Precious Life (2010)

[bunniefuu]

The last thing in the world that
I wanted to do was go to the hospital.

I don't like hospitals.
I don't like hospital stories.

They're not for me.

But I had no choice.
I made my career as a journalist in Gaza

and I can't go back there anymore.

So here I am at Tel Hashomer Hospital,
because it's my job to get stories,

and the hospital remains

the only bridge left between Israelis
and Palestinians from Gaza.

All the other bridges
have been b*rned or blocked.

As I drove around the parking lot,

trying to delay walking
through those depressing corridors,

I looked toward the horizon.

On a clear day,
you can see Gaza from here.

It's an hour's drive and a world away.

So close, and yet so far.

For more than two decades,
I've provided in-depth coverage

of a place that's the dream
of any w*r correspondent.

1,200,000 residents crammed
into 360 square kilometer

in tumultuous, seething Gaza,

where even children
talk like old people waiting to die.

We'll get k*lled. We'll get sh*t.
We'll be butchered. We'll die.

Whatever happens, praise be to Allah.

Whatever happens, we're already dead.

You there, with the car. Move it!

I also experienced the w*r first-hand.

My Palestinian cameraman
was severely injured by the IDF,

and I'm sure he took a b*llet
aimed at me.

I'm hurt! I'm hurt!

-Get a car!
-A car!

The army is sh**ting at us.

I was excited by Gaza's wild savagery,

by the fact that I got to show
the other side of the border,

and the resident's
impossible struggle to survive,

I felt a sense of satisfaction
because I had made a difference.

Following a series of stories
I sh*t at the "Erez" Checkpoint

about how tens of thousands
fought for the right to work in Israel,

a new checkpoint,
a modern and humane one, was built.

As fate would have it, on the day
the new checkpoint was inaugurated,

Hamas seized control of the government

and Israel imposed a total blockade
on the entire Gaza Strip.

Only critically ill patients

were allowed to enter Israel
to receive emergency treatment.

DEPT. OF PEDIATRIC HEMATOLOGY,
ONCOLOGY AND BONE MARROW TRANSPLANTS

This morning, I received a touching email
from Dr. Raz Somech,

asking me to help him
save a baby from Gaza.

No one but he
thought the baby would survive.

ISOLATION ROOM

This is the baby's
"double-isolation" room.

You can come in,
but only open one door at a time.

This door must be closed
before we open the second one.

Higher pressure in the room
pushes air out,

so that when you open the door,
no contaminants can enter.

This is the mother,
and Muhammad is her son.

He's a 4.5 month-old baby

with a severe auto-immune deficiency.

He was born with a genetic defect

which causes him to have no immune system.

We call kids like him "bubble children"

because they used to be kept
inside a sterile bubble.

Fortunately, today we have
the professional know-how

to remove them from those bubbles,

with a bone marrow transplant.

If left untreated, these kids die
before they're a year old.

In this family,
two daughters d*ed of the same disease.

It's very important
that the other door stays closed.

All his efforts to raise money
for a transplant,

which could have saved the baby, failed.

If I fail as well,
Muhammad will be sent back to Gaza

to die and be buried
alongside his two sisters.

I've never faced a more difficult task.

Should I speak…?

I had two daughters in Gaza.

They both d*ed.

In Gaza, I was told
that there's no treatment for it,

and that he's destined to die.

The whole problem
was finding funding for the operation.

We asked the Palestinian authorities
in Gaza or Ramallah for help,

but nothing…

-It would cost $55,000 to save his life.
-That's right.

That's how I joined the race
against the clock to save Muhammad's life,

using the only means I had:

a camera and air-time on the evening news.

A 4.5 month-old Palestinian baby
a bone marrow transplant,

but no one can fund the operation.
Hashomer Hospital is trying

to find about $50,000 for the baby,
who stole the heart of everyone.

His mother, Raida, from Gaza
already suffered two tragedies.

The hospital will accept
even part of the sum,

just to begin the transplant process.

No one here has the authority to perform
the transplant voluntarily.

Everyone in this hospital
wants to save this baby.

There's no doubt
that if we do the transplant soon,

while he's still stable
and gaining weight,

the chances of us succeeding
is very, very good.

I went down to my car
because I couldn't take the pressure.

I inserted the tape of Muhammad
into my camera.

I wanted to see
if I succeeded in capturing the feeling

that his life depends on us alone,
and our intense desire to save him.

Before I could see it though,
I was informed that a single donor

gave the entire sum needed, on
the condition that he remains anonymous.

Dr. Somech?

-How are you?
-Everything is okay now.

-Now, everything's okay.
-How are your girls?

Everything's fine.

