Representations of the Female Soldier in Israeli Film

Preface

Movie Clips

Preface

Beyond the tremendous responsibility of making their commanding officers coffee, the majority of female soldiers in the Israeli military (IDF) are consigned to exist in a mind-numbing routine which all but voids their existence and drives them insane. That is the hardcore truth as it is rather entertainingly portrayed in director Talya Lavie’s 2014 film, Zero Motivation. Except that wasn’t always the case.

In films made in the 1950s and early sixties about Israel’s War of Independence, brave, weapon-wielding female soldiers who fought alongside their male peers in battle and sometimes died too, were commonplace. Uri Zohar’s 1967 film, Every Bastard a King, marked the turning point in terms of female soldiers’ onscreen representation, which Israeli film only ever started to shake off in the early ‘00s. Actor Tami Tzafroni, a strikingly beautiful woman, appeared in a small part in the film which made her the big screen epitome of the native-Israeli (sabra) soldier.

Four years later, in Zohar’s 1972 film, The Rooster (aka Boys will Never Believe it), Tzafroni is seen waiting in the desert for the alpha male soldier (played by Topol) to arrive. When he does, she quickly slips out of her uniform for a quick romp onboard a grounded airplane. That is to say, her uniform is her only defining marker as a soldier and once that is removed, she becomes but the first in a series of sex-crazed women clawing at Topol’s chiseled, hairy chest.

In this pair of Uri Zohar films, the Israeli soldier’s heroism and masculinity are glorified and celebrated: both in bed and in battle: and for him to be the man, the female soldier had to be reduced to ‘some woman.’ Before long, military and femininity became mutually exclusive concepts and as such, in subsequent films female soldiers were typically seen only semi-dressed in uniform (if that), peering into the officer’s bedroom through his door if not already lying there in his bed. The doorframe seemed to frame her as if she were a photo – no more than a static, aesthetic prop with no weight or bearing whatsoever on the storyline. Suffice it to say, sexual harassment was the furthest topic on anyone’s mind – or lips.

Even when the New Sensitivity movement [a local version, if you will, of the French New Wave] rose to prominence with their defiance of Zionist tropes, and the soldier’s hitherto unassailable heroism and performance in combat was suddenly called into question and even became the subject of public inquiries, his virility between the sheets remained intact. However, whatever hits the male soldier’s representation might have taken, those did not in turn lead to a more favorable portrayal of his female counterpart. Little to no progress can be traced between Amram Amar’s Ceasefire (1950), the first feature to have been made in the just-established State of Israel, and Sam Firstenberg’s The Day we Met (1990). In both military melodramas, female soldiers are victims of kidnapping and imminent rape threats. All they can do on their part is to scream and wave their hands about helplessly, until the heroic male soldier sweeps in to the rescue.

Woman as victim is one of the most ancient cultural archetypes, going as far back to Andromeda who had been chained to the cliff and was waiting for the monster to devour her, or Perseus to save her – whichever came first. Another stereotype, albeit not as ancient, but whose historical and cultural roots run every bit as deep is Jew as victim. The State of Israel was established as the ultimate antidote against that stereotype, with the IDF being the crown jewel in this reconstituted image of the proud new Jew. All IDF soldiers are trained under the motto, “Masada shan’t fall again”; however, this declaration of potency and independence all but evaporates when it comes to the Jewish female soldier who is still, for all intents and purposes, a victim – on duty.

As said, early films set around events that had taken place during the 1948 Independence War, before the Palmach [Jewish resistance brigade] was subsequently disbanded to make way for the IDF, do feature some female protagonists who play an active, pivotal role in driving the plot forward and shaping the future of the State of Israel. However, following this ideological reshuffle, female soldiers were promptly banished from combat and relegated to a range of menial roles, and their commanding officer’s bed.

This realignment of roles is evident in films from the 1960s onwards, all of which seemed to embrace wholeheartedly and unflinchingly this revised gender hierarchy in the IDF. What is more, women were essentially excluded from the all-unifying struggle for the nation’s very survival. For instance, Peter Frye’s 1960 comedy, I Like Mike, follows the story of a young Israeli woman (Ilana Rovina) who is trying to evade mandatory conscription through marriage. Her would-be betrothed is a military officer (played by Topol). Ultimately, their romantic union serves as a bold illustration of this new division of gender roles whereby “our finest boys shall take arms and our finest girls shall be taken in their arms.”

