Kill First, Waltz Later

Waltz with Bashir was one of the most fascinating film experiences for me, a young boy growing up in Malaysia. Directed by Ari Folman, the film chronicles Folman’s personal quest for closure regarding his role as an Israel Defense Force (IDF) soldier in the 1982 Lebanon War, and sheds light on the Sabra and Shatila massacres, which resulted in the mass rape and killing of over 2000 Palestinian refugees. Through its striking animation, the film explores a heavy subject, the mental toll of war, from a uniquely introspective perspective: the Israeli soldier. Waltz with Bashir’s portrayal of regret and recognition of civilian harm was met with critical acclaim, including being the first animated movie to be nominated for Best Foreign Film at the Oscars (Guinness World Records, 2009). Although banned in Lebanon, a small screening in Beirut by Umam (the Lebanese Association for Cultural and Artistic Exchange) was widely covered in the press. Umam founder, Monika Borgmann, told Ha’aretz, the longest running newspaper currently in print in Israel, that  “…the subject of this film is a crucial moment in the history of Lebanon, for the history of Israel, for the history of the Palestinians and for the history of Palestinian life in Lebanon.” (Lindsey, 2009). Yet, since the film’s release in 2008, major hostilities, including Israel’s ground invasion and bombardment of Gaza after the Hamas-led October 7th attacks (Courty, 2023), and Israel’s 6th invasion of Lebanon (Newby, 2024), have continued to devastate Palestinian and Lebanese communities. While films like Waltz with Bashir highlight the psychological impact of war on individual Israeli soldiers, do they succeed more in legitimizing military aggression than genuinely addressing its core issues?

Shooting and Crying

Waltz with Bahshir takes the form of a quasi-documentary, and follows Folman, who was 19 during Israel’s 1982 invasion of Lebanon, as he sets out to investigate his missing memories of the war by interviewing his former IDF teammates across Israel and Europe. The focus on the film towards Israeli feelings of guilt and culpability rather than the Sabra and Shatila massacre itself has drawn criticism as part of the “shooting and crying” tradition, a genre often focusing on the psychological toll of war on individual Israeli soldiers, emphasizing their moral injury, guilt, and shame, even as they actively participate in military operations (Lindsey, 2009). Indeed, coverage of Israel’s current invasion of Gaza has often sidelined the suffering of individual Palestinian victims. For example, CNN faced backlash for focusing on the mental health struggles of Israeli soldiers returning from Gaza, with one soldier describing difficulties eating meat after using a bulldozer to crush people alive (Ebrahim & Schwartz, 2024; Gungor, 2024). In another instance, NPR spotlighted recovering IDF soldiers (Estrin, 2025), while Gaza has the highest number child amputees in the world, many suffering without anesthesia or adequate care amid the destruction of hospitals and blockades by the IDF (Ferguson & Su, 2025; Moor, 2025; Shami & Nashwan, 2025). Palestinian voices are frequently delayed or silenced due to media restrictions and the targeting of journalists in Gaza (Khazaal, 2024; Krishnan, 2024; Murrell, 2024; Shezaf, 2024). For Palestinians and Lebanese civilians, these perspectives can feel like a cruel erasure, reducing their suffering to little more than a backdrop, or environmental storytelling, for the moral dilemmas and personal regrets of Israeli soldiers.  

Folman defended Waltz with Bashir’s focus, arguing that it was not his place to depict the Palestinian perspective and asserting that Palestinians “have to tell their own stories” (Freedland, 2008; Lindsey, 2009). However, Palestinian filmmakers often face significant obstacles in sharing their narratives. For instance, Netflix removed its “Palestinian Stories” collection in October 2024 (Desai, 2024), while Palestinian journalist Bisan Owda and Al Jazeera’s AJ+’ documentary, It’s Bisan From Gaza – and I’m Still Alive, faced an open letter from a pro-Israeli NGO demanding the withdrawal of its Emmy nomination (Fink, 2024; “Palestinian Journalist Bisan Owda and AJ+ Win Emmy for Gaza War Documentary,” 2024). This imbalance is exacerbated by disparities in resources and platforms: On social media, Israeli soldiers freely share wartime footage of abuse (Thomas et al., 2024), while Meta’s Israel Policy Chief was accused of actively suppressing pro-Palestinian content, a privilege Palestinian and Lebanese voices never had (Biddle, 2024). These asymmetries raise a critical question: What happens when perpetrators are allowed to tell better stories than their victims? 

Social psychologist Paul Slovic states that people find it easier to empathize with individuals than with groups (Slovic, 2007). Personal stories, especially those told through compelling media like Waltz with Bashir, have the power to humanize and evoke empathy toward Israeli soldiers. However, in Waltz with Bashir, Palestinian and Lebanese civilians were not given a chance to speak or narrate their own experiences, instead depicted as snipers, dead bodies, or as a child holding a rocket grenade launcher (Lindsey, 2009). This lack of voice reduces non-Israeli victims as a collective group, opening them to dehumanisation. Studies have linked outgroup dehumanization to extreme violence (Harris & Fiske, 2011; Kteily et al., 2015; Kteily & Bruneau, 2017), as perpetrators see their outgroup targets as undeserving of moral consideration (Kteily & Landry, 2022). This mindset is reflected in statements by Israeli officials depicting Palestinian and Lebanese civilians as deserving of collective punishment, with Isaac Herzog, President of Israel stating: “It’s an entire nation out there that is responsible. This rhetoric about civilians unaware is absolutely not true.” (Middle East Eye, 2024; Washington, 2024).

