Queering Militarism in Israeli Photography

Abstract

This article, Queering Militarism in Israeli Photography, examines Adi Nes’s Soldiers series, a body of work that interrogates the intersections of queerness, militarism, and nationalism within Israeli society. By employing a distinctive “military circus” aesthetic, Nes challenges the rigid heteronormative and hyper-masculine archetypes embedded in Israeli military identity. His staged photographs depict soldiers in circus-inspired performative poses, blending military discipline with elements of the carnivalesque to subvert conventional representations of military masculinity. This approach creates spaces where queerness, vulnerability, and fluid identity defy the rigid confines of nationalist narratives. Using queer studies frameworks, performance theory, and postcolonial critique, this article analyzes Nes’s depiction of soldiers as both military subjects and circus performers, examining how these representations disrupt the “naturalness” of gender, power, and identity within the Israeli national ethos. Through a close reading of key images—such as the fire-breathing soldier, the acrobat on a tightrope, and the strongman figure—this article argues that Nes critiques homonationalism and exposes the co-optation of LGBTQ+ identities into militaristic frameworks. His images juxtapose exaggerated masculinity with homoerotic and introspective vulnerability, positioning the queer body as both a participant in and a subverter of the national narrative. Drawing on contemporary queer theory—including José Esteban Muñoz’s concept of “disidentification”, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s theories of queer shame and performativity, and perspectives on temporality, failure, and counterpublics following Elizabeth Freeman, Jack Halberstam, Michael Warner, and Sara Ahmed—this article frames queerness as an active site of resistance and creative transformation within the Israeli military complex. The analysis reveals how Nes’s work disrupts Zionist masculinities and traditional militaristic structures through a hybrid aesthetic of military and circus life. By reimagining Israeli identity as an inclusive, multi-dimensional construct, Nes expands queer possibilities beyond heteronormative confines and homonationalist alignments. This merging of critical queer perspectives—from the destabilizing of discipline and shame to the public visibility of non-normative bodies—posits that queer identities can permeate and reshape state power itself, challenging not only the norms of militaristic nationalism but also the boundaries of Israeli selfhood.

1. Introduction

Israeli society is deeply embedded within a culture of persistent conflict, a condition shaped by unique historical, cultural, and geographical circumstances. Emerging from a legacy of displacement, territorial disputes, and ideological struggles, Israel’s identity has been formed around narratives of survival and dominance. This ongoing tension is not merely a reaction to external threats but a constitutive element of Israeli national consciousness, in which the “other” comprises a persistent presence against which the nation continually defines itself. Geopolitically situated in a highly contentious region, Israel exists in a state of perpetual boundary assertion—both physical and ideological. Consequently, Israeli society operates under a dual sense of defense and offense, embracing resilience and resistance as well as aggression and self-assertion, permeating both personal and collective spheres.

The Israeli army and the ideology of militarism that supports it are not merely reflective of this conflict-laden culture; they are active agents in shaping and sustaining it. More than a defensive force, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) generate and perpetuate a worldview in which militarism is integral to national identity. This militaristic ethos promotes a perception of the world as fundamentally antagonistic, sustaining a cycle that conflates survival with aggression and dominance with security. A hyper-vigilant mindset emerges from this framework, one that views the “other” as a perpetual threat, fueling a cultural atmosphere steeped in fear and control. This perception has its roots in the early Zionist mythos of the “muscular Jew”, in which strength, heteronormativity, and masculinity became integral to national fortitude, perceiving any deviation from this model as a potential threat to Israeli integrity. As the historian George Mosse argues, modern constructs of masculinity equate strength, aggression, and control with virtue and honor (Mosse 1996). Within this narrative, those who do not conform to this militarized, heteronormative archetype are marked as outsiders and as destabilizing elements seen to undermine the core of Israeli identity.

As sociologist Kimmerling (1993) notes, “the Israeli Jew has a military experience as a soldier (combat or not), as a parent of a soldier, as a bereaved parent or a war widow, as a newspaper reader or television viewer, and above all as a member of the Jewish tribe... for those with right-wing or left-wing views, for leaders and the governed, for the educated and the laity, for women and men—after all, this is the existence of wars and the various and diverse forms of participation in the military and security service… In the Israeli context, the lion’s share of them pass through the filter of militarism and the state of communal conflict, and thus receive not only a special tone, but also a common denominator”.¹ Militarism, therefore, is not simply a protective measure but a societal core that defines belonging, identity parameters, and perceptions that reinforce a continuous state of conflict. Consequently, Israeli identity is intrinsically linked to combative masculinity, making militarism a central component of societal expectations.

Central to Israel’s militaristic culture is a constructed ideal of militarized masculinity. The “muscular Jew” of Zionist mythology emphasizes strength, heteronormativity, and control—characteristics seen as vital to national fortitude. This archetype shapes public perception, suggesting that only through displays of strength, aggression, and an unwavering adherence to heterosexual norms can one be deemed a true Israeli. Those who do not conform to these ideals are often viewed as foreign, suspect, or weak, and as potentially undermining the security and cohesion of the state. Within this framework, Israeli identity becomes intrinsically linked to combative masculinity, which marginalizes queer and non-conforming identities as destabilizing influences. Through such rigid ideals, militarized masculinity becomes a foundation of Israeli identity—one that artists like Adi Nes confront in their work.

The photographic work of Adi Nes critically engages with the militaristic culture of Israeli identity, using art to reveal and destabilize its ideological underpinnings. His Soldiers series, created between 1994 and 2000, presents staged photographs of Israeli soldiers in theatrical, poignant scenarios that highlight their humanity beyond that of the typical military representations. The early images in the series depict soldiers as acrobats or fire-breathers, emphasizing the performative nature of military roles. In the later works, Nes captures soldiers in anti-heroic, vulnerable moments—resting, sleeping, or interacting with each other in unexpectedly tender ways. Through these subversive portrayals, Nes introduces homoerotic and homosocial intimacies into military settings, queering conventional depictions of masculinity and camaraderie within the IDF. His work is marked by intricate staging, rich symbolism, and a nuanced blend of vulnerability and strength, all of which challenge the established representations of masculinity and military identity.

As Adi Kuntsman suggests, nationalism and militarism intersect with queerness in ways that destabilize normative narratives of belonging (Kunstman 2009). Nes’s photographs critique the insistence on rigid masculinity and the exclusion of queer and non-conforming identities within a system that equates strength with heteronormative ideals. By staging moments of tenderness, vulnerability, and ambivalence within a military framework, Nes exposes the contradictions inherent in Israeli society’s militaristic ethos. His work ultimately unveils the emotional costs and psychological strain of a culture that insists on combative masculinity, while illuminating the latent eroticism and fragility often masked by militaristic bravado. This critical approach forms the foundation for my examination of how Nes’s work challenges certain entrenched ideals within Israeli society.

This article investigates the way in which Adi Nes’s Soldiers series employs a “military circus” aesthetic to question and subvert rigid constructs of militarized masculinity and heteronormativity in Israeli society. By concentrating on four key images, tentatively titled here the “Military Circus” series—depicting soldiers as acrobats, a tightrope walker, and a fire-breather—this study explores how Nes’s work critiques the oppressive narratives of heteronormative strength and endurance that underpin Israeli national identity.

Through a queer lens, Nes’s work invites a reassessment of militarized nationalism by creating a “gender circus” in which non-conforming bodies and desires are made visible, challenging the normative gaze of militaristic culture. I contend that Nes’s work queers Israeli militarism, positioning queerness as a space of both resistance and transformation. By merging military and circus aesthetics, Nes offers a vision of Israeli selfhood that transcends rigid, militaristic confines, expanding the possibilities for identity and belonging. The broader significance of this study lies in its attempt to question the essentialist and aggressive foundations of national identity, suggesting that multiplicity, vulnerability, and fluidity are integral to achieving a more inclusive and complex understanding of Israeli identity in a conflict-driven society.

2. Militarizing Bodies: The Intersection of Homosexuality and Militarism in Israeli Society

The ideological framework of Zionism in the Jewish State of Israel sought to reshape Jewish masculinity, crafting a new ideal of the Jewish male as physically strong, heterosexual, and militarily capable—a stark contrast to the perceived frailty, deviance, and femininity of diasporic Jewish masculinity.² This transformation, which Max Nordau encapsulated in his concept of “Muscle Judaism”, synthesized masculine physicality with normative nationalism, suggesting that a robust, militarized body would counter the perceived “corruption” of the Jewish body in exile (Nordau 1980, pp. 547–48).

This foundational paradigm underpins contemporary Israeli militaristic masculinity, in which the soldierly body embodies the aspiration and fantasy of national strength.³ Through military service and a readiness to sacrifice for the nation, this idealized form has become synonymous with Israeli military power. Deviation from this ideal—whether through perceived weakness, femininity, or homosexuality—has been marginalized, rendering the homosexual subject (seen as feminine, weak, and morally suspect) as incompatible with the military body and, by extension, a threat to the national corpus. This rigid framework of masculinity reflects the deeper role of the military in shaping Israeli identity.

