I truly believe clothes have a spirit and a soul, so it’s important for me to care for them and then let them go when the time comes, after they have travelled a long way with me. I allow them to continue on, like a story or a film that needs to go on with its own life.
Do clothes make the man? Or is it perhaps man - or woman, rather - who breathes life and power into clothes?
The exhibition Je t’aime grew out of an 18־month־long research in Ronit Elkabetz’s wardrobe. The collection, comprising 528 apparel items meticulously collected and stored in Tel Aviv and Paris over four decades, was donated by the Yashar and Elkabetz families to Design Museum Holon. Research into the items reveals a time capsule encompassing the life of this actress, director, muse and revolutionary woman. In her wardrobe, I stumbled upon distinctly different items living side by side in complete harmony: movie and legendary theater show costumes hung alongside unforgettable red-carpet couture dresses, bridal and maternity gowns. Each garment with its own story, memory, origin, a handwritten note.
A mainstay of Israeli and international culture, Elkabetz died in April 2016, cutting short an illustrious 33־year career. She began as a model and went on to become an actress, scriptwriter and director, a social activist for women in general and Mizrahi women in particular and a muse for other artists. In her work and persona, she brought together center and periphery, fashion and art, Be’er Sheva, Kiryat Yam and Tel Aviv, Mogador and Paris, Israel and the world, creating characters that have become etched into the social and cultural consciousness.
As opposed to classic fashion exhibitions, here Elkabetz’s clothes are not shown purely for their aesthetic value, their trendiness, style or fashion־historical value. On the contrary, in this exhibition her own wardrobe acts as a classic example of how she used apparel as a material in her work, as will be illustrated below. Inside this wardrobe we find the garments’ ability to create realities, breathe life into characters and scenes, heightening and charging them with energy. For the purposes of this research, the items found in her closet were the primary sources. Their analysis aspires to discover how Elkabetz created and reasserted the act of dressing as a transgressive performative act: charging the garment with powerful meanings wordlessly transmitted to her viewers - especially her female viewers - throughout her work.
RONIT ELKABETZ AT THE OFIR AWARDS (ISRAELI OSCARS), 2008 | Courtesy of The Israeli Academy of Film, Television photo: Itzick Biran
“I think like a menial worker,” Elkabetz has been quoted as saying, “I have an internal feeling that I’m here to work, I fully believe that only through work can I arrive at the perfection I aspire to. That takes a lot of self-discipline, with which thankfully I have been blessed. Only through the artistic work do I feel like I can conquer my real fears.” With the same instinctiveness and totality that characterized all of her work, Elkabetz threw herself into the art of dress, which runs like a thread throughout her life. Her iconic onscreen appearances were painstakingly fashioned with her full participation, as were her public appearances, from her four Ophir Awards (the Oscars of Israeli cinema) wins to the Cannes Film Festival and the Golden Globes Awards.
While fashion always played a major role in her life, Elkabetz was never part of any trend, nor did she ever express the desire to be part of one. “Trends can be nice for a moment, but they pass,” she has said, “I am attracted to lines that give you a view to distant places. A garment, for me, is a time, a mood, a meeting of souls, a celebration.” Time and again her dress showcased an unexpected, reverberating statement, building a mysterious, one־off, hypnotizing and uncompromising aura around her - a stand־alone artistic creation.
The difficulty of identifying the exact effect of Elkabetz’s presence has led many to compare her to other film stars, raising questions regarding her look: “there is something strong, dramatic and indecipherable about it,” an article in the Tel Aviv weekly Ha’ir stated in the 1990s, “at times sexless, even masculine, she sometimes also looks like a menacing witch. She has something of Cher, of Isabelle Adjani, of [1970s Israeli singer] Aliza Azikri - of all of them and none […] Ronit Elkabetz’s look is an aesthetic harmony of disharmonies.” The international press tried to draw similar comparisons, with The New York Times assigning her “a range that drew comparisons to Meryl Streep, the intensity of Maria Callas and, with her pale skin and raven hair, the haunting, sorrowful presence of Anna Magnani.” Le Figaro stated that “Elkabetz is a combination of Irene Pappas and Maria Callas, and just like them she has taken Paris by storm.” “Elkabetz had a face you couldn’t take your eyes off, and a voice that often emanated from the depths of the body and the soul,” Uri Klein eulogized her, “Israeli cinema hasn’t seen a star like her, with a face that captured the gaze, and there has been no other film star whose voice fixed her in the consciousness no less than her face.” This difficulty of containing and describing her look, and the need to look for comparison points with others, speaks to Elkabetz’s absolute uniqueness on the local and international scene. She left behind her a full world of exceptional characters meticulously planned down to their last details. Her wardrobe is a historical archive of immeasurable value. At the beginning of my research work I had many questions pertaining to it, during the work possibilities for answers and future research have surfaced. In the depths of her closet, different realms intermingled: among the folded t־shirts laid out on the shelves I found one with a mourner’s tear (kri’ah) - a souvenir of her role in the film Shiva. Her shoe collection included the shoes that the protagonist wore in the movie Gett: The Trial of Viviane Amsalem, despite the fact that not one pair was ever worn after the shoot was wrapped up. A polka-dot dress she wore in the Fanny Ardant film Ashes and Blood, and which featured on the film’s poster, was hung alongside an Alber Elbaz wedding gown. Its bottom half gained some notoriety during the 2014 Ophir Awards ceremony, when it tore onstage moments after the announcement that Elkabetz and her brother Shlomi were the winners of the Best Movie award.