Shmuel Imberman’s I Don’t Give a Damn (1987), a big screen adaptation of Dan Ben-Amotz’s novel of the same title, offers up a very similar division of roles except that here, there isn’t even the need for a move as elaborate as draft dodging. Upon turning 18, Raffy (Ika Zohar) is conscripted to the IDF and begins a grueling training period after which he is sent to Lebanon and later, returns in a wheelchair. All the while, his girlfriend Nira (Anat Waxman) is only ever seen going to art classes or waiting for him in bed; despite the fact that she, too, is of conscription age.

There were days when I was almost as in love with the army as I was with Nira,” Raffy recalls. Following his injury, he longs to resume a normal life which he later describes as follows: “eating, drinking, tax dodging, and a bit of cheating,” whereas it would never cross his mind to ever indulge in ‘a bit of cheating’ on his brothers in arms. It seems as if had Nira been part of the army which Raffy was clearly so hopelessly in love with, his world would have been thrown into absolute turmoil which is why there is such a clear-cut divide between the masculine experience and the spousal one.

We would have to wait until the millennium to finally have some films made by female directors who, at last, were properly tackling (even within the framework of a comedy) female soldiers’ lived experiences in military service. Vardit Bilu and Dalia Hager’s Close to Home (2005) and Talya Lavie’s Zero Motivation (2014) were most recently joined by TV series Dismissed (2021) (original title ‘madame officer’). The series was written and directed by Atara Frish (who shares writing credits with Nir Berger) and inspired by the creator’s real-life experiences from her time in the military. The three works boast a rich variety of female soldiers in a range of widely diverse roles, with each character fully fleshed out to the finest detail and not once defined in relation to their surrounding male soldier peers.

Movie clips

Ceasefire

“The first ever Israeli-made film that speaks and sings in Hebrew” – these are the words describing Ceasefire in the film’s opening credits. Written, shot, and directed by Amram Amar in 1950, this melodrama – set against the backdrop of the Independence War, went down in history as the first ever feature-length film to have been made in the State of Israel. Accordingly, one might say that Miriam (played by Esther Frieder, who later became Atya Simcha, Adv. Consultant to the Prime Minister on Promoting Women’s Status) is in fact the first female Israeli soldier to feature in an Israeli narrative film.

We meet Miriam at the height of a raging battle scene, standing right next to Gideon (Nissim Mizrahi) behind a stone wall, holding her rifle and shooting at the enemy. When Gideon goes off to top up his ammo, two keffiyeh*-wearing [traditional Arab headscarf] soldiers suddenly appear and kidnap Miriam. “Help! Help!” she is heard screaming as the pair drag her away. Hearing her screams, Gideon calls out, “Fear not, Miriam! I am coming to your rescue,” and proceeds to display some skills that would put an action hero to shame as he overcomes a parade of enemy combatants standing in his way. A moment after he successfully restrains the kidnappers, other Jewish soldiers arrive at the scene, thereby shifting the balance of power. But then Gideon is suddenly shot and wounded, and Miriam is the first to rush to his aid.

From that moment on, the previously helpless female soldier takes full charge and knows exactly what to do. And as he is lying in bed, feverish, Miriam calms Gideon down, gives him his jab, and even sings to him a soothing Hebrew folk song [Na Alterman and Mordechai Zeira’s Laila Laila (‘nighttime’)]. Soon, her lovely singing voice draws in a group of soldiers who had been sitting outside.
And so, one by one Miriam displays a number of classic female archetypes – damsel in distress, doting carer, and devoted mother. After the war, Miriam goes on to study law at university which portrays her as being quite the skilled, capable woman. However, as a soldier she is all but inconsequential and is mostly there as a vehicle to foreground and amplify Gideon’s heroic antics.

