Moroccan-French artist Mohammed catches flamenco dancer Israel off guard on Avignon stage

L'Orient-Le Jour

4 days ago

Playwright, director and actor Mohammed al-Khatib disrupts all norms through documentary theater, where the boundaries between reality and fiction blur. In doing so, he attempts to give voice to those who are silenced.
Now a prominent figure on the international stage, he gave an interview to L'Orient-Le Jour in Avignon to discuss his journey and his vision of theater, which is deeply rooted in real events.
First, this choice of an eponymous title, Israel and Mohammed, provokes strong emotions throughout Avignon and stirs contradictory feelings. What's unsettling — and almost ironic — is that Israel Galván has nothing to do with Judaism. Yet he could have been seen as a Jew or an Israeli dissident against the Israeli government. What do you make of all these misunderstandings, and what do they provoke?
That's a complex question for a complex situation. There's the randomness of a meeting, the disconnect, the expectation — an expectation that is thwarted, because Israel is not Jewish: He is a Jehovah's Witness, Arab-Andalusian, the result of a mix.
However, this mix has consequences: When he performs in the Middle East, he must change his name. He is no longer called Israel, but Galván de Los Reyes.
These objective facts inevitably refer us back to political considerations. In the video, my father says at one point, 'It's good to want peace, but first, you have to do politics.' The Palestinian question has always represented, for my parents, a horizon of peace — an increasingly distant one — but also a place of political confrontation.
I believe that even after a year of genocide, after the mass slaughter of Palestinians, it's essential to maintain a link with that part of Israel that condemns the massacres and tries to persuade from within. It is politically necessary to take a stand against this extremely dangerous far-right Israeli government, so that it can be isolated, boycotted and politically and economically neutralized.
But at the same time, we must maintain the link with civil society, like the Israel Festival in Jerusalem, made up of leftist anti-militarist activists opposed to settlement in the West Bank and the occupation of Gaza. They are our brothers and sisters in political struggle.
So there is a double gesture: that of isolation and, at the same time, that of connection — a constant dialogue with Israeli intellectuals who share our fight against colonization. Without this, there is no possible horizon of peace. Today, we have just lost a generation. The children of Gaza, that generation, will not be able to forgive.
During the performance, there is an extraordinary moment where you make a mosque appear in the Cloître des Carmes, recreating the architecture of Al-Aqsa. Beyond its political scope, what memory do you have of that place?
The day I visited the Temple Mount to take a picture of the Al-Aqsa Mosque for my mother, I went with my French passport, so I was protected. They made me wait three hours at the checkpoint. Next to me, a Palestinian father was waiting with his child.
At one point, an Israeli female soldier, about 20 years old, made this father kneel, threatening him with her weapon in front of his child. I looked at that child and thought he was lost. He was experiencing a double humiliation. It's severe. In Palestine, a generation of resentment has been created. A sacrificed generation. That's the tragedy: When you see your parents humiliated, massacred, you can't forgive.
I hope the international community will have the courage to mobilize and confront this situation that, personally, makes me ashamed. A shame mixed with helplessness and contempt — a contempt toward Arabs. Because you understand painfully that a Palestinian life is not valued as an Israeli or Western life.
At the start of the performance, you distance yourself from religion, while inviting it onto the stage through this mosque and the bell tower turned into a minaret. In this way, you offer a platform for identification to Arab spectators, both Christian and Muslim, in a context where Arab-Muslim voices are almost absent from the French media space.
It's a gesture of repair. As someone who is neither a believer nor a practitioner, I felt, as after Sept. 11, 2001, when people said, 'I am American,' the need to say today: 'I am Muslim.'
In today's France, in this racist, Islamophobic, reactionary political climate, I wanted to make a gesture of repair and reconciliation. To show my parents' Islam, which is a peaceful Islam. The mosque, with its minaret, converses with the bell tower. And the France of bell towers doesn't scare anyone — it's cultural.
There is also a cultural, tranquil Islam. I saw my parents live their faith this way. Today, the witch hunt against Muslims is unbearable. With this mosque, this bell tower and this first name — Israel — I wanted to make a gesture of peace, of hospitality. A gesture of recognition towards my parents' generation, scorned and humiliated. And I do so peacefully. Serenely.
And with a lot of love and humor, you symbolically kill both your fathers on stage. Both refused to accept you as you are, yet you build them sanctuaries.