I found other items pristinely folded and bound in white silk paper, accompanied with hand-written notes as if anticipating this treasure being discovered at some later time, awaiting their time: “dress designed by Gideon Oberson for The Band’s Visit Oscars;” “jewel designed for me by Israel Tagori for the Cannes Film Festival.” Each item in the wardrobe signifies a chapter in Elkabetz’s rich biography, and they come together to make up a collection of considerable cultural-spiritual value that undoubtedly belongs at the very heart of the museum.
Let us however not overlook the fact that for many years, fashion and dress were given quite hostile treatment by academia and museums, institutions that have been historically run by men who thought fashion history was a peripheral, superficial and unimportant discipline. As opposed to them, throughout history many women (and some men) have regarded dress as a powerful tool for expression and self-actualization, the signification of identity, reputation and power, as well as a means of inhabiting spiritual and physical space in a society that marginalized them. For many generations, women’s dress was considered a distraction from their ‘actual’ work and accomplishments. Ronit Elkabetz, however, transformed dress into a language and an art in a transgressive, even revolutionary, way. Her persona confronted these archaic understandings, formulating through her many silhouettes the possibility of choice and a call to women to be who they are, to be visible and not disappear. In that sense her work was a corrective to the long-standing and warped understanding of garments, a demand to reread their many implicit possibilities.
Ronit Elkabetz in SION a film by Joseph Dadoune 2006 Dress Christian Lacroix Fall-winter 2000-2001 Haute couture
As opposed to many film stars and actresses, Elkabetz never worked with stylists but was adamant to apply rigorous thought to the process of creating her public appearances herself. “I don’t just pick out my clothes, I work with designers, draw out what I see in my mind’s eye and choose materials. My clothes reflect an emotion, a yearning for bygone times, mental states. That’s why I cannot be dressed by others.” Doron Ashkenazi, who designed the costumes for The Band’s Visit, has said that “she knew how to bring you to a place you yourself didn’t know you could get to.”
She knew how to combine layers, mix old and new, historical and modern, translucent and opaque, exposed and covered up. She sometimes combined upwards of a dozen items into one silhouette, joining different layers that expressed her mode of thought at a given moment: “I am nourished through creation, and clothes are an integral part of my creative thinking. That’s why the experience is very emotional for me.” In another interview she added, “I take pleasure […] in seeking creative, emotional, spiritual and intellectual worlds through textile, texture and garment.” Numerous conversations I have had with fashion and costume designers, directors and photographers that worked with Elkabetz, circled back to the fact that she was involved with every detail of her characters’ clothing. She created sketches in her journals, meticulously planning every dress appearance she made: from the jewelry to the shoes, as well as the hair and makeup, which were an inseparable part of her iconic appearance. “My interest in fashion comes from such an artistic place that each and every piece of clothing I wear is based on sketches I make myself or my designers, and I have no doubt in my mind that were I not an actress I would have been a designer.” Elkabetz followed a path laid out by groundbreaking actresses over a century ago -and narrated by a leading fashion historian, describing a direct line between the power of stage performance and dress. In her groundbreaking essay The Psychology of Stage Clothes, (1908), Laurette van Varseveld drew a direct link between actresses’ dress and their performance, claiming they must not just be active in choosing them but in fact make them themselves:
An actress of distinct temperament and intuition will tell you that to design gowns and wear them as would their counterparts in real life, is half the secret of character impersonation […] [an actress should] select those that will most forcibly accentuate the psychology of the character she is to enact, while at the same time they will emphasize the salient and distinctive personality of the woman she intends to portray. [...] This appreciation of the psychology of clothes, while it may seem so, is not extreme [...] how true it must be that the correct toilet will put a temperamentally sensitive actress pschycologically en rapport with the role she is interpreting.