Hill 24 Doesn’t Answer

Set against the backdrop of the Independence War, director Thorold Dickinson’s 1955 English-speaking film tells the story of four fighters who had perished on a hill en route to Jerusalem. At the start of the film, the commander, explaining the mission, addresses his volunteers as “you three men.” Nurse Esther (played by Margalit Oved) demands to join them as she knows the area inside and out. Two of the three men are on board with the idea and so, the commander now readdresses them as “you four.” For a moment, it seems as though Esther is accepted into the group as a genuine equal.

On their way to the hill, the three men (an Irish Christian, American Jew, and Holocaust survivor) recount how they got to where they are right now, at which point any and all feminist consciousness comes to a grinding halt. The men are the only ones whose backstories are revisited in flashbacks whereas Esther does not get one of her own. Her only flashback appearance is as a bit player in Allan (Michael Wager), the American volunteer’s origin story. The two met in hospital as nurse and patient and following Allan’s recovery, both ended up volunteering to serve together. And whilst Esther is the only native in the group which, one would think, should make her a natural addition to the fight for national independence, she is consigned to following the man’s lead as he gets to decide their shared ideological path.

The final scene in the film is set in the immediate aftermath of the war. A UN delegation ascends the hill and discovers the four soldiers’ bodies. Esther is found clutching an Israeli flag in her fist and on that very basis, members of the delegation rule that the hill is to be handed over to Israel. The female soldier is tremendously honoured in death, however in life we were denied seeing her engage in actual combat and were only shown a version of her giving water to an injured soldier and playing the role of doting carer.

Pillar of Fire (Part I)

Rachel, the main protagonist of the 1959 film, Pillar of Fire [not to be confused with the 1981 docuseries of the same title – EE], is by far the bravest, most proactive female soldier ever to have featured in Israeli film; that is, at least until Avi Nesher’s Image of Victory (2021) which told a similar story set around the same war. However, Rachel only ever bears arms when there is literally no other alternative – i.e. when the men around her can no longer protect her. The film also makes it abundantly clear that this is very much a temporary situation and that the ‘natural’ order of things will be restored once a ‘normal’ society is established.

Director Larry Frisch’s English-speaking film opens with some serene imagery of soldiers having a rest down south in the Negev region at Kibbutz Revivim. Meanwhile, the women are engaged in a range of ‘typically female’ activities: one is brushing her hair whilst another is mending socks and teaching the men around her how to do it. When the community finds itself under attack by Arab insurgents, the women join the men in the trenches and like them, also arm themselves with rifles. However, only the men are ever seen shooting or throwing grenades, whereas nurse Rachel (Nechama Hendel) is shown caring for a wounded soldier.

At the end of the offensive, the commander (Yitzhak Shiloh) along with some other men get together to devise a plan of action. Rachel joins the men to express her concern for the man she loves, American volunteer David, who had gone out on a mission and has yet to return. It thus seems that this is one of a woman’s most crucial functions in a predominantly male society – voicing concern and in doing so, articulating both emotionally and verbally the men’s internalised anxieties which they dare not bring to the surface. Woman feels; man decides and acts.

A search party is put together and a group of soldiers go out looking for David, accompanied by Rachel who had asked to join them. Later, when one of the men asks her whether it was her choice to come along and she replies that it was, he recalls how “back in the camps, the women were often braver than the men,” which is why he is not in the least bit surprised that they can be good, capable soldiers. However, Rachel is worried that David would struggle to come to terms with this particular female trait.

Pillar of Fire (Part II)

Nurse Rachel (Nechama Hendel) and a group of four men are driving around in a jeep, looking for David, the American volunteer whom Rachel loves who has failed to return from a mission. When he is eventually found, they continue on their reconnaissance mission and end up at a Bedouin well. “This is straight out of the bible,” David observes, thereby laying the groundwork for a love scene by well that looks like it was taken straight from the Book of Genesis. After David kisses her, Rachel proceeds to deliver the following jaw-dropping monologue: “Oh David, will I always please you? Just looking at me? But it’s not just me. Any girl would do. Go away. No, David. Come Her. You can do whatever you like with me. I don’t care. You can do what you want with me. And when you get tired with me, you can just throw me away.”

