Capoeira, a form of martial arts combining dance, acrobatics and music that originated among slaves in Brazil hundreds of years ago, may seem like the polar opposite of the ultra-Orthodox religious rituals that define life in Bnei Brak, but one young man has made it his life's mission to blend these two cultures. He's the subject of “Rabbi Capoeira,” a new documentary by director Barak Heyman.
The film will be screened at Reb Cinemas chain cinemas and theatres across the country from July to August.
A screening listing for the film can be found at heymannfilms.com/movie/rabbi-capoeira/ and it will air on TV in the fall on Yes Docu.
Together with his brother Tomer Heyman, Heyman has been the producer and director of many of Israel's finest documentaries, including High Maintenance, Who's Gonna Love Me Now? and Comrade Dov.
He first learned of the title's rabbi, Miki Hayat, when Hayat contacted him to promote his work as a capoeira teacher in an ultra-Orthodox Jewish neighborhood outside Tel Aviv.
When Heyman met Hayat, the capoeira master who says in the film that capoeira “saved my life” when he was being bullied and facing a crisis, he was immediately intrigued and wanted to teach the martial art to as many people as possible.
Hayat founded the Haredim Raketzev (rhythmic ultra-Orthodox) Capoeira Studio in Bnei Brak because he believes capoeira can help people both mentally and physically. He describes capoeira as “a kind of martial art hidden in dance.”
But most importantly, it's fun.'' In the Haredi world, children and young people, both men and women, need a way to express themselves through exercise, which lifts their spirits and helps them cope with life's challenges.
Elevating people's spirits through martial arts
He remembers not knowing what to do with the pain he felt when his teacher slapped him, or the feeling of failure, until he discovered the martial art.
It's rare in this community for someone to even know what capoeira is, much less someone who has mastered it enough to become a teacher.
Speaking at a screening at Jerusalem's Lev Smadar Theater on Tuesday night, Hayat said he grew up in a family that was not originally devoutly religious.
“I was born a penguin,” he said, referring to the black-and-white clothing worn by ultra-Orthodox Jews, but his brothers were raised in a secular environment. One of them traveled to Brazil after leaving the army and learned capoeira. After returning home, Hayat said, “Whenever I got kicked out of the yeshiva and was wandering the streets, I'd go see him, and he'd be doing capoeira moves. And I told him, 'Teach me that. That's what I want to do.'”
He tried to practice whenever he wasn't in the yeshiva, and participated in capoeira groups of both sexes in the Tel Aviv area.
“I remember wearing a black hat and a black coat and going to a group of guys and girls. When they told me I had to do the first kick, I moved my leg and ripped my trousers. It was very embarrassing, but they made me feel at ease and were very welcoming.”
He was eventually kicked out of the yeshiva for good because he was skipping his studies to train and earn money for tuition. Others who had been kicked out of the yeshiva world tried to tempt him into taking drugs, but he credits his capoeira training with keeping him out of trouble. “But I said no, because I had to train later.”
The film depicts his uphill battle to get his capoeira studio accepted by the larger Bnei Brak community, a Herculean task in a world that views anything but the strictest and most traditional Jewish rituals with suspicion and often hostility.
But in addition to his martial arts prowess, Hayato also has the extraordinary charisma needed to make such a fantastical enterprise successful. He works tirelessly alongside his business partner, Revital, a divorced grandmother who is even stricter on discipline than he is and can anticipate the community's objections.
She has also become more demanding in all things and more careful with money. Hayato is struggling to make ends meet, getting into debt and working nonstop to collect donations.
While he builds a studio and expands it into a gym, which he says is the first of its kind in Bnei Brak, he knows that at any moment fanatics could burn it down or order followers to stay away from it.
In addition to the financial strain of running such a business, Hayat pays the price of not being able to be with his family, but it's a necessary sacrifice that he hopes will “shape community norms” and spread awareness of how physical fitness, musicality and spirituality can all come together.
He also feels it is important that his introduction of capoeira unites people from all streams of Orthodoxy: he speaks frequently in his films about the difficulties faced by those struggling to adapt to the demands of yeshiva life, and feels that capoeira can boost their self-esteem.
“Everyone here is unique, special and important in this colorful microcosm,” he says.
Two interesting points emerged during the Q&A session after the screening in Jerusalem: First, when Hayat was asked about Haredi participation in the military: in principle ultra-Orthodox Jews do not serve in the military, and the proposed law to conscript more of them is one of the most contentious political issues.
He noted that despite coming from the least restrictive Haredi families, several of his students have enlisted in the military, and three of those interviewed in the film are currently serving in the war against Hamas in Gaza.
He said he didn't know whether mass Haredi enlistment was realistic, but he believed the problem could be resolved by “meeting people, not through newspapers or television, talking to each other, discussing what hurts and why, how to get closer, what to do.”
Asked why he decided to make a documentary about the community, the secular Heyman said:
He responded that after spending time with Hayat and his students, he had spoken to close left-leaning friends about the project and was considering whether to go ahead with it.
“I sent her really adorable pictures of cute kids, children, young people practicing capoeira with Miki. She knew nothing about them other than that they were Haredim from Bnei Brak. And I'll never forget her response: 'Just looking at them hurts me and makes me feel totally disgusted.'”
They continued talking and the woman said she hated all Haredim, even though she had never met one.
“And at that moment I knew I had to make this film,” he said, drawing applause from the multi-faith audience.