Elkabetz began her film career after to a productive modeling career: “they say that among runway models she is the best […] that she always gets the best entrances and the most extravagant clothes. Apparently at all of 5’5”, she towers over her colleagues […] and when she hits the runway, the crowd is dumbstruck.”Her success as a model brought her to audition for Daniel Wachsmann’s movie The Appointed, paving her way to meteoric success. However first she dreamt of becoming a designer. She studied fashion design at Rodman High school, Kiryat Yam, and the dress she sewed for her final project is showcased in the exhibition. “The clothes she designs are stunning in their originality. She is able to guess what the next big thing in Milano or Paris is, even without poring over magazines. They say she spends whole nights by her sewing machine, possessed.” Elkabetz: “Ever since I can remember myself, I wanted to make different clothes. When I was 16, I studied in the fashion department, and even then I knew my clothes wouldn’t be a success. Society around me made such a big thing out of it […] I didn’t mind sewing them and letting them stay in the closet. I have so many unused hangers. I wear clothes once and that’s it. Like a piece of art.”
Elkabetz’s deep understanding of garments’ different qualities and sewing processes was to be a huge advantage to her other artistic endeavors. Her understanding of the fashion world, as both designer and model, gave her a unique take on garment-body relations. She formed years־long collaborations with Israeli designers such as Victor Bellaish, Hagar Alembik and Yaniv Persy, and was a beloved guest at the fashion houses of Alber Elbaz and Christian. The best fashion photographers, including Ben Lam and Miri Davidovitz, snapped her in her early career. Later on she was much in demand with portrait photographers such as Vardi Kahana and Gabriel Baharlia, and modelled for leading artists such as Joseph Dadoune, David Adika and Itzik Badash. Elkabetz was profiled in the media in Israel and abroad, with no writer failing to comment on her inimitable look and style. “Peeking into her wardrobe has nothing to do with female nosiness. As far as she’s concerned, right there on the hangers is an important part of her persona,” one writer commented of her when she was 26 years old, “she never buys a garment. Never. She sews it herself.” And Elkabetz herself clarified her position:
I’m anti-fashion […] Clothes are a mental necessity. A form of expression. A way of thinking. To get dressed is not simply to cover one’s body […] there used to be times when I sewed the garment five hours prior to going out. I sewed whatever felt most right. I am driven by emotions in all areas, and this one is no exception. I have no inhibitions. If I feel right to wear this or that, that is what I will wear, and I am less interested with what people will say or if I look strange.
Years later this exceptionalism was to become a profoundly meaningful social message, as formulated later by Shlomi Elkabetz:
Working from the political reality of her ancestry - both distant and immediate - focusing on dress allowed her to highlight and express the place of the other, of the exceptional. Doing this, she revalorized difference, transforming it from something that should be denied and suppressed into a reality that should be fostered and nourished, used to create new standards - visiblizing the other, making it memorable. She was removed from the fashion world, but was simultaneously at its very heart, creating new subjects to look at, making people wonder what had brought about her choice to become ‘the queen of black’ - even when wearing white. Under her hands, dress became a live action, a performance combining the ways we are gazed at with the way we gaze at ourselves.
Elkabetz’s visual appearance was foreign to the daily scene in Israel. It was as if that from her otherness she forged a source of power. Her wardrobe, hair and overall look was her instrument to visiblize difference, undermine conventions and bring about change. As Orly Noy succinctly put it, “Elkabetz was the figure that no kind of conservatism could internalize: in her feminism, in her pronounced Mizrahi appearance that refused reduction to peripheral status, her demand to be as universal as possible, as I believe Mizrahi identity itself had been before it was so suppressed and castrated [in Israel].” “Her Mizrahi identity,” Mizrahi activist Shula Keshet added to this observation, “was not merely a reaction to the Ashkenazi gaze, as so often happens in contemporary Mizrahi discourse. She was free, sovereign. She did not have those chains.”