The primacy of the military within Israeli society extends beyond defense, pervading civilian domains and influencing identity on a national scale (Sheffer and Barak 2010). Scholars have highlighted the overwhelming influence of militarism in Israel, where military elites and veterans are embedded in fields such as foreign affairs, security, economics, culture, education, and even gender relations. This integration supports a cultural narrative in which military ideals shape social norms.⁴ Yagil Levi notably argues, “in Israel there is no army that has a state but militarism that has a state” (Levy 2011, p. 84). Here, the military not only serves the state but defines the very essence of Israeli nationhood.

This “military body”—the Israeli male soldier—represents the “new” Jewish physique that the Zionist project imagined: heterosexual, powerful, and inseparable from the idea of national security. As an institution, the IDF has shaped both national and masculine identities, positioning the soldier as the archetype of Israeli manhood—strong, devoted, and patriotic. In artistic representations, the soldier has become an aspirational figure, standing in stark opposition to those marked as “other”—women, the infirm, and the homosexual. This valorization of the soldier underscores the complexities of male bonds within the military, where intimacy and strict heteronormative boundaries coexist.

The military’s homosocial environment, in which male intimacy and camaraderie are prevalent, reveals a paradox in the relationship between masculinity and homosexuality. As Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick explains, homosocial bonds are characterized by close male relationships that often blur the line between friendship and attraction (Sedgwick 1985). Despite these relationships’ inherent intimacy, the Israeli military culture has historically enforced strict boundaries to maintain a separation between homosocial camaraderie and homosexual desire. Anxiety around these boundaries has manifested in policies and attitudes aimed at preserving a heteronormative military environment, in which any expression of queerness has been seen as a threat to the cohesion of male brotherhood. However, this once-rigid enforcement of heteronormativity within the military was to face challenges from those advocating for change.

The IDF’s stance on homosexuality began to shift in the 1990s. A pivotal moment occurred in 1993 when Professor Uzi Even, a decorated Lieutenant–Colonel and former nuclear scientist, publicly testified before the Knesset’s Subcommittee for the Prevention of Discrimination on the Basis of Sexual Preference. Discharged solely due to his sexual orientation, Even’s testimony exposed systematic discrimination within the IDF, catalyzing an institutional reform that ultimately led to the removal of formal restrictions on gay soldiers.

This change marked a significant step toward integrating gay men into the military, allowing them to participate openly and without fear of official retribution. In conforming to the masculine demands of military service, gay soldiers could now achieve legitimacy within Israeli society, which considers military service essential for full citizenship and social acceptance. However, as Aeyal Gross suggests, this apparent equality has remained limited, constrained by Israel’s predominantly “closeted” culture and the pressures of a homosocial military environment that has subtly maintained heteronormative norms (Gross 2000, p. 165).

A notable contrast to Even’s institutional approach was the public coming out of Yossi Mekaiton, a Mizrahi (Jews of Middle-Eastern/North-African origin) soldier, in 1993. Mekaiton’s act was a direct challenge to military orthodoxy. Photographed in uniform for publication in Hadashot (an Israeli daily newspaper) after coming out at Tel Aviv’s first pride celebration, he faced a punitive response, receiving 28 days of probation and reassignment from the Nahal Brigade.⁵ Mekaiton’s defiance highlighted the military’s underlying discomfort with visible queer identities, especially those that confronted institutional codes of sexual concealment. This reaction to Mekaiton’s visibility became a point of inspiration for Adi Nes, who responded through his own form of public critique: an installation on Tel Aviv’s Bograshov Street. Nes placed military-style warning signs displaying Mekaiton’s image, accompanied by messages like “Military area, photography is prohibited—the offender will be punished” (Peret n.d.). These signs, mirroring “wanted” posters, positioned Mekaiton as a symbol of resistance against the institutionalized suppression of queer identities. Through this artistic intervention, Nes critiqued the military’s relegation of non-normative sexuality to zones of prohibition and shame, exposing the paradoxes of the IDF’s approach to gender and sexual diversity. This artistic critique reflected the broader societal issues faced by LGBTQ+ individuals in Israel.

The struggle of LGBTQ+ individuals for acceptance within the Israeli military underscores broader civil rights issues. In a society where mandatory military service is central to social integration, those who cannot or will not conform are marginalized. As Gross notes, a heteronormative alliance has formed between normative heterosexuality and conforming homosexuality (Gross 2000, p. 176), creating a form of homonationalism⁶ in which gay identity is accepted only if it aligns with nationalistic and heteronormative ideals. Non-conforming individuals—those who resist this alliance by refusing to mask their sexual or gender identity—remain marginalized within both the military and society.

These marginalized subjects are at the center of Nes’s Soldiers series, where representations of military life serve as a vehicle for questioning rigid identity frameworks. By presenting the military as a “gender circus” and depicting soldiers in staged scenes of vulnerability, homoeroticism, and ambiguity, the artist disrupts normative depictions of the soldierly body. His work suggests that identity, particularly within the repressive structures of the military, is inherently fluid, calling for a rethinking of masculinity and belonging in Israeli society.

3. Walking the Line—Queer Temporality and Military Performance in Adi Nes’s Soldier-Acrobat Photography

In Adi Nes’s striking staged photograph (Figure 1), we see a soldier balancing along a road’s dividing line in the stillness of night, arms outstretched and posture poised, as if mid-performance. This image, at once militaristic and acrobatic, disrupts conventional representations of the soldier by introducing an aesthetic associated with circus art. By fusing military iconography with an act of precarious balance, Nes offers a layered commentary on masculinity, nationalism, and identity. This artwork serves as a potent example for examining how queer theory can be applied to contemporary visual culture; specifically, in how it queers the image of an Israeli soldier.

The soldier’s stance—a blend of vulnerability⁷ and control—conveys an openness to interpretation that resonates with Peta Tait’s investigation into the cultural significance of circus bodies. Tait asks, “what cultural identities are presented by bodies in physical and fast aerial movement?” (Tait 2005, p. 1). Here, the road’s dividing line functions as both a literal and symbolic tightrope, reinterpreting the mundane as an arena for acrobatic performance and, metaphorically, a space for negotiating identity. The nocturnal setting, with its dim lighting spotlighting the soldier’s body, heightens the tension between the earthbound and the ethereal, the rigid and the fluid. By framing a soldier—a figure typically associated with discipline and control—in a stance of open, vulnerable movement, Nes aligns with circus aesthetics in a way that subverts traditional representations of military masculinity.

This subversion extends into a performative reading informed by Judith Butler’s concept of gender performativity. Butler posits that gender is not a natural attribute but a repeated, stylized set of acts, which over time solidifies into an identity (Butler [1990] 2002, p. 143). The soldier’s position here suggests a deliberate challenge to normative masculinity: his body is illuminated to emphasize his form, while his pose evokes grace rather than rigidity. The soft lines and subtle curvature of his body, particularly the highlighted contours of his buttocks, counter the standard image of a militarized, hyper-masculine figure. This portrayal aligns with Butler’s assertion that gender, when its constructed nature is revealed, can be seen as “a free-floating artifice” (Butler [1990] 2002, p. 10) rather than an innate characteristic. The soldier’s body becomes a site where masculinity is not fixed but performed and subverted.

The act of balancing, of walking the line, further invokes Elizabeth Freeman’s idea of “temporal drag”. Freeman’s concept can be used here to describe how bodily actions can resist the forward-driven chrononormativity (i.e., time discipline) of heteronormative structures (Freeman 2010, p. 65). In this image, the soldier’s stillness amidst motion gestures toward an alternative relationship with time. Rather than following the regimented, unidirectional march typically expected of soldiers, he appears suspended, caught between stasis and movement. This deliberate pause subverts military time, creating a temporality that defies both chronological constraints and the urgency of militarized life. His posture, framed against the stark and timeless backdrop of the dark road, challenges the rigid chrononormativity that dominates military structures, producing a queer temporality—a time out of joint, resistant to the militaristic insistence on progress and duty.

This aspect of Nes’s work opens the door to a Foucauldian reading of the soldier’s body as both subject to biopower and resistant to it. Michel Foucault defines biopower as the mechanisms through which institutions regulate bodies, disciplining them to become “docile” (Foucault 1977, p. 138). In Nes’s photograph, the soldier embodies this docility but also, crucially, resists it. His balancing act on the line becomes an embodiment of what Foucault describes as “practices of freedom”, small acts of agency within constraining institutions (see Foucault 1997, pp. 282–84). The soldier’s body—defying the straight, disciplined posture of military bearing—resists the militarized biopower that seeks to control his movement, identity, and role. This precarious stance becomes an act of counter-conduct, a visual declaration of autonomy within a framework designed to enforce conformity.

