"Put Your Soul On Your Hand and Walk" is a piece of Palestinian history Alla Festa del Cinema di Roma passa il documentario sulla reporter palestinese diretto da Sepideh Farsi

It is not easy to talk about Put Your Soul On Your Hand and Walk, the documentary by Sepideh Farsi that premiered at the Cannes Film Festival and later screened at the 20th edition of the Rome Film Fest. The Iranian director and screenwriter spent an entire year in conversation with reporter and photographer Fatima Hassouna, who was later killed. Through a series of video calls, the young woman, based in Gaza, spoke with the filmmaker, recounting her experience in the occupied territories under the Israeli army.

It is difficult to talk about it for many reasons. The first and most obvious is the situation in which Gaza has found itself since October 7, following countless attacks that have displaced and starved so many families. Added to this is one of the many conversations Fatima had with the director, in which she expressed her desire to travel and, in particular, to visit Rome.

But among all, the most devastating element of Put Your Soul On Your Hand and Walk – a phrase spoken by Fatima Hassouna herself – is the kind of person that emerges from the unfiltered and completely sincere portrait the film offers. Born in 1999 and originally from Gaza City, Fatima Hassouna was among the few reporters able to document the bombings, explosions, hunger, and destroyed buildings caused by the Israeli occupation after October 7, 2023. Determined to stay in her city, her land, her country, the young woman never gave up, until the very end.

«They want to eliminate us», she would tell Farsi during their calls, but she did so with a calmness and composure that is still hard to comprehend. Something complex and inexplicable to process for anyone sitting comfortably and safely in their chair, while her spirit seemed untouched. Her smile, bright and ever-present throughout the video calls, is a constant in Put Your Soul On Your Hand and Walk. And also the most painful part, knowing it was extinguished after all the atrocities she endured.

The joy used as a weapon by Fatima is unsettling, yet it is also the warmest thing the film leaves behind. In the tragic turn her story took, there is some comfort in knowing that an indelible, recorded trace remains—from her calls with the director to their assembly into the documentary. However, not every smile is the same. As the year captured by Farsi unfolds, Fatima’s smile remains on her face, but one can feel it gradually fading behind the effort and determination of a reporter striving to keep hope alive.

The psychological exhaustion, the advancing famine, and the constant sight of her neighbors’ homes exploding and her family members dying could not help but weigh on a mind that remained steadfast despite the pain consuming her. Visible, yet almost hidden, she was determined not to give in—body and soul. What matters now, however, is that Fatima should not be turned into an example, nor a martyr of a genocide that should never have existed and needs no spotlight—only an end. Her smile should not become a banner, but a memory to keep close, something to hold onto.