# Into My Fall That is Endless

> exhibitions · Marie Gallery · Иерусалим · 2026-10-08

Canonical: https://bonire.live/ru/event/into-my-fall-that-is-endless-8b55fedf-284b-49b8-86d6-60610fcc4fc9
Generated: 2026-10-25T18:53:05.280Z

- When: 2026-10-08 – 2026-11-12 (Asia/Jerusalem)
- Venue: Marie Gallery, Иерусалим
- Address: Agripas, 12
- Category: exhibitions
- Tags: festival
- Venue site: https://www.mariegallery.co.il/
- Artists: [Einat Gabai Levi](https://bonire.live/ru/artist/einat-gabai-levi)

## About

“A masque of barking in pointed letters; thus, I fulfilled the role of a house dog in the homeland.” (Uri Zvi Greenberg, House Dog) The dog has accompanied humankind since the dawn of culture. Once a wolf, it crossed the boundary between the animal and the human world, becoming a guardian of thresholds—a liminal figure between nature and culture, wildness and domestication, violence and loyalty. The dog is not merely an animal alongside the human; it functions as a mirror, reflecting the human image, including what is often repressed. In the dog, the human and the animal collapse into one another. Throughout the history of Western art, the dog has shifted from a despised, marginalized, and threatening figure to a familiar presence within the home. Yet even as it becomes an object of affection or ornament, it remains charged and slightly estranged. In contemporary art, the dog oscillates between critical symbolism and the exposure of systems of pleasure, desire, power, and control. It persists as a double figure—loved and rejected, comforting and threatening. Within Jewish tradition, the dog bears a particularly heavy symbolic load. It appears as a figure of impurity, brazenness, and social breakdown. Rabbinic texts warn that before redemption “the face of the generation will be like the face of a dog,” while Kabbalistic writings describe kalbin de-chatzifin—insolent dogs—as signs of rupture. Here, the dog is not merely an animal but a symptom: a mirror of a disintegrating human order. In contemporary Israeli art, the dog emerges as an unsettling and charged image. It carries memories of marginality and threat and serves as a witness to historical violence, as noted by Gideon Ofrat (“In Praise of Dogs,” 2011). Alongside this stands a philosophical-poetic reading that views the dog as a silent moral, almost angelic being, as suggested by Dror Burstein (“The Angel: On Dogs,” 2023). Between these poles unfolds a wide spectrum—from the feral and predatory to the domesticated guardian. A key reference is Menashe Kadishman’s dog sculpture from the 1970s, rooted in images from the aftermath of the Yom Kippur War: dogs feeding on the bodies of fallen soldiers in the Sinai Desert. The dog becomes a witness—its tense body carrying the memory of battlefields and death. A literary echo appears in Balak, the dog in S.Y. Agnon’s Only Yesterday (1945), a figure inhabiting zones between exile and redemption. The exhibition title, House Dog, is taken from Uri Zvi Greenberg’s 1929 book, in which he casts himself as a house dog—loyal yet marginal, obedient yet barking in a moral warning against blindness and complacency. Held at the Geula Gallery in the Uri Zvi House as part of the Jerusalem Biennale, the exhibition traces a movement from the restrained domestic dog to the creature erupting from below—wild, wounded, roaming. These are the dogs of this war: abandoned, hungry, aggressive. Here, the dog ceases to function as symbol alone; it becomes body, psyche, and testimony to a fractured reality.

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