Further layering this complex imagery is the symbolic significance of the kitbag slung over the soldier’s shoulder. The bag serves as a reminder of his official role, tethering him to his institutional identity while adding weight to his balancing act. It visually represents the dual nature of his existence within the military structure: one foot in the duty-bound role of the soldier and another in the fluidity and freedom of performance. The bag reinforces the photograph’s “temporal drag” by grounding his expressive stance within a context of duty and responsibility. Rather than succumbing to the weight of his obligations, he transforms the bag into part of his performance, turning the symbols of institutional authority into tools for individual expression.

Marjorie Garber’s concept of transvestic representation also enhances our understanding of this photograph as the soldier’s traversal of the line enacts a crossing between established categories—gender, identity, duty, and self-expression. Garber argues that transvestism can symbolically disrupt and challenge binaries (Garber 1992, p. 268); additionally, here, the soldier’s balancing act becomes a kind of transgressive crossing. By walking this line in full military attire he transcends the binary of masculine/feminine, duty/freedom, and individual/institutional identity. His movement, or his balancing between the two sides, along the line, invites the viewers to question the fixity of these categories, aligning with Garber’s notion of the “third” that exists beyond the constraints of binary oppositions.

Nes’s choice to stage this soldier alongside other acrobatic images in his body of work additionally reinforces the queer reading of military masculinity in this context. The larger series echoes the aesthetics and political undertones of the 1990s’ circus movements that embraced queer identity and subversive performances. Nes’s work also resonates with Tait’s exploration of the circus as a space of queer resistance, where “sideshow freakery, anti-establishment politics, and sexually explicit performance” (Tait 2005, p. 4) challenge conventional gender and social norms. The photograph was exhibited during a period of increasing visibility for LGBTQ+ individuals within militarized settings, adding a layer of commentary on homonationalism—the idea that LGBTQ+ acceptance is strategically framed as compatible with nationalist agendas. By reimagining the soldier as a figure who embodies both a queer and a national identity, Nes critiques the ways in which modern nation-states selectively incorporate aspects of queerness while preserving hegemonic structures.

The broader social and political implications of this photograph resonate with the field of queer visual studies as it explores how marginalized identities navigate spaces of power. Nes invites us to see the soldier’s body as a site of resistance within militarized nationalism, where duty and queerness coexist in a way that challenges rigid categories. His work suggests that while the military exerts a strong biopolitical control over individuals, queer subjects can reclaim agency within these systems, turning the very structures meant to confine them into opportunities for self-expression.

This analysis of Nes’s soldier-acrobat, from Foucauldian and Butlerian perspectives, underscores the soldier’s body as a locus where power and resistance meet. The embodied experience of balancing—of navigating precarious positions between institution and self—provides a rich metaphor for queer existence within structures designed to regulate, confine, and define identity. This act of resistance through balance exemplifies how queer individuals engage with and subvert the normative expectations imposed on their bodies by institutions like the military.

The Fire-Breathing Soldier: Queer Performativity and Critique in Adi Nes’s Photography

In Adi Nes’s striking photograph of an Israeli soldier breathing fire (Figure 2), a powerful visual narrative that critiques Israeli nationalism emerges within the context of the military. This close-up image of a soldier expelling flames while holding two torches captures the intersection of militarism, sexuality, and performativity, challenging traditional representations of an Israeli soldier.

The soldier’s dual role as both warrior and circus fire-breather creates a tension between control and spectacle. Richard Gough’s observation that “fire is spectacular, terrifying and awesome; it is flagrant and transformative, causing erasure and renewal” (Gough 2013, p. 1) emphasizes the intense visual power of this act as a metaphor for performance. Here, fire becomes both a weapon and a spectacle, destabilizing the soldier’s disciplined image by aligning him with circus aesthetics. The circus, often seen as “a site for outlawry and outrage” (Stoddart 2003, p. 120), functions as an anti-military space. By placing the soldier in this context, Nes subverts the rigid, hierarchical nature of the military, replacing it with the transgressive freedom of the circus.

The fire in this image, I contend, also symbolizes repressed desires and instincts that stand in contrast to military heteronormativity. Ted Hiebert’s insight that “to think about fire is to potentially light oneself on fire in the process—to be seduced by the flames and perhaps to even be burned” (Hiebert 2013, p. 24) aptly reflects the allure and danger of both military power and sexual desire. The act of fire-breathing introduces an undeniable eroticism, with its associations of breath, heat, and passion—qualities typically absent in military imagery. This controlled expulsion of fire captures the tension between suppression and expression, emphasizing both the allure of spectacle and the latent desires beneath military discipline.

Nes’s fire-breathing soldier embodies the concept of transformation central to queer theories of gender performativity. Jean Genet’s assertion that “the reality of the circus depends on this metamorphosis of dust into gold dust” (Genet 2003, p. 73) can be read as a metaphor for the fluidity of identity within Nes’s work. Gaston Bachelard’s notion that fire represents “a being absorbed in his own becoming… a being-becoming” (Bachelard 1988, p. 24) aligns with the soldier’s act of fire-breathing, which can be read as a process of constant transformation. Through this act, the soldier embodies a queer position of becoming, resisting fixed identity categories and embodying fluidity.

Nes’s photograph challenges the traditional concepts of military masculinity. The soldier, typically associated with stoicism and control, engages in a dramatic, almost theatrical, act. This act challenges conventional binaries of masculinity and femininity, strength and vulnerability. The fire itself alludes to a moment of erotic release or “seminal fire” (Bachelard [1938] 1968, p. 43 and esp. 47), symbolizing a convergence of sexual and martial prowess. Here, the soldier becomes vulnerable, exposed to the power of the flames he expels. This image subverts the expected military persona by juxtaposing vulnerability and spectacle, strength and fragility.

Fire as a symbol of liberation and danger, particularly in the context of gender fluidity, reflects broader movements challenging conventional gender norms. Zoe Barltrop notes that Genet associated fire and circus performance with “queer” sexualities and desires (Barltrop 2013, p. 86), aligning this image with Sara Ahmed’s concept of “queer orientation” (Ahmed 2006). Ahmed’s notion suggests that queer orientation disrupts normative directions by redirecting the focus toward marginalized identities and desires. She explains that society often pushes certain aspects of identity into the background⁸ to maintain a “stable” direction. By positioning the soldier as a fire-breather, Nes shifts attention to suppressed possibilities of identity and desire within the military framework. The soldier’s mouth, normally disciplined and silent, becomes a site of spectacular creation, hinting at the potential for individuality and self-expression within the confines of duty.

Through this act, Nes redirects attention to the often-overlooked non-heteronormative possibilities within military life, thus creating a visual embodiment of Ahmed’s call to the foreground of what is repressed. In presenting the soldier as both powerful and vulnerable, Nes critiques traditional military masculinity and expands the scope of identity within this rigid context. This duality of conforming and rebelling, disciplined yet expressive, challenges the established military norms, suggesting a more inclusive form of expression.

Nes’s image also serves as a critique of homonationalism in the Israeli army. By portraying the soldier in a queer, spectacular manner—engaging in a flamboyant act traditionally unrelated to military discipline—Nes subverts the standard image of the stoic, heteronormative soldier. This juxtaposition highlights the superficial nature of some LGBTQ+ inclusion efforts in military contexts in which gay inclusion is framed as a mark of national progress but occurs without challenging the underlying heteronormative, nationalist frameworks. Nes’s portrayal of the fire-breathing soldier suggests that true inclusivity requires a fundamental reimagining of military identity and self-expression. The soldier’s flamboyant act becomes a form of resistance against both traditional military norms and simplified narratives of gay assimilation. In the words of Eugenio Barba, fire signifies “transformation and thus resistance” (Cf. Gough 2013, p. 4), underscoring the soldier’s dual role as both a figure of power and a site of rebellion.

Bachelard’s concept of the flame as “a naked animality, a kind of excessive animal” (Bachelard 1988, p. 44) resonates with Nes’s portrayal of the soldier. In this moment, the soldier embodies both the creature and the performer, blurring the lines between control and wildness, soldier and spectacle. The act of fire-breathing disrupts clear-cut categories, suggesting an inherent instability in identity—both military and personal.

The fire-breathing act in Nes’s image serves as a metaphor for understanding the fluidity of gender and the performative nature of identity. Butler’s theory of gender performativity, which views identity as a process of repeated, embodied actions, aligns with the volatile nature of fire-breathing. In this moment of flame-expulsion, identity is both asserted and destabilized, embodying the constant state of becoming. Nes’s depiction highlights this flux, suggesting that gender and identity are ongoing, socially contingent processes, rather than fixed states.

Unlike other well-planned and controlled acts, fire-breathing visually encapsulates the transition between control and chaos, evoking identity as both self-fashioned and inherently unstable. As the soldier breathes fire, the act mirrors the formation and dissolution of fixed identities, suggesting that identity, like flame, is both created and consumed in a continuous cycle of self-expression and social regulation. The precariousness of fire-breathing, with its risks and physical demands, echoes the societal risks involved in defying gender norms. This bodily performance, marked by fire, situates the body as a site of both resistance and creation, embodying queer theory’s emphasis on corporeal resistance.