Let's see… Ramzi…

-Farah.
-…Farah.

And Fa'ten.

Is everything okay?
Was the drive here okay?

-Great.
-Is he sleeping?

Okay, let's go.

We're looking for a graft
that most closely matches the patient.

Statistically, it's 25%,
the odds of two siblings

getting the same DNA
from their mother and their father.

It's simple statistics.

Wow! Bravo!

Don't be afraid.

Mommy…

I was happy
that someone donated the money.

Dr. Somech suggested
that we put the story on TV,

-but she refused.
-I told them it's no use.

Her mother and brother
tried to convince her.

She finally agreed, as long as
only Dr. Somech appeared on TV.

In the end, she said okay.

I said that no one would donate the money.
It's Israeli propaganda.

What's up?

I speak a little Arabic.

-Hello. How are you?
-Okay.

Tell him I still don't have an answer,

but I'll have more details
in an hour or so.

Channel 10 News
with Miki Haimovich and Yaakov Eilon.

The death of a Palestinian mother
and her four children today in Gaza

threatens to renew att*cks on the South.
Shlomi Eldar has more.

This is the father of the family

k*lled in Gaza today in an IDF att*ck.

His wife and four children,
ages 6, 4, 3 and 1, were k*lled.

Musa, the year-old baby,
was named after his uncle Mus'ab

who was k*lled by the IDF
in Gaza last year.

I heard something about the man
who donated the money.

Who is he?

I don't know his name,
but he's an Israeli, a Jew.

He had a son who was k*lled in the army.

In the '48 w*r, or…?

No, recently.

We're grateful to him.

He donated to a Palestinian boy
even though his son was k*lled?

The Israelis do strange things for us.

Do you know who they are?
They're soldiers

from the Nachshon unit.

What's that?

-She's scared. She's scared.
-Why?

-Happy holiday.
-Happy holiday.

Twenty soldiers came to the hospital…

with their weapons
and dressed in their uniforms.

It reminded me of how frightened I was

of the IDF soldiers
who used to patrol the streets of Gaza.

Since we were kids, our parents told us,

"Jews are dangerous. They're scary."

When I came here from Gaza, I cried
because I was so afraid of the Jews.

You don't know how Jews are perceived
based on what we see on television.

A Jew is always a Jew.

She cried for four days
and wouldn't eat a thing

when she found out
that they were taking him to Israel.

I thought, "This is it.
If I go through the checkpoint…

they'll sh**t me."

ISOLATION ROOM

Is this for you?

Sleep, sleep, my child…

Now he'll learn Hebrew.

You can stop now.

Yes.

The blood-test results!

The parents are relatives, yes.

I think they're cousins.

Yes.

Out of all three of them,
not one's a match?

That's enough, Shlomi. Stop.

Dr. Somech couldn't bear to tell them,

but when Raida saw the Department Head
enter the room instead him,

she understood all by herself.

We wanted to do the transplant
from one of the siblings, but…

unfortunately,
none of the three siblings was a match.

I snuck out and left the hospital.

All I wanted was to go home.

How disappointing.

It really is a beautiful world

It's a new Middle East

We're in Jaffa-Tel Aviv

But all around, the week has been hectic

It's a very small bubble

It's only you and me

It's not made of gold
But it's still shiny

If you touch the bubble, it will explode

That's how our lives have been lately

It could be better, it could be tragic…

-Raz?
-Yes?

-Hello.
-Yes, hello.

Is there a chance we could find
another bone marrow donor?

We're talking about a slim chance.

There's some hope we'll find a donor

from among his immediate cousins,

but because of the blockade on Gaza,
our hands are tied.

It's impractical to bring 25 cousins here
to get tested.

What if I can arrange to get the
blood samples from Gaza to the hospital?

That would be wonderful.

I couldn't enter Gaza anymore,
but I could use the connections

I've made over the years at the crossing.

The plan was that Naim, Raida's brother,

would collect blood samples,

and I'd pick them up
at the Israeli side of the crossing.

It sounds so simple,
but in terms of Gaza, it's no easy feat.

When Naim approached
the border crossing,

something so surprising happened

that only someone
who lived in Gaza under siege

could appreciate its intensity.

They informed me
that he can cross the border

with the test tubes of blood
and come with me to the hospital.

I didn't ask how this miracle happened.

Why ask unnecessary questions?

But we could all understand
that the combination

of a bereaved father,
a journalist, a camera

and the tremendous excitement
over vials of blood

on their way to save a life,

couldn't be stopped.

Okay, I'm coming then. Goodbye.

I swear, he doesn't believe it.

He doesn't believe it. He said,
"What are you talking about?"

He can't believe
I got through the Erez Checkpoint.

