Ricochets of Reality: Gila Almagor’s Holocaust Narratives

Introduction

Gila Almagor, often celebrated as the “first lady of Israeli cinema,” has left an indelible mark on the cultural landscape of Israel. Through her versatile career as an actress, screenwriter, and producer, Almagor has not only shaped Israeli cinema but also contributed significantly to contemporary socio-political discourse. Her works are more than artistic expressions; they are cultural artifacts that reflect, critique, and dialogue with the traumatic legacies of Israel’s past, especially the Holocaust. In this article, I elucidate how Almagor’s films employ the concept of postmemory to navigate these traumatic legacies, allowing for a deep engagement with the complexities of memory, silence, and the articulation of the unsayable. This analysis focuses on four seminal films that form the cornerstone of her cinematic exploration of trauma: Siege (1987), The House on Chelouche Street (1973), Summer of Aviya (1988), and Under the Domim Tree (1994).

Gila Almagor and Postmemory

The concept of postmemory, articulated by Marianne Hirsch, serves as the theoretical foundation for understanding Almagor’s work on Holocaust trauma.¹ Postmemory describes the relationship of the “generation after” to the trauma of those who came before. It is not an actual memory but a connection to past experiences that are passed down through stories, images, and behaviors, creating a “memory” for those who did not experience the events directly but feel its effects intensely. Almagor’s films, particularly Summer of Aviya and Under the Domim Tree, embody this concept, presenting narratives where the trauma of the Holocaust lingers not just in the memories of the survivors but also in the lives of their children and the society that surrounds them. Her films do not merely recount the Holocaust; they represent it through the lenses of silence, pauses, and narrative gaps — techniques that make the unspeakable felt and almost palpable for the audience.

Siege (1987): War, Loss, and the Living Dead

Siege (1987) is a poignant commentary on the human toll of conflicts, focusing not on the battlefield but on the aftermath of war as it plays out in the lives of those left behind. The film centers around Tamar, a young widow who has lost her husband in Israel’s ongoing conflicts. The narrative reveals how war creates living ghosts — individuals whose lives are irreversibly changed by the loss of loved ones. The titular “siege” in the film is both literal and metaphorical: Tamar is besieged by the expectations of her community to mourn in a way that aligns with collective memory and social norms.

Almagor uses silence and visual storytelling to capture the essence of Tamar’s isolation and resistance. The film’s dialogue is sparse, creating space for the unspoken and the unsayable to emerge.² Silence in Siege is not merely an absence of speech; it is a powerful presence that speaks volumes about trauma, grief, and the impossibility of fully expressing loss. By juxtaposing scenes of silence with moments of communal expression, Almagor critiques the collective pressure to conform to a specific narrative of grief and memory, suggesting that each individual’s relationship to loss is unique and cannot be subsumed under a single, overarching story.

The House on Chelouche Street (1973): Israel’s Formative Years and Collective Memory

The House on Chelouche Street (1973) takes the audience back to Israel’s formative years, providing insights into the historical and socio-political conditions that shaped the nation. Set against the backdrop of the British Mandate in the early 1940s, the film tells the story of a Jewish family of Egyptian descent struggling to adapt to life in Tel Aviv. The narrative revolves around the young protagonist Sami, who grapples with his identity amid cultural tensions and political upheavals.

Almagor employs the family’s story as a microcosm to explore broader themes of displacement, adaptation, and the quest for a national identity. The film examines the intersections between personal and collective memory, where the past continually informs the present. For Holocaust survivors and their descendants, the act of remembering is often a fraught negotiation between silence and speech, between what can be articulated and what remains unspeakable. In The House on Chelouche Street, Almagor emphasizes this tension through her use of dialogue and non-verbal communication. The moments of silence, loaded with unspoken history and memory, contrast sharply with moments of verbal outburst, reflecting the struggle to articulate a collective memory that is inclusive yet fragmented.

The film also engages with the theme of postmemory by portraying how the younger generation inherits the burden of history. The family’s experience is not just a personal struggle; it mirrors the broader societal challenges of forging a cohesive identity in a land marked by historical trauma and political conflict. Almagor’s attention to detail—whether it be through the mise-en-scène of a modest Tel Aviv apartment or the lingering shots of characters in reflective silence — serves to ground the narrative in the tangible realities of a nascent Israeli society grappling with its own historical and cultural contradictions.

Summer of Aviya (1988): Post-Holocaust Trauma and the Innocence of Childhood

Summer of Aviya (1988), perhaps one of Almagor’s most autobiographical works, provides a deeply personal lens on post-Holocaust trauma. Based on Almagor’s own childhood experiences, the film is a poignant exploration of a young girl’s life in the shadow of her mother’s Holocaust survival. The story follows Aviya, a ten-year-old girl living with her mother, Henya, who is a Holocaust survivor struggling with severe psychological scars. The film is set in the early years of the Israeli state, capturing the sense of a society in formation while still haunted by the horrors of the Holocaust.

