By Talya ZaxAugust 8, 2025

(Ed. note: An Officer and a Spy is not yet available for streaming in Canada. It is available for streaming on Prime Video in the U.S.)

This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.

In the opening scene of Roman Polanski’s An Officer and a Spy, a retelling of the infamous Dreyfus Affair — in which Alfred Dreyfus, a French Jewish officer, was falsely accused of treason at the turn of the 20th century — Dreyfus, played by Louis Garrel, is paraded past a silent crowd of his peers to suffer a punishment known as degradation.

That is historically accurate. In 1895, after his conviction, Dreyfus underwent the public humiliation of having the adornments of his rank ripped off his person, and his sword broken, all while he vainly protested his innocence.

But for anyone familiar with Polanski’s own history — or the history of this film, which was released in Europe in 2019, but is only now getting its U.S. theatrical premiere — the double meaning is clear.

Because Polanski, who in 1977 pleaded guilty to “unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor,” is one of the legions of Hollywood men to face public disgrace over sexual misbehavior. (He fled to Europe after learning that a judge planned to issue him a harsher sentence than was agreed in his plea deal.) When An Officer and a Spy first came out, Polanski said that his attraction to the Dreyfus story was in part attached to his own case: “I can see the same determination to deny the facts and condemn me for things I have not done,” he said.

What a difference six years makes. In 2019, only two years after the #MeToo movement rocketed to public prominence, Polanski’s film couldn’t secure distribution in the United States. In 2023, the next movie he made, a poorly reviewed comedy called The Palace, suffered the same fate.

But in 2025, the backlash against #MeToo has reached an apogee, and allegations of rampant antisemitism have come to define much of American political life. Now, An Officer and a Spy‘s long-delayed American premiere — a two-week run at Manhattan’s Film Forum, beginning on Friday — suggests that Polanski’s barely-veiled “J’accuse” against his detractors may be newly relevant.

A scapegoat in search of a savior

Dreyfus is not the hero of An Officer and a Spy. Instead, he’s a foil for the rest of the action: a convenient martyr, whom Garrel bestows with a kind of drippy intensity. No one, including the film’s real subject — Georges Picquart, the antisemitic army official who trained Dreyfus and reluctantly comes to campaign against his conviction — has much attention to spare for him.

Even Polanski seems bored by Dreyfus’ suffering; when his camera visits the desert island to which Dreyfus is banished, it’s more fascinated by the desolate landscape than the lonely Jew wasting away within it. And as Picquart, played by Jean Dujardin, pieces together the conspiracy that framed his formal pupil, he doesn’t appear to feel any real compulsion to reconsider his general distaste for the man himself.

Instead, he’s driven by his commitment to the ideals that have informed his career in the French army, chief among them orderliness and an adherence to proper procedure. To the extent that Picquart is radicalized by his adventures as a political outcast — a natural consequence of his insistence on airing the truth — it’s by becoming skeptical of the official structures in which he once put faith, not skeptical of his own inclination toward bigotry.

In other words, this is the story of a crusader so committed to justice that he sees his personal feelings as unimportant. If Polanski thinks of himself as Dreyfus — polarizing and perhaps unlikable, but the victim of a moral panic nonetheless — he is, in an Officer and a Spy, putting out a call for some powerful party to serve as his Picquart. Which brave soul, the film wonders, will take a similar stand against the social furor that made Polanski a cultural outcast — albeit one who won multiple César Awards, the French equivalent to the Oscars, for this film — not because they like him, but because they can see that what he’s suffered is wrong?

That framing is a bold choice. The men who have attempted post-#MeToo comebacks have generally done so from a stance of bashful victimhood. When Kevin Spacey, whom more than 30 men have accused of sexual assault or inappropriate behavior, received an award at a gala hosted during this year’s Cannes Film Festival, he portrayed himself as a wrongly outcast golden boy now receiving his just rewards. “I feel surrounded by so much affection and love,” he said.

Polanski is doing something different. He’s not suggesting that he’s too nice and gentle to be responsible for all the things of which he’s been accused. Instead, he’s arguing that no matter how much his viewers might hate his guts, they should turn a gimlet eye upon the processes that led to his banishment from Hollywood, the U.S., and even many institutions of European cinema. (A French woman accused Polanski of rape shortly before An Officer and a Spy‘s French release; amid an outcry over French accolades for the film, Polanski didn’t attend that year’s César Awards, and when he was announced as Best Director, several attendees walked out in protest.)

