made to feel as a young girl.”
From Hadera, Lev moved to Tel Aviv, where she lived in a hostel and danced on the beach. Ultimately, she made her dream move to the Holy City.
Dance, she says, has allowed her to connect with the people of Jerusalem and adjust to Israeli cultural challenges. She hopes her spirit of being non-judgmental rubs off on other people.
“Every time I go into classes, I ask Hashem to give me strength to allow me to see people for who they are.”
18 Torahs
On October 7, Lev was in Tel Aviv celebrating her Hebrew birthday, learning of events when she arrived at the synagogue. The rabbi, nonetheless, took out 18 Torahs for men and women to dance with. Then the rockets started falling.
Lev says she never felt afraid because they went into the shelter with those Torahs. “I said to myself, ‘If you are afraid with all these Torahs in a beit knesset, then you’d better choose something else,’” Lev says with a wink.
Now she is expressing thanks for that special day by teaching African dance to women from the South forced to leave their homes in Yahini and relocate to Jerusalem.
As we enter the Dan Panorama Hotel, vibrant African music fills the air in the banquet hall. Lev’s ability to instruct with grace and vigor, even after indulging in decadent delights – “Eat that heifer!” we had laughed – is genuinely remarkable. However, her role extends beyond mere instruction; she becomes a participant, infusing the dance with love, emotion, and boundless joy for those she guides.
In a neat line, the women attempt to mimic Lev’s every step as she gracefully gallops across the floor, chanting and clapping. On the right is a little elderly woman, no taller than 1.5 meters, in a bright orange shirt, smiling big. She mirrors Lev’s every move, leaping high and contributing to the uplifting atmosphere.
Lev holds her hands, they embrace each other, and dance.
Volunteer Rena Sered, who helped arrange Lev’s weekly class, enthuses: “Chaya is larger than life.”
We agree. Chaya Lev is all heart, and Jerusalem – and humanity – are lucky to have her. ■