Content warning: violence, genocide
There is something particularly disturbing in hearing someone admit to celebrating acts of violence. Even more unsettling: learning that this same violence was treated as a routine aspect of military life. Directed by Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor, NAZA (2026) examines Israel’s genocide in Gaza through the testimonies of its very perpetrators. The particular success of the documentary, then, lies not only in what it reveals, but also in the shocking reality of who reveals it.
NAZA features interviews with 24 ex-Israeli soldiers and intelligence personnel, who confess their military experiences and explain the systems behind attacks on Gaza. While the interviewees remain anonymous — their faces are hidden in shadow and their voices have been altered to protect their identities — the accounts of violence which they share are painfully detailed. That the filmmakers allow the subjects to speak for themselves is also effective; their testimony tells a story more unsettling than any other narration could likely achieve.Then there ist he staging of the interviews themselves. Abraham chose to conduct his interviews on the rooftops of Tel Aviv, filming the shadowy participants against the backdrop of the illuminated city. The darkness of their admissions is thus foregrounded and unsettlingly contrasted by the bright, ordinary urban life which spreads out behind them. Perhaps the most horrifying moments come when former soldiers describe how little remorse they felt for their actions. Some recall celebrating attacks alongside their comrades. One interviewee remembers that “it was fun” and compares the experience to playing a video game. This comparison becomes even more disturbing when the film explains the meaning behind its title.
‘Naza’ is an Israeli military term referring to expected civilian casualties. As one former soldier explains, “You would not say ‘15 people have been killed,’ and certainly not ‘15 women and children have been killed.’ You say ‘15 Naza.’ Instead of acknowledging the deaths of civilians, the military terminology reduces them into an abstract quantity. This language turns the violent eradication ofentire families and communities intoroutine military procedure. The people being killed becomenumbers, obscuring the human consequences of military actions, even to those leading these attacks.
In a particularly poignant moment, one former soldier asks,“I still see theNazis as evil. But what does that mean I am?” His words reveal adisturbing contradiction between the condemnation of Nazi atrocities and the violence carried out against Palestinians. The Nazis are remembered for their cruel persecution, dehumanization, and the systematic murder of millions of people. Yet the soldier’s question forces him to confront the violence he took part in against another group of people. He questions the difference between the atrocities he condemns and his own actions. Another soldier is more blunt, and his confession is all the more horrifying. “Gaza is full of bodies,” he says “It’s not a grave, it’s a pit.”
Beyond the testimonies, one of NAZA’s most compelling features is its portrayal of Tel Aviv. Throughout the film, signs of Israeli propaganda appear in public spaces while people continue their daily lives. Businesses remain open, streets are busy, and ordinary routines continue, all the while the rooftop confessions speak of unthinkable violence. This creates an unsettling, almost uncanny feeling for the viewer; Palestinian suffering — less than a hundred kilometers away —is pushed aside in the public consciousness, but its ugly truth lurks in the shadows nonetheless. This contrast raises questions about collective responsibility, indifference, and the normalization of violence. While the interviews reveal military desensitization to violence, the footage of Tel Aviv asks viewers to consider the spread of these attitudes into the general populace.
NAZA also raises questions regarding testimony and credibility. Palestinian journalists have spent years documenting the destruction of Gaza, often while experiencing the very violence on which they are reporting. Many have been killed while doing their work. Yet their accounts have repeatedly been dismissed by Israeli officials. This is the most uncomfortable aspect of the documentary’s approach to portraying the violence in Gaza through the testimonies of Israeli soldiers; it is precisely through giving perpetrators of genocide a voice thatNAZA offers a perspective that isundeniably revealing. Unfortunately, it would seem that the words of those responsible for violence carry more weight than the words of those experiencing it.
Ultimately, NAZA invites a reflection in its viewers that extends far beyond the film’s final scenes. Through its unsettling personal approach, the work forces audiences to contend with questions of guilt, indoctrination, and perspective, as well as exposing horrifying truths of this continued genocide. The resulting film makes for an unsettling watch, but then again, if this were easy, such a work would not be needed in the first place.