Later, when David is injured, this erstwhile well-side doormat transforms into a fierce frontline fighter. She grabs David’s rifle and guns down the Arab who had shot him. But when the men return to the jeep, she promptly discards her weapon and reassumes her default passive position. But then, one by one, the men are all killed leaving Rachel on her own at her wounded lover’s side.

Now she really has no other choice – she has to make it back to camp and warn the residents of Beersheba that the Egyptian army is heading their way. And just like that, Rachel emerges as a bold, fearless soldier – from freeing the jeep out of the sand to shooting, running, and throwing grenades – all the while, looking after her injured lover. Rachel singlehandedly saves the whole Negev region, but only because no other man was left to do the job. Will David recover, thereby allowing Rachel to resume her role as the little woman? The film opts to leave that question unanswered and so, we are left with the image of Rachel as a fully-fledged fighter.

The Hatzeva Nahal Settlement Breaks Ground, 1965

The newsreels produced at Herzliya Studios were essentially propaganda films that served as amplifying mouthpieces for the official Zionist narrative. Many of those feature female soldiers alongside their male counterparts so as to create the impression of full equality. That said, some are in fact hinting, however unwittingly, at an altogether different reality. For instance, footage of the Nahal Brigade’s ground-breaking ceremony at the Hatzeva Settlement [later Moshav] in Israel’s southern Arabah region, starts off with a scene of four male soldiers and one female soldier in their service dress (aka Class A) uniform planting a flag together in the wilderness. However, on the side, one can make out just three rifles laid together in the shape of a collapsed pyramid.

“In addition to their agricultural role, the settlement soldiers also assume a vital security role,” explains the narrator. “They will be tasked with securing and patrolling the whole region.” These words are heard whilst onscreen we see then Agriculture Secretary, Haim Gvati, IDF Chief of General Staff (and future PM, the late Yitzhak Rabin), and Commander of the Nahal Brigade, Jonathan) Johnny) Dotan inspecting a parade of female soldiers shot from the rear, followed by their male counterparts who are shot from the front. The explicit message here being that both are equal partners, of course, in the two tasks at hand – security and agricultural. To further hammer in the message, at the end of the film a male and female soldier in their service dress uniform are seen marching side by side towards the camera, both holding rifles. Then, in the next shot, the camera observes the female soldier who is seen pointing her Uzi submachine gun at an invisible target.

This shot allegedly tells us that female soldiers, too, play a part in security operations; however, the pristinely pressed uniform tells an altogether different story. Two shots earlier, we got to see who the real fighters were – (male) soldiers in camouflage uniform and surplus belts armed to the hilt watching over the ceremony from the side-lines. In comparison, the shot of the female soldier holding her weapon is more reminiscent of female soldiers in basic training typically posing for the camera for a laugh before surrendering their weapons soon thereafter and getting banished to desk duty.

The Hatzeva Nahal Settlement Breaks Ground, 1965

In addition to their agricultural role, the settlement soldiers also assume a vital security role,” explains the narrator. “They will be tasked with securing and patrolling the whole region.” These words are heard whilst onscreen we see then Agriculture Secretary, Haim Gvati, IDF Chief of General Staff (and future PM, the late Yitzhak Rabin), and Commander of the Nahal Brigade, Jonathan (Johnny) Dotan inspecting a parade of female soldiers shot from the rear, followed by their male counterparts who are shot from the front. The explicit message here being that both are equal partners, of course, in the two tasks at hand – security and agricultural. To further hammer in the message, at the end of the film a male and female soldier in their service dress uniform are seen marching side by side towards the camera, both holding rifles. Then, in the next shot, the camera observes the female soldier who is seen pointing her Uzi submachine gun at an invisible target.

