During the days of Hannukah 2024, the Jerusalem Jewish Film Festival screened Carol Isaacs` beautifully animated film, THE WOLF OF BAGHDAD, twice. First, to an enchanted audience as part of the regular program, and second, for a small group of film enthusiasts with the director present.

I had the chance to be present at the second screening. And a few minutes after the film began, I had the uncanny feeling of recognizing the protective wolf that Carol depicted— that he looked at me from the marvelous book pages that opened on the screen. It was Baghdad— until it wasn’t. The city faded into a shattered Jewish home, a universal site of exile and loss. In THE WOLF OF BAGHDAD, Carol Isaacs tells the story of her family’s expulsion from Iraq through a wordless animated film, accompanied by a haunting musical score.

A ghostly wolf— her imagined guide and protector— moves silently through this dreamscape, bearing witness to what was lost. As Jewish neighbors were betrayed— in Iraq, Iran, Syria, in North Africa, and even Central and Western Europe— the wolf stood watch, a silent companion offering comfort through the shadows of fear, displacement, and the constant search for refuge. Sometimes the new shelter proved just as dangerous. But the wolf always knew the way. 

The emotional weight of the film left me speechless. Now, months later, Maia Zelkha, editor of Yad Mizrah Magazine, gives me the opportunity to ask Carol Isaacs all the questions that roamed my mind since that night at the Jerusalem Cinematheque. 

We will return to the Wolf— but first let us listen to the creative voice of Carol Isaacs on her music, book, and film.

Given the fact that you are a really brilliant accordionist I cannot imagine watching your film or browsing through your book without the sound, without the Iraqi and Judeo-Arabic soundtrack. And how did the Wolf, did musical tradition inspire the soundtrack?

Thank you Frank for the kind words and for your interest in my work.

As I was drawing the book (it was originally published as a graphic memoir) it occurred to me that I could make an animation of it. And because there is no actual dialogue in the book, just the occasional testimony from family members, it would need some kind of musical accompaniment that would be sympathetic to and guide the storyline. As a musician and cartoonist this was a unique chance to bring my two working practices together. I had only recently discovered my own musical heritage whilst playing Arabic accordion in the Baghdad Ensemble, led by Iraqi oud player Ahmed Mukhtar. I learned from him that Iraqi Jews had written classical songs that are still popular in the Arab world today. I used some of them in the soundtrack as well as a traditional Iraqi folk song he taught me. Certain songs were paired with certain scenes in the film: for example the Iraqi classic Fog el Naqal (Above the Palm Trees) is played when the main character finds herself on the roof of the family house in the Baghdad’s old Jewish quarter; Hon Tahon (Have Mercy), a Babylonian Jewish prayer traditionally sung before major festivals, accompanies the destroyed synagogue scene. It was important to me that the soundtrack would reflect the music my family would have been familiar with in Baghdad whether in their synagogues, streets or on their radios.

The film visualizes the book, transforming every page into moving images. Which were your basic ideas about this transformation? Why page for page? 

According to the comics community what I have created is something called a ‘motion comic’. This was news to me! Apparently it's a relatively new genre, defined as a form of animation combining elements of print comic books and animation. The story comes to life on screen, panel by panel, as if you are reading a book.

This sounds like an immense work effort. Could you describe the work process creating your ‘motion comic’? Did you have collaborators?

The book and animation were created by myself alone. I drew the book on a digital tablet that was attached to my laptop. This was a first for me as I generally use pen and ink. I used a simple Powerpoint-like software to develop the drawings into the animated version you see in the film. When it came to the soundtrack, I collaborated with the founder of the newly-formed Judeo-Arabic ensemble Ayin, Daniel Jonas, a fellow Iraqi Jew, and Keith Clouston, an oud specialist. They both had extensive knowledge of Iraqi-Jewish religious songs and classical Arabic music respectively. I then successfully crowdfunded the cost of recording the soundtrack: hiring the musicians, the studio and the wonderful producer Glenn Sharp. Thanks to our generous patrons, the film was finally completed!

The film has so many visual and aesthetic dimensions— people shine  through, the past seems to be present and everything emanates from your memories and those memories you were told. Concerning Bagdad´s Jewish community of about 150,000 people driven out in the 1940s and 1950s, what was focal for the characters in the story, for both the book and film?