The allegory of antisemitism

After Dreyfus is carted away to exile, in An Officer and a Spy, Picquart, who watched his degradation, is summoned by a superior who asks how the crowd reacted. The feeling, Picquart says, was that of a body that had rid itself of a pestilence.

Polanski is examining how the establishment reacts to what it perceives as the will of the public — how its self-protective mechanisms lead it to be in a constant race to anticipate the people’s prejudices, and fulfill them.

In his vision, the parties complicit in framing Dreyfus appear to be driven not by personal antisemitism so much as the sense that, because Jews have come to be widely held in suspicion by France’s citizenry, acting against Jews is a sure way to maintain their own hold on power. The generals who eventually perjure themselves in an attempt to prevent Picquart’s success know that if they admit that Dreyfus was innocent, the public won’t see them as noble and brave. They’ll see them, instead, as having joined with nefarious forces for personal gain.

Polanski, in making An Officer and a Spy, accurately anticipated a cultural turn that would see all kinds of people beginning to perceive themselves as “the Jews” in situations of societal discord: victims of a witch hunt, based on an ambient cultural sense that someone should be held accountable for all the things that are wrong in all our lives, while authorities tacitly encourage the scapegoating.

It happened during the COVID-19 pandemic, as some who were resistant to public health measures began comparing themselves to Jews in Nazi Germany. It’s happening now, as some Republicans have tried to turn Jews into avatars for conservatives, with the argument being that both groups have been persecuted by promoters of “wokeness.”

There is a natural parallel, as well, in the story of #MeToo. In the movement’s heyday, the locus of power in the sexual realm seemed to have shifted. The time in which successful men could basically do as they pleased was over. A new power structure had been adopted; adherents of the old one began to see themselves as victims of a shadowy new elite.

What happens when people begin to see a real historical conspiracy as an analogy for every development they dislike? Do they find a harmless outlet for their grievances, or do they simply risk becoming more suspicious, and more conspiratorial? In a U.S. where the president owns a social media outlet called Truth, any number of people going to see An Officer and a Spy might see something of their own plight in that of Dreyfus. And any number of them might idolize Picquart as a vigilante uncovering deep governmental rot.

They may or may not be right. After all, there’s much injustice in the world, today as at the turn of the century. But I fear that while An Officer and a Spy might be trying to investigate the kind of conspiratorial mindset that gave rise to the Dreyfus Affair, what it’s really doing is reinforcing it.

Talya Zax is the Forward’s opinion editor. Contact her at zax@forward.com or on Twitter, @TalyaZax.

• zax@forward.com
• @TalyaZax

This story was originally published on the Forward.

The Boys in the Light by Nina Willner

Reviewed by JULIE KIRSH, Former Sun Media News Research Director

In 1945, my father dug a hole on the grounds of Buchenwald concentration camp. He pulled a dead inmate’s body over him as a cover. The SS guards in the camp were rounding up Jews. He knew that he would not survive a forced march. He heard American soldiers’ voices but was too weak to call out. Having contacted typhus from the dead body, he was dying. On April 11, 1945, a black American soldier carried my 70 pound father like a babe in arms to the medic station where he received an instant blood transfusion which probably saved his life.

The author of The Boys in the Light, Nina Willner, tells the true story of her father, Eddie, German born, and his best friend, Mike. Both boys were teenagers who survived Auschwitz, Blechhammer and Langenstein labour camps. Eddie’s father, a decorated soldier in the German army in World War I, kept the boys under his wing. The discipline that he learned in the German army was imparted to the boys until his death in the camps.

In a riveting chapter, the boys make a run for it. Eddie is shot in the arm, a German Shepherd bites Mike in the leg but, nevertheless, the boys escape and allow the River Eine in Germany to carry them away from their captors.

The Boys in the Light includes stories of other boys. Young American soldiers, mostly in their twenties, had been fighting the war as part of Company D. Their unit, led by the extraordinary, twenty-three year old Lieutenant Elmer, was cemented by faith and a need to survive, not unlike the young Jewish Holocaust survivors.

As the two emaciated boys encountered the American soldiers, the author tells us “that was the moment Eddie and Mike walked from the darkness into the light.”

