The news arrived like a fresh wound, even amidst the fragile ceasefire in Gaza. A ten-year-old boy, Muhammad al-Hallaq, shot dead. Another name etched onto a growing list of over 18,000 Palestinian children lost to this conflict, a number that haunts the conscience of the world. This unbearable reality fueled the creation of a film determined to break through the noise –The Voice of Hind Rajab.
The film isn’t simply a story; it’s a desperate echo of a six-year-old girl’s final moments. Hind Rajab, trapped in a car under fire while fleeing with her family, made a frantic call to the Palestine Red Crescent Society, a plea for rescue that became a harrowing testament to a brutal reality. Days later, her body was discovered, the car riddled with over 330 bullets. Her last words, preserved in those recordings, are the heartbreaking core of this fictionalized account.
Actor Motaz Malhees didn’t know Hind’s story when he was first approached for the role of Omar, one of the emergency responders. He sought out the real Omar, a man burdened by the weight of that day. “I told him, ‘I’m playing you,’” Malhees recalls, “and he was so happy… but then he disappeared for a couple of days. He came back and told me I’d opened wounds, just by asking questions.” A profound friendship blossomed from the shared trauma.
The filming process was a descent into darkness. Malhees describes a “great atmosphere” created by the director and crew, yet acknowledges, “there is no escape from the story.” He speaks of feeling as though he was “dying” with each scene, each echo of Hind’s voice. “I died 1000 times in there and was reborn again. There were moments where I felt I was literally going to have a heart attack.”
The Voice of Hind Rajabdoesn’t shy away from the systemic obstacles faced by emergency responders, the barriers erected by the Israeli Defence Forces that transformed a rescue mission into a desperate, losing battle. They were forced to listen to a child’s dying pleas, helpless to intervene. The weight of that helplessness permeated every conversation, every moment of reflection.
Malhees admits to being “scared” of speaking with Hind’s mother, Wessam, who bravely supported the project from behind the scenes, yet hopes to connect with her in the future. His own past is marked by loss; at ten years old, he witnessed the death of a friend at the hands of Israeli forces, a moment that irrevocably altered his life’s path.
That tragedy ignited a purpose within him. He left high school to join The Freedom Theatre, driven by a need to tell stories, to bear witness. “I felt I needed to do something about it,” he explains. “I wanted to tell his story. From there, I found the key to my life.” Now, he feels a profound “responsibility to tell the story of my people,” a people subjected to relentless “dehumanisation.”
For Malhees, films likeThe Voice of Hind Rajabare not merely projects, but acts of resistance. “The West needs to understand through this film what’s happening to the Palestinians, in the hope that this will never happen to other children.” He envisions it as a “super anti-war, anti-genocide film,” a catalyst for change. “I want change. I want freedom. I need to be equal.”
He calls on Hollywood to join the chorus, to “stand up and do something,” inspired by the support of executive producers like Brad Pitt, Joaquin Phoenix, and Alfonso Cuaron. As the death toll continues to climb, Malhees vows to continue telling these stories, driven by a fierce hope for a future where Palestinians are seen, heard, and valued. “We are not less than any one of you,” he asserts. “If we are free, we wouldn’t be asking for anything.”
