Israeli Cinema and the Sabra: From Heroism to Self-Critique

The Heroic Sabra in Early Israeli Cinema

The 1955 film Hill 24 Doesn't Answer is one of the first products of Israeli cinema. It is meant to be a stirring portrait of the new Jewish state, dramatizing the then-recent War of Independence. The film shows the war bringing together Jews of disparate backgrounds, all united by the need to defend Israel. As Ilan Avisar notes, "In Israeli culture, the figure of the Sabra" during the period when Hill 24 was made was considered a kind of ideal national type, exemplifying the new Jewish attitude that was free from fear and persecution (Avisar 132). The national ideal of a state that could triumph against all odds — strong both spiritually and militarily — is conveyed through the physical strength and determination of the soldiers.

In one pivotal scene, one of the soldiers confronts a Nazi who uses his status as a prisoner of war as his defense, hiding behind the claim that he was "just following orders." He begs for forgiveness in an attempt to preserve his life. The silent Israeli soldier demonstrates tremendous strength and composure, embodying how the new Israel can never again be beholden to anti-Semites. The group of soldiers fighting for Israel is remarkable for its diversity, and collectively they symbolize the multinational unity of the new Jewish state.

Hill 24 Doesn't Answer, although sensitively directed, is fundamentally a heroic war film. However, as Israel grew more established as a nation, its cinematic culture began to move beyond the purely patriotic and to adopt a more critical lens. The cult classic Israeli film Charlie Ve'hetzi (1974), for example, takes a far more deflationary view of Israel. It portrays the central character Charlie as a ne'er-do-well but likeable con man who plays three-card Monte to make a living. Virtually every other word out of Charlie's mouth is a lie, as he tries to pass himself off as rich and successful. He is a bad influence on a young boy who admires him and hangs around with Charlie instead of going to school.

Toward a More Critical National Cinema

The film is not surprising simply for featuring an antihero — many films of the era did, not only Israeli ones — but the fact that the comedy is clearly directed at an Israeli audience, about Israelis, marks a clear step forward in Israel's national cinematic maturity. Hill 24 Doesn't Answer, by contrast, is clearly intended as a message to the world, proclaiming the new values and strength of the Jewish state. In Charlie Ve'hetzi, the mere fact that Charlie is a resident of Israel and a Sabra does not place him above the moral standards applied to other nationalities in the film, such as the wealthy American businessman whom his beloved Gila's parents want her to marry. The Sabra, in other words, is no longer automatically idealized.

In the contemporary era, Israeli cinema has turned a far more intensely self-critical eye upon the military strength that was once the nation's proudest accomplishment. Eyal, the hero of Walking on Water, is a Sabra who is capable of killing in a silent and deadly fashion, thanks to his Mossad training. However, he is also deeply depressed — his wife has committed suicide — and it is later revealed that he is considering leaving his career as a secret agent because he feels like a killing machine incapable of giving life to others. The politics of the past are shown to shape Israel's present: Eyal's own relatives were killed by the Nazis, a fact his superior exploits to pressure Eyal into assassinating an aging ex-Nazi as an act of revenge.

Conclusion: Moving Beyond the Old Conflicts

Walking on Water suggests that it is ultimately Germany who must dispose of its collective guilt for the Holocaust, not Israel. This action is symbolized when the grandson Axel eventually decides to kill his grandfather, who can only survive hooked up to medical life support. Across the arc from Hill 24 Doesn't Answer to Charlie Ve'hetzi to Walking on Water, Israeli cinema traces a journey from unambiguous national celebration to honest, sometimes painful self-scrutiny. The Sabra figure evolves from an untouchable heroic ideal into a fully human character capable of prejudice, grief, and growth. Likewise, Holocaust memory shifts from a source of righteous martial energy into a more complicated inheritance — one that must be acknowledged, worked through, and ultimately released if individuals and nations are to build new lives. Israeli cinema, in moving through these phases, has achieved a remarkable degree of artistic and cultural maturity.