For Ben Hania, cinema became a way to preserve what journalism alone could not contain. “Cinema doesn’t argue, it makes you feel,” she explains. “What haunted me was not just the violence of what happened, but the silence that followed. That’s something only cinema, in its stillness and intimacy, can attempt to hold.”
The film blurs the line between documentary and dramatization: the actors wore earpieces on set, listening to Hind’s real voice from the original recording as they reenacted the conversations. The result is unbearably raw, collapsing the distance between performance and testimony. “I didn’t feel like I was acting,” says Motaz Malhees. “I felt like I was living inside the story. Kaouther works from a pure heart, with a kind of humanity that feels almost superhuman.”
That humanity carried into the festival premiere, where the cast was met with an emotional standing ovation. Saja Kilani recalls: “I had a lot of contradicting emotions. I felt proud that we could share Hind’s story and grateful for the audience’s support, but at the same time, I couldn’t escape the feeling that we had failed a child who begged to live.” For Clara Khoury, the moment was both heartbreaking and empowering: “The ovation carried a collective voice saying: enough. It reminded me how profoundly valuable and powerful people’s voices can be in pushing for change.”
Much of that power stemmed from the trust and space Ben Hania gave her cast. “She gave us the space to express ourselves fully as Palestinians,” Kilani says. “Watching her direct was like witnessing a masterclass.” Khoury echoes that sentiment: “She is truly a force of nature. A maestro who balances precision with kindness. Her ability to combine artistic vision with humanity was inspiring.”
But beyond cinematic achievement, the film’s urgency lies in its message. “Every human life has value,” Khoury insists. “No child should beg for the right to live. Silence in the face of genocide is complicity.” Kilani hopes the film reaches those in power: “I hope it doesn’t just move people emotionally, but that it has a real impact, strong enough to help end the mass killing and bring change.” Malhees puts it simply: “What is happening to my people must stop. This film is not just a story, it is a cry for justice and freedom.”
In Venice, the screening felt less like a premiere and more like a vigil. Hind’s small voice, fragile yet unyielding, echoed through the theatre as it once did through a phone line. It is a voice that indicts violence, but even more so, the silence that follows it. In shaping a cinematic space for that voice, Ben Hania ensures it will not be forgotten.