Knock on the Door

Middle of the night, September 1997. A naval combat force marches into a deadly ambush in Lebanon. 11 soldiers were killed. The body of one of them was left behind - Itamar, my older brother. With the knock on the door, annual trips were replaced with state ceremonies and first kisses with sirens. 25 years later, I am knocking on the door of those who introduced me to mourning: informants, the casualty officer, the bereaved father and mother, who are my father and mother. Knock on the Door is a portrait of mourning, an index of Israeli bereavement.