Here, Almagor delves into the dynamics of postmemory by examining the transmission of trauma from mother to daughter. Aviya’s life is shaped by the emotional volatility of her mother, whose erratic behavior reflects her unresolved grief and trauma. The unsaid becomes a significant motif in the film; Aviya is often seen grappling with her mother’s silences, her sudden outbursts, and her moments of inexplicable withdrawal. These moments are representative of the “unsayable” in Holocaust trauma – those aspects of the experience that cannot be captured in words but are felt deeply by subsequent generations.

Almagor’s direction in Summer of Aviya makes effective use of visual metaphors and the interplay of light and shadow to convey the emotional landscapes of the characters. The film’s recurring use of natural elements, such as trees, fields, and open skies, contrasts with the oppressive weight of Henya’s memories, underscoring the tension between innocence and the burden of inherited trauma. The story becomes a conduit for fostering empathy and understanding, encouraging viewers to recognize the lingering effects of the Holocaust on both survivors and their descendants. This nuanced portrayal of intergenerational trauma expands the discourse around postmemory, emphasizing the importance of silence, gaps, and pauses as spaces where the unspeakable can resonate.

Under the Domim Tree (1994): The Complexities of Memory and Identity Formation

Under the Domim Tree (1994) serves as a continuation of the themes explored in Summer of Aviya, further delving into the lives of Holocaust survivors and their children. Set in a boarding school for young Holocaust survivors in 1950s Israel, the film captures the complexities of memory and identity formation in a society still reeling from the Holocaust’s impact. Here, the “domim tree” — a fig tree — is not just a natural element; it becomes a symbolic refuge for the characters, a space where they can confront their fears, share their stories, or simply find solace in silence.

Almagor’s exploration of silence and non-verbal communication takes on new dimensions in this film. She uses the motif of the tree as a gathering place where the children, each carrying their own burdens of loss and trauma, can come together to form a community of shared but unspoken grief. Through long shots, close-ups, and lingering camera movements, Almagor captures the unspoken bonds that form between the children, highlighting how trauma can both isolate and unite. The film’s title itself points to the idea of a hidden, internalized memory that, like the roots of a tree, runs deep and affects everything above ground.

The narrative structure of Under the Domim Tree emphasizes the struggles of the second generation in articulating their inherited trauma. The children in the film often oscillate between moments of joy and sudden bouts of anxiety, underscoring the unpredictability of living with postmemory. This unpredictability is a hallmark of Almagor’s style; her films do not offer easy resolutions or clear-cut narratives. Instead, they engage viewers in an ongoing process of reflection and dialogue, inviting them to grapple with the complexities of historical memory and its impact on contemporary identity formation.

Cinematic Techniques and the Articulation of the Unsayable

Almagor’s cinematic techniques play a crucial role in her exploration of trauma and memory. Silence, as employed in her films, becomes a dynamic force that shapes narrative progression and character development. For Almagor, silence is not merely a lack of speech but a deliberate choice that allows for deeper engagement with trauma. It is through silence that her films convey the weight of the unsayable—those aspects of Holocaust trauma that defy linguistic representation but can be felt viscerally.

In Siege, for example, the sparse dialogue contrasts with the cacophony of collective mourning, creating a tension that mirrors Tamar’s inner conflict. Similarly, in Summer of Aviya, the silence between Aviya and her mother speaks to the unbridgeable gap that trauma creates between survivors and their children. These moments of silence are not voids; they are filled with meaning and emotion, allowing viewers to feel the depth of the characters’ experiences.

Almagor’s use of visual symbolism — such as the domim tree in Under the Domim Tree or the crowded, cluttered interiors of The House on Chelouche Street — further amplifies the narrative’s emotional undercurrents. Her careful attention to mise-en-scène, combined with her nuanced direction of actors, creates a layered cinematic language that communicates what words cannot. This language of silence and symbolism is essential in articulating the unsayable, inviting viewers to engage with the traumatic histories that continue to shape the present.

Conclusion: Gila Almagor’s Contribution to Cinematic Art and Cultural Memory

Through her films, Gila Almagor offers a profound contribution to Israeli cinema and global discussions on trauma, memory, and identity. By employing the concept of postmemory and emphasizing the role of silence and the unsayable, her works challenge traditional modes of Holocaust representation and memorialization. They open up new spaces for dialogue on the complexities of trauma transmission, the ethics of memory, and the need for empathy in understanding historical and contemporary conflicts.

Almagor’s films serve as potent catalysts for reflection, urging us to reconsider the narratives we construct around trauma and memory. By navigating the intricate dynamics between speech and silence, Almagor’s cinematic oeuvre invites us to listen to the latent voices of history that continue to resonate in our present, reminding us that the past is never truly past — it is alive, pulsing beneath the surface of our collective consciousness.

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1. Marianne Hirsch’s concept of “postmemory” refers to the relationship that the “generation after” bears to the personal, collective, and cultural trauma of those who came before. In Almagor’s films, postmemory is evoked through narrative techniques that allow the unspeakable trauma of Holocaust survivors to be understood by later generations.↩︎

2. The concept of “sayability of the unsayable” in Almagor’s work involves using silence and pauses to give space to the inexpressible aspects of trauma. This technique challenges viewers to confront the limitations of language in representing trauma and to engage in a more profound form of empathy and understanding.↩︎