I swear.

-Good. There's blood here from everyone?
-Yes, everyone you said.

I'm really afraid…

that the samples you brought
won't be a match either.

That'll be a big problem.

I've been so exhausted since they told us

that none of his siblings was a match.

Shalom.

Shalom-lom-lom.

A little here.

Someone came by at seven o'clock,

and Raida said, "It must be him."

-He came in, opened the door…
-No, he was outside.

He looked at the baby.
He was old, with white hair.

He stood by the door,
and I saw him speaking with the nurses.

He spoke with the nurses and looked in.

-Raida said, "It must be him."
-Who?

The donor of the money.
We're not sure, but Raida said it's him.

I'm not sure. Maybe it was him.

-He didn't talk to us.
-He stood by the door for a while.

He knocked on the door,
looked at the baby,

spoke to the nurses and left.

Is Raida coming? Should we wait for her?

No… talk. We'll…

-What are the results?
-We have the results.

-The parents don't match.
-None of them?

The mother and father don't match,

but because you marry among yourselves,
there might be a chance.

So we tested you and Akram,

who's married to his sister,
and we tested Shawki,

who's married to your sister Naima.

What we found is that you, Naim,

match Raida 100 percent,

and your wife matches Fauzi.

Tahani matches you 100 percent.

Wait, that's just the beginning.

This is it.
God willing, we'll find a match.

What this means is that
we'll test your children,

-and thank God, you have seven children.
-Of course.

God willing,
one of them will be a match.

Together they have seven children.
Perhaps one of them…

Thank Allah! Thank Allah!

Wash your face.

Come, wash your face.

Enough, enough.

What's the matter?

Sit down. Sit down.

Bring her a chair.

-Raida! Raida!
-Enough. That's enough.

She's very emotional.

-Hello, how are you?
-I'm okay.

-Any news?
-Thank Allah.

The first results show
that Sausan and Lina are a match.

Really?

Yes, the doctor told me
there were no results today,

but we went to the secretary anyway,
and she checked the computer.

She said that the first results show

that Sausan and Lina are a match.

-So there are two matches.
-Yes, Sausan and Lina.

Dr. Somech did a great job.
He'll be here in ten minutes.

Come here, Raida.

We're so happy! Thank God!

But neither of Naim's two daughters,
neither Sausan nor Lina,

could come to the hospital
to do the transplant.

Not far from here, fighting between
Gaza and Israel had broken out again.

Rocket alarm… rocket alarm.

Warning! Kassam rockets!
Please get inside your homes!

Where's my mommy?

I went to the Erez Checkpoint
after I was promised

that they'd let Sausan through
as soon as things ease up.

She waited on the Palestinian side.
I waited by the cement barriers,

watching what was happening.

But then everything went wrong.

A car b*mb filled with expl*sives
detonated right beside the checkpoint,

which nearly collapsed from the impact
of the tremendous expl*si*n.

Sausan returned home,

and I rushed with the security
camera footage of the expl*si*n

to the TV news studio in Tel Aviv.

You made it in one piece?

Yes, I did, but what happens now?

Shlomi, right now
the checkpoint is closed,

but I promise you
that I'll do whatever I can.

I can't promise it'll work out,
because the damage is severe.

Can't you find a way
to let just her through?

Shlomi, I'll try to be creative
and do the best I can.

I promise you, as soon
as there's a solution, I'll let you know,

and we'll get her in.

Only after talking
to the Head of the Border Crossing

was I able to collect myself
and get to the hospital.

I believed that somehow,
despite everything,

we'll find a way to get Sausan
to the transplant on time.

I once dreamed I had twins.

This one d*ed,
while the other one survived.

I dreamed the same dream
three times in Gaza,

that I have twins,

that Muhammad dies
and the other one lives.

I don't know what the dream means,
but I had it many times.

I told my parents about the dream.

Sausan made it for the transplant
three days later.

Thank God you came, after all.

Look at the lights over there.

-There's life here.
-People know how to live here.

-It's a modern country.
-Look at the cars.

We don't have a quarter of this.
Our people don't have jobs.

Weird, huh?

I've never seen anything like this before.

-Do you know what you're walking on?
-No.

-On plants.
-Plants?

It's grass.
You haven't seen anything yet.

I have ten days to see things.

These will be the happiest
ten days of your life.

Right. God knows
how I need these ten days.

Sausan!

How are you?

Sleep, sleep, my child…

The radio calms you down, does it?

I couldn't know that all our efforts
might save Muhammad,

but they would also
put Fauzi and Raida in a tough spot.

Ask him why he's so interested
in helping us.

Arabs who hear about what we're doing here

start saying nasty things about us.