Nes’s fire-breathing soldier serves as a potent symbol for understanding the embodied, fluid, and transformative aspects of identity. The soldier’s act transcends mere spectacle, visualizing the intrinsic instability and perpetual “becoming” of identity. This image speaks to the core of queer theory and performativity by highlighting the ephemeral, embodied nature of identity formation. In critiquing militarism, Nes reveals the fluidity of identity categories, suggesting that, like fire, identity is in constant flux—always becoming, never fixed.

4. Inverted Allegiances: Queer Counterpublics and the Subversion of Military Masculinity in Contemporary Photography

The figure of the inverted soldier-clown embodies a practice of “subversive identification and disavowal”, whereby marginalized individuals engage with dominant ideologies both within and against them. This method involves “recycling and rethinking encoded meaning” and “scrambling and reconstructing”⁹ the encoded image—in this case, the image of militarism. The soldier’s handstand transforms the rigid military role into a playful, non-normative spectacle that simultaneously challenges exclusionary structures and empowers alternative identities (Figure 3).

Inverting the expected posture, the soldier resists the usual performance of military identity, creating a visual rupture that invites viewers to reconsider their assumptions about soldiering and masculinity. This subversion gains unique significance in military imagery, where conformity and uniformity typically hold precedence over individuality. The inverted, acrobatic stance disrupts the military’s rigid, upright axis and engages in what Jack Halberstam describes as “queer failure”—a defiant act that rejects normative standards of success and propriety. Halberstam argues, “there is something powerful in being wrong, in losing, in failing, and that all our failures combined might just be enough, if we practice them well, to bring down the winner” (Halberstam 2011, p. 120). The soldier’s pose, with his shirt falling to expose his midriff, creates a visual contradiction to the archetypal ideal of a soldier’s impenetrable toughness, discipline, and strength.

This “failure” to conform to military norms becomes an act of resistance, with the exposed midriff introducing an element of vulnerability and even eroticism. This vulnerability disrupts the martial image of armored invulnerability, implying a homosocial or homoerotic undertone that challenges the presumed heterosexuality embedded in representations of martial masculinity.

The soldier’s handstand, in full military attire, thus acts as a queer reinterpretation of military body politics—a display of military “failure” across several dimensions that collectively critique militaristic ideals and structures:

1. Violation of control and discipline: the handstand defies the bodily control and disciplined posture expected of soldiers, challenging the military discipline’s reliance on bodily control as an external sign of internal regulation;

2. Disruption of the hyper-masculine image through vulnerability: the exposed midriff disrupts the hyper-masculine image by introducing vulnerability, which feminizes the soldier’s body and challenges the traditional association of military service with hyper-masculine ideals;

3. Playfulness over seriousness: the acrobatic handstand introduces an element of circus-like playfulness into the military context, creating a cognitive dissonance that destabilizes the boundaries between seriousness and play, or duty and individual expression;

4. Inversion of the military hierarchy: The physical inversion of the soldier’s body metaphorically “turns the hierarchy on its head”. In a space where maintaining “one’s place” is crucial, this inversion offers a symbolic subversion of power structures and the chain of command;

5. Critique of military ideals: by presenting a soldier engaged in an action fundamentally opposed to military decorum, the image invites viewers to question the ideals of militarism, suggesting that soldiers retain their individuality and capacity for non-conformity beneath the uniform and discipline.

The exposed midriff, in particular, merits closer examination. Traditional military imagery often depicts the soldier’s body as fully armored and “sealed”, symbolizing strength and invulnerability. The unintentional exposure from the handstand breaks this seal, exposing the human vulnerability beneath the military exterior. This exposure can symbolize the precarious balance between concealment and revelation often required of queer identities within the military. The accidental exposure also implies that queer identity, like the soldier’s skin, may occasionally break through the constraints of heteronormative institutions in unplanned and uncontrollable ways.

Using Michael Warner’s theory of “publics and counterpublics”, the illuminated space can be interpreted as a queer counterpublic within the heteronormative sphere of military service (Warner 2002). Warner suggests that counterpublics arise when marginalized individuals or groups create alternative discourses that challenge the dominant norms. The spotlighted space here becomes a symbolic arena where queer bodies infiltrate spaces of state power while resisting assimilationist pressures.

Notably, the inverted soldier resists easy assimilation into the Israeli military–homonationalist narratives. Rather than embodying a sanitized image of queerness that might comfortably align with nationalist agendas, the handstanding soldier offers a radical and disruptive presence that challenges both heteronormative military structures and potential homonationalist co-option.

This image also aligns with Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner’s notion of “sex in public”, in which private sexual expression enters the public sphere as political resistance. The handstand, with its exposed midriff and inverted posture, becomes a performative act of queer resistance against the rigid military discipline and societal expectations of gendered behavior in public spaces. Berlant and Warner argue that queer world-making involves forging intimacies “that bear no necessary relation to domestic space, to kinship, to the couple form, to property, or to the nation” (Berlant and Warner 1998, p. 558).

The space framed by the photograph can thus be read as a queer counterpublic—an arena in which the norms of masculinity, militarism, and public behavior are inverted, much like the soldier himself. This image participates in what Berlant and Warner describe as a “world-making project”, in which queerness occupies alternative spaces outside the formalized, institutionalized spheres.¹⁰ The photograph captures this unmapped space, both literally and figuratively, as the soldier floats in a dislocated state, removed from the structured hierarchies of military and national identity.

The spotlight on the soldier’s body against a darkened background symbolizes the fragile, performative space of queer visibility within a hostile or indifferent environment. Berlant and Warner view queer spaces as “unsystematized lines of acquaintance, projected horizons… incommensurate geographies” (Ibid.). The absence of a specific background further emphasizes this, amplifying the sense that this space is a projection—an alternative geography where the soldier’s vulnerable, exposed body becomes a site of queer intimacy and spectacle rather than traditional martial heroism.

The soldier-clown figure, inverted and precariously balanced on his hands, diverges radically from conventional portrayals of military personnel. Camilla Damkjaer observes that the “modern circus grew out of a close relation to a military tradition—a societal institution where the upright position was being intensively rehearsed through standing and marching, and with a circus perspective, we can add: riding” (Damkjaer 2022, p. 9). This historical connection between circus and military traditions adds further layers to the soldier’s inverted pose.

The juxtaposition of military and circus imagery in this photograph creates a symbolic interplay that challenges the boundaries between discipline and play, conformity and performance. In the context of circus arts, handstands constitute an act that defies societal emphasis on “uprightness”—both physically and ideologically. Inverting the body thus becomes a powerful statement against military rigidity, inviting the viewers to reconsider the conventional associations of strength, vulnerability, and martial prowess.

Damkjaer notes, “on a symbolic level, the discourse of the upright body has associated the upright posture with values of superiority, moral correctness, intelligence, strength, autonomy and independence” (Ibid., p. 7). By inverting this posture, the soldier challenges these values, with his handstand serving as a physical embodiment of resistance not only against military norms but also against broader societal ideals linked to uprightness and verticality.

The soldier’s inverted body, seen in this light, becomes a contested site between competing discourses: the military’s emphasis on discipline, control, and hierarchy, and the circus tradition’s celebration of flexibility, play, and defiance of gravity. This tension creates a conceptual space from which alternative masculinities and forms of resistance can emerge.

The spotlight that isolates the soldier against the dark background highlights the performative nature of this act, evoking the imagery of a circus ring, a space known for its transgressive spectacles. Here, the soldier’s body becomes a contested terrain, illuminated as it negotiates tensions between masculinity–duty and self-expression.

This inversion is especially relevant considering that “the idealized upright, static, and mechanical posture in early modern Western culture seems to have originated in the late 16th century with both the development and representation of military drill formation” (Ibid., p. 6). By subverting this posture, the photograph disrupts foundational aspects of modern bodily discipline, suggesting that even within rigid institutions like the military, there is room for reinterpretation and resistance.

By staging this military figure in an unconventional, vulnerable, and spectacularized position, the image directly engages with concepts of homonormativity and homoeroticism, destabilizing hegemonic masculinity. The circus context heightens this subversion, having historically provided a space where alternative expressions of gender and sexuality could flourish.

As Damkjaer points out, the upright posture became associated with ideals of citizenship, moral correctness, and autonomy (Ibid.). The handstanding soldier thus challenges these ideals, inviting viewers to question the links between physical discipline and moral or social values. The inversion suggests alternative conceptualizations of citizenship and social values that belong beyond the normative ideals.

