Chen Shalev • The dancer who defeated anorexia and found the light

Chen Shalev, a talented and passionate dancer, successfully coped with one of the most difficult battles – anorexia, which almost overwhelmed her body and soul. With hope and an inner desire to return to a full life, Chen found the strength to fight, overcome, and choose the path of recovery. Her story is a moving testament to the power of the human will that allows us to find light even in the darkest moments.

The dancer who never gave up on her dream

Chen Shalev was born in 1997 in Kiryat Yam, a quiet girl in a quiet city, but even then the urge to move, to dance, to break boundaries burned in her body. At the age of 6, she began studying in a local ballet class and at only 12, she began her journey at the "Reut" School of the Arts in Haifa, where she chose the dance major. She honed her raw talent at the "Telma Yellin" High School of the Arts, where she studied.

Even before she graduated, Chen became a prominent figure in the world of young dance, when she joined the Bat Sheva Company's Excellence Project - one of the most important in the field in Israel. Thanks to her impressive abilities, she won prestigious excellence scholarships: the Ronen Foundation and the Eli and Esther Leon Foundation. She was then accepted into the young kibbutz dance company - a dream stop for any young dancer. She was also recognized as an "outstanding dancer" in the army, and continued to perform and take part in innovative projects.

But behind this bright path lies a fracture. A serious illness has struck Chen's body: anorexia nervosa. After a long and winding road, she has chosen to return home. Not to Tel Aviv, not to the dance stages, but to Kiryat Yam. In her parents' home, she finds the warmth, the support, the envelope she needs to continue. Not to give up. Not to stop.

Chen Shalev is not just a dancer – she is a story of a body that knew how to flourish, of a soul that learns to heal, and of art that continues to beat, even in the most difficult moments.

"I live here too"

Here is the section that brings you fascinating characters from Haifa and its surroundings in their homes, where the introduction is through the stories, the burdens and the unique perspective of the people who make up the human mosaic of the Haifa district city. In other words, these are the people who live and work here, just like the section's name - "I live here too."

In this section, we will get to know the Haifa characters and their place of residence, where the acquaintance is not through the size of the apartment, or a real estate appraisal, or a design description - but the essence of this acquaintance is to get to know the hosts, the stories, the emotional baggage, and the unique personal perspective. This time, we will visit the residence of Chen Shalev, who lived in her parents' house in Kiryat Yam. Dancer Chen Shalev, who faced and stood up to the hardships of anorexia - chose a life of health and light.

Chen Shalev may no longer be on the dance floor, but her story never stops dancing. It is a story of passion, pain, survival, and most of all, finding a new voice in a worn-out body. A voice that is no longer just for others, but also for her and for the sake of others.

The melody that bursts out as if it had always been waiting there

Although years have passed since Chen put her fingers to the piano keys, she sits down in front of it all at once – and as if with a silent command that only she and the instrument understand, she bursts into intense, decisive playing. There is no hesitation in the movement, no search for sounds. The melody bursts forth as if it had always been waiting there, trapped in memory and only asking for someone to give it a voice.

There is nothing in the atmosphere of the room that would indicate the enormous upheaval that Chan has undergone, her ability to cope with anorexia on the one hand, and her coping and victory over this affliction on the other. The first notes – thin, fragile, but intense – fill the room with a bewitching atmosphere. This is not just another melody, this is a melody that is etched in her memory and the collective memory of an entire generation. This is the melody from the film that was released in the English-speaking world as Amélie from Montmartre – and eventually earned the short and beloved name: Amélie.

The soundtrack was written by Jan Tiersen, and the musical line he chose – minimalist, thoughtful, full of emotion – gives an incomparable sense of intimacy. Among the many wonderful passages in this soundtrack, Chen chooses to play one of the famous melodies: "Comptine d'un autre été" – or loosely translated: "Rhyme from another summer."

Chen plays, but it seems as if the melody is the one playing it. ► Watch

Between Kiryat Yam and the heart of Tel Aviv: The moving story of Chen Shalev, the dancer who struggled with her body and found peace in yoga

Chen Shalev was born in 1997 in Kiryat Yam, a quiet but energetic girl who grew up at the "Alumim" elementary school. At the age of six, following her mother's decision, she enrolled in a dance class. For Chen, it wasn't just an afternoon class – it was the beginning of a deep passion for the world of dance. From the very first moment, she found herself drawn to movement, to music, to dreams.

