Rafi hangs out with the bad boys. Even though Tami Gerlick(Hani Furstenberg) is accompanied by her mother and older sister, the boys still badger the schoolgirl about her reputation. "Is it true you put out?" challenges the ringleader, in a leering singsong voice that Tami mistakes as flattery. On some level, she likes the attention; she feels safe, in spite of the sexual innuendo-laced taunting, because Rafi is with them, her protector. Rachel(Michaela Eschet) confronts the boy for disrespecting her little gosling, but the admonitory words do nothing to deter his predatory stance. Everybody knows that the mother has been widowed for over a year. Without any man to protect this family of women, he knows that Tami Gerlick is fair game. He also knows that the Zionist elders will excuse any prospective transgressions, as "Medurat Hashevet" tells the story of a mother's struggle to raise her daughters under a patriarchal construct. Once the littlest Gerlick decides to brave the hinterlands of secularity at an outdoor religious function, the outcome results in the wavering of Rachel's blind faith towards her Zionism, since Motkeh(Assi Dayan), the monolithic leader of a settlers' movement, tells the single parent candidate to remain silent, after Rafi, the disappointing knight in shining armor, acts like a mere boy for Tami in her time of need. Disillusioned, and resigned to accepting her sex's place in the designs of officious men, Rachel surrenders the settlement plans she had for the West Bank, in order to join her daughter in those same hinterlands, where she can watch over Tami, and the other daughter, the older and rebellious Esti(Maya Maron), with the help of a new boyfriend, the fifty-something-year-old virgin, Yossi(Moshe Ivgy).
Tired with the campfire songs of her youth group at the official bonfire, Tami suggests to a friend that they join the other fire-starters across the woods: Rafi's hoodlum friends, who had boldly objectified her despite the presence of an attending parent. Prior to this momentous decision, the filmmaker shows us Tami's inquiring mind at work(groundwork for the girl's culpability during her attack), in a scene where the girl positions herself towards a separating wall to get an earful of the extracurricular activities in Esti's room. Tami is made more worldly than your average Israeli girl, in due part to the filmmaker's American sensibility, best exemplified when the girl puts on a record and starts to dance around the empty apartment, a scene which seems lifted out of a Hollywood chick flick. As she sings to her reflection, all that's missing is the hairbrush. The lewd campfire song that sung by Rafi and his friends gives Tami's fledgling female camper pause, but not the precocious adolescent, who's not shy about telling a bawdy joke(like Minnie Driver in Gus Van Sant's "Good Will Hunting") around the alternate campfire. As she gets to the part of her story which involves the first base of erogenous zones, the camera conspires with Tami's attackers by suppling them an alibi, as the camera tilts down to a corresponding breast while she narrates; it's a prompting with an undertone of inevitability, the prelude to a rape, including a grope session before the filmmaker omits the gross breach in amity by an aggregate of restraining hands and cruel torsos. That subtle tilt of the camera suggests a girl who turned her attacker(s) on: a girl who was asking for it. For some viewers, the act of dramatized rape works as a base fetish, so the decision to keep the rape off-screen seems like a respectful one. But by keeping the rape a secret from the viewer(as Tami keeps it a secret from her mother and sister), her continuing adoration of Rafi is made possible. After all, he allowed it to happen, like one of those bar patrons in Jonathan Kaplan's "The Accused". Adding insult to injury, the boys spray-painted her misdeed in stone all over the Zionist jurisdiction of the town. And Rafi let the lie remain there without any gesture towards concealing the affronting words with paint(as Rachel and Esti do). Instead of the cowardly boy making amends with the debased girl, "Medurat Hashevet" shows us the harmful effects of a governing patriarchal mindset when Tami seeks out Rafi, asking him for forgiveness, and expressing surprise in his ongoing interest for her. Tami feels like she's damaged goods. Does the filmmaker feel the same way, too? In other words, is the film critical of God, or the girl? Since Rachel breaks away from her faith, "Medurat Hashevet" has the outward appearance of having contemporary ideas about women, but the handling of Tami's rape seems like a compromise, in which Zionism isn't thrown under a bus and completely trampled by feminism.
Tired with the campfire songs of her youth group at the official bonfire, Tami suggests to a friend that they join the other fire-starters across the woods: Rafi's hoodlum friends, who had boldly objectified her despite the presence of an attending parent. Prior to this momentous decision, the filmmaker shows us Tami's inquiring mind at work(groundwork for the girl's culpability during her attack), in a scene where the girl positions herself towards a separating wall to get an earful of the extracurricular activities in Esti's room. Tami is made more worldly than your average Israeli girl, in due part to the filmmaker's American sensibility, best exemplified when the girl puts on a record and starts to dance around the empty apartment, a scene which seems lifted out of a Hollywood chick flick. As she sings to her reflection, all that's missing is the hairbrush. The lewd campfire song that sung by Rafi and his friends gives Tami's fledgling female camper pause, but not the precocious adolescent, who's not shy about telling a bawdy joke(like Minnie Driver in Gus Van Sant's "Good Will Hunting") around the alternate campfire. As she gets to the part of her story which involves the first base of erogenous zones, the camera conspires with Tami's attackers by suppling them an alibi, as the camera tilts down to a corresponding breast while she narrates; it's a prompting with an undertone of inevitability, the prelude to a rape, including a grope session before the filmmaker omits the gross breach in amity by an aggregate of restraining hands and cruel torsos. That subtle tilt of the camera suggests a girl who turned her attacker(s) on: a girl who was asking for it. For some viewers, the act of dramatized rape works as a base fetish, so the decision to keep the rape off-screen seems like a respectful one. But by keeping the rape a secret from the viewer(as Tami keeps it a secret from her mother and sister), her continuing adoration of Rafi is made possible. After all, he allowed it to happen, like one of those bar patrons in Jonathan Kaplan's "The Accused". Adding insult to injury, the boys spray-painted her misdeed in stone all over the Zionist jurisdiction of the town. And Rafi let the lie remain there without any gesture towards concealing the affronting words with paint(as Rachel and Esti do). Instead of the cowardly boy making amends with the debased girl, "Medurat Hashevet" shows us the harmful effects of a governing patriarchal mindset when Tami seeks out Rafi, asking him for forgiveness, and expressing surprise in his ongoing interest for her. Tami feels like she's damaged goods. Does the filmmaker feel the same way, too? In other words, is the film critical of God, or the girl? Since Rachel breaks away from her faith, "Medurat Hashevet" has the outward appearance of having contemporary ideas about women, but the handling of Tami's rape seems like a compromise, in which Zionism isn't thrown under a bus and completely trampled by feminism.