What lies ahead
This page is a diary - a journey where you can see the full story of my unexpected love with the circus.
In May 2025, I just wanted to take my son to a show - and ended up breathing again for the first time in years.
I went to see them three times before I realized it still wasn’t enough - I needed to document their strength, endurance, and love - so I found the producer’s contact and arranged a shoot.
These people crossed half the world to create this wonder for us.
They chose to come to a place of heat, war, and an unfamiliar language - on purpose.
They smile and talk to you as if they don’t even know they’re real superheroes and stars.
I really wanted to make an exhibition - but all the galleries were booked for years ahead.
So here it is - the whole story as it is, without filters or glossy retouching - about the most alive people I’ve ever met.
A story in photographs, with notes about feelings and tears.
In May 2025, I just wanted to take my son to a show - and ended up breathing again for the first time in years.
I went to see them three times before I realized it still wasn’t enough - I needed to document their strength, endurance, and love - so I found the producer’s contact and arranged a shoot.
These people crossed half the world to create this wonder for us.
They chose to come to a place of heat, war, and an unfamiliar language - on purpose.
They smile and talk to you as if they don’t even know they’re real superheroes and stars.
I really wanted to make an exhibition - but all the galleries were booked for years ahead.
So here it is - the whole story as it is, without filters or glossy retouching - about the most alive people I’ve ever met.
A story in photographs, with notes about feelings and tears.
You can simply look through the photos - or read the captions more closely.
For the truly curious, there’s a second layer - my feelings, thoughts, and tears between the lines.
Look for this symbol on the page - when you click on it, my feelings will open.
Try it now!
For the truly curious, there’s a second layer - my feelings, thoughts, and tears between the lines.
Look for this symbol on the page - when you click on it, my feelings will open.
Try it now!
This page is my way to say "thank you".
To stop time and let the viewer hear the rhythm - the roar of the motorcycles, the snap of the rope, the heartbeat before the jump.
It’s not only my story about them,
but also my story - through them.
To stop time and let the viewer hear the rhythm - the roar of the motorcycles, the snap of the rope, the heartbeat before the jump.
It’s not only my story about them,
but also my story - through them.
July 8, 2025 - the tent rises, our first meeting
I was on my way to them, not knowing what I would see - but already knowing it was important to be there.
In my head, fear and anticipation were tangled - as if I was walking toward a house I had never seen before, but that somehow had always lived inside me.
That day there were no bright lights or applause.
There was a field, dust, heat, and the slow recognition of each other.
When I arrived in Afula, I already knew exactly what to do - to write a message in the translator and show it to the first person I saw.
The only problem was that the tent was already surrounded by a fence, and I didn’t know from which side to come closer - or how to slip my phone through the bars.
In my head, fear and anticipation were tangled - as if I was walking toward a house I had never seen before, but that somehow had always lived inside me.
That day there were no bright lights or applause.
There was a field, dust, heat, and the slow recognition of each other.
When I arrived in Afula, I already knew exactly what to do - to write a message in the translator and show it to the first person I saw.
The only problem was that the tent was already surrounded by a fence, and I didn’t know from which side to come closer - or how to slip my phone through the bars.
I was let in by two brothers whom I recognized the moment they started walking toward me. They didn’t know who I was, why I was there, or how far I was willing to go. It was a decisive moment - everything could have gone wrong.
But they let me in - and that’s where love began.
Before coming, I truly hoped I’d be at least a little disappointed in the people I had fallen so deeply in love with after those three shows. And I’m a very picky observer. But nothing happened - except trust... and love.
But they let me in - and that’s where love began.
Before coming, I truly hoped I’d be at least a little disappointed in the people I had fallen so deeply in love with after those three shows. And I’m a very picky observer. But nothing happened - except trust... and love.
Of course, I guessed that people who manage to sell popcorn - then run to perform for an hour on stage - then sell popcorn again - and then go back on stage - are probably the same ones who build the tent.
But secretly, I hoped that at least during this part, the artists would rest.
No.
Most of them are here - without costumes, makeup, or decorations.
But secretly, I hoped that at least during this part, the artists would rest.
No.
Most of them are here - without costumes, makeup, or decorations.