The upper gallery at the exhibition. at the left: ronit elkabetz's wardrobe from her appartment in paris | photo: shay ben-efraim
In June 2016, during my first meeting with Shlomi Elkabetz, we spoke for more than three hours. When we touched on Ronit’s relation to dress, he said: “it was a very complicated relationship between internal representation and the expected, definition, identity, as well as, among other things, to the way one gains power through dress. Through the way one defines one’s own fashion.”And indeed Elkabetz’s profound understanding of fashion allowed her to draw a direct line consciously and politically connecting her onscreen and public performances. In the role of Judith in Late Wedding, Elkabetz was exposed physically as well as emotionally, among other things in a daring and realistic sex scene. She arrived at the Ophir Awards ceremony in 2001, where she won the Best Actress award, in a see־through dress. “These are two kinds of shows,” she later explained,
one has to do with the naked character in Late Wedding, where she is fully exposed and her nakedness is an inseparable part of that, and is therefore not vulgar. I personally did not feel like I was naked. It was an emotional, not a physical, disrobement. Regarding the drama around the award show - well, I usually wear [clothes by designer Hagar Alembik], which we design together. That time Gideon Oberson offered me something I could not refuse. Any actor who arrives at an event like this, and meets his audience and all of the industry, has to take their show all the way, and the garment is a part of that. The character of Viviane Amsalem, protagonist of Shlomi and Ronit Elkabetz’s trilogy, similarly exhibits an understanding of clothing as an inseparable part of the actress’s persona. In To Take a Wife [Ve’Lakahta Leha Isha], Elkabetz portrays a hairdresser who, though her world is crumbling around her, is meticulously dressed and wears flattering wrap dresses, her hair done in an elegant bouffant hairdo. This choice exemplifies the Elkabetz siblings’ refusal to fall for the stereotypical dictates of Mizrahi women’s representation that had reigned supreme in Israeli cinema up until that time. “Until that movie what you’d usually see is a woman [engaged in some kind of domestic labor], wearing an apron or carrying bags to market or back. We showed a home like the one we grew up in,” Ronit has said.In Gett: The Trial of Viviane Amsalem, the final part of the trilogy which finds Amsalem fighting for her liberty in the Rabbinic Court, she wears pressed silk shirts, fitted pencil skirts, a black dress with golden buttons and unlaced espadrilles. Later, Shlomi explained that the choice of those shoes was inspired by female prison inmates’ dress:
Fashion and dress were a major place from which we operated over the years […] with Gett, for instance, we didn’t hold rehearsals. Those in fact took place through building Viviane Amsalem’s collection. For two months we agonized over the last minute details of what she would wear in each scene. Some things were specially made and others were bought, and our set had a room with a huge table just for shoes. We bought 40 pairs of shoes - unprecedented for a movie production. It was part of the character development, just like you work on it psychologically in a movie. It was a debate that took place among us non-verbally, but it was a profound, long and rigorous discussion regarding what Viviane would wear in each scene, especially if you look at the color scheme, based entirely on gray, black and some blue. The entire cinematic conversation between Ronit and myself regarding the character we had dealt with for close to a decade revolved around her hair and dress. Hair and dress. I mean we would close down a set for three hours for it. And our fixation on her dress went on to the same lengths for the rest of the actors, as well. Before each scene we would change everybody’s costumes for two hours. Changing, changing, changing. And after changing them, we would let Viviane in… and then change them again. We would start shooting at 7am, so that in principle cameras would have to be rolling at 7:30, but they actually started rolling only at noon. But […] from the moment we had the shot, that was it. We didn’t touch it again. And it just went from there"
If we look at Elkabetz’s public appearances and compare them with her onscreen ones, we find that the meticulousness of the former sometimes stood in stark contrast with the latter. We see that most clearly with roles such as prostitute Ruti in Or (My Treasure), for which Elkabetz had completely let herself go for a year, gained ten kilograms, stopping all physical exercise and personal care regime. “With [director Keren Yedaya] it was all exposed […] you were totally exposed. All of your cellulite needed to show on screen. And that just makes me immeasurably happy. Because that’s the truth I never wanted to hide anyway […] I was really drawn to that. It really spoke to me to be able to work from my innermost materials. It’s a lot of physical and emotional exposure. Real humiliation. A real neglecting of myself as a person, and an exposure to the world that is amazingly painful. A woman who’s basically a corpse. Death on two legs. A soul who has done its work in this world but its legs keep carrying it around because she needs to feed her daughter. This was a kind of material I’d never met before.” “I was never attracted to pretty women roles,” Elkabetz repeatedly said in interviews, “I am continuously surprised that actors are unable to look at themselves. With me, from the first moment I saw myself on screen, I loved myself in all states: pretty, ugly, distorted. I didn’t stand in my own way.” It often seemed that Elkabetz’s persona, the one we saw on the red carpet and in glittering media representations, infused the feminine roles she played - prostitutes, women living under male subjugation, working-class women - conferring them with glamor, beauty and a haute couture feel. The dialog between Elkabetz’s persona and her characters allowed us to embrace the characters she portrayed, and through them the feminine diversity they represent. To identify with, feel for and love them - and with them.