Many people in Gaza
and here say cruel things about us.

-Such as?
-I don't want to say.

-Tell me.
-No, no, I don't want to.

But they're thinking bad things about us.

-Bad things?
-Yes.

When they see how the doctor,
you and everyone else are all helping us,

they start thinking bad things.

They suspect you
of collaborating with the Jews?

God knows what they think.

Perhaps that's what they think.

Wonderful.

He just wanted to be held.

We'll extract the bone marrow…

and then we'll bring it to the ward,

where it will be injected
into the baby intravenously.

He's waiting there
after receiving chemotherapy.

What's up?

-Fine.
-Fine.

After a transplant,
the graft reacts adversely to the patient,

and at the same time,
the body also tries to reject the graft,

because it considers it
to be a foreign organism.

So there's a struggle
between two components,

which must live side by side,

each with its own desires and aspirations.

But only if they coexist,
will they survive.

Take care of Muhammad,
and take care of yourself, no matter what.

God willing, it'll be okay.
Take care of the children.

If his immune system starts working…
Shlomi is here with you.

Take care of her.
Don't forget about her. Visit her often.

Don't just come to film her.
It's important.

Take care of the children.

-Go in peace.
-God is great.

I've accompanied Raida for four months,
watching her fight for Muhammad's life

in those trying days and especially
the nights following the transplant.

They kept infusing
Sausan's blood cells into him

because his body kept rejecting the graft,

and the fear was that
his body would never accept it.

We didn't mention this to Fauzi,
her husband, so he wouldn't worry.

Hello, how are you?

How's it going, Shlomi?

Why do you think they're helping Arabs?

Everyone has a reason.

I don't know why this woman helps out.

Maybe she feels
how deprived the Arabs are.

-Do you think the same thing, maybe?
-Maybe.

Maybe something happened
to make her feel

how much the Arabs need help.

I don't know what her story is.

During your holidays, too,

the Jews come and hand out presents.

They don't distinguish
between Arabs and Jews.

They give out presents equally
to all of the rooms.

-You've learned about our holidays.
-Yes.

The holiday of Shavuot…

And Passover, I think.

-What?
-I'm not sure what it is. Passover?

-Passover.
-Yes, Passover.

You also have… the one you had recently.

Oh, we have the Ninth of Av.

The Ninth of Av commemorates
the destruction of the Temple.

What?

The day that
the Jewish Temple was destroyed

2,000 years ago, in Jerusalem.

We had a temple once.

Let's not discuss the Temple.
It's the source of all our problems.

We claim it was ours.
You claim it was yours.

It's better not to talk
about these things.

-Have you been to Jerusalem?
-It's my dream to go there.

-You can go there without any problems.
-Yes, of course.

We can't. Isn't that deprivation?

-Jerusalem is ours.
-How is it yours?

You know what?
Let's not talk about this. That's enough.

He says Jerusalem belongs to them.

-Who's is it then? Why?
-Ours. What do you mean, why?

The Prophet rose to Heavens from there,

so how could it be yours?

It's controversial,
but it belongs to us, not you.

-Let's split it then.
-No.

-Half and half.
-No. Jerusalem is ours.

-Really?
-Really.

Like Arafat said,
"A million martyrs for Jerusalem"?

More than a million.
All of us are for Jerusalem.

All of our people.

Jerusalem is ours.

You're angry, right?

-Why?
-Because of what I said.

No, no, I just think
the whole concept of the martyrs is silly.

All of us, not just a million.
We're all for Jerusalem.

Do you understand?

Death is a natural thing for us.
We're not afraid to die.

From the smallest infant,
even younger than Muhammad,

to the oldest person, we'd all sacrifice
ourselves for Jerusalem.

We feel we have the right to it.

-You can be angry. So be it.
-I am.

I can't. It's a religious thing. I can't.

It's heresy to say
that Jerusalem isn't ours.

-Would you be willing to be a heretic?
-No.

Then that's that.

-Death is a normal thing for you?
-Totally normal.

Then how come
you're fighting over Muhammad's life,

if you say
death is a normal thing for you?

It's normal. If he does die,
what can I do about it?

It's a normal thing.

My two daughters d*ed in my arms
while I was carrying them.

So what? Did I die from that?

The ability to forget is a gift from God.

-It's a normal thing. Normal.
-Normal?

How did you feel when they d*ed?

True, I mourned,
it was very difficult for me,

but what can I do?
Thank Allah. Praise God.

Allah gave them to me
and Allah took them away from me.

I can't object to death.
Every soul is destined to die.

I could even die
while we're still talking.

You don't believe in death?

-No, to us, life is precious.
-Life is precious, but not to us.

