I survived Gaza's horrors. I watched NAZA to learn how Israeli soldiers live with it

I recently watched the film NAZA. I did not go to see the movie to understand what happened in Gaza. I am a victim of this war, a witness, and one who has suffered a price that will not end when the conflict concludes. I did not require a film to explain the obliteration of entire neighborhoods, the bombing of residential buildings with people inside, or the forced displacement of families unaware of their destination.

I did not need to be told about the famine, as I personally experienced it twice, enduring all its indignities, from the smallest details to the most significant challenges. I was there during these events, and I wanted to learn something different by watching NAZA.

The film provided insight into how Israeli soldiers grapple with their actions and the memory of the Holocaust. It explored how those who have inherited the memory of being victims could defend the actions of those who inflict suffering. It questioned whether they ever genuinely feel remorse, comprehend the consequences of their actions, or feel shame when discussing them. I wondered if a survivor would dare meet one of these soldiers and maintain eye contact. How could they silence their conscience so completely?

The testimony of soldiers in NAZA sheds light on what was happening on the other side while Palestinians were frantically trying to stay alive. I disagreed with those who criticized the film for providing more space to Israeli voices than Palestinian ones. I did not need an Israeli soldier to confirm that my experiences were real.

I knew they were true, as I witnessed them firsthand. How many people can disappear behind such words? How many lives can be rendered meaningless? But I wanted to hear how they justify their actions to themselves. I sought to understand how they reconcile their deeds with their conscience.

After leaving Gaza, I have been attempting to live with the memories that came with me. I strive to lead an ordinary life and learn to sleep without reliving those experiences. I aim to sit with others without seeing the faces of those who are gone or the places that no longer exist. However, while watching NAZA, I realized how mistaken I had been to believe that leaving Gaza might also mean escaping those memories.

The imaginary line that soldiers in the film spoke of was not merely a theoretical concept. It was the difference between life and death, between taking another step and never taking one again.

One soldier's words about 140 civilians who were killed stuck with me. He said they were all unarmed. I recalled countless instances when the army claimed to have targeted "threats," "suspects," or "operational areas." How many lives could be lost behind such vague terminology? How many people could vanish without a trace? The story of a child in Gaza further emphasized the film's perspective.

The soldier explained that they had killed him and numerous others, justifying the actions as necessary for maintaining a "security line." This contrasted with the reality on the Palestinian side, where families were forced to flee their homes without knowing where they could go. The film provided a unique perspective, allowing viewers to understand the mindset of those who commit atrocities against another people and the stark differences between the experiences of soldiers and victims.