In conclusion, this photograph of the inverted soldier makes a profound statement about resistance and subversion within seemingly inflexible systems. It suggests that even in regimented settings like the military, there remains room for play, vulnerability, and expressions of non-normative identities. Through its symbolism and theatrical richness, this image challenges traditional notions of strength, discipline, and masculinity, offering a more fluid, nuanced understanding of these traits. The photograph illustrates how visual art can question established norms, encouraging fresh perspectives on the interplay between institutional power, personal agency, and identity formation.

5. The Adonis of the Big Top

In one of the most compelling images from Adi Nes’s Soldiers series, a bare-chested, muscular soldier strikes a stylized pose, merging elements of military aesthetics with theatrical spectacle (Figure 4). This figure—characterized by his dark skin, kippah,¹¹ and military identification tag—simultaneously invokes and disrupts the rigid masculinity typically associated with the Israeli military. Positioned in front of a military tent at dusk, the soldier’s stance, reminiscent of the classical contrapposto position, foregrounds his muscularity while conveying self-awareness. His right leg steps forward as he gazes at his flexed arm, emphasizing the disciplined strength of his body. Backlit to cast a bold shadow on the tent behind him, the soldier becomes both powerful and introspective, embodying the figure of a circus strongman, a role layered with historical connotations of masculinity, spectacle, and performance.

The soldier’s muscular body initially evokes the traditional representation of masculinity. As Harrison Pope, Katharine Phillips, and Roberto Olivardia explain, “becoming strong and muscular is a clear way for men to radiate power and manliness … Muscles are the sign of masculinity” (Pope et al. 2000, p. 53). Within Western cultural contexts, the muscular male body is associated with qualities of power, dominance, and self-control, often idealized within military frameworks. Nes’s framing of this muscularity within a circus-inspired, performative tableau, however, queers this traditional symbol by adding layers that provoke questions about gender fluidity, ethnic identity, and Israeli nationalism’s performative nature. Thus, the photograph challenges viewers to reconsider the associations of masculinity by situating the soldier in the context of a circus strongman—a figure whose performative and often exaggerated masculinity invites reflection on the roles of military and circus performance.

The circus strongman has historically embodied brute strength and endurance, occupying a complex role within the spectacle of the circus. The hyper-muscular performer is both a celebration of exaggerated masculinity and an exploration of its artifice, while a highly visible, muscular physique serves as a controlled display of strength, suggesting the tension between natural strength and the constructed, performative aspects of his identity. The strongman’s body, marked by its hyper-visible yet vulnerable presentation, opens itself to both admiration and scrutiny by audiences who might view him with both awe and skepticism. Nes’s soldier-muscleman, depicted as a circus strongman, invites viewers to see masculinity as both a constructed and performative identity, shaped by cultural expectations as much as by personal discipline and effort.

Samuel Fussell discusses bodybuilding as a ritual of transformation in which the body becomes a “spectacle of control and power” crafted to fulfill societal ideals of masculinity (Fussell 1991, vol. 34, pp. 184–85). Fussell notes that “much of being a bodybuilder … meant playing at being a bodybuilder”, suggesting that bodybuilding involves performing masculinity through artifice and deliberate self-presentation. According to Fussell, a bodybuilder’s success lies not only in physical form but in “selling the fantasy” of strength and power to audiences, indicating that the performance itself contributes to the perception of masculinity (Ibid., p. 184). Within the circus, this performance of strength and dominance is heightened, with the bodybuilder emerging as “an illusionist, always armed with artifice to cast his spell” (Ibid., p. 185).

In this setting, the strongman’s physique is not just a marker of personal power but a crafted spectacle that operates within and often exceeds traditional masculinity’s boundaries. The strongman’s exaggerated physique, enhanced by carefully choreographed poses and lighting, becomes both a celebration and a parody of masculine ideals. His presence in the circus offers the audience a space in which to witness masculinity as a performance rather than an innate quality. As Tait notes, the circus stage has long functioned as a space where bodies balance on the edge of the human and the “superhuman”, creating a liminal zone that blurs distinctions between raw strength and artistic spectacle (Tait 2005, p. 45). Tait’s insights suggest that, by existing at this boundary, the strongman invites viewers to question the authenticity of masculine power and to see it as a blend of strength and theatricality.

The circus performance of masculinity thus becomes an act that simultaneously reinforces and subverts traditional gender norms. The strongman’s muscularity, emblematic of physical dominance, is exaggerated to the point of artifice, making his body a canvas for masculinity as a staged, amplified act. By embodying this role, Nes’s soldier-muscleman complicates normative masculinity within Israeli culture, encouraging a re-evaluation of how strength and masculinity are constructed in both military settings and the broader societal sphere. This figure emphasizes militaristic masculinity’s performative aspects, using the circus context to question its rigidity, suggesting that ideals of strength and dominance in Israeli society are performances shaped by cultural expectations.

Beyond challenging normative masculinity, the circus strongman figure in Nes’s photograph also engages with gender performance as a concept. While ostensibly embodying a traditional masculine archetype, this muscular figure actually reveals genders’ fluid and constructed nature. Through the framework of performativity, as theorized by Butler, gender is understood not as an inherent trait but as a series of actions and stylizations that produce the appearance of a stable identity. In the circus, the strongman’s exaggerated masculinity functions as a performative act, one that exposes how gender is constructed and maintained through repeated gestures and presentations. Rather than merely embodying masculinity, the strongman figure stages masculinity, rendering it both a spectacle and a subject for critical engagement.

Jean Cocteau’s exploration of gender performance, particularly through his description of the performer Barbette, further illuminates this concept. Barbette, portrayed by the male artist Vander Clyde, adopted a female performer persona only to later reveal his masculinity in a dramatic twist. Cocteau describes this revelation as a transformation in which Barbette, even after shedding feminine costuming, “interprets the role of a man”, suggesting that masculinity, like femininity, can be performed, adopted, and shed (Cocteau 1980, p. 38; Cf. Malouin 2018, p. 175). By exaggerating his masculine traits post-performance, Barbette exposes masculinity’s performative nature, indicating that gender, whether masculine or feminine, consists of acts that can be displayed or discarded at will.

In the context of Nes’s photograph, the soldier-muscleman similarly performs masculinity as a theatrical role rather than a fixed essence. His muscular display, though coded as overtly masculine, is deeply self-aware, underscoring the artificiality of strength as an innate male trait. This performative masculinity transcends traditional gender binaries, with the strongman’s exaggerated posture and flexed muscles transforming him from a symbol of innate masculinity into a figure who adopts, amplifies, and redefines masculine traits. As Cocteau’s depiction of Barbette suggests, the soldier-muscleman “interprets the role of a man”, challenging the assumption that masculinity is natural or essential.

The circus, thus, becomes a space where the artificiality of gender roles is exposed, where performances like that of the strongman offer a means of questioning and reimagining masculinity. Here, the strongman’s body functions not simply as a symbol of masculine power but as a site of gender experimentation, where norms of masculinity are actively deconstructed and reconfigured. As the strongman flexes and displays his body, he also reveals the fluidity of these categories, transforming his physique into a statement on genders’ performative and mutable nature.

By adopting exaggerated gestures and postures associated with the strongman archetype, Nes’s figure embodies what Cocteau perceives as a gender “balance”—a state without fixed identity but in continuous negotiation between masculinity and femininity. This shifting, exaggerated identity effectively dismantles the traditional binary, allowing the strongman to represent not just masculinity but also a hybridized, queer identity that inhabits multiple gender expressions simultaneously. In Nes’s photograph, the soldier-muscleman does not simply present his body as a symbol of masculine strength; he employs spectacle to critique and reshape the viewer’s understanding of gendered performance.

The muscular circus performer thus transcends physical display, aligning with Cocteau’s vision of a balanced gender performance, in which masculinity and femininity intersect and inform one another. Through the circus setting, Nes explores gender fluidity, challenging the binary framework that traditionally structures concepts of masculinity. By portraying the soldier-muscleman within a space associated with spectacle and transformation, Nes invites viewers to see muscularity not as an essential gender identity marker but as a performative act that critiques, complicates, and ultimately broadens the possibilities of gender expression.

In Nes’s photograph, the circus strongman figure embodies a carefully crafted intersection of militaristic, Zionist, queer, and ethnic discourses, engaging deeply with Israeli identity formation against a backdrop of colonial and nationalistic ideals. This Mizrahi figure, with a visibly queer and performative presence, challenges the normative Zionist ideals that traditionally prioritize whiteness, hyper-masculinity, and secularized nationalism. Since its inception, Zionism’s construction of the “new Israeli man” was rooted in rejecting traditional diasporic Jewish stereotypes—perceived as weak, effeminate, or overly intellectual—while simultaneously marginalizing both Mizrahi Jews and queer bodies. As Boyarin observes, Zionism sought to reconstruct Jewish masculinity in the image of the “ultimate white male” of colonial ideals, a figure embodying strength and vitality and moving away from stereotyped diasporic Jewish identities (Boyarin 1997, p. 274).