The girl from Kiryat Yam who found her calling in the ballet studio

Even then, in that first year, the first moment occurred when her body became the subject of judgment: The instructor took her aside and asked, "Chen, what about your stomach?"

She remembers that moment well – her gaze dropping downward and the answer that came out of her almost in a whisper: "But Alona, ​​I don't eat sweets..." It was the moment when the six-year-old girl began to realize that her dream might have to go through the battle over body image.

Middle School on Carmel – Alienation versus Uniqueness

At the age of 12, Chen was accepted into the "Reut" School of the Arts in Haifa. The environment was foreign to her – students from Carmel, guys from the Scouts, everyone seemed far removed from the life she came from. She, a girl from Kiryat Yam, felt as if she had landed in another world. But despite the social difficulties, her abilities skyrocketed. She was immediately recognized as a talented student and received an invitation to a summer course at "Thelma Yellin" – one of the most respected performing arts schools in the country.

The impression was so profound that by the end of the summer, she was offered the chance to join the reserve track in eighth grade. Chen said yes, even if it required her to wake up every morning at five, travel from her home in Kiryat Yam to Givatayim, and return only at eleven at night. And so for four years – alone on buses and trains, in rain and sun – she did not give up on her dream.

The outstanding dancer and the never-ending struggle with weight

Despite her achievements and distinctions at Thelma Yellin, Chen was unable to escape the constant judgment of her body. She made sure to bring only fruits and vegetables in a box to school, but even then she was not spared remarks – there is always room to “lose a little more weight”. In the evenings, when she would return home exhausted, she would “attack the refrigerator”. Daily starvation turned into nightly eating bouts. From a very young age, Chen began to imagine herself not through what she created – but through her stomach.

At home, a "nutritional regimen" had already been implemented in collaboration with the mother and the instructors. She ate only the "permitted" foods, and suffered from a negative and oppressive body image. Still, she never stopped dreaming of dancing.

Home, family and differences

Chen was born into a mixed and complex family. Her father, Michael (Miko), works as an administrator at the "Ravin" High School. Her mother, Tzipi, used to run a successful perfume shop in the city. The original family name was Amsalem, and later changed to "Shel". Her father is of Moroccan descent and her mother is of Czech descent.

She has three siblings: Uri, the eldest, 40, went deaf at the age of one after meningitis. He currently drives an Eldan and has three hearing children. He lives in Kfar Saba. Gili, the older sister, 37, who was like a second mother to Chan. She is now a married insurance agent and mother of three, living in Kiryat Motzkin. Amit, 33, is a special education teacher and mother of four daughters, living in Kiryat Ata. A close and supportive relationship developed between the two older sisters, but due to circumstances, the connection with the youngest daughter, who chose to follow a different path into the world of dance, was somewhat distant.

The moment her star shone—and then faded

After completing her studies at Thelma Yellin, Chen received the status of "outstanding dancer" in the army, thanks to her acceptance into the kibbutz dance troupe. She lived on Kibbutz Ga'aton, lived with a basketball player husband, and served as a chemist in the Navy's medical center. Every evening she opened the Shekm and faithfully served the soldiers. A life of discipline, dance, and total dedication.

After about two years, the relationship with her partner ended, as did her time in the kibbutz dance troupe. Chen moved to Tel Aviv, to a shared apartment on Sheinkin Street, where she began working with choreographer Sharon and Zana. Together, they created "Monster" – a feminine and independent work – and Chen also created a solo dance: a work called "Sarah" at the Inbal Theater.

But just when it seemed like everything was starting to come true, a complex nightmare erupted.

The abuse, the collapse, and the separation from the dream

Within a short period of intense rehearsals, Chen began to experience physical and mental abuse from the rehearsal director. Daily humiliation, worthlessness, self-destruction. She tried to hold on, but she couldn't. Her heart was no longer on the stage. The door that led to the dream closed with a painful thud.

