The act of exile is never a single-generation event; its ever-mutating ramifications shift down the family tree, undergoing a change as each generation grapples with questions of identity and belonging. Given that the person who flees their country often rejects shared introspection, preferring to contain memories rather than admit to the host of emotions that have never been fully processed, it’s frequently the grandchildren, seeking to understand unresolved issues, who start to delve. This is the case with Cléo Cohen in May God Be With You, her docu-essay exploration of what it means to be both Jewish and Arab, and how her perceptions of identity differ from those of her grandparents. Though occasionally self-indulgent – do we really need extended shots of her silently pondering her existence? – this is a thought-provoking, nuanced disquisition that deserves play beyond the usual Jewish showcases.
Originally called Rabbi Maak, the Tunisian-Arabic equivalent of the current title, the documentary premiered at the Festival Cinéma Méditerranéen Montpellier before travelling to DOK Leipzig and then IDFA; it would be nice to think that a festival in the MENA region might be bold enough to program it, but that remains to be seen. It shouldn’t create too many difficulties given how Cohen makes her philo-Arab opinions a centerpiece of the documentary, nonconfrontationally clashing with her charismatic maternal grandmother Denise Houri who delights in using Tunisian-Arabic words, acknowledging a shared Arab culture while warning her granddaughter against fraternization with non-Jews.
Like most Jews of the Maghreb, Cohen’s grandparents left their homelands in the 1960s, their well-established lives made untenable by anti-Israeli policies and Israel’s damaging insistence on equating anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism. The differences between both sets of grandparents are striking: her father’s parents, Flavie and Richard Cohen, are Algerians from the professional class, whereas her mother’s parents, Denise Houri and Daniel Shebabo, are Tunisians of more modest origins. Like many intellectual Jews of their social standing, the Cohens never properly learned Arabic but despite their Francophone upbringing aligned themselves with the independence movement; Richard was even a lawyer for the National Liberation Front (FLN). It appears they’re secular, whereas by contrast, Houri’s attachment to Judaism is deep and she unabashedly expresses fears that her granddaughter might hook up with a non-Jew and, worse, an Arab. What connects both sides is a pronounced melancholy, the melancholy of exile which, in the case of Arab Jews, is exacerbated by pressures to deny the natural affinities between their two identities.
The director’s engagement with her heritage sees her attempting to come to terms with the false contradictions imposed by the standard narrative, such as that Jews and Arabs are incompatible, and those who fled were more aligned with the colonizers rather than the colonized. Her questions to her grandmothers about their lives in the Maghreb are at first not welcome; Flavie reveals little while Denise claims to only have bad memories, even refusing to let her see her Tunisian passport (“I have my reasons” is her retort). Slowly however Houri allows her memories to resurface, taking pleasure in sharing her past, such as when Cohen finds a copy of Denise’s parents’ marriage certificate; when the director goes to Tunisia for the first time, Denise tries to guide her on the phone while also gratuitously warning her to be careful.
Several times Cohen punctuates the film with unnecessary wordless shots of herself staring in contemplation, or reading Albert Memmi’s The Colonizer and the Colonized, which is a shame since these are the only pretentious touches present. It would have been better had she spent that time trying to balance out the personalities and her relationships: her parents are never mentioned, and the amount of time spent with each grandparent differs greatly. Richard is in a nursing home, barely able to speak although his mind seems fine, so his contributions are minimal though clearly he would have much to say. Flavie from her country home in Normandy is flinty and matter-of-fact, giving nothing away, her lack of interest in sharing her feelings saying quite a lot. On the other side, Denise’s former husband Daniel Shebabo is a scraggly-haired armchair philosopher prone to blanket pronouncements lacking in personal detail. Cohen rarely pushes, which is probably wise given that the documentary is meant to address broader issues than individual relationships, instead investigating the transmission of trauma down the generations. “Each family writes its own myths” she says to Richard; understanding why those myths were created is when the healing begins.
Director, writer: Cléo Cohen
With: Denise Houri, Flavie Cohen, Richard Cohen, Daniel Shebabo, Cléo Cohen.
Producers: Rebecca Houzel, Maria Knoch
Cinematography: Cléo Cohen
Editing: Saskia Berthod
Music: Patrick Bismuth
Sound: Gilles Benardeau
Production companies: Petit à Petit Production (France), ViàOccitanie (France)
World sales: Pascale Ramonda
Venue: DOK Leipzig (International Competition)
In French
77 minutes
