Talking to the children.

In the no man's land between the Muslim and Jewish Quarters of the Old City of Jerusalem, a burping contest between two boys begins. Shlomo, an ultra-orthodox Jewish boy, says he doesn't know any Arabs and has no real interest in meeting them. A young Palestinian boy comes over to check out the scene. Standing right next to Shlomo, he lets out a burp. Shlomo tries hard to ignore him, but he can't resist and burps back. The two burp themselves into giggles.

This burping contest appears in Promises, which chronicles the lives of seven Israeli and Palestinian children, ages nine to thirteen, living in and around Jerusalem. First-time filmmakers B.Z. Goldberg and Justine Shapiro, along with co-director and editor Carlos Bolado, shot the documentary between 1997 and 2000, in the comparatively peaceful period between the first and second intifadas.

More a drama than a documentary, Promises visits an ultra-orthodox Jewish school and a school where the Koran is taught as a manifesto for Palestinian liberation. It goes into homes in the Deheishe refugee camp and Beit-El, an Israeli settlement. In a world without checkpoints, these children would live in the same community, just a twenty-minute drive from each other. But as it is, they are a society apart. Their differing perspectives, and their interactions, give the film its poignancy.

B.Z. Goldberg, who narrates the film, worked as a television news sound man in the West Bank and Gaza during the first intifada. "I thought it would be interesting to make a film about children in the Middle East, not as victims of war as they were being portrayed, but as protagonists, to understand how the conflict informed their lives and how the quest for peace was shaping them," Goldberg tells me. "Everybody was talking about the kids--Rabin, Peres, Arafat, Clinton, and the Norwegians. Whenever anyone made a speech, they were talking about the children, but no one was actually talking to the children."

And the children have something to say, if not always diplomatically. That's one of the film's strengths. Moishe, a rightwing Jewish settler, hopes to become an army commander. He swears to "clear all the Arabs out of Jerusalem." Mahmoud, a blue-eyed boy from the Muslim Quarter of the Old City, says that the Jews can stay, but only as guests, when Al Quds (Jerusalem) is returned to his people.

Moishe asserts that the Arabs took his land: "God promised us the land of Israel. The Arabs came and took it!"

Mahmoud says the opposite. "If it's their land, why does the Koran say that the Prophet Mohammed flew from Mecca to the Al Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem?" he asks.

"They said what came to their minds," says the film's co-director, Justine Shapiro. "They're not as concerned about appearance and looking cool. They sometimes parrot their elders, but they would also say things that adults would never say."

Almost all the kids tell of losing someone due to the violence, but the children are also captured in hilarious as well as painful moments. Scenes of everyday life are documented, too: a kosher Burger King, a birthday party, traffic. "The cameraman didn't understand why I wanted to shoot traffic or Dunkin' Donuts," says Shapiro. "To see Palestinians and Israelis doing things that were so commonplace was extremely important to scatter through the film."

The directors cultivated strong relationships with the children over the three years of filming, and "those relationships become available to the audience," says Goldberg.

So strong are the bonds that when Mahmoud, a Hamas supporter, learns that Goldberg is Jewish, he can't believe it. The camera zooms in on Mahmoud's hands, still gripping Goldberg's. The young Muslim struggles to find a way to accept that his friend is Jewish.

Yarko and Daniel are secular Israeli twins who love volleyball and have a curiosity for just about everything. In a memorable scene, Yarko and Daniel are sitting on a bed with their grandfather, a Holocaust survivor. While the cameras roll, the twins ask him, "Do you believe in God?" While he thinks of an answer, black and white footage of the grandfather emigrating to Israel from Europe post-World War II are spliced into the film. "I don't believe God could have watched and not do anything," he responds to his grandsons. Not satisfied, they ask him again and again. "I believe it was the hand of fate that kept me alive," the grandfather replies. "So you don't believe in God?" the twins ask. "It was the hand of fate. So there's room for God, as well," he says.

Goldberg says it was hard to get liberal, middle-of-the-road Israelis. Finding Palestinian kids proved easier. "They had so much to say and felt that they had no outlet for what they were feeling, so they were very willing to talk about their lives," explains Goldberg.

Sanabel, the only girl profiled in the film, lives in the Deheishe refugee camp near Bethlehem. She celebrates her birthday in the film. It could be a scene straight out Of suburban America: a heavily frosted birthday cake with candles, balloons stretched out across the ceiling, bowls of pretzels ringing the kitchen table, a liter of Coca-Cola recognizable even with Arabic letters.