She described herself as "like a washing machine": wrung out, spinning around itself, without any center. With her separation from the world of dance, she also lost her sense of identity. Who is she now, without dance?

Tel Aviv, yoga, and a nun in the heart of the city

In search of an answer, Chen began teaching dance in Kfar Yona, but it wasn’t enough to survive life in the big city. She started ballet lessons and soon found herself drawn to a new and healing world: yoga. At the Pure studio on Sheinkin Street, she experienced movement for the first time that didn’t come from a place of criticism. Not a diet, not a demand – just presence. Here and now. She fell in love.

As always, Chen doesn't do things by halves. After a while, she also joined a yoga teacher training course at the Lotus Studio in north Tel Aviv and began to study the philosophy behind the practice. Through reading, she understood the depth of the differences between East and West – but not as a gap, but as a complement. She thought that if "the yogi is supposed to keep a quarter of his stomach empty" – then she had turned herself into a "three-quarters empty stomach". A Buddhist nun in the heart of Tel Aviv, searching for a simple truth, outside the dream squeezer.

"You disappear from us": This is how Chen became addicted to fasting – and turned her Tel Aviv apartment into a temple of thinness

She just wanted to stay thin. Not to lose weight – just not to gain weight. That was the goal. But when the old world was destroyed – a world of eight hours of rehearsals a day, a clear community, a precise routine of movement, sweat, and dance – suddenly Chen found herself alone. Without a goal, without a framework, without the people who were her whole world… And then, within this space, without a stage and without an active body – the disorder was born.

Chen knew what was expected of her: a dancer who didn't get fat. A dancer who didn't lose control. So if she wasn't dancing anymore, at least she wouldn't get fat. She started with a simple reduction: eating less. Then she learned something new. "A yogi is someone who fasts," she was told. The thought deepened: If you can fast for one day, then why not two? And if two days – why not a week? Two weeks?

It has become an obsession. Serious, dangerous. One that disconnects from the world, from life, from sanity. Suddenly she is no longer just Chen. She is an almost Buddhist figure, in a small, silent arena of a Tel Aviv apartment, where her entire world revolves around the eating disorder. Every moment of the day is scheduled, every rule is rigid, every deviation is a personal failure.

Magic that turned into loss of control

"At first," she says, "it was like magic. I finally felt on top of the world. Everyone complimented me, asked how you did it, what's your secret?" And she truly believed – for a moment – ​​that she was a hero. A conqueror. A winner. But she also knew how to manipulate. "The champion of excuses," she defines herself, like anyone whose disorder has turned into a manipulation machine. She always explained why she hadn't eaten, why she wasn't hungry, why she hadn't come.

And she didn't come. Not to meetings, not to friends, not to family. Afraid of the food that would be waiting for her there. Afraid of the embarrassing question. Afraid of being caught. Because any deviation from the routine she had created for herself threatened the only thing she had still managed to control: her weight.

The addiction to fasting

"The anxiety," she admits, "grows with every pound I lose. It's the other way around – instead of relaxing, I'm more afraid." Fear of losing control. Fear of getting fat. Fear of going back to the old body, to the old life. This is not a process of losing weight – it's a whirlwind. A sucker. Like a vortex. And she became addicted. To fasting. To being thin. To the momentary feeling of superiority. To the top of the world that she thought she had reached…before falling into the abyss.

Her friends were the first to notice this. They saw her fading. Not just physically – also emotionally, socially. Then they turned to her parents, came and said: "Listen, Chen is disappearing from us." Thus, slowly, the picture became clearer. The dancer who dreamed of flying – gradually lost herself in a dangerous dance against herself. A dance without rhythm, without an audience, without a stopping reflex. Just her, the sight, the fasting and the fear.

What is the difference between eating disorders and eating disorders?

Here, attention should be paid to the following concepts, first one and immediately followed by "the other": eating disorders and disorders בEating is a phenomenon that varies in intensity and characteristics.

Eating disorders are serious clinical conditions diagnosed according to clear criteria, and include conditions such as anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa, and binge eating disorder. They are characterized by compulsive behaviors, extreme weight changes, distorted body image, and severe functional impairment.

