I began to realize that I needed to find the cure. The cure for what has no cure. I already knew that I needed to bridge the gap between faith and science. Between accepting and fighting, between shutting up and screaming, between waiting and acting.

In early 2018, Stephen Hawking died, and then I understood what the cure for the incurable was. Hawking suffered from ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis), an extremely cruel disease. When diagnosed, doctors gave him three more years to live. He lived fifty more, creatives.

I started looking for old stories. Nilton Bonder, as a good rabbi, is a great storyteller. We read many beautiful. But I ended up being fascinated by one told by the Bahian choreographer Zebrinha. It is the story of Obaluaê, orixá of illness and healing, of rejection and adoption.

The wounds turning into popcorn is too beautiful.

​

Healing isn't about Theo, it's about what Theo's birth did to me.

I needed to end the show with my antidote to cruelty: never lose joy. And thank you for being part of this great party.

​

Deborah Colker