The artists were here - covered in dust and sweat, wearing back support belts.
They were building the tent, and in that - in every gesture, in every glance - there was already a circus.
The miracle didn’t begin on stage, but here, in the creak of ropes, in their jokes to each other, in the way they still found strength to dance even while doing heavy work in the heat.
And in the fact that they let me in - it’s much harder to work when every lens is aimed at you.
I stood nearby and watched as a space for dreams was born out of emptiness.
And I felt - I’d been trusted to witness something sacred - not the birth of an act, but of a home.
From that moment on, I knew: this wasn’t just a shoot, it was part of my own story.
They were building the tent, and in that - in every gesture, in every glance - there was already a circus.
The miracle didn’t begin on stage, but here, in the creak of ropes, in their jokes to each other, in the way they still found strength to dance even while doing heavy work in the heat.
And in the fact that they let me in - it’s much harder to work when every lens is aimed at you.
I stood nearby and watched as a space for dreams was born out of emptiness.
And I felt - I’d been trusted to witness something sacred - not the birth of an act, but of a home.
From that moment on, I knew: this wasn’t just a shoot, it was part of my own story.
In their eyes lie the roads we will never walk.
At first it felt awkward:
me - a stranger with a camera,
them - tired, focused.
But slowly the tension dissolved.
I noticed it when, for the first time, no one tried to "make a face" for the shot.
me - a stranger with a camera,
them - tired, focused.
But slowly the tension dissolved.
I noticed it when, for the first time, no one tried to "make a face" for the shot.
My language here wasn’t words - it was the look, the presence, the photographs.
And still, they talked to me - in Spanish, which I didn’t know.
They kept offering me water - sometimes silently, sometimes with a question: “¿Tienes agua?”
That’s how I started learning Spanish.
It was so simple and so touching - a sign that I was no longer just a guest.
Sometimes a bottle of water says more than any translator.
And still, they talked to me - in Spanish, which I didn’t know.
They kept offering me water - sometimes silently, sometimes with a question: “¿Tienes agua?”
That’s how I started learning Spanish.
It was so simple and so touching - a sign that I was no longer just a guest.
Sometimes a bottle of water says more than any translator.
someone brought lunch for the team, and I didn’t want to break their circle.
I found a small pizzeria nearby.
It was cool inside - but life... was here.
A little later - they were tightening the ropes again, setting up the poles, building the amphitheater.
The tent was coming alive.
I found a small pizzeria nearby.
It was cool inside - but life... was here.
A little later - they were tightening the ropes again, setting up the poles, building the amphitheater.
The tent was coming alive.
One of the artists asked if I wanted to photograph him with a jackhammer.
Of course I did.
I want to photograph everything you’re ready to give me.
For me, it wasn’t a photo about the tool -
it was about the moment I was accepted -
me, strange as I am, from nowhere to nowhere.
Of course I did.
I want to photograph everything you’re ready to give me.
For me, it wasn’t a photo about the tool -
it was about the moment I was accepted -
me, strange as I am, from nowhere to nowhere.
The end of the day. I was leaving exhausted and lost. The camera could still keep working, the frames were being born on their own - but I couldn’t anymore. I was too shy to say a word - afraid of being out of place. I stayed silent, breathing, and took with me only one feeling - that today I had touched the beginning of something far too important.
I wanted so much to be there on the second day,
but I was working in the theater - playing my own role as a circus conductor on tour.
On the way to Jerusalem and back, I was sorting the photos,
trying to bring the atmosphere and life back to myself.
In the evening, while the set was being loaded,
I uploaded the photos from the first day to a drive and sent them to one of the brothers.
It seemed perfect - except it turned out to be the wrong brother 🙈
(the link leads to my Instagram post with the story about "the wrong brother").
By midnight, I fell into bed, completely drained -
but with one thought only:
tomorrow, I’ll be with them, no matter what.
but I was working in the theater - playing my own role as a circus conductor on tour.
On the way to Jerusalem and back, I was sorting the photos,
trying to bring the atmosphere and life back to myself.
In the evening, while the set was being loaded,
I uploaded the photos from the first day to a drive and sent them to one of the brothers.
It seemed perfect - except it turned out to be the wrong brother 🙈
(the link leads to my Instagram post with the story about "the wrong brother").
