Under the Domim Tree is an unusual Hebrew language film produced in Israel in 1995. It is a powerful psychological study rather than a conventional narrative. Consequently, it is a film more often misunderstood and unappreciated than it deserves. It gets far more than its fair share of undiscerning twaddle written about it (by one critic or another). If the film has a core weakness, it is merely that it delves into the abyss of psychological disconnectedness to a depth that some people will not suffer to discern. It is a film about what it means to be an orphan and, thereby, to have to contend with a lack of sense of identity and linkage to humanity at large that comes from family association. It is a film about longing for family and for the comfort and place in life that family provides. It is a film about the dynamic balance between a need for hope and the need for closure.

One critic described Under the Domim Tree as a “choppy film that never stays with any character long enough to register emotionally.” While this is true to an extent, it misses the conceptual basis for this film. The sequence of observations in this film never strays materially from explication of the focal theme: the psychological trauma manifested in teens who have experienced loss of family early in life. Each of the specific characters and their respective stories serve mainly to further the purpose of illuminating that core issue. The film denies viewers all of the easy deflections of its stark message. We are not permitted to dismiss the pain of detachment as an aberrant occurrence in one unfortunate individual. Nor are we allowed the easy satisfaction of following the resolution of these feelings of dissociation in one central protagonist. We are forced to acknowledge that there are degrees of psychological trauma that can occur in childhood from which a person can never fully recover. The person may continue to exist and, with luck, prosper but always, in a sense, as damaged goods.

The story takes place in one of the Israeli state youth camps that were created in the 1950’s for Jewish orphans rescued from Nazi concentrations camps and cities throughout Europe. The group which provides the film’s focus is mostly Polish in origin, but another group dealt with in passing are Dutch refugees. One child, Aviya (Kaipo Cohen), is a native born Israeli whose father was killed before her birth and whose mother is institutionalized in a mental health facility. Aviya’s delusional mother (played by Gila Almagor) believes herself to be a Holocaust survivor, even though, in actuality, she escaped to Israel before the war began. Aviya’s unique circumstances fortify two points: first, that the traumatizing potential of the Holocaust was so great as to pose a risk even for those personally removed from it but suffering empathetically through loved ones who were directly affected; and second, that the issues of disconnectedness illuminated in this film are not unique to Holocaust orphans, but apply as well to those who lose their parents (or the mental competence of a parent) early in life from any cause. Aviya suffers from having no knowledge of her father, no meaningful communication with her mother, and, hence, no personal connectedness. As we follow her story, she receives pictures of her father from an aunt and uses writing on the back of one of the pictures to ultimately locate his grave. Aviya experiences a degree of catharsis by visiting his grave and speaking to his gravestone, “I need someone to watch over me.” Only people who have lived some part of their lives having no one who loves them can fully understand the depth of isolation that Aviya’s statement conveys.

Another character used to detail the central message is Yola (Orli Perl), a round-eyed, radiant Jewish girl from Poland. She receives a letter from Poland indicating that her father has been found alive in Warsaw. This is joyous news for Yola but also a source of both joy and pain for all of her orphan campmates. It provides hope to all that some member of their own families may be found alive, while also re-exciting their despair from loneliness. The girls in Yola’s group energetically set to the task of embroidering two lovely dresses for Yola to wear in Poland. All excitedly examine the flight itinerary that Yola has received. Then, in the midst of a camp dance when spirits are high, Yola gets called out by a counselor to be advised that her father is, after all, dead. The news is crushing not only to Yola but to each of the orphans. All hope has been squashed. Yola, in denial, focuses on unpacking her suitcase and returning letters that she had been asked to take to Poland for others in the camp. We understand from this that Yola is trying desperately to ease her pain by reinforcing her links to the only family that she truly has – her friends in the camp.

Another pair of traumatized children in the group are a pair of brothers, Yurek (Ohad Knoller) and Ze’evik (Jeniya Catzan). These boys escaped from a death camp and survived the Nazi occupation by living alone in the woods for two years. They are described as having become “animals” during this period of hiding out. The boys are fiercely loyal to one another. From time to time, when old fears or new crises emerge, the two run through the camp at night, howling like wolves, the younger boy riding piggy-back on his older brother’s back. Yurek, the older boy, takes a romantic interest in Aviya. Yurek is so deeply wounded, psychologically, that his capacity to express joy from his relationship with Aviya is largely limited to the smallest of smiles breaking out on his otherwise blank, expressionless countenance. The camp psychologist, who is the closest thing to a proximate villain in the piece (obviously, the Nazis are the ultimate villains), is convinced that Yurek and Ze’evik need to be separated for their mutual good, but the campers and the counselor all understand that a separation would be devastating for the two -- amounting to loss of the only remaining family each has. When separated, the two run away and rejoin one another, before winning assurances from the camp counselor that they will not be again separated.