In contrast, disorders בBinge eating is an irregular eating pattern that does not always meet the medical criteria for a psychiatric disorder. It may include emotional eating, avoidance of food groups, skipping meals, or occasional binges, and may sometimes be an early stage that may develop into a clinical eating disorder. The main difference between the two lies in the frequency, intensity, and functional impairment. While binge eating disorders בMore common and difficult to diagnose, eating disorders are considered serious medical conditions that require professional treatment.

Chen's Journey into the Shadows

For a long time, Chen managed to convince everyone around her that everything was fine. Even her parents, who saw their daughter gradually weakening, believed her. There was nothing in her behavior that indicated an inner turmoil – she seemed relaxed, spiritual, even strong. At least that’s how she wanted to appear. But then came the trip to India.

The Embrace of "Mother India" – and the Shattering Reality

After completing a yoga teacher training course in Israel, Chen traveled with her friends for a month of practice and self-discovery in the subcontinent. Even then, she was underweight, worryingly thin – if only someone would notice. She believed that in India she would find soulmates: yogis, Buddhists, people who understood the path she had chosen for herself. And indeed, India welcomed her with open arms. “Mother India,” as she called it, was the place where you could be whoever you wanted to be.

But even the Indians, with their broad-heartedness and cultural embrace, looked at her with concern. "Why are you so skinny?" they asked her. "Eat some clarified butter, it'll make you fatter a little." Chen just smiled: "No, thank you. For me, just vegetables and tofu."

The collapse of the body – and the awakening of the spirit

One day, during practice, Chen fainted. One of the trainees picked her up, looked at her with piercing eyes, and said, “Get a grip on your life, lady. You have to take care of yourself.” But Chen continued to deny it. She didn’t see a problem, but a way of life.

When she returned to Israel, she had already been a patient for two years with a clinical psychologist in Tel Aviv – but the psychologist, who was not an expert in eating disorders, had not yet recognized the danger before traveling to India. Chen returned from India smiling, but with five kilograms less – and was already extremely underweight. Only then did the silence break. The psychologist, who until now had tried to treat what she considered routine self-searching, warned: “Things are no longer in your hands. You need help, and quickly. You need to be hospitalized in a shelter.”

The diagnosis that shakes – and the fake achievement

Chen was referred for day care at the Reut Hospital in Tel Aviv. Immediately upon initial intake, the meeting with the psychiatrist changed her life. He heard her personal story, looked at her and said: "Listen to me, honey. You have anorexia nervosa. And you have to take care of yourself, because you are about to lose your life."

But Chan heard something completely different. She didn't hear a warning – but an achievement. To her, she was suddenly "not just thin – but extremely thin." An idea began to flash in her mind: how could she maintain this title, this imaginary "success."

The slow collapse – and life on the edge

During the three-week treatment at Reut Hospital, Chen's mother left her home in Kiryat Yam and moved in with her in the shared apartment in Tel Aviv. She tried to be there for her, to comfort, to accompany, to understand. Chen, for her part, woke up every morning at four, practiced yoga for three hours, and continued with her "day hospitalization." She did eat there, but she returned home and fasted. The game was clear: to go under the radar.

Then, the inevitable happened. The psychiatrist called her in for a conversation, at the end of which he suddenly asked her to step on the scale – without wearing heavy clothes, without drinking water beforehand. The result amazed even him: Chen lost several more kilograms. “You’re going to die any minute…” he told her. He had no choice – he ordered immediate hospitalization at Tel Hashomer Hospital.

Tel Hashomer – The Private Hell

Chen was transferred to the closed ward at Tel Hashomer Hospital. No more yoga, no more silent exercises. There wasn't even the compassion of "Mother India" here, only strict rules: Are you late for a meal? The punishment is... more food. And Chen? A skeletal body, dark eyes, teeth that were starting to turn black, hair that was falling out – and she was still in denial.

Reality failed to penetrate the wall she built. Even when everything collapsed, even when her mother's eyes were filled with tears day after day, even when the doctors made it clear - "You are in mortal danger" - Chen still tried to hold on to the title: the thinnest. The best. The one who controls her body to the limit. Only the limit was already right there - and she stood on it.