The colonial mimicry embedded within Herzlian Zionism underscores the racial and gendered expectations that Nes’s image disrupts. In seeking to normalize Jewish identity within a colonial framework, Zionism advocated for a “whitened” ideal, through which a “Jewish-Zionist normality” could be achieved via colonialist ideals, allowing the Jewish male to “turn white” by adopting colonial power structures. As Homi Bhabha explains, colonial mimicry seeks to transform the colonized subject into a reflection of the colonial power’s image while sustaining control through differentiation (Cf. Ibid., pp. 302+305). Within Zionism’s military context, the Mizrahi Israeli becomes a racialized other, simultaneously exoticized and excluded from the privileged white identity ideal. This construction positions Mizrahi identity as both desirable for its exoticism and inferior due to its deviation from Ashkenazi norms, leading Mizrahi men to bear ethnic shame and societal marginalization.

Ella Shohat describes this shame as stemming from enforced “otherness”, in which Mizrahi identity becomes a tool for maintaining Zionist racial hierarchies. According to Shohat, Mizrahi Israelis often experience shame related to their “dark olive skin, guttural language, and musical quarter-tones”, all of which are traits that diverge from the “sabra” ideals associated with native-born Ashkenazi Israelis (Shohat 1988, p. 25). This stigmatized identity not only cultivates internalized shame but also results in real social consequences. Shohat details incidents in which Sephardim are mistaken for Palestinians due to their physical features, resulting in unwarranted suspicion, harassment, and even violence. She terms this internalization of Western biases “self-hating Sephardism”, in which Mizrahi Israelis absorb the colonial perception of the East as inferior, thereby seeing themselves through a Westernized, distorting lens (Ibid.).

In Nes’s image, the strongman visually symbolizes this intersection of ethnic shame and racialized otherness. His theatrical pose, carefully illuminated to cast a large shadow on the circus tent behind him, symbolically reflects the “burden of double shame”—the compounded stigmas of both gender and ethnicity that historically and culturally mark Mizrahi identities. The strongman does not merely endure these expectations but transforms them through a queer and militarized performance, using shame as a means of resistance. Here, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s theory of shame as an “affect of transformation” becomes particularly relevant. Sedgwick argues that shame, often associated with marginalized identities, should not be viewed as a mere affliction to discard. Rather, it can be leveraged to produce new forms of self-understanding and resilience (Sedgwick 1993a, pp. 1–16). Through performance, shame becomes what Sedgwick describes as “connective tissue”, bridging disparate identities and enabling multiple queer expressions that resist nationalist or ethnic conformity.

Patrick Moore extends this transformative potential of shame, positioning it as a foundation for queer creativity and alternative spaces that resist societal oppression (Moore 2004). In the context of Nes’s photograph, this translates into a distinct form of queer visibility within a military setting. Rather than assimilate into the rigid norms of Zionist masculinity, the strongman instead redefines these norms through performative engagement with his queer, ethnic identity. The military circus setting heightens this transformation, juxtaposing military discipline with the subversive spectacle of circus performance. Here, shame is no longer a diminishing force that silences sexuality and ethnicity but instead, it cultivates a layered identity that boldly engages with and critiques Israeli militaristic values.

Central to this complex portrayal is the notion of “transformational grammar”, a term Sedgwick uses to describe how marginalized identities engage with stigma through performativity. The queer Mizrahi figure in Nes’s photograph resists homogenizing Zionist standards by embodying a “queer performativity” that strategically positions shame and stigma as essential components in constructing identity (Sedgwick 1993a, pp. 4–5+11). Raz Yosef, in his analysis of Mizrahi masculinity, identifies two prevailing stereotypes imposed upon Mizrahi men: the hyper-masculine “noble savage”, characterized by an unrefined, exoticized sexuality; and the effeminate Mizrahi male. Both types are rooted in Ashkenazi anxieties and fantasies (Yosef 2024, p. 309). Nes’s strongman figure merges and transcends these limiting stereotypes, portraying the Mizrahi man as a strongman who resists these reductive characterizations by deliberately embodying both military and queer identities.

The kippah atop the strongman’s head further complicates his identity by introducing a marker of religious tradition into the military spectacle. Although the kippah is often associated with Mizrahi religious identity, in this context it becomes a site of cultural and ideological resistance. It anchors the figure within the Mizrahi heritage while simultaneously engaging in a performative, queer act. This process aligns with José Esteban Muñoz’s concept of “disidentification”, whereby marginalized subjects reshape cultural stereotypes to construct resistant identities that challenge normative views on gender, ethnicity, and class (Muñoz 1999, p. 31). Here, the kippah signifies both belonging and defiance, grounding the figure in Mizrahi culture while resisting the homogeneity of Zionist identity.

The circus setting in Nes’s photograph adds yet another layer, drawing on the historical legacy of ethnic strongmen as spectacles of exoticism and strength. In Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body, Rosemarie Garland-Thomson discusses how circuses historically used ethnic performers to emphasize physical difference and reinforce colonial narratives around exoticism, strength, and spectacle. The Mizrahi strongman’s exaggerated muscles, accentuated by stylized circus lighting, evoke this tradition, marking him as both powerful and an exoticized “other” (Thomson 1995, p. 5). However, Nes’s figure subverts this stereotype by not conforming to a purely racialized or essentialized role. Rather, his identity as a Mizrahi strongman is portrayed as a performed construct, challenging the notion that his strength or ethnicity is an intrinsic, “natural” trait.

Peta Tait’s work on circus performance further supports this interpretation, showing how ethnic strongmen, while often staged to emphasize “untamed” qualities, could disrupt these portrayals through disciplined displays of strength that highlight artistry over spectacle (Tait 2005, pp. 87–88). This framework applies to Nes’s figure, who, despite embodying traditional strongman aesthetics, performs his identity in a way that resists simple categorization. He blends military discipline with queer performativity to critique both the colonial and the Zionist discourse, using his body as a site of cultural and personal resistance.

Thus, Nes’s portrayal of the soldier-muscleman as a circus strongman exemplifies how identity performance can critique and disrupt rigid frameworks of masculinity, nationalism, and ethnicity within Israeli culture. In the first part of this article, I explored how Nes’s use of circus imagery queers traditional military masculinity by presenting it as a theatrical role rather than an intrinsic quality. Drawing upon Fussell, Cocteau, and Butler, the soldier-muscleman is depicted as performing masculinity in exaggerated, self-aware poses that critique the essentialist views of gender within Israeli military contexts. His hyper-muscularity and controlled display of strength, reminiscent of a circus spectacle, transform his body into a canvas on which masculinity is depicted as both a display and a construct, challenging the viewer’s assumptions about the naturalness of masculine power.

In the second part of this article, I deepened this critique with an exploration of Mizrahi identity, shame, and racialized otherness within the figure’s performance. By embodying a queer, ethnic identity that resists Zionist ideals of whitened masculinity, Nes’s strongman figure challenges Israeli nationalism’s preference for Ashkenazi characteristics. Through the kippah, theatrical lighting, and controlled muscular display, the Mizrahi strongman navigates and resists the imposed stereotypes of Zionist ideology, engaging with Sedgwick’s and Muñoz’s theories on shame and disidentification. Thus, this section broadened the discussion, portraying the soldier-muscleman as more than merely a symbol of subverted masculinity. He becomes a site where cultural tensions around ethnicity, colonialism, and militarism intersect, critiquing Israeli identity by embodying multiple and often conflicting roles.

Together, the above two paragraphs illustrate how Nes’s soldier-muscleman transcends singular identity labels, using the language of performance to deconstruct the rigid frameworks that govern masculinity, ethnicity, and nationalism in Israeli society. The strongman figure, embodying a “transformational grammar” of shame, pride, strength, and defiance, redefines Israeli identity as a dynamic interplay of resistance, performance, and transformation. Nes’s photograph ultimately suggests that identity in militarized Israeli culture is neither stable nor monolithic but fluid and layered, capable of resisting, critiquing, and expanding traditional boundaries through queer performance and cultural subversion. These characteristics emphasize the photograph’s power as an act of cultural critique, urging its viewers to recognize identity as a site of both oppression and potential liberation.

6. Queer Narratives in Uniform: Final Reflections on Adi Nes’s Soldiers Series

Adi Nes’s Soldiers series, particularly its circus subseries, offers a complex exploration of queer identity within the Israeli military framework. By synthesizing insights from queer and performance theories, this final section reflects on the cumulative impact of Nes’s queering of militaristic imagery and explores the broader implications of his work for reimagining national identity.¹² Through careful attention to imagery and theory, Nes challenges the monolithic frameworks of masculinity, nationalism, and heteronormativity, positing militarism as an open site for personal and cultural redefinition.