We feel that life is nothing.
Life isn't worth a thing.

That's why we have su1c1de bombers.

They're not afraid to die. It's natural.

None of us fear death.
Even our children.

It's natural to us.

I asked you before,
after Muhammad recovers,

-would you let him become a martyr?
-Absolutely.

For what purpose?

If it's for the sake of Jerusalem,
it's nothing to me.

There you go.

-Thank you very much. Yes.
-You like it?

-Bye.
-Good luck.

I know it's hard for you. Our people die…

You k*ll people in Gaza
by the dozens, right?

When there's an att*ck in Gaza, right?

-Do you deny that?
-I don't deny it.

Our people get k*lled, dozens at a time.

When one of yours dies,

it shakes up your entire world.
For us it's normal.

We cry out in joy and celebrate
when someone becomes a martyr.

To us, a martyr is a big thing.

To you, when someone gets k*lled,
the whole world turns upside-down.

-You take it very hard.
-What's preferable?

-What do you mean?
-What's better?

That life is precious
or that it's not precious?

Life isn't precious.

No, life isn't precious.

You're surprised, aren't you?

-Not really.
-Yes, you are a bit.

How was the surprise?

-Anymore questions or are we done?
-No more questions.

So stop filming.

Are you going to show this too?

I was overwhelmed with an enormous
sense of disappointment and despair.

I felt like never going back to
the hospital or ever seeing Raida again.

I had lost the compassion for a baby
whose mother is fighting for his life

only to raise him to be a martyr.

I was angry that I allowed myself
to cross the line from journalism

to personal involvement
in Muhammad's story.

I called my cameraman Muin in Gaza
and vented my frustration with him.

Fauzi called me a few minutes later.

I gathered that my cameraman
had told him about our talk

but I didn't have the patience
to hear his excuses.

Hello? Muin told me you're furious.

Shlomi, you've seen
what she's been through.

You must forgive her.

Raida is exhausted.

Maybe she's lost her mind.

You can understand the problems
that she faces.

You're the only one
who felt what she's been through,

so you of all people should
understand her state of mind.

Don't be mad at her.

There's you and Dr. Somech.
Only you two understand her condition.

I have to get out of Gaza
and come to Israel. It's urgent.

If it's at all possible, please!

How are you, Shlomi?

-What's up?
-Everything's okay.

Good.

There was a t*rror1st att*ck.

About half an hour ago,

a tractor,
apparently driven by a t*rror1st,

flattened three cars, crushing them
and the passengers inside.

He continued driving, and at some point,
apparently knocked a bus over.

-Maybe he's crazy.
-No.

-Why not?
-He's crazy, for sure.

Can anyone who runs people over
have a brain? He must be crazy.

He's a Palestinian
who carried out a t*rror1st att*ck.

How do you know?

How do I know?

What makes you determine
that he's a Palestinian?

Who else commits t*rror1st att*cks?

You can't know for sure.

A person who drives a tractor
and runs people over

has to be crazy.

Did you hear?

-An Arab?
-So they condoned his k*lling?

Is he in one piece
or did they rip him to shreds?

This gloomy day
was supposed to be special.

For the first time after long months
in the isolation room,

Muhammad and Raida went outside.

They were to stay at the Children's House
adjacent to the hospital

until they found out
if the graft was absorbed.

There were so many things I wanted
to tell her running through my head,

but mostly, I felt like an idiot.

In the end, I decided to break my silence

and tell her in front of her husband

what I thought about a mother
who raises her son to be a martyr.

-I want to tell you something.
-You two fight. I'm…

He's neutral.

I told you already,
and I'll say it on camera.

I only want him to live.

Shlomi, I don't plan on him
becoming a su1c1de bomber.

It makes no sense for me
to want my son to die like that.

True, I hoped he'd be a martyr
but in a peaceful march.

How could he be a martyr
in a peaceful march?

How would he get k*lled
in a march for peace?

Perhaps the demonstration
might get out of hand.

He'd call out for peace…
You know, he'd demonstrate…

I didn't believe her,

but she kept squirming,
trying to find excuses.

The Qur'an and the Prophet said
that in the End of Times

w*r would break out between us.

That's why I told you that Muhammad
would be a martyr.

It's not that he'd be a…

You know what? Let's just say that…

Jerusalem will stay as it is
until my son Muhammad

comes with his sword
to liberate Jerusalem.

I told you it might happen. Maybe…

It's not that my son would grow up,
pick up a r*fle

and become a su1c1de bomber in Jerusalem.

I kept quiet for a moment,

and then told her what I
and people in Gaza all thought about her.