She just wanted to move – but in the closed ward it was forbidden.

Despite the prohibition on movement in the closed ward at Tel Hashomer Hospital, a place where freedom is measured in the minutes the door is opened, Chen found another way to breathe. Her body cried out for movement, but yoga was forbidden. So she chose the narrow and only space left to her – the toilet stall. There, behind the closed door, she danced. She moved her body as if she wanted to revive something forgotten in it.

But even this silent dance had a price. When the ward staff discovered the secret practice, it was decided to make the conditions stricter. Chen was transferred to the “Unit” – a specially closed wing intended for patients in the most extreme and difficult conditions. At that time, she had not yet gained strength and weight. Another stricter tag was announced for her constantly moving body: “Bed Week” – seven days without moving, during which she must rest every moment.

The parents were called – Chen refused to lie down in a place where silence screams.

After only two days of being confined to bed, Chen refused to continue the process. Despite the advice of doctors and psychiatrists, she forced her parents to take her out.

But in the outside world, a new and equally threatening reality awaited: the coronavirus pandemic. And within the global quarantine, after about a day, Chen found herself returning to "Tel Hashomer," to that "bed week." This time, Chen succeeded in doing so and returned to the girls' group. She tried to reconnect. However, when one of the psychiatrists learned that she had hidden food during the meal, there was no room for error. The violation was recorded. The reaction was sharp – her immediate removal from the ward.

"At least I have something I'm good at": Chen and the voice of disruption

For the medical team, it was a breach of trust. For Chen – another failure. But not just any failure, but one through which the disorder itself spoke. “At least I have something I’m good at,” she told herself – “an eating disorder.”

She returned to a house where she no longer felt like she belonged. A place that was once called "home" - now housed the worst enemy of all: food. Her parents saw her disappearing beneath the surface and decided to admit her to day care at Rambam Hospital in Haifa.

Finally someone sees the beauty – but she still doesn't want to be healed

The day care department at Rambam Hospital was a rare ray of light for Chen. For the first time, the medical team didn’t just see her weight or body fat percentage. They saw her. Chen was given a personalized diet, attended occupational therapy classes, and was even allowed to do yoga – an area she loved so much. But inside, Chen wasn’t yet aware of the essence of giving up on the disorder. She didn’t really want to get better. Her weight didn’t go up.

After about a month, and despite the personal connection, the medical team decided to stop treating her. "You're a lovely girl," she was told, "but you're not really cooperating." She was told that she had to leave the place - since she hadn't fully completed the plan.

Between a shopping mall and a bus – and the road back to the abyss

Thus began a dark period. Chen lost her direction. For days she wandered aimlessly – riding buses, wandering through malls – just to avoid being at home. There, within the walls of her rooms, the enemy awaited at every meal. Her body deteriorated rapidly. Her physical strength was almost gone. In a Zoom conversation with Roy, her yoga teacher, she reported to him that she no longer had the strength to move her legs. That was the sign. She found herself hospitalized again – this time at Hadassah Ein Kerem Hospital.

In this department, her parents were asked to do the most difficult thing of all – to give full guardianship over their daughter’s life. For Chen, this was a declaration of war. She fought against this decree in court and managed to overturn the control of her life by others and returned to her parents’ residence in Kiryat Yam.

From anorexia to bulimia: When the disorder changes face — and the rage is directed home

Control remained in her hands, but something inside her broke. Perhaps the freedom she had returned to was truly too much to bear. Now, the disorder had changed form: from anorexia to binge eating. Her body, once fragile and painfully thin, had now become living testimony to unbridled power – and sometimes also to a rage that knew no bounds. The fits of anger and aggression were directed at her parents. They were extremely severe and there was no escape, to the point of arrest.

Twice Chen was behind bars. There, only there, between the walls, the cold, and the iron, did she begin to understand. In this difficult place, for the first time, she saw reality as it is.

One night – "The Night of Mercy" and one body that decided it would not give up

One night, without any warning, something happened that changed my life. "My body rose up to save me," Chen says in her lectures.

No one can explain this moment, not even Chen, but it happened. That night something changed. From that moment a long journey began – a harrowing, sometimes unbearable journey. It was the hardest path in her life, when she did it – alone. Without hospitalization, without medication, without anyone’s help.