Elkabetz’s extraordinary liberation from the regular demands made on actresses to look their best even in demanding roles was ironically reasserted with her glamor appearances on red carpets. Her gait, posture and total devotion to red carpet photographers was reminiscent of her roots in modelling. As time has passed, her press and red carpet photos only served to clarify beyond any shadow of a doubt that she had a mystical ability to captivate a camera, to create the perfect image on a screen, on the red carpet and on the pages of glossy magazines. During 2015 Tel Aviv Fashion Week, Elkabetz made one of her last appearances, decked in an Alber Elbaz yellow dress inspired by the coastal town’s sun. In retrospect, this was her coming full circle: during his second year at Israel’s top fashion school, Shenkar College, Elbaz had chosen her to model his creations in what was his first fashion show.
The upper gallery at the exhibition. Couture Gowns: Cristian Lacroix, 2000-2001 Couture Collection. courtesy of the Falik family, Maison Christian Lacroix photo: shay ben-efraim
Elkabetz guarded her clothes like a little intimate archive. The care and respect she showed clothes stood in an inverse relation to the state of Israeli archivist work and conservation, notably in the world of fashion. It might be Israeli culture’s sense of existential dread: hardly any film production costumes - even the most iconic - are ever saved. Elkabetz threw herself into documentation work, creating an archive of her work including, besides the clothes, press clippings, screenplays, photographs and mementos collected over years. Her affinity with history and documentation expressed itself in the way she designed clothes, as well, with almost every single hanger in her closet carrying some historical context. She combined the corsets she loved with skirts and crinolines of Victorian dresses; with the bouffant hairdos of Marie Antoinette, Elizabeth Taylor and Maria Callas; and, of all things, with black capes reminiscent images of rabbis’ robes she’d seen in photographs in her childhood home. Finally, of these would be combined with sneakers or a leather jacket. “If I do not sense the history, even if as yet unwritten, of a certain garment, I do not connect to it,” she said, “I am attracted to time travel, mental time travel.” Ronit Elkabetz’s art of dress veered away from its narrow, practical role covering to expand its meaning. The way she dressed, as the exhibition reveals, was a creation in its own right.
Whether designing and sewing herself, passing detailed sketches to designers or mixing extant elements into a new look, Elkabetz proved that reality and identity can be created through a garment. Her active participation in the design of her own clothes charged them with her life-giving presence, making the garment a creation in their own right. She showed full liberty in creating the garment on her own body as a living performance etched into the collective consciousness.
It therefore begs the question whether Elkabetz’s clothes have any value without her physical presence. The exhibition however shows that her wardrobe is more than merely a time capsule. It is in fact an invitation to discover a narrative, a message that is also her spiritual testament. Fashion, the stated discipline the show is born of, is revealed to be a complex tapestry telling a rich story. Each object in this treasure trove is leaden with biographical, symbolical and psychological significance. As fashion theoretician Elisabeth Wilson so sensitively put it:
fashion, too, contains the ghost of a faint, collective memory of the magical properties that adornment once had […] Dress represents the body as a fundamentally liminal phenomenon by stressing its precarious location on the threshold between the physical and the abstract, the literal and the metaphorical. Thus fashion, most marginalized of all arts, lives at the heart of history. As mute and humble material object it transforms itself into the embodiment of the most shocking, the most subversive ideas. For garments, like the detritus of the everyday, far from hiding, or distracting us from, life’s important matters, expose the eternal in the ephemeral, and a society’s most treasured belief [...] To despise fashion as frivolous is therefore the most frivolous posture of all.