 In contrast, IDF soldiers are often portrayed as victims of circumstance rather than agents of aggression (Morag, 2012). In Waltz with Bashir, Israeli soldiers firing indiscriminately, firing on civilian cars, or bombing residential buildings are often shown as ordinary actions and reactions (Nagle, 2010). These montages of casual violence, set to pounding rock tracks like “Good Morning Lebanon” and “I Bombed Beirut”, evoke spectacles reminiscent of American films about the Vietnam War with “Ride of the Valkyries”. Paired with the mesmerising visuals of the film’s animation, the result is a visual celebration of the war that supports French filmmaker François Truffaut’s claim that true anti-war cinema is impossible, as the medium inevitably glorifies what it condemns (Lindsey, 2009). Perhaps the biggest criticism of the Shooting and Crying genre is that it becomes a self-contained cycle of IDF soldiers cleansing their conscience and being applauded for their supposed moral courage on the international stage without taking actual accountability (Anziska, 2022; Lindsey, 2009; Morag, 2012). After the war, Ari Folman was able to pursue his filmmaking career, his former IDF teammates were able to lead normal middle-class lives across Israel and Europe, and then-Defense Minister Ariel Sharon, although forced to resign over his role in the massacre, eventually rose in Israeli politics as prime minister.

A case for Waltz with Bashir

Despite its flaws, Waltz with Bashir has undeniably contributed to a crucial conversation about the Israeli military’s actions and their consequences. The film’s animation style makes the difficult subject matter more palatable and accessible, allowing a wider audience to engage with the topic. The end of Waltz with Bashir confronts its audience with the stark reality of war by breaking away from animation to actual footage of the Sabra and Shatila massacre. The film’s unflinching portrayal of these events was powerful enough to prompt censorship attempts by the Israeli government. The identity of the messenger—that of Ari Folman and his friends having served in the actual Lebanon war—also makes a difference. For example, Aniska (2022) from +972 Magazine observed that although the 1948 Tantura massacre had been extensively documented by Palestinian witnesses, survivors, and scholars for decades, it only gained wider public attention when Israeli veterans who took part in the atrocities spoke openly in Alon Schwarz’s documentary “Tantura”. In essence, atrocities are only acknowledged when narrated by Israeli soldiers or directors, whereas Palestinian testimonies have a track record of being greeted with disbelief. 

However, Dr. Yael Munk (2012), lecturer of film and cultural studies at the Open University of Israel and Tel-Aviv University, stated that testimonies from Israeli service-members should not be seen only as depictions of combat or the hardships of deployment, but also as confessions by young Israeli soldiers who, over time, recognized that they were being compelled to act against their own ethical principles under the banner of patriotism. In this sense, such testimonies can be read as political acts of resistance, created by the nation’s own service members, who came to realize that in the grim theater of The Occupied Territories, they were cast as both victim and perpetrator (Munk, 2012; Vodka, 2010). We must remember that during the 1982 Lebanon War, the period depicted in Waltz with Bahshir, media coverage of the IDF’s devastating airstrikes on Beirut, and the Sabra and Shatila massacres sparked global outrage, prompting the U.S. to reconsider its support for Israel, and fueling massive protests of 350,000 citizens in Israel that culminated in the forced resignation of minister Ariel Sharon and the IDF chief of staff Rafael Eitan in 1983 (Kings & Generals, 2024). This event has been compared to recent demonstrations in Tel Aviv, in August, 2025, where 400,000 Israelis protested Prime Minister Netanyahu’s handling of the war in Gaza (Jazeera, 2025). 

As much as films such as Waltz with Bashir risk becoming part of the very machinery of war they claim to critique, even imperfect anti-war films can serve as a vital, if flawed, form of resistance against the total dehumanization of war, by humanizing soldiers and forcing a conversation about state-sanctioned violence (Munk, 2012; Vodka, 2010; Yael, 2012). As international sources, including the UN Commission of Inquiry, have confirmed Israel’s genocidal actions in Gaza (Human Rights Council, 2025), films such as Waltz with Bahshir serve as cinematic records, offering future historians testimonies to the tragic consequences of Israeli military occupations in the occupied territories. Aniska (2022) states in his analysis: “Time has a way of correcting the persistence of denial.”. As individual stories surface and accountability slowly takes shape (Cordall, 2025; Forensic Architecture et al., 2024; Her Name Was Hind, Her Foundation Takes Her Killers to Court | THE HIND RAJAB FOUNDATION, n.d.), we hope the stories from victims, such as the Palestinians and Lebanese people, will be heard. 

Lets hope there will be Palestinians left in Gaza to witness it.