Although the US forces were under strict orders to bypass all refugees they encountered, Lieutenant Elmer, a staunch Christian and an inspiring leader, took the teenagers under his unit’s wing.

Pepsi, the kitchen cook, was entrusted with bringing these boys back to life. Food, compassion and Company D’s willingness to incorporate the boys into their brotherhood, saved Eddie and Mike. The boys’ presence provided an understanding to the American soldiers of what they were fighting for and against.

In this compelling book, the reader learns about the Hitler’s rise to power, the hatred directed against European Jewry, and the young American soldiers who sacrificed their lives far from home.

The last days of the war in the spring of 1945 find Eddie and Mike in the company of this very special unit. Although the US army’s mandate at the time was not to provide aid to refugees encountered on the road, Lieutenant Elmer broke every rule in the book by providing sanctuary to the two emaciated boys.

After the war, the soldiers of Company D did not abandon their wartime fidelity to each other. Even after fifty years, the veterans continued to celebrate their renewal of life with annual reunions. In trying to track down the soldiers, the author’s parents only had their nicknames, which made the search elusive.

Finally, Eddie’s wife located Lieutenant Elmer and told him that Eddie had been recounting the story of his liberation by Company D to his family for his entire life.

In September 2002, Eddie hosted a reunion at his home in Falls Church, Virginia. Mike had died of cancer in 1985. Both “boys” had found new lives as proud Americans.

“Dashing soldiers became stooped grandfathers,” but the men of Company D had not forgotten the two teenagers who stood in front of US tanks with hope in their eyes.

When Lieutenant Elmer arrived at the reunion, the veteran soldiers stood at attention. A grandson of one of the veterans asked Eddie about the tattoo on his arm. Eddie’s grown children moved through the room and thanked the old soldiers for “saving our father.”

The reunion of the Holocaust survivor and the soldiers who rescued him was a triumph of faith and friendship.

Eddie’s grandson, named Michael after his best friend, visited his Uncle Pepsi many times and was treated to his very fine cooking. In 2016, Pepsi passed away, preceded by his close friends in Company D.

The book’s message comes through loud and clear. Some memories should never be forgotten. Over time the memories become a cautionary tale. We must never forget.

The Boys in the Light by Nina Willner

Published by Penguin Random House, 2025

(August 2025) Submitted by Martin A. Koyle (Denver, Colorado), Judy L. (Shenkarow) Pollock (San Diego, California), and Lorne Billinkoff (Winnipeg, Manitoba)

It is now a year since the three of us had a unique opportunity to reconvene with 11 other septuagenarians to share memories of an event that occurred 60 years ago. In August 2024, 14 graduates of the inaugural class of 16 students at Shaarey Zedek Hebrew Day School, which ultimately became Ramah Hebrew School and later, part of Gray Academy, met to celebrate our graduation in 1964.

Many of our families had migrated to the River Heights area (when there were no Mathers or Taylor Avenues) from the North End, where the Talmud Torah and Joseph Wolinsky Collegiate were foundations in that established community. None of us have any idea how the first “South End” Jewish school was conceived or funded, but we credited our parents, who had the “sechel” and belief that we, as Grade 2 students, would essentially be guinea pigs in the founding of a parochial, half-day English, half-day Hebrew school in that growing area of Winnipeg.

All of us had been in the Winnipeg Public School system prior to that radical shift, but we had also attended evening school at Shaarey Zedek Synagogue on Wellington Crescent and Academy Road where, like other students, we enjoyed chocolate milk, shortbread cookies and Wagon Wheels, along with friendship with the caretakers, Steve and Metro.

Of the 14 former students of that first Shaarey Zedek Day School class who attended last year’s reunion, there were representatives from California, Colorado, Florida, Toronto, and Vancouver, along with those who had remained in Winnipeg.

The first night we convened at the Tuxedo home of Ashley Leibl (who had joined our class in Grade 3). Of course, Winnipeg style delicatessen was served in abundance. The next evening, along with significant others, friends and their spouses, we shared a dinner at Alena Rustic Italian Restaurant in Charleswood, after being given a tour of what was then the renovating Shaarey Zedek Synagogue.

Judy Shenkarow hosted a post-Winnipeg get together in her family cottage on Prospect in Winnipeg Beach (which has belonged to generations of her family), and which she continues to enjoy despite the long drive each year from San Diego – and in a Tesla no less!

