“Farha, a name that means joy in Arabic. I chose the name because of how they talked about their life before the Nakba—to me it was life before their joy was stolen.” – Darin Sallam ( Director)
The Nakba of 1948, often referred to as the “catastrophe,” is a pivotal event deeply etched into the memories of every Palestinian family around the world. It’s important to correct the misconception perpetuated by Western media, which often frames the Nakba as merely coinciding with the creation of the state of Israel. In reality, the Nakba encompasses a systematic and meticulously planned campaign that aimed to dismantle Palestinian society by an external colonial force.
This dark chapter in history involved the deliberate acts of ethnic cleansing, genocide, land theft, forced expulsions, and the tragic loss of countless lives.
“Farha,” the debut feature film by Jordanian director Darin Sallam, available on Netflix, is a groundbreaking cinematic achievement. It marks the first time a film of this scale has adeptly told the story of the Nakba, offering a profound exploration of its impact on the Palestinian people. It is a must-watch for anyone seeking to gain a deeper understanding of the Nakba’s consequences and the enduring resilience of the Palestinian community.
Plot
“Farha,” a poignant Palestinian drama, delves into the harsh realities of life in a conflict-ridden region. The story revolves around the life of Farha, a 14-year-old girl from a small Palestinian village. In a community where girls her age are often married off early, Farha dares to dream of continuing her education and becoming a teacher.
The film begins with Farha facing resistance from her family as she strives to break free from these societal norms. However, the intrusion of Israeli soldiers into her village shatters her hopes and dreams. In a desperate attempt to protect her from the chaos outside, Farha’s father locks her in the pantry of their home, promising to return.
The scenes set inside the dimly lit pantry are deeply evocative. Farha’s days are marked by solitude, scarce food, and water. Her father’s promise becomes a lifeline, and the audience can feel the weight of her isolation.
“Farha” draws you deep into the emotional core of its young protagonist’s experiences. You can practically feel Farha’s unquenchable thirst as she desperately sips from a pickle jar, her longing for water resonating through the screen.The tension mounts as she grapples with finding a discreet spot to relieve herself, the urgency in her bladder vividly felt. The acrid stench of the gas used by Zionist militias to force Palestinians out of their homes fills the air, and you can almost sense Farha choking on it.
A crucial turning point occurs when a family of four, led by a man named Abu Abdullah, unexpectedly seeks refuge in their home. The family comprises Abu Abdullah, his pregnant wife, and two young daughters. The tension rises as Farha, hidden in the pantry, manages to get Abu Abdullah’s attention. He assures her that he will help once his family is safe.
However, the glimmer of hope quickly dims as Israeli soldiers from the Israel Defense Forces discover the family’s presence. In a desperate attempt to shield his loved ones, Abu Abdullah falsely claims to be alone, searching for water. Yet, the soldiers eventually uncover the truth, leading to a heart-wrenching and tragic scene where the entire family is executed before Farha’s horrified eyes, as she watches from the pantry’s crack.
The chilling cruelty of the militias, toying with their victims before ultimately executing them at gunpoint, was deeply shattering to watch. What made it even more unbearable was the sight of a new-born baby left to face an agonizingly slow death.
The film then returns to Farha, who becomes an unwilling witness to this innocent baby’s excruciating fate. As you watch, you could practically feel the baby’s cries piercing the air, unremitting and heart-wrenching. Farha, in an attempt to provide comfort in the face of impending tragedy, sings a lullaby to the infant as he takes his final breaths.
This scene is a haunting reflection of the harsh realities that persist in present-day Gaza. It’s impossible not to draw parallels with the devastating images we’ve seen in the news and on social media in current tines – babies pulled from the rubble or even worse, born in the midst of chaos after their mothers have tragically lost their lives. The sheer horror of this isolated scene within the confines of a house serves as a wretched reminder of the greater, ongoing humanitarian crisis that continues to unfold, sending shivers down your spine.
It’s a gut-wrenching moment that leaves one emotionally raw and deeply contemplative about the overpowering meaning it holds in the broader context of the ongoing struggle.
What’s truly remarkable about “Farha” is how it manages to capture the essence of an entire nation’s story within this single narrative. The loss it portrays is immense, and the grief it conveys is overwhelming. It’s a painful reminder that the solemn vow of “Never again” has been replaced by the haunting reality of “time and again.”
“Farha” is like a sharp commentary on how the world, in its repeated failures, has let down humanity. It’s a poignant testament to the fact that humanity once declared “never again” but, tragically, has allowed history to repeat itself. It’s a wake-up call, delivered in the most emotional way, that makes you question why we, as a global society, keep falling short of our promises. It’s a painful truth that this film lays bare, and it’s impossible to walk away from it without feeling that humanity, as a whole, has let itself down.
Farah is directed by Darin J. Sallam, based on a true story that she was told as a child about a girl named Radieh. It premiered at the Toronto Film Festival on 14 September 2021 and began streaming on Netflix on 1 December 2022. The cast features, among others: Karam Taher as Farha, Ashraf Barhom as Abu Farha, Ali Suliman as Abu Walid, Tala Gammoh as Farida, Sameera Elasir as Um Mohammad, Majd Eid as Abu Mohammad, Firas Taybeh as Abu Farida.