The Troupe

The military musical group featured in Avi Nesher’s 1978 film, The Troupe, is comprised of six male and five female soldiers; all of whom are expected to pull their equal weight. The women, for instance, are required to lift and carry all kinds of heavy equipment, just like the men; only as far as the soldiers stationed in the bases where the touring band performs are concerned, the band members are not ‘proper soldiers.’ So much so that they are even accosted by a range of degrading slurs such as ‘desk jockeys,’ ‘bumboys,’ ‘benders,’ etc. Therefore, in order to bed some female soldiers, Datner (Gidi Gov) and Bazooka (Meir Suissa) decide to impersonate a pair of brave fighters who had been injured in combat. It thus appears that only when the man is incapacitated (and arguably emasculated) can the woman be his equal.

Except they’re not really equals as the drama only ever seems to focus on the frequent tensions between the bandmates, with the only true friendship in the film being between the two aforementioned men. The women, meanwhile, are perpetually catty and bitchy to each other and only seem to band together, however fleetingly, in their jealousy of new singer, Noa (Dafna Armoni), who is promptly bullied and boycotted by them. Even Miki (Liron Nirgad), the so-called ‘cool one’ of the group, calls Noa “a cunt” (only to then be told off by Datner). Then, there’s the so-called ‘ride or die’ friendship between Mali (Gali Atari) and Sari (Gilat Ankori) which turns out to be utterly fake and manipulative, culminating in a massive row after which the two do not reconcile.

The film reaches its peak when the band members revolt. Miki, the nonconformist of the group is the one who sets the whole thing in motion when she throws a pot of yoghurt at the director. Except the group does not immediately rally behind her, that is until Datner declares that they are “like family” and urges everyone to get off the stage. Noa, Orly (Chelli Goldenberg), and Yafchuk (Smadar Brener) are the last three ditherers who only end up joining the other rebels as a result of peer pressure and certainly not out of some sense of camaraderie or sisterhood with their beleaguered bandmate. Ultimately, the overall representation of female soldiers in The Troupe shines a less than flattering light on their femininity.

Paratroopers

One might have assumed, hoped even, that Paratroopers (Judd Ne’eman, 1977), the first ever New Sensitivity [artistic movement] film to highlight the cracks in the Israeli soldier’s hyper masculine façade, might also have attempted some fresh takes on the representation of female soldiers. And indeed, at the start of the film, it does seem as though things are headed that way. Sergeant Ofra (Yael Pearl) is shown sitting in on the commanders’ meeting in the tent, although not without also mothering them all – from tucking in one officer’s shirt to pouring everyone some coffee and sympathising with a struggling soldier on whose behalf she pleads with his commanding officers for another chance. But when the soldiers go off on a loaded march, the film emphasises the female soldier’s exclusion from this otherwise all-male experience when in the scene, we see her with her back to the camera, watching the men as they set off from camp.

The film ends with rather similar imagery. In the final shot, the soldiers are seen leaving camp in full gear whilst Ofra stays behind sipping coffee. Of course, her second role as a female soldier is fulfilling her commanding officer’s sexual needs. After a meeting, the officer calls her over. “Ofra, come here a sec,” he beckons her. Thus concludes their brief ‘courtship’ as we cut to the next scene where they are already going at it in his car.

Ofra, the battalion sergeant, is the only woman in an all-male base. Meanwhile, the female desk officers’ position at headquarters is that much less dignified. “Bring your clerk with you,” Lieutenant Levy (Michael Warshaviak) tells Lieutenant Yair (Gidi Gov). “Why, you want a piece of that?” he retorts. “Well, I wouldn’t say no,” replies Levy. And so, after some speedy negotiating, this invisible woman is effectively exchanged. Later, on returning to headquarters, Yair turns to a desk officer (Jetta Monte) walking past him and starts to ask her, “So, um… what am I actually…” before she jumps in and finishes his sentence, “What am I even doing tonight?”. The answer to that question soon arrives in the next shot when the two are seen fucking in her flat.

It would be almost a full hour before she makes another appearance; yet again, in bed with Yair. And only then, when Yair introduces her to his flatmate, do we finally find out her name.