This way of 'killing the father,' as we say in psychoanalysis, is also a way of rehabilitating him. One of the big problems of Arab culture is this ever-present patriarchal figure. People are often afraid of the father in our families, where a form of omnipotence settles in, which can sometimes lead to abuse. But most of the time, this omnipotence masks an impotence. A social, political impotence.
My father, for example, was mistreated at the factory. He had to sacrifice his life. He suffered constant humiliation. He was prevented from existing politically and socially. And the more you marginalize people, the more you contribute to their exclusion. Real integration would have been to welcome them with dignity.
My father arrived in France in the 1970s, with the first wave of immigration. They were brought in to do 'the work': collect garbage, work in construction and sort. They did the grunt work. An entire generation was scorned. And today, it comes up against the next generation — mine, which is entirely French, fluent in the language, and will not accept being domesticated as our parents' generation was.
What I wish is that, at least for the end of their lives, since this generation will soon disappear, we give them a form of dignity. Because they contributed to France's economic growth. Because they sacrificed everything for their children, who now take part in the country's life, among the elite, the working classes and in culture.
Through my artistic practice, when I recreate my mother's Grand Palais, or stage the Renault 12 and the Peugeot 504, it may seem anecdotal. But it's my way of rehabilitating a part of France's history. To say that this generation of immigrants is part of France's popular history. It thoroughly deserves its place in national museums, just like Breton history or Corsican specificities.
What is very touching in your work is that you become the parent of your own parents. Through your work on retirees and seniors, you seem to embrace that entire generation. And yet, in your art, you are rejected by your father, who wanted you to pursue a career in political science. It must be said that your audience is much larger than that of political science readers...
It's a question of responsibility. Through my work on collective history, I feel that I'm engaging in a kind of sociology in action. I embody, in a way, a particular idea of political science, but in a concrete way.
I did research on Islam in France at Sciences Po. And I was already asking this question: In a secular perspective, why does the French state want to organize Islam? Whenever this question arises, it's from a place of suspicion, fear of foreign interference.
The most recent report was about 'the Muslim Brotherhood's entryism' in France, which is, in reality, marginal. But a political ghost is stirred up, that of the 'great replacement.' A cultural battle is being fought over a fantasy, while it's not the reality on the ground.
The difficulty — but also the richness — of Islam is that it has no equivalent to the Pope. There is no Catholic Church. It's an intimate relationship between you and God. There are as many branches as there are countries. No doubt my parents' peaceful little mosque would be frowned upon by Salafists. But those nuances are not perceived. Many French people are ignorant and thus are caught up in fantasy.
I've always seen my parents as having immense spiritual strength. And in my view, what produces racism today is social misery, the damage of liberalism, which feeds this rejection of Muslims in France.
Theater gives me public speaking. I cannot trivialize this space. I feel indebted to those who have been silenced or erased politically because I am the result of this history.
And what about dance? You invite Israel, who expresses himself with his flamenco steps, and you end up a dancer yourself. At the end of the performance, you are two. Two twins are escaping from the screen. How did your body follow Israel's?
It was pretty natural. I played soccer at a very high level for a long time. I have an intense physical practice, mastering my body, but in the field of physical performance, not dance. And dance, for us, is always a bit taboo. It isn't received well at home. And therein lies the paradox: We don't dance, but the best weddings are Arab weddings! That's where I saw my uncles and aunts dance. I love this paradox, these rituals that transcend religion. This poetic license is granted for special occasions. It's a way to reconnect with moments of freedom. Moments of joyful childhood.
This leads to the final liberation scene, that of the body. Once memory is healed, you can move on...
Absolutely. Jean Vilar said, 'The best heirs are unfaithful heirs.' I respect this legacy, and I am also forging my own path.
And the question remains: What kind of fathers will we be? Were we good children? What kind of father will I be to my eight-year-old daughter?
I hope she will be free. Free to be Muslim or not. Free to have a religion or not. Free to dance or not to dance. And that she will follow her own path. If I can give her enough confidence to allow her that freedom, then I will have accomplished part of my work.