Also central to the exposition is Mira (Riki Blich). A newcomer to the camp, she is surly and tough, offering compassionless comments regarding the problems of the other girls. Her back reveals indications of having been abused physically. Gradually, she wins a place in the camp “family”, especially after an adult couple shows up claiming to be her parents. These are the same people who have abused Mira and she despises them and claims that they are not truly her parents. When the camp stands behind Mira, the supposed parents take their case to court. As the judge prepares to deliver his verdict, he asks Mira if she has any recollection that would give credence to her claim. Faced with the alternative of being reunited with the false-parents that she despises, her psyche just barely manages to dredge up a recollection of her parents, her brother, their names, and her own. “I’m Mira Rozer” she cries out, not Mira Segal. And she itemizes the names of her parents and her brother and where they used to live. “I want to be who I really am!” She demonstrates to us that each person’s identity springs from his or her family connections.

Under the Domim Tree makes magnificent use of ironies and contrasts. While most of the children want desperately to rid themselves of their Holocaust memories, Aviya’s mother’s delusional psyche needs desperately to lay claim to such memories even though they don’t exist. Mira finds catharsis in remembering her name and that of her parents and brother, but Yurek and his brother must struggle with night terrors from memories best forgotten. The teenagers of this orphan’s camp struggle with horrible memories and psychic trauma but also exhibit all the most mundane behaviors typical of the coming-of-age years: personality conflicts, competition for boyfriends or girlfriends, arguments stemming from developing ideals (e.g., pros and cons of accepting war reparations), trivial gossiping, and concerns with appearance (especially emerging puberty). Yola and others long for the miracle of reunion with their families but Mira must fight in court for the right to retain her identity as an orphan and reject the false claims of would-be parents. Aviya fights for closure by placing flowers on her fathers grave; Mira fights for reattachment to her identity by dredging up a recollection of her family from early childhood. It is through these paradoxical observations that we come to fully appreciate the complexity of the problem of disconnectedness from family.

One of the strongest facets of Under the Domim Tree is its cinematography. The sensitivity to color is especially extraordinary. The film opens with the discovery of the body of a young camper who has committed suicide – unable to live with his Holocaust memories. The body is pulled from the lake amidst gloomy blue-green hues. Later, the campers argue about the morality of reparations amidst emotionally-charged red-orange tints. The Domim tree, which symbolizes contentment, is handsomely silhouetted against the horizon. One frame after another is visually stunning. By contrast, the musical score is distinctly pedestrian – and downright distracting in its cloying stupidity at times. The final sequence of the film provides a satisfying resolution without cheating the basic premise that the scars of familial disconnectedness are largely irreversible. Through the creative and dogged determination of one of the adult leaders of the camp and the labor of the campers, a field of tulips has bloomed in the dry dirt of Israel against all odds – just as these wounded children may hope to blossom once again as transplants nourished by the bonds of their shared faith and ethnicity.

Under the Domim Tree is based on an autobiography written by Gila Almagor, who is also arguably the most famous Israeli actress. In still another amazing irony of this film, Almagor plays the part of Aviya’s mother – her own real-life mother, in effect. Under the Domin Tree is, to some extent, a sequel to a 1988 film entitled The Summer of Aviya. The stories are largely independent, however, and the more recent film can stand on its own for viewers who have not seen the earlier one. All of the principal characters other than Aviya’s mother are teenagers and are played by relatively unknown actors and actresses, but the result is fresh, unaffected performances. The American release provides English subtitles that are easy to read. The running time is 102 minutes.

The bottom line is that you’ll need to have some interest in psychology, whether amateur or professional, to fully enjoy this film. If you’re looking for more standard narrative design and a focal protagonist or two with whom you can closely identify, you’re bound for disappointment with this film – as are a pretty fair share of critics. Personally, I found the film creative in its design and a moving and profound study of the psychological scarring that follows from familial destruction.

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Good for a Rainy Day
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older