One of Us

Uri Barbash’s 1989 film, One of Us, gave the female soldier a major role in the story, and even went as far as to make her the film’s moral compass, However, one scene in the film puts a previously implicit message seen in earlier films into ultra-clear focus. This refers to the ultimate love story in the film being between the three men: Yotam (Alon Aboutboul), Raffa (Sharon Alexander), and Amir (Dan Toren) – all of whom had joined the paratroopers together where they adopted the Three Musketeers’ famous motto: “All for one and one for all.” Their love for each other is rife with homoerotic overtones as they constantly stroke and hold each other tenderly, speaking softly to one another. Ultimately, as men they cannot afford to indulge in sentimentality and so, it appears that they must resort to some form of roleplaying as women.

However, this love can also be suffocating. In the second part of the film, following Amir’s death, Raffa – now with the Military Police – shows up at the base to investigate the death of the terrorist who had killed him, where he meets Yotam’s girlfriend, Sergeant Tamar (Dalia Shimko). Tamar organises a memorial service for Amir during which she shows a slide of the three friends on the wall. When Yotam later returns from a military assignment, he undresses with the intent of blowing off some steam in her arms, whereas Tamar (in civilian clothes, wearing a dress which highlights the idea that she is not quite a ‘proper soldier’) wants to talk (“tell me something, do you think you can always fuck your way out of a conversation?”). But then he tells her that she doesn’t get it – any of it. After all, she wasn’t part of their formative experience of this masculine togetherness, he explains before undressing her and taking her against the wall. When her face then disappears into the slide’s silhouette, it almost seems as though Yotam is making love to his fallen brother in arms.

Later on, Tamar refuses to accept the marginalised position Yotam has assigned her. The next time he tells her to “butt out… this doesn’t concern you,” she announces to a whole squad of soldiers that “from now on, this bloody well also concerns me.” Then, in tandem with the all too familiar role of doting carer (looking after Raffa who had been beaten up by soldiers), she takes definitive action and a moral stand when she brings Raffa a secret tape exposing the murder which Yotam tried to cover up in the name of the trio’s Musketeer motto.

Girls

This 1985 comedy, written by Assi Dayan and directed by Nadav Levitan, was the first ever film to explore female soldier camaraderie whilst side-lining their male peers in the storyline. That said, ultimately, Girls which follows a group of female recruits and their struggles to adapt to military life did not make a genuine attempt at portraying sisterhood in the IDF and instead, turned out to be quite the cringeworthy parody of military films. Indeed, the cringe fest already starts with the film’s utterly patronising title – especially when compared to such overtly ‘manly’ titles such as One of Us or Paratroopers, not to mention the casting of actresses demonstrably far too old to play18-year-old recruits.

The female soldiers’ basic training experience in Girls is portrayed as though it were an extension of boarding school life. The recruits are a group of shrill, spoilt girls who are terrified of jabs and who, it appears, only ever volunteered to do their military service when it suited their own personal agendas; certainly not because they were mandated by law. Shuli (Hanna Azoulay Hasfari) joined the army as a way of escaping her parents’ home and her boyfriend. Niva (Chelli Goldenberg) has her sights set on a spot with the IDF’s musical group as a springboard to stardom. The only one who seems to have enlisted for genuine ideological reasons is Karen (Caroline Langford), a new immigrant from Canada who is portrayed as the most ridiculous conscript of the lot.

The film allegedly chronicles the girls’ coming-of-age journey as they learn to grow out of their selfish, spoilt ways and form a sisterhood of fighters. This process reaches its climax in a sequence parodying a military operation when the girls go off to save their friend from getting raped. Seven women in full military gear, carrying loaded weapons, smoke grenades, and gas masks launch an attack on three semi-naked junkies who can barely stand up straight. Not only can the ‘enemy’ here not fight back they are also grossly outnumbered. And so, the same culturally defining myth of David vs. Goliath which so many Israelis were raised on, along with this inspirational image of the few overcoming the many, are used here as no more than a setup for yet another joke at the girls’ expense.