Talking out the pain – and comforting others

Today, Chen stands in front of an audience and tells her story, speaking very openly about that journey to recovery, not out of pride or arrogance, but out of a desire to show that there is hope that is possible – even for those who seem to have no more strength.

She shares the story of recovery, with courage and most importantly – by sharing about those powers of the soul that were awakened in “one night of kindness.” She hides nothing. Not the times she raised her hand against her parents, not the humiliation, not the fear. But she also doesn’t hide the victory: the victory over the biggest lie of all – that this eating disorder is hers. Her lectures touch people. Because she doesn’t talk about illness – but she talks about people, about a body that fights for the soul, about a soul that has learned how to live again.

Sunflowers Facing the Sun: Chen Shalev's Poetry Book Born Out of the Darkness

Chen Shalev calls her book of poems "Sunflowers," but behind this sunny, yellow choice lies a charged, painful, and hopeful personal story. For Chen, the sunflower is not just a beloved flower—it is a symbol. It is the power of the sun, the light we strive for even when the earth is cracked and darkness takes over. Perhaps this is why when she published her first collection of poems, she chose to call it simply and lovingly—"Sunflowers."

This book, written from the depths of the soul and weaving a delicate web of words, gracefully reveals a rich inner world of emotions, of pain and healing. The poems deal with time – what was, what was lost and what could yet be. They delve into periods when the sun hardly shone, periods of continuous darkness, of inner silence, of almost complete loss of life.

But like the sunflower that turns its head to the sun even when it seems it has no more strength to warm it – so too did she. Within that darkness, moments of strengthening grew for her. Of renewed choice. Of contemplating the light, not as something external, but as an inner force – as a daily choice in love and life.

Chen writes: "If for every day that I almost gave up, I had received one sunflower - then outside my house today there would be an entire field of sunflowers." This is perhaps the most painful and penetrating line - because it corresponds to a time when all of these were almost nonexistent.

For three long, suffocating years, Chen plunged into the abyss of anorexia – an illness that ate away at her soul, extinguished the "charm" in her, turning every day into a struggle for survival. In the midst of this illness, she almost lost herself. "It extinguished every trace of my personality," she testifies with chilling honesty.

But even within this silencing, within the erasure of the self, a dream remains. She dreamed of eternity. She dreamed of returning. She dreamed of a field of sunflowers. Now, when she holds a pen or a keyboard, she presents the dreams that until now she only dared to whisper to herself. She brings the wars in her heart, the choices she made – even when everything was burning.

"Sunflowers" is much more than a book of poetry. It is a moving, heartbreaking, but also inspiring human document. It is a love letter to life, to the sun, to the beauty that still exists – even in the midst of difficulty. And it is a reminder that sometimes, when there is no field, even one sunflower is enough.

Between ballet, the sea and a supermarket: the daily journey of one woman fighting for the joy of life

She doesn't stop for a moment: Chen continues to dance, run and create – every day anew. Chen, who has rebuilt her life step by step, doesn't stop for a moment. Today, she is no longer just a ballet teacher in Ramat Yohanan, but also an active content creator on social media, a sought-after lecturer, a poet who publishes personal texts that touch every heart, and even maintains her work routine in customer service at Super-Pharm – the place from which she restarted her path in the job market.

Her energy, it seems, is inexhaustible. She insists on staying active – physically and mentally. Along with the dance classes she teaches, she continues to go to the gym regularly, running and walking to stay connected to her body and its power.

But she also has her own corner: an intimate space that is all quiet and peaceful – the beach in Kiryat Yam. She goes there when she wants to really breathe. To walk barefoot, listen to the waves, and find peace in a place that restores her peace of mind.

Perhaps this is precisely Chen's secret – the combination of relentless action with small but profound attention to moments of peace. Between the worlds of dance, media and service, she builds a stable, present and feminine reality for herself, in which every step – even if small – is an expression of a great victory.

Chen Shalev may no longer be on stage, but her story never stops dancing. It is a story of passion, pain, survival, and most of all — finding a new voice in a worn-out body. No longer just for others, but also for herself.