Hori Izhaki (b.1986) in Tel Aviv-Jaffa to Moroccan and Iraqi parents. She identifies as Arab-Jewish, a hyphenated identity that reflects both her heritage and the complexity of her lived experience. As a multidisciplinary artist, Izhaki often reflects on the tension between personal and collective memory, especially in relation to marginalized narratives. For the past eight years, she has been living and working in Berlin’s Kreuzberg.

Her recent work, “Those Who Know Know, Those Who Don’t a Handful of Lentils” (2024), brings these tensions to life. In this multi-channel video installation and sculpture, Izhaki invites viewers to critically re-examine how identity can be shaped, contested, and erased, with a particular focus on the experiences of Arab-Jews in Israel. She delves into the notion of “implanted memory,” in which stories and identities are adapted to fit dominant historical narratives, often at the cost of erasing one’s heritage. This work reflects her broader critique of identity politics and cultural homogenization. To discuss this, Izhaki juxtaposes  the European pine forests planted in Israel after the founding of the state with the native landscapes they sought to obscure, using them as a symbol for the loss and transformation of cultural memory. A comforting reminder of home for many European immigrants and Holocaust survivors, these pine trees also serve as living monuments to trauma. Through Izhaki’s lens, however, these forests become metaphors for the assimilation of Jewish-Arab history into a European-centric national narrative – erasing the richness of this identity and shifting the perception of “the enemy” from Nazis to Arabs.

Another element of her installation is the “Tradescantia” plant, commonly known in Hebrew as “the wandering Jew.” This plant, linked with European Jewish identity rather than Arab-Jewish heritage, grows over and obscures the Arabic letters spelling “ANA” (meaning “I” in English). Gradually, the plant’s natural growth, covers the text, reflecting a process of erasure and symbolizing the layered concealment of Arab-Jewish identity within broader narratives. Izhaki further intensifies the work’s personal resonance through materials such as her own hair and desert soil, grounding other notions of memory and identity with her own biography. These intimate additions evoke both a sense of belonging and exile, symbolizing the tangible connections to land, heritage, and the complexity of displacement.

The events of October 7 shifted Izhaki’s work from a hopeful exploration of shared identity to one grappling with fear, survival, and the collective trauma we have “inherited.” But continuing this work has not been easy – or even hopeful – since October 7, especially when trying to situate it within a bloody, ongoing war where everything feels volatile, constrained, and often misused. She used to wear a shirt that proudly proclaimed in Arabic, “I’m also an Arab”, hoping to spark conversations about belonging and heritage. But since that day, and over the past year, her optimism has faded. Passing through army checkpoints in Israel, for example, or even wearing the shirt in public spaces elsewhere, she felt compelled to hide the Arabic script, sensing a certain risk. This moment also shifted her focus, revealing stark divisions and fears and prompting her to re-examine the fragility of solidarity in times of intense, shared grief. Today, a year later, she feels ready to try wearing the shirt again

  The work was recently exhibited at the KUNSTPAVILLON in Innsbruck and in the Jewish Museum Hohenems in Austria. In 2026 it will travel to the Mishkan Museum of Art in Ein Harod, Israel.