The basic narrative in the story was the same for many Iraqi-Jewish families. For the most part they all had similar experiences. About 120,000 fled between 1950-51 and the rest left as and when they could, depending on brief windows of opportunity. The last exodus was in the early 1970s. Today, out of a population of 150,000 in the 1940s, only three Jews remain in the whole of Iraq.

You mention your family, which is always central to the Jewish experience, all over the Jewish world. Almost unusual for an animated story, the film´s first panels are dedicated to family and friends like a memoir that will live as long as people will look at the book and film, and as long as the stories will be told. Could you share more about the experiences of your family in Iraq and in the diaspora that are reflected in the film?

As far as I know, while they were living in Iraq, my family considered themselves to be both Iraqi and Jewish. They were equally proud of both identities, seeing no conflict between the two, probably because of their long history in the region. Thinking about it, perhaps Babylonian Jews would be a more appropriate term as there had been a continuous Jewish presence there for over 2600 years, predating Iraq itself by millennia.

After arriving in the UK, my parents resolutely considered themselves to be British, thankful for the safe haven they had been given and determined to give my sister and I (both of us born in England) a safer and better life. Depending on which generation you asked in my family, their memories of Iraq ranged from "We lived in peace with our neighbours and everything was good" (the older members), to “We lived every day in fear - why would I want to go back there?” (the younger ones). Post-1917, when the British were in charge, it’s true that life did become easier for the Jews and for a short period they were allowed to flourish. 

But in the 1930s, things were very different. With the rise of Arab nationalism alongside imported European antisemitism, life as a Jew in Iraq became extremely difficult. My family never really talked about the bad times, I only found out when I was asking them direct questions while doing my research for the book. Like all refugees, they simply moved forward with determination and hope in their new countries.

The person we follow from panel to panel through the alleys and places, the shops and views of fabled Baghdad, and whom the Wolf observes, is a woman. Please tell us more about her – but not too much – beware of spoilers! It is you— and then it is not you— in this dreamlike depiction. 

Not much of a spoiler, but it is actually based on me! The viewer/reader follows me as I navigate my family’s memories through the Baghdad of my own imagination. Despite never having been there, I tried to be as accurate as possible in drawing the old Jewish Quarter with its cramped alleyways and bustling markets. Not always easy, as there weren’t many photographs from that time, but some helpful Baghdadi students who were following me on social media sent photos of how the old Jewish houses look today. It’s sad to see their state they’re in: once so vibrant and full of life but now empty, crumbling and in great disrepair.

Some of your panels like the desecrated Synagogue, the horrific antisemitic violence remind us not just of the past, of the 1940s and 1950s, but of anti-Jewish terror in the last few years and months. What was on your mind when you worked on these panels?

Those panels were very hard to draw. To show such wanton destruction of Jewish life was really heart-breaking. Fully one-third of Baghdad was Jewish in the 1940s. They were a thriving community, mostly well-integrated and part of the fabric of life. That would soon be torn beyond repair after the terrible Farhud (pogrom) of 1941.

On the other hand, the help of neighbors still reminds us that human values can exist next to dehumanized attitudes and actions. How does your audience respond to this reality?

Some of my family remembered that during the 1941 riots their Muslim neighbours gave them shelter and protected them from the mobs. There was care and compassion literally at street level. At the end of the film the audience will notice that it is dedicated not only to my family but also to the people of Iraq.

At this point of our conversation I would like to return to the Wolf. The Wolf connects not just the visual narrative but relates as well to our emotions. So, what is the specific Mizrahi Jewish-cultural history of the Wolf? Is it still alive?

The wolf has a special place in Iraqi-Jewish mythology. We were (or maybe still are!) quite a superstitious people. In the book The History of the Jews of Baghdad by David Sassoon, which was published in 1917, the chapter on myths and superstitions mentions that a wolf was kept in the cellar of a Jewish house in order to protect the children from djinns or evil spirits. After my mother passed away, I found in her belongings an amulet made from a wolf’s tooth that traditionally would have been pinned to a baby’s crib. The wolf as protector is also a common theme amongst the Bedouin of the region. I was hiking in Jordan recently and met a local Bedouin who confirmed that they would wear a wolf’s tooth around their neck, which they believed would make them as fearless and strong as the animal itself. Quite a contrast to the Western idea of the ‘Big Bad Wolf’, a scary inhabiter of many children’s stories! 