Elkabetz’s clothes signify the opposite possibility, an invitation to human liberty. “You are subject to no one’s rule, but also not subject to the symbolical rule governing what feminine liberty is,” she wrote, “you are wonderful in a sneaker and an 8-inch heel, clothed and unclothed. In this pose or that. Remember, you are free. You create the image. Every day redefining your space.” Fashion for Elkabetz was a way of transcending the physical appearance and creating an identity cherishing transgression, freedom, sexuality, identity and power through fabric. It was and still is a source of power for women everywhere. On screen, on stage, on the red carpet, anywhere and everywhere - Elkabetz shone a light on otherness, on difference, on the margins, allowing us to dare and dream of another reality - and make it a reality.
Ya'ara Keydaris a Fashion Historian and the curator of the exhibition "je t'iame, Ronit Elkabetz". She got her bachelor’s degree in fashion design, with honors, from Shenkar College, Israel; and her Master’s, in Costume Studies, from NYU, in 2016. She was awarded the Samuel Ashburn Award for Leadership and Excellence. Keydar has worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Institute and the Museum at FIT.
THE UPPER GALLERY AT THE EXHIBITION | PHOTO: SHAY BEN-EFRAIM
 Shachar Atwan, “The Actress Who Wore All Black [Hasachkanit shelavsha sh’chorim]”, Ha’aretz, 24.09.2010. Here and in all Hebrew newspaper and magazine citations, text in Hebrew and translation mine (Y.K.)
 Gabi Bar Haim, “Stepping out [Yotzet la’or]”, Ma’ariv, 25.01.2016
 Tali Barzilai Sonenfeld, “Five Hours From Paris [Chamesh shaot mipariz]”, Belle, April 2010, p. 163
 Ronen Tal, “In Dreams My Soul Does Not Rest [Bachalomot, haneshama sheli lo nacha]”, Ha’ir, 20.07.90
 William Grimes, “Ronit Elkabetz, Acclaimed Israeli Film Star and Director, Dies at 51”, The New York Times, 19.04.2016
 xxx, “Title”, Le Figaro, date, translation min Y.K.
 Uri Klein, “Ronit Elkabetz Was Our Garbo and Dietrich [Ronit Elkabetz haita jagarbo vehadietrich shelanu]”, Ha’aretz, 19.04.2016
 Elizabeth Wilson, Adorned in Dreams: Fashion and Modernity (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2003), 270-273.
 Smadar Shiloni, “A Strangers In Our Midst [Zara Betochenu]”, Yedioth Ahronoth, Pna’i Plus, 12.09.2007
 Doron Ashkenazi in conversation with the author, 27.08.2017
 Atwan, “The Actress Who Wore All Black”
 Itay Yaakov, “From Ronit Elkabetz To Natalie Portman: The Big Screen’s Big Dresser [Mironit Elkabetz ve’ad natalie portman: hamalbisha hagdola shel hamasach hagadol]”, Yedioth Ahronot xnet, 10.11.2014
 Avivit Hizkiya, “Femme Fatale”, Ma’ariv Signon, 06.05.2012
 Laurette van Varseveld, “Clothes, The Psychology of Stage”, Theatre 8 (Jan 1, 1908): 17.
 Tal, “In Dreams”
 “Ronit Elkabetz Doesn’t Smile To Cameras [Ronit elkabetz lo mechayechet lematzlemot]” (no writer indicated), Ma’ariv Sofshavua, 15.03.1991
 Shlomi Elkabetz in conversation with the author, 20.06.2017
 Orly Noy, “Universal Mizrahi Identity And A Great Social Engagement: A Farewell To Ronit Elkabetz [Mizrahiyut universalit umechuyavut chevratit adira: preda mironit Elkabetz]”, Siha Mekomit, accessed 19.09.2017, https://mekomit.co.il/%D7%A8%D7%95%D7%A0%D7%99%D7%AA-%D7%90%D7%9C%D7%A7%D7%91%D7%A5/
 Shlomi Elkabetz in conversation with the author, 20.06.2017
 Hizkiya, “Femme Fatale”
 Shlomi Elkabetz in conversation with the author, 20.06.2017
 Gabi Bar Hayim, “Stepping into Light [Yotzet la’or]”, Ma’ariv 25.01.2006
 Atwan, “The Actress Who Wore All Black”
 Alon Hadar, “Paris In Flames: Interview With Ronit Elkabetz [Pariz balehavot: re’ayon im ronit elkabetz]”, Ma’ariv Sofshavua, 25.04.2010
 Wilson, Adorned in Dreams, 273-277.
 Ronit Elkabetz, “I Am A Fighter [Ani lochemet]”, Yedioth Ahronot, 20.04.2016
 Elkabetz, “I Am A Fighter”