By midnight, I fell into bed, completely drained -
but with one thought only:
tomorrow, I’ll be with them, no matter what.
July 10, 2025 - tent setup, second meeting
On the way to the next day of setup I managed to imagine every possible disaster. What if they didn’t like the photos? What if I’d become unnecessary? Even the car’s air conditioner decided to break, heating things up inside me too. But everything turned out to be simpler. I arrived - the tents were already standing, the circus was taking shape. “You’re late!” - one of the artists joked. “The photos are great!” - said another.
And that became permission: it’s okay, you can.
And it was on that day that the girls entered the frame for the first time.
And that became permission: it’s okay, you can.
And it was on that day that the girls entered the frame for the first time.
The dancer was the first one to speak to me.
She saw the camera, struck a pose, and immediately asked:
- Was that you yesterday?
I hesitated - only in the evening did I realize she meant the photos I had sent the day before.
- Give me your Instagram, - she said, handing me her phone.
I typed in my username.
She saw the camera, struck a pose, and immediately asked:
- Was that you yesterday?
I hesitated - only in the evening did I realize she meant the photos I had sent the day before.
- Give me your Instagram, - she said, handing me her phone.
I typed in my username.
But sometimes I could feel something else — almost with my spine:
"Don’t. Not me. You’re good, but don’t. I don’t want it."
And I stepped aside.
Here, trust is built step by step.
"Don’t. Not me. You’re good, but don’t. I don’t want it."
And I stepped aside.
Here, trust is built step by step.
I remember well who was the first to smile at my camera. Back then, at the very beginning, it felt like a gift - a sign that I wasn’t a stranger. But the photos didn’t reach him.
He found me himself and asked me to send them personally. We exchanged numbers, and then it all started rolling: messages, Spanish lessons through voice notes, his endless reassurance - “you’re not superfluous, you can come again!”
And that was also the circus - not on the stage, but in simple human trust.
He found me himself and asked me to send them personally. We exchanged numbers, and then it all started rolling: messages, Spanish lessons through voice notes, his endless reassurance - “you’re not superfluous, you can come again!”
And that was also the circus - not on the stage, but in simple human trust.
One of the technicians — one of the main ones — came up to me. In Spanish:
— Yo — Cuba. Tú — ?
I didn’t realize right away that it was a question.
And when I did — I answered: Ukraine.
He suddenly turned to his colleagues and said something like: "See? I told you."
I don’t know what exactly he meant — I don’t understand Spanish. But in that moment I felt it — they were also trying to figure me out, to understand who I was.
And somehow, my answer meant more than just geography.
— Yo — Cuba. Tú — ?
I didn’t realize right away that it was a question.
And when I did — I answered: Ukraine.
He suddenly turned to his colleagues and said something like: "See? I told you."
I don’t know what exactly he meant — I don’t understand Spanish. But in that moment I felt it — they were also trying to figure me out, to understand who I was.
And somehow, my answer meant more than just geography.
Each new knot in the rope tied us closer than I could ever imagine.
The miracle is born in dust and laughter,
in the hands that wipe sweat from the forehead -
and all the magic holds together on ropes, sweat, and love.
in the hands that wipe sweat from the forehead -
and all the magic holds together on ropes, sweat, and love.
The circus was ready.
I stood there thinking: I was too late. I’d missed what I wanted to keep forever.
I left that afternoon with emptiness and doubt - was today enough? All that was left was to wait for the day of the three shows.
I stood there thinking: I was too late. I’d missed what I wanted to keep forever.
I left that afternoon with emptiness and doubt - was today enough? All that was left was to wait for the day of the three shows.
The next day the shows began, and I could barely hold myself back from going.
I watched other people’s stories on Instagram and wondered - do they see what I see?
Do they feel as much truth as I did?
Spoiler - no. Otherwise, they wouldn’t leave in the middle of the final bow.
Truth - that’s one of the main reasons I created this page.
I watched other people’s stories on Instagram and wondered - do they see what I see?
Do they feel as much truth as I did?
Spoiler - no. Otherwise, they wouldn’t leave in the middle of the final bow.
Truth - that’s one of the main reasons I created this page.