Indeed, Red Riding Hood and her hungry wolf are the definite cultural and negative opposite to the woman in her Grandmother´s garment and the Wolf caring for her in the alleys of Baghdad. So, what is reality, virtual reality? Are we superstitious? Some may call the Wolf stories, the cellar and the protective power "superstitious". I think alongside our Halacha, beliefs, and long-lived rules, there is a Jewish imagination inspired by shared Jewish and non-Jewish popular traditions and values, very often handed down from generation to generation by Jewish women. Mostly it seems to be very different from region to region but at a closer look one feels its familiarity. The Hamsa for instance can be seen among the younger generations everywhere (and, by the way, on the beautifully crafted carpet that you show in the film). In many Ashkenazi families a dybuk - sometimes angry, sometimes friendly - dwells in the attic, keeps guard of the family, and usually complains when the family is expelled or moving all the sudden. I wonder, is there a presence of the Wolf in the diasporic parts of your and other Iraqi-Jewish families? Do the stories still have meaning for a younger generation born outside Iraq?

Sadly there is not much talk of wolves these days, although my film seems to have stirred up some curiosity. The second and third generation Jewish Iraqis that I have met certainly seem interested in preserving our stories, food, and even our language, which carries so much in terms of memory and culture. We speak Judeo-Baghdadi amongst ourselves which is a dialect of Arabic that has loan words from Aramaic, Hebrew, Turkish, Hindi, and Persian. I hope that this beautifully rich and expressive language, which is predicted to die out within a generation or two, will somehow survive. 

Coincidentally, the translator who worked on the Arabic subtitles for the film happened to be a Muslim Iraqi and told me about his grandparents who lived in the marshlands of Iraq. One day, while out hunting, they found an abandoned wolf cub and raised it like a family dog! It would accompany them on their trips to the marshes and remained loyal to the end.

After October 7, 2023 and with the rise of antisemitism all over Europe and in the Americas, The Wolf of Bagdad has a meaning far beyond the Jewish-Iraqi history. I wish all those who ignore the expulsion of Mizrahi Jewry after the Shoah would see the film and maybe change their opinions about the Jewish State and the Jewish diaspora. Do the reactions of your audience relate to this?

One of the reasons I made The Wolf of Baghdad was because of the general lack of awareness of the Iraqi-Jewish experience. While this certainly is true amongst the wider population, it is also relevant to some Ashkenazi Jews. How many times has it been assumed I speak Yiddish and live on bagels and schmaltz herring! There's even a word for this: Ashkenormativity, the assumption that Ashkenazi religious and cultural practices are the default when it comes to Jewish identity. But in a way this is not surprising. For good reason the world's focus was on the Jews of Europe after the second world war, and the Holocaust itself was well-documented. Meanwhile, the expulsion of Jews from Iraq was called ‘the silent exodus’. Leaving everything behind, they considered themselves lucky to escape with their lives, unlike their European cousins, and quietly moved on.

It’s important to remember that Mizrahi Jews are indigenous to the region, predating Christian and Muslim communities, and have a wealth of experience as a result of living in Arab countries. More than half of Jews now living in Israel are descendants of Jews from Arab lands and Iran. Many non-Jewish people from the Middle East have seen my film or read the book and, to their surprise and delight, relate to both the images and the music. It seems that we have so much more in common than divides us. I can only hope that after seeing The Wolf of Baghdad, people will appreciate the diversity of the Jewish world and that in some small way it might provide context to their understanding of the current conflict in the Middle East.

Carol, I would like to thank you for your answers and insights. However, nothing comes close to individually enjoy the book and see the film with family and friends. I highly recommend! ◦

The Wolf of Baghdad book can be found here and the film version here.

Frank Stern, Film-Historian with focus on International Jewish and Israeli Cinema, has taught at Universities in Israel, United States, Hungary, Germany and Austria and curated film series of Israeli cinema. He is President of the Jewish Film Club Vienna and published recently a book on the films of the exiled Viennese Jewish actress Hedy Lamarr. In the last decade he has promoted Israeli Mizrahi Cinema and was twice member of the International Jury of the Jerusalem Jewish Film Festival.