When I told Muin,
my cameraman, about this,

he was on the beach in Gaza.
There were reporters there,

and the son of Ismail Haniyeh,
the Hamas prime minister.

He told them all about what we talked.

Do you know how he responded?
Ismail Haniyeh's son said…

"She's crazy."

When we say something to please them,
they say we're crazy.

Whatever. No big deal.

If he was asked that in front of a camera,
would he say I'm crazy?

Then why do they do su1c1de bombings
if he says I'm crazy?

I said what I said in order
to defend myself,

to appease the Arabs
and all my brothers there.

I saw your concern for Muhammad.

That's why I was surprised.

Not only for him,
but for his dead sisters too.

I've only seen you with Muhammad,
not with your daughters.

I saw how much you cared for him.

What I do for him is nothing
compared to what I did for his sisters.

I've been burdened with this
since he was born.

More so with my daughters who d*ed.
I faced them every single day.

They d*ed 1,000 times in front of me,
and look what they write about me.

"To the mother of the baby Abu Mustaffa.

Go to the Jews to get help for your son,

if you think they're better than Arabs."
Here.

I didn't read all the responses.
Only a few them.

Some wrote, "God help her."
I'm grateful to those people.

Some wrote, "Let the Jews help you," etc.

I asked my husband
why they make such a big deal out of it.

All I said was that
the Jews are better than the Arabs

because that's how I felt at the time.

Is that so earth-shattering?

That day I told myself…

I wanted to take a decisive stand,
to prove to the Arabs

that I'm still a good Arab

and that I've kept
my Arab identity and principles,

that I'm still one of them.

Maybe it's because
you're caught in a complicated situation

between the Jews and the Arabs,
between what they both say?

That's what I said.

I wanted to please the Arabs
so the Jews got angry.

I'm caught between
a rock and a hard place.

What I just said now makes you happy,

but I don't know what the Arabs
in Gaza will do to me.

How could I fail to see the battles
that Raida had to fight and hold back

in addition to the battle
for Muhammad's life?

The battle at home,
the battle for her reputation

and the battle to preserve
a world view that was breached.

Why didn't I notice
the impossible realities that she faced?

Why did I push her into a corner?

ON WEDNESDAY, MAY 7, AT 10:50 AM,

WE WILL CONDUCT A MEMORIAL CEREMONY
FOR THE FALLEN SOLDIERS OF ISRAEL,

IN THE LOBBY OF THE NEW BUILDING.
YOU'RE ALL INVITED!

All the cars in Israel stop.

Does everyone in Israel stand?

-They even stop on the highways?
-Everybody.

What if someone
is in the middle of an operation?

-Does he stand up too?
-No.

That's what I thought,
because it's impossible.

Do you know what the siren is for?

For the holiday, I think.

Someone told me yesterday
that it's for the holiday.

It's for the establishment
of your country, right?

For us it's the opposite.

The siren is a symbol of grief.

But it's for the founding of your country.
You should be happy.

-Grief comes before joy.
-Why?

-Over the soldiers.
-Like the calm before the storm?

-It's for the fallen soldiers.
-Oh.

What a happy night.

I wanted to say hello.

What? Are you sleeping?

Muhammad's blood count shows
that his immune system rose to 450.

I swear, all the doctors…
Come see the nurses and doctors.

Thank Allah.

Tell the grandmothers,

but don't spread the news yet.

Just let Raida's mother and mine know.

Okay? Thank Allah.

Thank Allah, they say
his immune system has started to work.

That's it? It's over?

Perhaps it's only the beginning.

I don't know if you meant
if I'm optimistic about the treatment or…

-about them, in the future.
-You know what? Both.

I think it'll be okay.
You know me by now, I'm an optimist.

It'll be okay. He'll be okay.

If he doesn't play with my son,
then his son will,

and if not them,
then our grandkids will play together.

One day they will.

I wish him only the best in life. Bye-bye.

Right before their returned home,
I contacted the anonymous donor

whose identity I learned
over the past few days.

I told him that they're going home

and asked that he grant
one small wish of theirs,

that he give them the opportunity
to thank him personally.

I didn't hear what the donor told Raida,

but I know that ever since his son
d*ed in the army, he sanctifies life.

He fights with all his power
to save other people's lives.

Can you believe it, or are you
like your mother and feel it's strange?

Is it strange?

Look at what things are like in Gaza,
compared to Israel,

where you save babies' lives.

There's no greater paradox.

We're crazy.

No, my people and your people are crazy.

We must sit down
and end this conflict between us.

Isn't it a shame? You save, we save…

Shouldn't our children just live
in peace and that's all?

This is the most beautiful angel.

Raida has changed.

You have no idea…

Even the tanks look different today.