Nes’s Soldiers series positions queer soldiers as integral to the Israeli military collective but it also emphasizes their struggles, intimate connections, and individual identities within this institution. Through scenes of intimacy, community, and self-definition, Nes’s work highlights queer presence not merely as an addition to military identity but as a complex, lived reality that resists utilitarian or one-dimensional portrayals. Rather than presenting queer soldiers as national heroes, Nes emphasizes their personal complexities, adopting an ethics of visibility that transcends the national narrative. This work engages critically with Jasbir Puar’s concept of homonationalism, which addresses how LGBTQ+ identities can be assimilated into nationalist agendas. Nes’s images question whether queer identities can fully coexist with the rigid masculinity and militarism traditionally embedded in the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF).

The images of soldiers, particularly those representing queer or LGBTQ+ individuals in national contexts, play a nuanced role in the Israeli national construction process. Here, the LGBTQ+ community, rather than being at odds with traditional nationalist sentiments, could be integrated as a symbolic component of the national narrative. The concept of “homonationalism”, as discussed by Jasbir Puar, frames this inclusion as a mechanism for measuring the legitimacy and capacity of national sovereignty (Puar 2013, p. 24; Gross 2013, pp. 101–41; Hochberg 2010, pp. 493–516). From this perspective, queer inclusion operates as a means by which the state legitimizes its authority, particularly within contexts of ongoing conflict. Specifically, by representing LGBTQ+ individuals—particularly gay men—as integral to the national identity, the state promotes its image as progressive, inclusive, and therefore morally superior on the international stage.

In this regard, Nes’s photographs can be interpreted as more than mere representations of queer individuals seeking rights and visibility, they also symbolize how queer identities are appropriated as tools of national loyalty and sovereign entitlement. The act of inclusion here is not merely a progressive gesture but is allegedly also aligned with the nation-building agenda. This narrative contributes to a distinction between Israel, framed as liberal and enlightened, and its perceived “other”—the Arab or Muslim community, which is often stereotyped as regressive or threatening. Moran Mandelbaum highlights how this discourse reinforces a binary, contrasting an enlightened national identity against a supposedly backward “other” (Mandelbaum 2018, p. 161). Thus, queer individuals, through this lens, are not just asserting their rights but are also positioned as embodiments of national values, differentiating the state from its adversaries through symbols of inclusivity.

Nes’s Soldiers series offers a layered perspective, one that acknowledges the role of homonationalism while also engaging critically with the rigid gender roles and militaristic frameworks embedded in the IDF. Through the strategies of representation deployed across the series, Nes illustrates the complexity of the queer individual’s relationship with the national collective while embedding within the series visible signs of nuanced critique of the expectations placed on queer soldiers as symbols of nationalism. This complexity underscores the tension between individual identity and the utilitarian demands of the national narrative.

In the circus subseries, Nes transforms the disciplined, regimented setting of the Israeli military into a space rich in gender fluidity and performativity. Here, soldiers appear as circus performers, embodying roles that evoke both masculine and feminine traits, destabilizing traditional gender norms within an imaginative and subversive environment. The circus, as Kristy Seymour observes, functions as “a site for the research and empowerment of masculinity and femininity”, enabling performances that transcend mere entertainment and venture into political and social commentary (Seymour 2018, p. 52). By reimagining the IDF as a militarized circus, Nes evokes Mikhail Bakhtin’s concept of the carnivalesque—a world where conventional social structures are temporarily inverted—creating a “life turned inside out” (Bakhtin 1984a, pp. 122–23). In Nes’s circus, the hierarchical rigidity of the military is replaced by a carnivalesque “law of freedom” (Bakhtin 1984b, p. 7), suggesting an environment where identity roles are redefined through a queer lens.

Nes’s images construct a “textured” masculinity that combines stereotypically masculine symbols with feminized gestures and roles. Images such as the tightrope-walking soldier and the soldier performing a handstand portray balance and vulnerability, while others, like the Pietà-inspired soldier-medic composition, emphasize care and intimacy. These contrasts, which juxtapose military strength with moments of nurturing, resonate with performances by companies like Briefs Factory, known for challenging audiences to view the body as a vehicle for political expression. Other images foreground hyper-masculine bodies, such as the bodybuilder and fire-breather, creating a stylized blend of exaggerated masculinity and traditional symbols of femininity. Through these combinations, Nes explores the potential of militarized bodies to express vulnerability, care, and queerness, challenging the normative perceptions of masculinity.

The circus setting introduces an element of dislocation, interweaving the order of military life with the unpredictable and surreal qualities of the carnival. As Peta Tait notes, the carnival occupies “the periphery of cultural life”, a marginal space where hierarchies are suspended and identities can be reimagined without the constraints of social expectation (Tait 2009, p. 44). Nes’s imagery envisions the military as a space where the structured, ritualized performances of soldiers give way to subversive spectacles of identity. This carnivalesque environment reflects Bakhtin’s idea that, in the carnival, “people were, so to speak, reborn for new, purely human relations” (Bakhtin 1984b, p. 10), suggesting a potential transformation in the way soldiers relate to one another and to their own identities. By queering the military context, Nes uses the circus to expose the performative and artificial qualities of militaristic masculinity, encouraging viewers to see military identity as a construct rather than a fixed reality.

Nes’s work echoes Butler’s insights into identity as a constructed performance, particularly in contexts of gender and national identity. Butler’s theory emphasizes that social categories—especially gender—are created through repeated acts that lend them an illusion of stability and authority. In Nes’s Soldiers series, soldiers appear to “perform” both military life and circus life, each illuminating the other and revealing the artifice inherent in both. Butler’s concept of gender as performative shows how even the most rigid structures, like military masculinity, depend on repetitive enactment. By blending military roles with circus performance, Nes destabilizes these categories, revealing masculinity and nationalism as malleable constructs rather than natural, unchanging truths. This queerness, which Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick describes as “an open mesh of possibilities” (Sedgwick 1993b, p. 8), becomes evident in Nes’s work, in which soldiers embody and deconstruct the identities expected of them.

The circus’s role in Nes’s queering of military identity also introduces what Taylor Zajdlik describes as an “escape route through patriarchal heteronormativities” (Zajdlik 2018, pp. 189–90). Rather than clear-cut opposition, Nes’s soldiers express identity fluidity and resilience through irony and ambiguity. The soldiers, whether as acrobats, fire-breathers, or strongmen, transcend the static national categories, critiquing militaristic masculinity and encouraging the viewer to see Israeli nationalism itself as performative and flexible. Through these “textured” performances, Nes shows that soldiers represent more than simply nationalistic ideals: they embody the diversity and fluidity of individual experience.

7. Queer Theory and Identity in Militaristic Frameworks

This examination of the Soldiers series has highlighted the potential of queer readings to reinterpret masculinity, nationalism, and identity within militaristic frameworks. From the tightrope-walking soldier challenging the linear time of military life to the fire-breathing soldier embodying fluid identity, Nes portrays identity not as static but as an ongoing process of self-definition. Butler’s concept of performativity underscores how these images disrupt fixed categories, representing identity as a continuous, dynamic performance.

Jack Halberstam’s concept of “queer failure” also resonates in Nes’s work, particularly in figures like the soldier-clown (Figure 3), who inverts military discipline and invites the viewers to rethink the norms of conformity and success. By embodying failure or deviation, Nes’s characters destabilize traditional masculine ideals, positing queerness as a resilient and creative force. The figure of the soldier-muscleman exemplifies this intersectional approach, combining Mizrahi, queer, and militaristic identities to critique the hyper-masculine standards of Israeli nationalism. By highlighting the lived experiences of Mizrahi soldiers, Nes challenges the dominant Ashkenazi ideals, revealing multiple layers of identity and resistance within Israeli culture.

Nes’s work questions the normative trajectories imposed by militaristic and nationalistic structures, reflecting Ahmed’s concept of “queer orientation”. Ahmed suggests that queerness entails reorienting oneself toward possibilities outside the heteronormative and nationalistic expectations. Nes’s soldiers inhabit the ambiguous, performative space of the circus, embodying this reorientation by resisting predefined roles and highlighting the fluid nature of identity. Combined with Bachelard’s reflections on fire as a transformative force, Ahmed’s perspective reinforces Nes’s depiction of soldiers as ongoing sites of redefinition, in which identity, nationality, and sexuality intersect in dynamic, evolving forms.

By positioning soldiers in roles that challenge traditional gender and national identities, Nes’s Soldiers series offers an alternative narrative within Israeli nationalism. The series suggests that militarism need not reinforce rigid identities but can serve as a basis for reimagining identity in expansive, inclusive ways. Nes’s work envisions the circus, with its fluid boundaries and potential for transformation, as a potent site for queer expression. Through this subversive recontextualization, the series critiques not only military norms but the very structures that uphold them, suggesting art as a space for expanding and reinterpreting cultural narratives.

Ultimately, Nes’s series affirms the role of art in critically exploring identity, inviting the viewers to reconsider the constructed nature of societal norms pertaining to gender and militarism. Through queer readings, these images open up new dialogues within both art and society, positioning queer theory as a powerful lens for cultural critique and reimagination. The Soldiers series redefines the military and national identity as flexible and layered constructs shaped by resistance, transformation, and continual reinterpretation. By merging queer perspectives with Israeli militaristic imagery, Nes reveals a path for challenging static categories, illustrating the power of art to negotiate and broaden the possibilities of identity, both individual and collective.