Operation Grandma

Director Dror Shaul’s 1999 comedy that has since shot to cult status, follows the story of three orphaned siblings who come together to lay their dearly departed gran to rest back in the kibbutz they had all left. The film takes no prisoners in its ridiculing of virtually everyone and everything, with no one getting more flak than eldest sibling – diehard military officer, aka ‘Krembo*’ (Rami Heuberger) [*a popular Israeli spongy ice cream snack]. Meanwhile, it’s the commander’s overzealous desk officer, Shirley (Rotem Abuhab), who turns out to be the most talented and competent one of the lot. That said, she ultimately spends her every waking moment tending to Krembo’s every need and whim. In fact, for all intents and purposes, Shirley functions as his wife – egging him on to advance his career and packing his supplies for him before he goes off on a mission.

However, unlike her desk officer peers in previous films, Shirley is not portrayed as a sex object. This is especially evident in the scene where an ecstatic Krembo – grateful for Shirley’s help in realising his plan – carries her over his shoulder as if she were an injured soldier. For after all, what greater honour can a soldier bestow on their peer? Of course the age-old macho, lascivious treatment of women that has become synonymous with officers like him, Krembo then directs at a foreign kibbutz volunteer whom he approaches in the pool and asks, “You want to come to my room? A cup of coffee, fuck of tea?” Later on, he tries to impress the volunteer with some colourful war stories which, inexplicably, seem to work.

Yossi and Jagger (Part I)

Eytan Fox’s 2002 film earned international acclaim for its portrayal of two male combat soldiers’ secret love story at a military base on Mount Hermon in the north of Israel. The film poster featured an image from the lovemaking scene in the snow between reserved company commander, Yossi (Ohad Knoller), and the beautiful platoon commander, Jagger (Yehuda Levi). The film also features two female soldiers – Goldie (Hani Furstenberg), and Yaeli (Aya Steinovitz Koren) who is in love with Jagger because “he’s not like all the other men” and as such, rebuffs all of Ophir’s (Assi Cohen) advances. Yaeli convinces herself that Jagger is in love with her; a mistake that gives the end of the film its bittersweet taste after Jagger is killed and Yaeli is welcomed at his home as his girlfriend, whereas Yossi remains marginalised and excluded.

Yaeli’s role in the drama is obvious. That said, nowhere near as obvious is whatever it is she and Goldie are actually doing in the army, let alone at this remote base. The two tag along for a visit with area commander, Yoel (Sharon Raginiano) – Yael, hoping to ask Jagger out, and Goldie who is planning on doing a bit of flirting with the lads. In the film, Goldie is characterised as a woman confident in her sexuality. As such, she enjoys entertaining the soldiers with juicy stories of her sexual escapades. “Myself, I’m naturally infantry-inclined,” she announces to the cheers of those around here. “And I was like, Oneg, if you’re a pilot, then I’m taking off.”

This persona, however, is briefly undermined when the commander asks her to follow him. A few minutes later, we see him emerge from inside a room, adjusting his trousers and doing up his belt. A moment later, a hunched-up Goldie follows. Running her hand through her hair she goes, “Urgh, gross. I need a wash.” This filth which Goldie is so eager to rinse off creates an impression that shagging the commander might not have been all that fun or for that matter, consensual. Are we therefore witnessing here a newfound awareness of the power dynamic between a male Lieutenant Colonel and his subordinate female sergeant, and to a greater extent the prevalence of sexually predatory behaviour against female soldiers in the army? The events that follow undermine any such impression.

Yossi and Jagger (Part II)

A few minutes after the scene in which Goldie (Hani Furstenberg) was acting as though she had just been sexually assaulted by her commanding officer, she resumes her role as ‘company saddle.’ As Yaeli (Aya Steinovitz Koren) is washing her hair she asks her, “And you really don’t mind that he’s married?” (Earlier, when Goldie was leaving the room where she had just had sex with her commander, Yaeli even shot her a judgemental glare.) “Au contraire,” Goldie answers and smiles suggestively. “Babes, I’m here to have fun… not walk down the aisle… at first, he was trying to be all Mr. sensitive, showing me how attentive he was to my needs and all that. Like, who even has the time for foreplay, am I right? So I told him, you leave the clit to me. Focus on what you’re here for and keep pumping away.” In the meantime, the pair are both putting on makeup whilst still talking about sex and giggling away. Any and all indication that this was a sexual act without consent has now faded away. Is Goldie trying to mask her trauma under the guise of sexual confidence? Or is the impression of sexual harassment or assault even merely is in the eyes of the viewer? It ultimately seems as though the film never quite made up its mind on the subject.