Hello.

-How are you, my daughter?
-Let me hold him.

Let me kiss Hamuda.

I missed you, mommy.

How are you, my son?

Three months later,
the w*r in Gaza broke out.

Dr. Somech was drafted
into reserve duty in the army,

as combat doctor in a unit
about to enter Gaza.

I spent the w*r
inside the broadcast studio,

observing the w*r through the monitors.

I kept trying to call Raida and Fauzi,
but I never got through

because most of the phone lines
had collapsed.

During the w*r,
Dr. Somech and I spoke on the phone

about how civilians had become targets.

They fired hundreds of Kassam rockets,

and we responded with exaggerated,
extreme firepower.

The Brigadier told us, "Show the
other side that the landlord is crazy."

I told him that in my opinion,

as a company doctor, I feel…

that we're responding
with an exaggerated amount of force

and that we're doing things in Gaza

that are absolutely unacceptable
according to my world view.

To me, "the landlord is crazy"
means all hell breaks loose

and there's no limit to the amount
of force that is used.

I also feel
that it will come back to bite us,

like a boomerang.

But all the w*r footage I aired
and all the stream of words that I said

about the harsh retaliation
was swallowed up in the broad consensus

that the goal was to stop
the Kassam rockets from being fired.

Only a single phone call that I got
from Gaza during a live broadcast

managed to sway
the public opinion in Israel.

I must interrupt the news flash
for an update.

We're talking to Dr. Abu El-Eish in Gaza,

we've spoken to him
a few times in the past.

He's with us on the phone,
after having been hit by an Israeli shell.

His family has been injured, I…

Maybe I can let you hear…

Nobody can get to us, Shlomi!

Oh, my God! My God!

His family was k*lled.
These last few days…

I think I'm also getting a bit emotional.

Oh, God!

Who's been hurt, Abu El-Eish?

My daughters! What's left now, God?!

My God! My God!

He has eight children that he protected
throughout the entire w*r

in his home in Beit Lahiya, Gaza.

Wake up, my daughter! Wake up! God!

I quickly collected myself.
I tried to calm Abu El-Eish

in order to get details
about the house that was hit

so that we could evacuate
what was left of his wounded family

and bring them to Israel for treatment.

Many anxiously followed
the family's evacuation from Gaza

after being hit by Israeli fire.

My God…

I don't know if the tragedy
shook up so many people

because this was a Palestinian doctor
who lives in Gaza and works in Israel,

or because they felt, like me,
that it was enough already,

that we were no longer talking
about abstract numbers, but real people.

That whole time,
I kept looking for Raida and Fauzi.

In the end, I found them.

I found them.

Fauzi, it's Shlomi.

Fauzi.

There're bombs all over. We can't move.
We're are hiding at home.

How are you?

It's shitty here.

Bombs fell all around our house
but they didn't explode.

There are six bombs around my house
that didn't go off.

-The army passed by our house today.
-The army?

Yes, right next to us.

Where's Raida?

With the kids. They're scared and crying.

The planes drop bombs every minute.

Wait, here's Raida.

Are you about to enter Gaza
or are you looking at it from outside?

No, our entire division is outside now.

Yes, we lost the call with Gaza.

But…

No, our division is outside for now.

Yes. Raz?

-Yes?
-Come home safely.

Thank you, Shlomi.

Sorry about the mess.

-How long since you've been here?
-Three weeks.

It was so absurd,

being dressed in uniform
on the one hand,

waiting for the order to enter Gaza,

and on the other hand,
still communicating with these patients.

-Right in the middle of the w*r.
-The middle of the w*r.

I got a few more of those
from the same area

which I was getting ready to visit,
but luckily I didn't.

Wow! He's so tiny! He's holding him.

One week after the w*r ended,
Muhammad's condition deteriorated.

The crossing between Israel and Gaza
hadn't opened in an organized manner

and it was only after a few days,
when his life was in real danger,

that Muhammad was taken to hospital
by ambulance through the border crossing.

Muhammad was checked thoroughly

while Raida was kept waiting for him
on the other side of the checkpoint.

I tried to tell them I know the boy,

that I'm responsible for his life
and that they should let me calm him down,

but those post-w*r days
were tense and full of distrust.

Let me go over to him.

I finally, I got permission
to approach him,

I was sure I could calm him down.
He'd see my face and feel safe.

Muhammad.

Hi, Muhammad.

How are you, son?

Do you remember me, Muhammad?

But Muhammad didn't remember me.

How did you cope during the w*r?

-As usual, everyone was scared but me.
-Really?

Fauzi kept watch in our hen houses,
away from home.

We had no electricity, nothing.
He slept there every night.