Throughout our all too brief time with one another, we reminisced about stories of our English teachers: Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Beckett, Mrs. Tallboom, and Mr. Lightbody; also our Israeli Hebrew teachers: Mrs. Lachter, and husband and wife couples: the Wernicks, Kamils, and Dafnais.

We were fortunate to also have had Myer Silverman as our principal throughout our five years as students. The esteemed (and beloved by us) educator Morag Harpley, previously the Supervisor of Primary Grades in the Winnipeg School Division, joined the administration in 1963 as Supervisor and Chief Consultant.

The brand-new Shaarey Zedek School, as it was first known, was constructed on land at the corner of Lanark and Grant and was quite a distance from the synagogue. I doubt that any adult today would let their kids play anywhere close to the swamps that were part of the school grounds at that time. We, however, took twigs and branches and old building materials left over from the school construction, to build forts and dams and to play games of war, while wearing high rubber boots and water proof pants, frequently returning after recesses soaking wet.

As new classes were enrolled, we were always the most senior class. Given this seniority, we were given the responsibility of being appointed the first safety patrols, posts which we held for the entire five years we were there. During those five years, we lost a few initial students, but gained others. As we entered Grade 5, Shaarey Zedek merged with Herzlia Academy Day School and the name was changed to Ramah Hebrew School. By the time our class reached Grade 6, the enrollment in our grade had become large enough to mandate splitting us into two classrooms.

Our education had added value on the occasional weekends when some of the fathers would host learning weekend events where we went to offices or homes, learned how to take X-rays, listen to a heart or, in a chemistry lab – make copper sulfate crystals.

Some of us were driven or car-pooled by our parents while others took public transit, or had arrangements made to take taxis back and forth. In those days, you could buy five public bus tickets for 30 cents. Ted Rosenstock’s mother, Lottie, actually petitioned Winnipeg Transit and the City of Winnipeg to expand the Grant bus service beyond the railway tracks, which at that time only extended to Borebank. Lottie pointed out the potential dangers of young children having to cross the tracks and walk all the way to Lanark!

Some of us who lived not far from Grant became more industrious as we got older and would walk back and forth, rather than take the bus. This allowed us to save those bus fare pennies and stop at Irving Klasser’s Niagara Drugs to buy chocolate bars, which were only 10 cents back then.

Since distances and transportation made lunchtime impossible for most of us to return home, most of us had packed lunches, which we often shared. Myer’s Delicatessen was the only eatery close by, and it was a treat to have Chicago Kosher (RIP) products for lunch at the small counter there as an occasional treat.

Perhaps a unique requirement to the English and Hebrew education we received was that we were required to attend synagogue services as a religious component of our studies. The Shacharit services at the Shaarey Zedek were led by us every Saturday as the Junior Choir, directed by Jack Garland from Grade 2 and all the way through our B’nai Mitzvot dates in 1964/1965. By those years we had all matriculated back into the Winnipeg Public School System.

Despite our somewhat cloistered environment for the five years at Ramah, we assimilated without difficulty into the public school systems, principally at Grant Park and River Heights.

Despite the challenges of having to participate in Saturday services for those five years, we gained many benefits from working closely with Shaarey Zedek Cantor Rabbi Louis Berkal, along with then-Rabbi Milton Aron. Given the plethora of baby boomers from our generation and not enough Shabbats in 1964-1965 to allow us to celebrate our Bar or Bat Mitzvot individually, we coordinated these events as pairs, usually with our fellow Ramah classmates.

In 2015, in Toronto, Kenny Wolch and Marty Koyle re-recited their 1965 Haftorahs at Narayver Synagogue, with the same tropes that Jack Garland had taught them. No less than 28 Winnipegers attended the simcha.

Importantly, through our five years together, we became a community of lifelong friends. We had met previously in Winnipeg in 2004 to celebrate the 40^th anniversary of our graduation at a time where some surviving parents were still able to join us.

The warmth and sense of “mischpochah” thrives now into its seventh decade. We still marvel at how our parents and the Shaarey Zedek had the vision and faith that led to these foundations. Classmate Harold Steinman (Vancouver), whom most of us had not seen since high school, summed up our reunion appropriately, stating that it “filled a void in my heart!”