Terror survivor's show takes swing at conventions
Haggai Leffler, who survived one of the most gruesome terror attacks to hit Tel Aviv in 1990s, channels horrific experience into creating a unique exhibition following the escapade of a Palestinian drag queen
Haggai Leffler doesn't remember what made him leave the queue at the ATM machine, just a few seconds before a Palestinian suicide bomber detonated his vest a few yards away, outside Tel Aviv's Dizengoff Center.
It was Purim of 1996, and many children and teenagers were enjoying the traditional city festivities. Thirteen people were killed in the attack and 130 were wounded.
Years later, Leffler, 33, found closure to the horrific experience in an unusual outlet – documenting Amin, a Palestinian drag queen leading a double life between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.
"Here Comes the Queen," is the result of two years during which Leffler documented Amin's stage persona – "Queen of Sheba" – through the maze of the secretive Arab homosexual community.
When he dresses up as a woman, he disguises himself in order to reveal his true self", Leffler, a photographer and a photo editor, explains.
Amin, a married father of two in his 30s, spends most of his days in east Jerusalem, providing for his family. In Tel Aviv, he lives near the city's central bus depot, infamously known as its proverbial "back yard."
The invisible link
Despite the obvious theme of camouflage and disguise, the photographs are overwhelmingly intimate. Leffler depicts Amin as he becomes "Queen of Sheba" in a unique way, with some of the most compelling images taken with a device as simple as a cell-phone camera.
The intimate work with Amin helped Leffler come to terms with his own sexuality and with his traumatic near- death experience; also linking both with an invisible line through a third man – the terrorist.
The mask of one's true self (Photos: Haggai Leffler)
"After the bombing I became very curious about this guy, I wanted to know as much as possible about him. I was 17, he was 21 – only a five year difference, but what a gap between us. I wanted to know what made him decide to kill himself as part of a struggle.
"If you think about in a cold and objective way," he continues, "He was part of a public struggle and he sacrificed himself for that, for the Palestinian people.
"By the way," Leffler stresses, "My conclusion was that the people who do this kind of thing are screwed up, it's totally irrational."
"There was a time when I called him 'my terrorist'. He was like an imaginary friend. When I was in the military, and it got mentally difficult sometimes, other soldiers would hug their gun or call home, but I would talk to my terrorist. I even felt that if he were Israeli he could have been a good friend of mine, because he was brave. For better and for worse, he made me who I am today."
Ironically, Leffler cannot remember the terrorist's name.
The nightmare within
In the years following the bombing, Leffler had not fully confronted the trauma. "One thing that's very difficult to ease is the feeling of guilt. Everyone that was standing around me was killed and I was barely injured. People were torn apart and I don't even have a scar.
"I was right in the middle of the inferno, and it was as if somebody just pulled me out of there. Why me and not the others? Maybe I sensed something or saw something? And if I did why didn't I say something? I don't remember."
It was that guilt that pushed Leffler into drugs and heavy drinking, "attempts to erase myself", as he puts it. "It was self-destruction and escape, also from dealing with my homosexuality. But I also had a feeling that I have a calling in this world, that there's a reason I'm still alive and that I have to do something good with my life."
Leading a double life
This feeling turned Leffler into an extreme pro-Palestinian activist. "But at a certain point I could no longer identify with their suffering, I felt empathy for them because of the occupation but also angry at the way they conducted themselves. After all, for years their way of struggle was illegitimate."
Ten years after the attack, Leffler decided to come out of the closet. "It was like vomiting, it just had to happen. Then I also decided I had to confront the trauma. I became very interested in how these two themes of my life meet, in the situation of homosexuals on the other side, the Arab side."
'Arab homosexuals buried deep in the closet'
Ten years after the attack, Leffler decided to come out of the closet. "It was like vomiting, it just had to happen. Then I also decided I had to confront the trauma. I became very interested in how these two themes of my life meet, in the situation of homosexuals on the other side, the Arab side."
"That whole world was deep in the closet, there was no available information. Then one day a friend told me about this party of gay Arabs in Tel Aviv. I went and it was incredible. There was music from Lebanon, and people of all sorts, mixed couples, nobody cared where you came from or what you were, everything was open and fun.
"Suddenly," he recalls, "the DJ stopped the music and invited Queen of Sheba to the stage. She emerged, black and beautiful, dressed in a wedding gown. She did really good drag, and I just knew – this is it."
Much to Leffler's surprise, Amin agreed to be photographed and they started meeting periodically.
"He has the soul of a true performer. And he has the talent for it and he wants to get out and be famous and be recognized for that talent. But this recognition is dangerous. His fear is real but his desire is stronger," Leffler, who is currently raising funds for a full-scale exhibition, said.
Despite the social and political overtone, Leffler sees this project first and foremost as a personal journey – both his and Amin's. "This is a person whose desire for life, the desire of his real self is stronger than the barriers he has encountered, stronger than this conflict."
