"Naza": The Camera That Exposed the Shame of the Occupation Army

Twenty-five minutes of standing ovation. This is how the audience at the Venice Film Festival received a documentary that belongs neither to the clamor of Hollywood nor the glitz of Bollywood, but carries a concise title: “Naza.” As I watched the echoes of this scene, I could not help but dwell on it for a long time; what happened afterward was far more significant than what occurred in the hall itself: less than a week after the screening, an Israeli minister threatened to revoke the citizenship of the film’s makers. Behind the camera are two names: Yuval Abraham and Rachel Zor. Abraham’s name is not unfamiliar to those who follow independent cinema; he previously directed “There Is No Other Land,” the film that won the Oscar in 2025, which documented Palestinian communities uprooted from their land in the West Bank. However, what caught my attention this time was the shift in perspective: “There Is No Other Land” turned its lens toward the victims, whereas “Naza” chose to confront the perpetrators directly. Twenty-four witnesses, all from the Israeli military and intelligence services, spoke in dark rooms about how artificial intelligence is used to determine who lives and who dies in Gaza. According to the film, this is not an isolated incident or a field error that can be justified, but a complete system, carefully and precisely designed. When Abraham went on stage to accept the award, he did not flatter anyone; he stated clearly: “Denial alone is what keeps the crime alive.” He said this without hesitation, adding that what mattered to him more than anything else was for Israelis to watch this film, above all others. The official reaction was not surprising to those who understand the nature of the current political moment. Culture Minister Mickey Zohar described the film as “repulsive,” accusing its makers of self-hatred and treason in pursuit of applause, and announced his intention to move to revoke their citizenship. National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir went further, describing the directors as “a disgrace to Israel” and demanding that they leave the country. The most important truth, which rarely makes headlines, is that Israel is not a single voice. The newspaper Haaretz wrote in its editorial that “this film forces Israelis to confront what they already know,” and that there is a “black mark on the way this war has been conducted.” Youssef Jabarin, head of the Left Camp, publicly thanked the directors for their courage in exposing what he considered crimes by the occupation army. Israeli society has never been a single voice, nor will it ever be. Yuval Abraham and Rachel Zor are Israelis by their official documents; they served in intelligence and the Air Force, but they chose to look at their country from within and not to escape from telling the truth as they saw it. Telling the truth is never easy; indeed, its price is very high: death threats, relentless insults, and a real possibility of losing the only citizenship they hold. What they have done is far greater than a mere political stance; it is the form that conscience takes when it is truly alive. Death continues in Gaza, and pain is entrenched in some in Israel, with nearly eighty years of sorrow weighing heavily on both sides. Amidst this cacophony of voices and polished pens, fed by the continuation of the conflict, I find myself convinced that some matters deserve to be stopped and contemplated at length: that there are people on both sides of the conflict who choose to speak the truth, even in the darkest and most brutal chapters of war; that there are those who decide to think independently and not to follow the herd, regardless of the harsh consequences. And this, contrary to what some may think, is not weakness at all; rather, it is perhaps the only path that may one day lead everyone toward peace. Dr. Mohammed Al-Wahab