Saar Harari’s dance and Israeli military training seem incongruous—if not physically, then karma-wise—but after Herd of Bulls works up a head of steam, it makes perverse sense and gives “task-oriented” choreography a new twist. Movement modulates from leopard stealth to precise ensemble drills to electrifying explosiveness. Wearing navy fatigues are Harari, intellectually and physically sharp; Rosella Fusco, a ferocious presence; and the genial Nile Russel. Troupe co-founder Lee Sher has lost her trousers, compounding an already fragile vulnerability. She haunts the corners of the stage like a nighttime sylph, first emanating and then dispensing comfort and humanity. The other three stamp and chuff, flicking into combat-ready plié squats, one thrusting arm socked in a fist, the other palm out. Fusco detonates into an airborne layout. Drawing a bead, do they point at the stars, aim a weapon, or both? Finally, dance a government can love—a soul-feeding killing machine.