“I don’t understand what interests you so much about the army,” Amir said, sounding somewhat exasperated. “My father’s stories, about being sent into Lebanon to hunt Fedayeen, would scare you to death. Even he gets frightened when he retells them.”
That conversation took place in the spring of 1976, on the balcony of Amir’s mother’s apartment, in Ramat Gan. We were both nine years old at the time. Seeing this advertisement, for the Venice Film Festival winner, brought his concerned words to mind.