Later, the two go back to headquarters and it is only there that we finally learn what their official military jobs are which, it should be noted, they are completely and utterly inept in. When the soldiers go out patrolling and drive over an explosive device, setting it off, Ophir quickly grabs the radio and calls for evacuation of the dead out of there. However, Yaeli on the other side of the radio is in no rush to do her actual job and instead, asks him if Jagger is okay. One would imagine that eventually, she did pull herself together and send out a helicopter, but that is certainly not shown in the film. And so, whilst the male soldiers are out in the ‘trenches’ guarding, fighting, and dying, their female peers only seem to get in their way.

Close to Home

Directors Vardit (Vidi) Bilu and Dalia Hager’s 2005 film was the first (feature film) of its kind that truly attempted to explore female soldiers’ military experience and their dynamic when there isn’t a male commander in sight. Following a group of Israeli female border officers whose job it is to identify and record Arab passers-by in the streets of Jerusalem, the film explores the officers’ utter disinterest and helplessness with regards to this thoroughly unpleasant task they have been given. In this political and moral context, it is of little wonder that their female commanding officers are portrayed as abrasive, die-hard promilitary zealots, with the film definitively siding with the lazy/rebellious soldiers who abandon their shift and make sure to warn each other whenever their commander is approaching. When all is said and done, it seems as though only female directors are capable of envisioning genuine female camaraderie.

At the centre of the drama is the relationship between Mirit (Naama Schendar) and Smadar (Smadar Sayar) who were paired together to patrol the streets. The duo are opposites in a myriad of ways, including their feelings about the task at hand – which creates inevitable tension. However, after an explosive device goes off next to Mirit, Smadar goes to extreme lengths for her in a way that only a close friend would. Initially, Mirit rejects her attempts at kindness, but by the time the film reaches its climactic scene where the two soldiers must face the horrifying consequences of the racism that is at the heart of the ethnic/racial profiling they are engaged in, they show up together as true friends.

Zero Motivation

The frustration, desolation, and degradation that are part and parcel of women’s military service in the IDF all provide fertile ground for Talya Lavie’s subversive 2014 comedy about a group of female soldiers at a military base down south (in the Arabah region) who are slowly going mad. Gone is the helpless, submissive acceptance of the IDF’s oppressive hierarchy, now replaced by a viscerally conscious, scathingly biting statement.

Like all things in the IDF, the film is divided into three parts focusing on the stories of three adjutant officers; each of whom portrays a different facet of [military day-to-day] despair: Daphy (Nelly Tagar), whose main responsibility is shredding papers (an illustration of the women’s dreary, mundane reality) dreams of escaping the desert and getting transferred to a major base in Tel Aviv; Zohar (Dana Ivgy), the base postmistress can only bury her head in her military winter parka and wait for this ordeal to be over; then there’s Rama (Shani Klein) – an officer and the only woman who actually gets to sit in on senior command meetings where soldiers’ field operations are discussed and decided, Rama longs for a promotion but cannot seem to get her own house (and soldiers) in order. Reluctantly, she finds herself making coffee to all the surrounding male officers, thereby capitulating (however unwittingly) to the military’s gender hierarchy.

“One day, you’ll wake up and realise that you’d spent two years in the army and contributed fuck all; you haven’t left your mark,” the officer lectures Zohar whose sloth is her form of rebellion. However, the film makes it painstakingly clear that the options available to her are indeed few and far between (as illustrated by the symbolic nail gun duel scene.)

In the film, Lavie explores a range of pertinent, heavyweight issues such as sexual harassment and sisterhood in a military sphere which she tackles in a way that is every bit as entertaining as it is poignant and hard-hitting. When a cute combat soldier who turns out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing tries to rape Zohar, the person who comes to her rescue is her fellow soldier Irena (Tamara Klingon), who gives him a detailed crash course on male-female relations whilst holding him at submachinegun-point. This time, the joke’s on him.