I finally got around to seeing Waltz with Bashir, Ari Folman’s rapturously received animated documentary about Israel’s first Lebanon War. It was a tremendously upsetting experience, on a number of levels.
The much-celebrated technique of the film is indeed astonishing . It lends a haunting beauty even to images of horror and destruction. And the story it tells is horrific — a middle-aged Folman’s attempt to recover his memories of the war and, specifically, his — and by extension, Israel’s — culpability in the Sabra and Shatilla massacre.
The film raises questions, for me at least, about the internal and external conversations we hold about Israel — the ones we hold in the family, vs. the ones we hold for the “outside” world. Of course in the Internet and cable news age those distinctions become almost meaningless, and yet we still cling to them, as if we can get away with “talking amongst ourselves.”
Folman’s film is unassailable as an internal Jewish and especially Israeli conversation. Israeli’s have been having this conversation since the Christian militia slaughtered the Palestinian residents of Sabra and Shatilla as Israeli soldiers stood by– and especially after Israel’s official Kahan commission found Israel “indirectly responsible” for the massacres. According to a Foreign Affairs Ministry summary:
[The]Commission asserted that Israel had indirect responsibility for the massacre since the I.D.F. held the area, Mr. Begin was found responsible for not exercising greater involvement and awareness in the matter of introducing the Phalangists into the camps. Mr. Sharon was found responsible for ignoring the danger of bloodshed and revenge when he approved the entry of the Phalangists into the camps as well as not taking appropriate measures to prevent bloodshed.
“Bashir” resurrects the pain and disillusionment of this era in a way no straight-forward documentary could. Folman stands in as a member of a wounded generation, one that hasn’t healed from the scars of what Israel regards as its first unheroic war. As a contribution to an internal dialogue about Israel’s specific traumas, and perhaps to an external conversation about the wages of war, the film — like “Born on the Fourth of July” or “The Burmese Harp” — is a classic, powerful and above reproach.
But “Bashir” was burning its way through movie-houses and award ceremonies just as Israel entered into yet another searing war against a Palestinian terrorist adversary, fought yet again in a maze of crowded cities and “refugee camps.” While American editorial pages remained largely supportive of Israel’s efforts to repulse Hamas rockets, the war sparked a spasm of anti-Israel press and activity around the world that still smolders. Into this maelstrom drops Folman’s film, whose subjects include conscience-ridden Israeli recruits, indifferent commanders, Palestinian corpses, and the director’s own epiphany involving his parents’ internment at Auschwitz.
These are the subjects of a great work of art. But I watched the film gripped by the anxiety that they would also become fodder for diabolical propaganda. I can imagine this film being screened for two groups, one pro-Israeli, the other pro-Palestinian. The first would applaud its honesty and self-scrutiny, and note how the Israeli government’ s support for the movie and the impulse behind its creators is a testament to the humanity of Israel’s citizen soldiers and the country’s willingness to interrogate itself. The pro-Palestinian group, meanwhile, might see the film as evidence of Israel’s long-standing indiffference to Arab lives (see the indiscriminate night-time shooting! Watch those “smart bombs” go astray!).
For Jewish audiences, the film might be Israel’s “Red Badge of Courage.” For Palestinians, it’s the Zionists’ “The Battle of Algiers.”
Truth be told, “Bashir” hasn’t been enlisted in any Palestinian propaganda efforts that I know of. And the Palestinian cause doesn’t need an Israeli cartoon to whip up anti-Israel hysteria — not while bombs are falling on Gaza and Al Jazeera is doing its job. On that count, I can’t agree with Israeli film director Katie Green, who writes in the Jewish Week that she is relieved “Bashir” didn’t win the Oscar, despite its nomination in the Best Foreign Language Film category:
We will be debating over the next decade whether Ari Folman has, with his film, done his country a great service or caused it irreparable damage. My vote is for the latter. With all due to respect to him as the gifted filmmaker he is, it would have been better for him to deal with his Lebanon ghosts in the psychotherapist’s office…. But if I could meet him in person I would ask him if the artistic expression of his feelings on film are worth all the rage and hatred that will be stirred up against Israel as a result.
Again, how much has that rage to do with “Bashir”? It’s not even being shown in Arab countries, which bans Israeli films, no matter how self-critical.
Green’s discomfort, and in truth, my own, is as personal a story as Folman’s. A few weeks ago I argued for a wide open conversation and Jewish debate on the Gaza war, as a way for us to fully engage with Israel beyond the propaganda and talking points generated by our side. But those conversations are more comfortably held around a Shabbos table or in a West Side coffee shop than on CNN or the local multiplex.
But to what degree is an artist responsible for my “comfort,” or Green’s, or anybody’s? I squirmed through Folman’s amazing film. I left with a deeper understanding of the experience of Israeli soldiers and veterans than I have ever gotten from a fundraising appeal or an anodyne prayer said in synagogue.
Am I grateful to Folman? Am I angry? That’s something I have to work out on my own, off-camera.