|
By
Ruth Tsoffar
From 3rd Edition--
(cont'd from Page 1)
SH’CHUR, (MAGIC, directed by Shmuel Hasfari and written by Hana Azoulay
Hasfari, 1994), is another attempt to go home. Now a successful television
talk show host in Tel-Aviv, Rachel (played by Hana Azoulay Hasfari and
based on her own life) returns to the Moroccan village in the south
of Israel which she left to complete her education and develop her career
years before. Will this visit enable her to bridge what seems to her
irreconcilable worlds? The film touches upon the gloomy reality of North
African populations in villages and development towns of south and north
Israel. Few educational, and national resources are allocated to this
population. To break the ethnic and class barrier is, in most cases,
impossible. Rachel’s Moroccan village (backward, eastern, underdeveloped,
the domain of magic) is positioned in striking opposition to Israeli
culture (modern, western, progressive, rational) in which Rachel now
lives and works.
The fact that SH’CHUR is a self representation (the writer herself is
the main actor, telling her own life story), adds another layer to the
problem of ethnic representation. Yes, finally Mizrahim are telling
their own story, but a new question arises: To what extent does such
a film add to the already negative representation of Sephardic culture
in Israel? Is it productive to air the “dirty laundry” of those who
already have enough difficulty being accepted? Given the fact that there
are so few images of Sephardim, especially in the Israeli context, filmmakers
from these minority groups cannot escape the burden of becoming spokesmen/women
for their culture. Every personal story is unique and idiosyncratic
and at the same time inextricable from the cultural and political context
from which it stems. In the particular case, too much pressure is put
on Sephardic/Mizrahi filmmakers to represent Sephardic/Mizrahi culture
at large. With its fascinating portrayal of Moroccan-Jewish folk magic,
SH’CHUR was compared to other magical-realist masterpieces like the
DYBBUK and LIKE WATER FOR CHOCOLATE. Among Moroccans themselves, SH’CHUR
was criticized for telling a story of “primitive” mysticism, and for
revealing material which was too negative and untrue to their reality.
Another film that raised similar questions was I BAJOU, (Ariel Zeitoun,
1992). A French production, filmed in Tunisia, I BAJOU (starring Michel
Boujenah, who is himself a Tunisian-born French Jew) is based on Ariel
Zeitoun’s father’s story. The director recalls his late father’s life
in a powerful narrative that focuses mostly upon the French protectorate
of Tunisia from the early 1930s through the post-war period of independence.
Like SH’CHUR, I BAJOU stays close to home, and raises the same question
regarding the legitimacy of representing those aspects minority culture
which are perceived as negative. Bajou’s extraordinary character touches
upon some of the negative stereotypes of the Jew. Bajou’s introverted
personality, phenomenal memory for numbers, and hefty build easily evoke
the stereotype of the fat Jew who obsessively and successfully deals
with money. An intense rape scene is highly provoking and disturbing
— indeed, during its 1993 screening in Paris, the responses to the film
were controversial. Jewish audiences react directly to the issue of
Bajou’s unflattering portrait.
 Zeitoun,
the director, is obviously well aware of the problematic nature of his
film. If one defines stereotypes as a short hand or code for pre-supposed,
uninformed social interaction, Zeitoun takes us beyond the immediate
surface, beyond stereotypes, and works out deep and complex issues and
personalities. The picture he finally paints is attentive to details,
cultural diversity and gender politics. I will give one example: once
Bajou’s bride, Habibah (played by Delphine Forest) is introduced, the
camera forgets Bajou and stays with her. We, the audience shift position,
now identifying with her. By moving away from Bajou (his father) to
include the woman’s story (his mother’s), by rejecting linearity, Zeitoun
implicitly refuses to judge his parents and his culture. I BAJOU, like
any other piece of work of art made in a repressed culture, in spite
of being individual, private, and intimate, is a projection of a national
allegory. On a historical, economic, political, and cultural level,
I BAJOU is a reconstruction of colonized reality in North Africa where
power and powerlessness play major roles. We, the audience are also
encouraged not to judge. This is an important lesson to remember: cross-cultural
exchange is not about making judgment and evaluating “the other” but
rather about experiencing difference and participating in it.
The film ZOHAR (Eran Riklis, 1993) was extremely popular all over Israel.
Even though Riklis himself is not Mizrahi, his efforts to portray an
authentic Yemenite-Israeli culture should be acknowledged especially
in articulating the distinctive local language and body gestures of
the community. ZOHAR is a good film for those who celebrate Middle Eastern
Israeli music but have had no real opportunity to understand the context
in which this music emerged, or the complexity of the socio-political
struggle to produce, record, market, and perform the music.
The Mizrahi music made famous by singers like Zohar Argov in the early
1980s erupted out of the Sephardic/Ashkenazi conflict in Israeli culture
at large and, more precisely, out of the lack of space to negotiate
and explore a specifically Mizrahi identity. Out of this void came an
explosion of Mizrahi cultural creativity. In this invented space a new
home was carved out. Even a naive, romantic love scene which we do not
think of as overtly political can become a powerful state-ment for claiming
freedom, a voice to reassert repressed identity.
The advent and popularity of Mizrahi Israeli music was not about acquiring
a voice but rather about having this voice be heard. This was possible
only through the establishment of Mizrahi-defined and owned networks
of production, marketing and distribution. They did not have a choice;
if they had been dependent on the Ashkenazi industry, they might not
have been able to produce works of such power and integrity.
Though the film narrates the musical contribution of Zohar Argov, ZOHAR
is essentially about the tragic inability to find home in one’s own
body, family, neighborhood, or even in the artist’s community at large.
Zohar Argov’s lonely life, which ended with his suicide in a prison
cell, inspired the production of two other films and is an allegory
of the struggle of all Mizrahim to achieve self-expression in society
dominated by the West.
These films begin to redefine Israeli minority culture in a profound
way. They provoke and contest the familiar notion of Israel as home,
by introducing the disturbing notion of the Israeli Mizrahi as homeless.
They pose new theoretical and cultural questions regarding the multiple
identities of Israeli Mizrahim. Most important, while they explore new
ideas of home, Mizrahi films provide to American, non-Israeli audiences,
a window to uncharted landscapes of difference.
The direction for the future must be more films by and about Mizrahim
— films that place Middle Eastern and North African Jews at the center.
A broader cinematic vision within Jewish-subject film reduces the burden
placed on Mizrahi filmmakers to represent Mizrahi culture at large;
it validates and encourages Mizrahi audiences who finally get to see
their culture on screen; and for the Ashkenazi community and the film
community at large, it offers a deeper understanding of the diversity
within Jewish culture.
Ruth Tsoffar is an Assistant Professor in the Department
of Languages and Literature and the Middle-East Center at the University
of Utah.
PREVIOUS
PAGE
The Search for Home:
Films By and About Middle Eastern and North African Jews
|
Articles:
Introduction
Producing Your Own Film Festival
Independent Jewish Film in America
Sephardic Cinema
Israeli Cinema
Film & The Holocaust
The SFJFF In Moscow
|
