How "The Sixteenth Sheep" Reunited During Wartime to Heal Israeli Hearts
A new documentary on yes Docu follows the triumphant reunion tour of "The Sixteenth Sheep." Born in wartime, the nostalgic concerts became a vital emotional outlet for Israelis.
How is a reunion born? This question is answered by the documentary directed by Ran Tal and edited by Nili Feller, which follows the reunion tour of the members of "The Sixteenth Sheep" (Ha-Keves ha-Shisha Asar), currently screening on yes Docu. As expected from a performance anchored in songs of the past, this recommended documentary opens with archival footage. In black-and-white, of course, the late Daniel Peor presents Gidi Gov, Yehudit Ravitz, David Broza, and Yoni Rechter in their 1978 iteration—all still sporting dark hair—performing the song "Sgurot Gan" from the children's album by Yehonatan Geffen, released at the time. That same album would later become one of the most beloved works in Israeli music, continuing to appeal to children of all ages—and according to the documentary, also in every country where Israelis live, some of whom are now the age of its performers from the late seventies.
The camera shifts from the distant past to the more recent past, following the backs of the aging Gov and Broza as they move toward the stage, while the screen displays the words: "January 2025, Day 473 of the war," the date of the reunion tour's opening night. Just moments before the group is received with thunderous applause at the Charles Bronfman Auditorium (Hehal HaTarbut) in Tel Aviv, Ravitz is running through a quick rehearsal of one of the songs, and Gov sits down on a chair, tossing out casually, "Guys, fuck it. It's just a show." But that tour, which began in the winter of 2025 and grew and grew until it recently wrapped up its stage run, was much more than just another show.
Precisely because it began during wartime, while Israel was still licking its wounds, demanding the return of the hostages, and protesting government failures, the innocent, old songs of "The Sheep" were not merely a sweet time capsule pulled from a distant shelf and served up. It was a sedative designed to slightly muffle reality and scream, as Ravitz puts it in a touching moment, "both the pain, the longing, and the war." It seems the last time tens of thousands of Israelis were moved like this by songs written here in the 1970s and performed by a reunited ensemble from the past was during the final reunion of the band Kaveret. Since then, those many Israelis have not had too many reasons to rejoice because of music, or because of the situation.
Deep down, after all, we are still a bit children, and if there is no one guarding us outside and not just our kindergarten is closed, the music at least can fill that void. Anyone who sat in the halls and amphitheaters where this long tour stopped, watching the aging group sing on stage, saw something of themselves in them as well. Until this tour, the members of "The Sheep" had reunited twice, but only in minor settings. The first time was on Gidi Gov's late-night show "Layla Gov" in the mid-nineties, and the second was on "Yoni's Giraffe," Rechter's 2019 children's album. But when the tall pianist tries to explain why this reunion on stage—which had been the heartfelt wish of many for quite a few years—happened specifically during wartime, he points, among other things, to Ravitz's prolonged absence from the stage and the passing of Geffen, the author of the book upon which the legendary album was based.
Although everyone involved believed there would be demand, they could not truly imagine just how high it would be. This was not a slapdash gig put together quickly for easy money. Broza recounts here that they needed time to find their new connection point as a quartet. Their meetings with the musicians were held in secret, partly out of fear that the show might not materialize and that it was pointless to raise expectations too high. Geffen, who later recounts in an archival clip that he wrote "The Sheep" within four days in a cheap Paris hotel partly to overcome past traumas, was an absent presence on stage. Similarly, Rechter, who composed most of the album's songs, also went through a difficult childhood. And thus, precisely out of shared pain, they managed to create an innocent, good album that knew how to address children eye-to-eye—without condescension, but also without foolishness. And children—then and presumably ever since—can sense when someone is trying to pull a fast one on them.
Similar to Geffen's rapid pace of writing, Rechter did not need many days to complete his part. Although Gechter and Rechter note the speed with which the songs were written, the latter emphasizes that despite the immediate connection between the words and the melodies, a certain emotional distance was maintained between them on a personal level. "The Sixteenth Sheep" was an intersection where five of the rising forces in late-seventies Israeli music met, and the members of that group frequently collaborated back then. Rechter and Ravitz ran a joint show; Rechter produced Gov's debut album (both having previously been in Kaveret), for which Ravitz wrote a song; and Broza participated in Geffen's show "Salon Conversations," leading the two into a long partnership in writing and on stage.
Nearly 50 years after it was written and recorded, "The Sheep" is much more than just another great album that adults—who were young back then—wrote and sang for children, who have since become parents themselves. Anyone who listened at the time to Rechter's brilliant compositions realized that they engaged, even if slightly, with styles not entirely typical for children, such as jazz and even progressive rock, as can be spotted, among other places, in his fine keyboard work on "Kmo Yam" (Like the Sea). Rechter was not the only musician who contributed to the sonic richness spread across the album's songs. "The Sheep" was indeed recorded at Triton Studios, the local Abbey Road, in an era when musicians were given plenty of freedom to play. The record label, which did not believe in the project at the time, did not allocate many studio hours to the participants. And yet, those who played on the album alongside Rechter—Shem Tov Levi on flute, Shlomo Yidov on guitars, Alon Hillel on drums, and Arnon PaltI on bass—managed to sound like an ensemble that understood that parents too need to enjoy the record they bought for their offspring.
The arrangements Rechter prepared for the reunion tour engaged to a certain extent with the spirit of the old record, but they also understood the need to update the classics so that the performance wouldn't sound like an old record played on stage by people who are 46 years older. In light of the unimaginable success of the reunion tour, it is worth noting that the original tour was quite a flop. Ravitz says with a smile, "How can it turn out well when everyone is drinking brandy all the time?" Even the sheep that Geffen bought for the performance, which stood on stage and did what sheep do when they have nothing better to do, did not exactly prove to be a great sales promoter. In hindsight, Rechter and Broza realize how terrible and unnecessary it was. Not only did the sheep suffer during the 1978 performances, but Rechter did not enjoy them either. Luckily, the affair did not last too long.
It seems one of the reasons for the unimaginable success of the reunion tour—beyond the public's need for nostalgia—lies in Rechter's insistence on mounting a tightly crafted show that would also live up to the participants' expectations. Thus, one of the sheep in the herd explains in a lovely moment in the documentary that he also had to serve as the shepherd. Not only in reviving the classics of "The Sheep," but also in bridging them with the songs from the solo careers of each of the four participants created after that album. The right connection between the material created then—and since—not only justified the thirst for tickets to a show that went on and on, serving as a necessary respite from reality. And although the four participants repeatedly insisted throughout the film that nostalgia was not a consideration for them, it is hard not to notice their enjoyment of the renewed encounter. Almost as much as the audience that was privileged to reconnect with the soundtrack of its childhood and youth.