Data Availability Statement

No new data were created or analyzed in this study.

Conflicts of Interest

The author declares no conflict of interest.

Footnotes

Notes

1. Kimmerling (1993, pp. 122–23). Unless otherwise indicated, all translations from Hebrew to English are mine.

2. Boyarin (1997), especially Chapter 7: “The Colonial Drag: Zionism, Gender and Mimicry”. See also (Gluzman 2010, pp. 113–29).

3. Nes’s Soldiers series, created in the 1990s, retains its analytical potency in the contemporary Israeli socio-political discourse. Despite the significant transformations in Israeli society and global contexts since the series’ creation—including enhanced LGBTQ+ visibility, broader societal acceptance, and evolving Israeli Defense Forces policies—the fundamental characteristics of Israeli militarism persist with remarkable continuity.

Militarism remains a paramount force in the construction of Israeli national identity and functions as a crucial mechanism for civilian incorporation. This paradigm manifests—through the integration of LGBTQ+ identities into the military ethos—a process that, from the 1990s to the present, entails the strategic appropriation of LGBTQ+ identities that align with the institutional imperatives. This dynamic simultaneously emphasizes military service as a pathway to national belonging and reinforces the state’s projected liberal image, while systematically excluding those LGBTQ+ subjects who articulate a critique of the occupation or deviate from the normative familial and social paradigms.

The marginalization of LGBTQ+ individuals who resist conforming to the demands of the “national pact” transcends mere institutional discrimination, extending into the realms of cultural and symbolic suppression. Those who challenge the prevailing consensus are frequently characterized as a threat to national cohesion. Israeli militarism, thus, instrumentalizes the LGBTQ+ community to project an image of enlightened liberalism, constructing a binary opposition between Israel and its purportedly “primitive” and “homophobic” adversaries. This dynamic effectively normalizes those LGBTQ+ subjects who conform to military ethos while systematically excluding those who resist its imperatives.

Notwithstanding ostensible socio-political advances in LGBTQ+ policy frameworks, Israeli militarism perpetuates sophisticated mechanisms of oppression. While these mechanisms have evolved in complexity, they fundamentally persist in marginalizing and subordinating LGBTQ+ individuals who diverge from the national ethos or contest the resultant political consensus. The analytical framework presented here demonstrates how Nes’s work continues to illuminate the contemporary dynamics of inclusion and exclusion within Israeli society.

4. See the presentation of this position in (Assaf 2013, p. 335).

5. Gross (2000) part III, section 3: Israel—the history of homosexual service in the IDF, Chapter 4, the case of the soldier Yossi Mekaiton.

6. The theoretical framework of “homonationalism”, a term introduced by Jasbir Puar, emerged as an analytical paradigm for examining the integration of LGBTQ+ rights into the nationalist and political discourses within the context of the United States’ post-9/11 counterterrorism initiatives. Puar’s conceptualization served to interrogate the constructed binary between Western liberal enlightenment and purported homophobic tendencies attributed to Muslim and other marginalized populations. While the concept’s genesis is inextricably linked to this specific historical and geopolitical conjuncture, its theoretical utility has expanded to encompass broader analyses of the complex interplay between LGBTQ+ incorporation and nationalist ideologies.

The recent article employs “homonationalism” as an analytical construct to examine the Israeli socio-political landscape of the 1990s—a period antecedent to the term’s conceptualization. The application of this theoretical framework to an earlier historical moment and distinct geographical context is predicated on its theoretical elasticity while maintaining fidelity to its fundamental conceptual parameters. Specifically, “homonationalism” delineates here the processes through which LGBTQ+ subjects are incorporated into the Israeli national narrative via mechanisms of normalization and alignment with the nationalist imperatives. This incorporation manifests through both state-driven initiatives and the agency of particular LGBTQ+ constituencies, culminating in what can be conceptualized as a “homonationalist pact”.

In the Israeli context, homonationalism manifests through the integration of LGBTQ+ subjects into the national ethos, particularly through their participation in military service, adherence to familial institutions and reproductive imperatives, and conformity to state-sanctioned patriarchal and heteronormative structures. This dynamic engenders alliances between “acceptable” LGBTQ+ subjects—those who align with the state institutions and values—and the normative national collective. Conversely, it marginalizes LGBTQ+ individuals who contest the dominant national narratives, whether through opposition to the occupation or rejection of nationalist pride paradigms.

This dynamic simultaneously reflects the state’s strategic deployment of LGBTQ+ inclusion as a signifier of liberal democratic values and progressive tolerance, positioning itself in contradistinction to the neighboring Middle Eastern states. This representational strategy serves to legitimize aggressive geopolitical policies toward these neighboring nations—a phenomenon scholars have termed “Pinkwashing”.

7. The soldier’s figure is situated in a state of pronounced vulnerability, positioned dorsally at the epicenter of a luminous circle—an imagery that evokes military targeting mechanisms. This compositional framework unequivocally amplifies the subject’s status as an object of homoerotic contemplation. Here, vulnerability emerges through the soldier’s exposure and interdependence, a condition that not only renders him susceptible to potential harm but also elicits an ethical imperative for care and collective solidarity.

The concept of vulnerability, as explored throughout this analysis, resonates profoundly with extensive theoretical discourse in feminist, queer, and trans studies. Within these scholarly domains, vulnerability is theorized as a philosophical and theoretical construct intrinsically linked to embodiment, relationality, precarity, and resistance. It transcends mere susceptibility to harm, demarcating a transformative space where power dynamics, agency, and creative potential converge. Scholars whose work will be discussed and referenced later in this article—including Butler’s examination of precarity and vulnerability politics, Kosofsky Sedgwick’s analysis of affective vulnerability, Halberstam’s conceptualization of queer failure, and Muñoz’s exploration of utopian potential—open pathways to conceptualize vulnerability as a generative resource for reimagining and enacting alternative modes of existence and belonging.

While the present analysis acknowledges the interpretive richness and explanatory power inherent in those theoretical frameworks, a comprehensive exploration of their analytical depth extends beyond the parameters of the present investigation and warrants further scholarly examination within a broader theoretical context.

8. Ahmed writes, “the background… produced by acts of relegation: some things are relegated to the background in order to sustain a certain direction; in other words, in order to keep attention on what is faced”. in Ibid., p. 31 and (Barltrop 2013, p. 88).

9. It is appropriate to provide an extended quotation here, as follows: “Disidentification is about recycling and rethinking encoded meaning. The process of disidentification scrambles and reconstructs the encoded message of a cultural text in a fashion that both exposes the encoded message’s universalising and exclusionary machinations and recircuits its workings to account for, include, and empower minority identities and identifications. Thus, disidentification is a step further than cracking open the code of the majority; it proceeds to use this code as raw material for representing a disempowered politics or positionality that has been rendered unthinkable by the dominant culture” (Muñoz 1999, p. 31).

10. They explain that the queer world “differs from community or group because it necessarily includes more people than can be identified, more spaces than can be mapped beyond a few reference points” (Berlant and Warner 1998, p. 558).

11. The kippah (Jewish skullcap) is a traditional head covering worn by observant Jewish men.

12. In Adi Nes’s Soldiers series, two photographs directly address this theme. In one untitled work from 1998, Nes reconstructs the iconic scene of raising the Ink Flag, symbolizing the end of the Israeli War of Independence. This photograph echoes Micha Perry’s celebrated victory image but omits the flag itself from the flag-raising event. Another untitled piece from 1999 revisits Denis Cameron’s Israeli Soldier Cools Off in the Suez Canal (1967) but Nes recontextualizes the scene in a dark, ambiguous pool, where tensions and complex relationships between the men emerge. For further details, see Adi Nes on “challenging stereotypical masculine imagery” and “allowing my subjects to be sensitive”: https://www.1854.photography/2020/05/adi-nes-israeli-soldiers-challenging-masculine-stereotypes/ (accessed on 7 October 2024).

Footnotes

Disclaimer/Publisher’s Note: The statements, opinions and data contained in all publications are solely those of the individual author(s) and contributor(s) and not of MDPI and/or the editor(s). MDPI and/or the editor(s) disclaim responsibility for any injury to people or property resulting from any ideas, methods, instructions or products referred to in the content.

Figures

Figure 1. Adi Nes, Untitled, 1996. Courtesy of Jack Shainman Gallery, NY, and the artist.

Figure 2. Adi Nes, Untitled, 1995. Courtesy of Jack Shainman Gallery, NY, and the artist.

Figure 3. Adi Nes, Untitled, 1994. Courtesy of Jack Shainman Gallery, NY, and the artist.

Figure 4. Adi Nes, Untitled, 1996. Courtesy of Jack Shainman Gallery, NY, and the artist.

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