I was born of a forbidden love.
In Lebanon, my parents came from communities divided by religion, culture, and social status. Their letters, written in secret during the Civil War, lead me on a journey through their personal and collective history.
In Lebanon, my parents came from communities divided by religion, culture, and social status. Their letters, written in secret during the Civil War, lead me on a journey through their personal and collective history.
When I was 31, I travelled to Lebanon for the first time in search of my past, unaware that the country was about to enter one of the most devastating crises in its history. In my suitcase were my parents’ love letters, written in secret during the civil war. My mother wrote in French. My father replied in Arabic, a language he would later forbid me to learn. They wrote about love and politics, and about their determination to be together despite everything standing against them.
She was born into a Maronite Christian family and raised in Beirut’s affluent neighborhoods. He, a Shiite Muslim, grew up in the slums of Nabaa. Together, they tried to overcome the divisions separating their families, social classes, and communities.
In the 1970s, their story reflected the rebellion of a generation rising up against its forefathers, and against values that had been used to justify the worst atrocities during the war.
What traces of their struggle remain today? Why did my parents conceal nearly everything about their lives in Lebanon?
In this film, I attempt to piece together the fragments of a story that eludes me. It surfaces in my aunt’s kitchen, in the words of my young cousin, or in my mother’s letters. Once, I asked my father to speak to me in Arabic. He replied with a Lebanese proverb: “Eat onions and forget the past”. The more I peel, the deeper I dig. So I keep peeling…
She was born into a Maronite Christian family and raised in Beirut’s affluent neighborhoods. He, a Shiite Muslim, grew up in the slums of Nabaa. Together, they tried to overcome the divisions separating their families, social classes, and communities.
In the 1970s, their story reflected the rebellion of a generation rising up against its forefathers, and against values that had been used to justify the worst atrocities during the war.
What traces of their struggle remain today? Why did my parents conceal nearly everything about their lives in Lebanon?
In this film, I attempt to piece together the fragments of a story that eludes me. It surfaces in my aunt’s kitchen, in the words of my young cousin, or in my mother’s letters. Once, I asked my father to speak to me in Arabic. He replied with a Lebanese proverb: “Eat onions and forget the past”. The more I peel, the deeper I dig. So I keep peeling…
