In the dock where the accused sits in a courtroom. A priest stands up. The judges sit below the Star of David.
Title card:
In August 1974, Israel arrested Archbishop Capucci, leader of the Christian community in Jerusalem, on charges of belonging to the Fatah organization and smuggling weapons to the fedayeen. He was sentenced to twelve years in prison.
Capucci declares from the dock: “My nationalism is the foundation for my Christianity. Unless I am an Arab down to my blood and bones, then I am not a Christian.”
The port of Haifa in the 1940s. A European ship packed with Jewish refugees approaches the shore and drops anchor beside it.
Title card:
“It is in our interest that there be several sectarian states in the region to justify the presence of Israel.”
— Ben Gurion
The screen is divided into four sections. In each section shots with a distinct point of view follow one another in succession. Altogether, the shots show Israeli tanks and planes in combat. One of the sections goes back in history, showing Israeli soldiers as they raid homes in a Palestinian village with bayonets. In another section, the streets of Port Said appear after their destruction in 1956. In the third section, Israeli planes jealously guard the ruins of the city of Suez in 1967. The fourth section shows the Israeli attack on the Syrian city of Qunaitra in 1973.
Title card:
“There will be no peace… War will continue between us and the Arabs even if they make a peace treaty with us.”
— Menachem Begin
A large field. The side of a country road. An Arab family slowly walks by. The family is made up of women and children, with no men among them. They are all carrying bundles and different items. They look out into the distance in fear.
The sound of the announcer of the Palestinian radio program which has been broadcast for thirty years: “People can rest assured that everything is well and they are asked to remain calm. I am fine. Please assure us that you are also fine.”
Title card:
“When a Jew kills a Palestinian or Arab, he rids himself of his fears and becomes worthy of carrying the mark of manhood.”
— Menachem Begin
Corpses of an Arab family that had been playing cards. A murdered child is still clutching a card in his hand. Fragments of the bomb that fell on them are mingled with body parts and bloodstains. A pair of child’s underpants is hanging on a rope. The refrigerator door is open.
Title card:
‘‘Israelis, your hearts should not feel pain when you kill your enemy. You should not take pity on them so long as we have not yet done away with what is called Arab civilization, on the rubble of which we will construct our own civilization.’’
— Menachem Begin
A commemorative photo of the massacre of Deir Yasin in 1948. On one side of the photo is a group of European Jews — as is clear from their features and their clothes. They look on in apparent delight at a soldier from the Zionist Irgun paramilitaries. He is carrying on the bayonet of his rifle the head of an Arab, dripping blood. On the other side of the photo, a military truck is carrying a group of naked Arab women tied with ropes.
Title card:
“I believe in our moral and intellectual superiority inasmuch as it serves as an example to reform the Arab race.”
— Ben Gurion
Beirut Arab University. The enormous Gamal Abdel Nasser Hall packed with delegates. In the front row, before the podium, sits Kamal Jumblatt and the leaders of Lebanon’s nationalist and progressive parties, and the Palestinian factions. Yasser Arafat walks briskly up to the podium. He turns to the audience with a jubilant look on his face. Everyone stands and applauds for a long time.
Title card:
Yasser Arafat, also known as Abu Ammar, is the leader of Fatah, the largest of the organizations that make up the Palestinian Liberation Organization. He is the general director of the PLO, and commander-in-chief of the forces of the Palestinian revolution, as he is called in official edicts. He is known as “The Choice”, or “the old man”, by his aides.
Yasser Arafat in a conversation with journalists: “We ask only that our rearguard be secure, and that you don’t haggle with us, or over us.”
A commemorative photo of Fairuz and Assi Rahbani on their honeymoon in Cairo in 1955.
Title card:
Throughout the civil war, the killing would come completely to a halt at 7 pm every day, so that all the Lebanese could listen to the program of Ziad Rahbani, the son of Fairuz, on Lebanese radio.
The voice of Ziad: “We’re still alive!”
Ziad, with his skinny, emaciated face, wears striped pajamas and moves on the stage. Above the theater entrance is a billboard announcing the play that he wrote and acted in: An American Feature Film.
A title card fills the screen:
What happened to Lebanon?
The words stay fixed in place while the film credits roll.
Antoinette lifted her hand from the Moviola wheel, and the display stopped. She took off her glasses, and rested her arms on the table, while smiling at me in the weak light. Then she got up in one swift motion, walked over to the light switch, and turned it on.
I looked at my watch and found that it was close to 8 pm. As I looked at the two reels of film that had collected in intertwined piles in the cloth container beside the Moviola, I said: “The introduction took us almost two and a half hours. At this rate, I can finish going through all the scenes in less than a week.”
She came back to her seat next to mine, and asked, “And another week to write the voiceover? Does that sound about right?”
“Almost,” I replied.
“Is that a problem for you?”
I grimaced. “Not at all,” I said.
She lit a cigarette as she busied herself in winding the film reels and returning each of them to its can. When she was done, I helped her carry the film canisters to her office. She left me for a moment while she fetched a wool coat and her purse.
“Where are you headed now?” she asked me as she pulled out a key.
“Home,” I replied.
“Me, too,” she said, leading me out of the office and locking the door behind us.
“Where do you live?” I asked her.
“In East Beirut.”
Perplexed, I stared at her, and she laughed, saying: “Do you find that strange?”
“Do you mean you go back there at night and come here in the morning?”
“Don’t forget — it’s one city,” she said as we went out into the street, which was filled with lights and pedestrians. “During the fighting, I also used to come here every day. I would leave my family wearing a blouse and skirt or a dress, and the moment I arrived I would put on military overalls and carry a Kalashnikov. At night I would change my clothes before going back to my family.”
“Are they…”
“Yes. They are Maronite fanatics.”
“So you’re like Ziad Rahbani?”
“Ziad rebelled against his mother.”
“And you?”
“I rebel against the whole situation.”
She opened her purse and took out a cigarette. I happened to see inside the purse and noticed the barrel of a small revolver.
I lit her cigarette for her, and then lit one for me. We walked toward an old Volkswagen.
“Have you known Wadia long?” she asked me suddenly.
“We were in school together.”
She continued pressing me with questions: “Do you know him well?”
I was at a loss about how to answer. “Ride with me. I’ll take you,” she said as she opened the car door.