I stayed alone with the kids.
They told me I was a hero

because I said I wasn't frightened,
They asked, "Why?"

I said, "I lived with Jews
for six or seven months.

I don't believe they'll hurt me."

Everybody laughed at me
because I wasn't afraid.

Muhammad…

Fauzi told me to take care of you
because you have a problem with sugar.

It's because I'm pregnant.

My glucose level is high.

Really?

-All of a sudden?
-No, it's because of my pregnancy.

-What?
-Because of my pregnancy.

-You didn't know that I'm pregnant?
-No.

Naim called Shlomi…
Dr. Somech, to tell him.

It came as a surprise to us.

We haven't yet recovered from Muhammad,
and now this.

Thank Allah.

I said nothing.

I couldn't congratulate her
on her new pregnancy

and I didn't want to say anything
that would offend her.

I couldn't help wondering
who to worry for first,

Muhammad or the unborn baby.

I remember you said,
"I'm done with getting pregnant."

You know how it is.
Women in Gaza don't have a say in it.

The husband makes all the decisions.

I think they took him in already.

Is this Abu Mustaffa Muhammad?

Muhammad is in critical condition.

The graft reacted
against the tissue in Muhammad's body,

and especially against the heart muscle.

Fluids accumulated around his heart,
interfering with its normal function.

Outside the OR, I met Dr. Abu El-Eish,
the doctor from Gaza.

His wounded daughter was undergoing
surgery to remove the shrapnel

from the shell that hit his home
and k*lled three of his other daughters.

Are you Abu Mustaffa from Gaza?

Abu El-Eish met Raida.

I watched them
through the lens of my camera,

which had changed the course
of both their lives.

Actually, it changed my life too.

-Do you know what happened to him?
-No.

Of course not. She was busy, God help her.

She was busy with…
We all have our own problems.

-I'm a doctor from Gaza. I work here.
-Nice to meet you.

They bombed my home in Gaza
and k*lled three of my daughters.

We heard many stories like that.

Look how people here insist on saving…

How long have you been working
on your film?

Just to save one child.

The entire staff will spend years
to save the life of a single person,

but in just one second,
you can ruin people's lives,

not just for one person,
but as many as you can.

Come.

Look, he's standing up for the first time.

Sweetie!

Congratulations! Happy birthday!

You know how to say it in Hebrew?

"Happy Birthday."

But he's already planning
for the next round.

We had to ensure
that Raida gives birth here,

in Tel Hashomer hospital,

so that if, God forbid,

they could rush the baby
from the delivery room

to the isolation room.

When is the estimated due date?

You people have estimated due dates.
We don't have that.

I'm entering my final month.

I really don't know what it will be like.

I'm scared of going through
this whole thing again.

I'm really scared.

We should have stopped after Muhammad.

Whose decision was it? Yours, right?

Do you want to fight now?

Are you scared?

It's all in Allah's hands.
Of course I'm scared. Very scared.

DELIVERY ROOM

Answer the doctor.

8:23 pm.

I feel like the godfather.

-Ra'rad.
-Ra'rad?

Ra'rad is the fruit of a tree
just as it's forming,

still kind of soft.

A bud.

Etti?

-Can we come in?
-No problem.

But I think there's…

-Unless it's because it's fetal blood…
-What's wrong?

-No, it's…
-To me it looks fine.

-I'm saying, it's intact.
-It's intact.

Intact.

Hello.

-How are you?
-Okay.

Are you okay?

Shlomi…

-I have a surprise for you.
-Another one?

After what he just told me,
no surprise could be better.

-Don't even try.
-Not a surprise. A present.

I want to take you somewhere tomorrow,

to a place I promised to take you.

I hoped to do only two things in Israel,

first, to visit Jerusalem,

second, to meet the man
who donated the money. That's it.

Okay, then I'll take you to Jerusalem.

-Tomorrow?
-Yes.

God willing.
Our parents will never get to go there.

I hope I get to go there,

to see what it's like nowadays.

Where do we go now?

Raida couldn't enter the El Aqsa Mosque.

Only after everyone went in to pray

did she explain to me
why she couldn't fulfill her dream.

-Because I gave birth recently.
-You can't enter?

It's forbidden. The religion says so.

She saw how disappointed I was.

Don't worry. At least I got to see it.

-Thank you.
-Thank you.

Thank you?

Yes, tell him, "thank you."

Thank you.

-I have one last question.
-Thank you! Thank you!

Is Muhammad's life precious?

His life is very precious to me.

I wanted to tell Raida
that her life is also precious to me,

but I didn't say it.

I couldn't put it into words.

But each time Gaza erupts, I'll worry.

My heart will skip a b*at.