Where the blind lead the sighted

The Dialogue in the Dark exhibit at Holon's Israeli Children’s Museum offers a glimpse into life without eye sight.

By MIRIAM KRESH
White canes aid those going through the 'Dialogue in the Dark’exhibit (photo credit: DAVID ZAGURI)
White canes aid those going through the 'Dialogue in the Dark’exhibit
(photo credit: DAVID ZAGURI)
Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be blind? You can safely experience blindness for an hour and a quarter at the Dialogue in the Dark exhibit at the Israeli Children’s Museum, Holon.
There, my companion and I attended a sing-along in the dark together with a small, cheerful audience of sighted people and blind guides.
We were advised to store our purses and cellphones in lockers before entering the dark room. The guides led us, two by two, through a totally black room that wound around a little; at one point, you might bump into a wall. We flung out hands to feel our way, then were led to small tables and left to grope for our chairs and seat ourselves – carefully, so as not to perch on the edge and fall off.
The darkness was so complete that you literally could not see your own hand in front of your face.
When the hubbub of settling down subsided, the mistress of ceremonies turned out to be Sarit Avidar, accompanied by a guitarist and drummer. It took a few minutes to get used to singing together, but with Avidar prompting the lyrics and setting the tempo like a seasoned performer, the crowd relaxed and began to have fun. We warbled through some 20 Israeli oldies-but-goodies, moving from classics to humorous songs and even a few bars of Friday night’s Shalom Aleichem.
Some harmonized and improvised little vocal riffs.
One or two who had bought beer at the concession stand became good-naturedly raucous. Although my companion and I didn’t know every song, we’ve both been listening to Israeli radio for many years and were able to sing along with most of them, or at least fake it.
It’s actually sort of liberating to sit in total darkness; it creates a strange privacy, like having become invisible.
You can sing off-key and nobody will know who it is. You can sway and shake to the music, fix your hair, frown or smile or yawn, and nobody will see. It also became clear why we were told to store away our possessions: it would be easy to lift a purse off the back of a chair in the blackness, and no one would know who did that either.
Avidar mischievously asked, “Are all the couples cuddling?” The crowd cheered and whistled.
With no visual distractions, there was time to pay close attention to the nuances of the music. The song’s messages, even the choice of words, stood out in the mind as never before. Physically, my companion and I both noticed that the darkness somehow felt even darker after about half an hour. We closed our eyes, although it was the same as keeping them open.
The program ended on a poignant note, with a song of thanksgiving for God’s gifts and a prayer for peace.
Then the audience spontaneously broke into the Hanukka kindergarten song: “Flee, darkness, from the light!” with the drummer joining in a wild Mizrahi rhythm on the darbuka.
It was an extraordinary experience: We had begun to understand how a blind person lives.
In the following days, I’ve thought more about blind people and the strength it takes to live normally without sight. I’ve tried to imagine doing simple, everyday things as a blind person, like peeling a band-aid apart, chopping vegetables, diapering a baby, finding a shoe that strayed under the bed. More and more, I’ve come to appreciate and admire the determination and spirit of people who don’t see, thanks to Dialogue in the Dark.
The blind sing-along experience will be repeated on January 1 at 9 p.m. For more information about events at Dialogue in the Dark, call (03) 650-3000 or visit www.childrenmuseum.org.il