Her father is a journalist and was imprisoned for two years, without charges, by the Israelis. One morning the filmmakers accompany Sanabel and her family on a visit to the prison. Sanabel and her mother, along with a crowd of other women and children traveling on a Red Cross bus to visit imprisoned family members, try to give their credentials to Israeli soldiers at a checkpoint. The chaos is palpable. The soldiers become flustered and one asks out loud, "Does anyone here speak Hebrew and Arabic?"

The movie takes a dramatic turn halfway through when the kids meet. Far from being a contrived plot twist, the children initiate the encounter. The twins see photos of Faraj, a Palestinian boy who also lives in the Deheishe refugee camp, and their interest is piqued. "How old is he? Is he as tall as us?" they wonder. They tell Goldberg that they would like to meet him. He delivers the message. The Palestinian children aren't so sure about the idea, but ultimately an invitation to visit Deheishe is extended to the twins.

"We wanted to make a film that was representative of their lives, and the truth is Palestinian and Israeli kids just don't meet," says Goldberg. Shapiro agrees. "Very few Israelis know Palestinians," she says. "It's like how little whites and blacks know each other in this country." She recounts stories of attending screenings for Israelis, where people would tell her they knew Palestinians. She'd ask if these Palestinians were listed in their Palm Pilots. They never were.

When the twins arrive at the refugee camp, handshakes and nervous smiles abound. While they walk around the camp, the Palestinian kids point out scenes of street battles and explain the first intifada. Faraj asks the twins to not speak Hebrew in the camp, for fear of arousing suspicion. Broken English is their common tongue.

Faraj brings his new friends to his home, where the twins are graciously feted with food and drink. Very soon, they are outside playing soccer, laughing, and horsing around. The twins even get a lesson in how to use a slingshot. The boys hold hands while they learn a Palestinian folk dance. All the kids know the words to an American pop song and collectively belt it out in English.

At the end of their time together, the children get a chance to reflect on the day with the aid of translators. "I used to think that anyone who liked Hamas was totally insane. Some of the kids here like Hamas and now I can understand why," says Yarko. "The graffiti might make me uncomfortable, but I can understand it--if I were them, I'd feel the same way."

But that new understanding only goes so far, and Faraj is aware of this. He breaks down into tears, fearing that the friendship will end after the filmmakers leave. "All our efforts will be in vain," he laments. The kids make numerous attempts to get together again, but none are successful. Daniel explains: "It wasn't easy to meet, with all the checkpoints and stuff. Faraj thought it was so simple to meet, but it was more complicated."

"It was difficult to reach the twins," Sanabel says in a recent interview, "and since the [second] intifada, everything has changed." But she remains hopeful. "I would like to meet more Jewish people, because if we increase our interactions, our respect for each other will grow."

It took the Oscars to bring the children together again.

Promises was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature this year. Yarko, Daniel, and Sanabel traveled to Hollywood to attend the event. They met up at the Amsterdam airport en route to the United States. It was the first time the children had spoken to each other in five years.

Sanabel says it was awkward meeting the twins again, but eventually they warmed up to each other.

"They want peace," Sanabel recalls. "We spoke to them about our dreams and about our life in the refugee camp."

The twins did not know how difficult life had become for their friends. And Sanabel did not grasp the twins' outlook.

"Before they came to the States, Sanabel thought that Israelis were all fervent supporters of Sharon and Sharon's policies," explains Goldberg. "She was surprised when she met Yarko and Daniel. She had no idea that there were any Israelis who would be willing to stand at her side and speak up for Palestinian rights. The communities have become so segregated, and isolated in their own perceptions of themselves as having a monopoly on pain, and suffering, and being wronged."

The children's shared flight was grounded in Dallas and the airline left them stranded without accommodations. The Middle Eastern entourage set themselves up in the airport lounge and created "the first Palestinian-Israeli refugee camp." But the shared experiment was short-lived. The twins made their way to L.A., then safely home; Sanabel has been in the United States since the March Oscar ceremony.

"I went to San Francisco for a few days but I got stuck here because of the Situation," Sanabel explains, using the common euphemism for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. "I am not sure when I am returning," she says in a sad voice.

Goldberg says the team wanted to make a film that was "cinematic, dramatic, and gripping, and could stand up next to any feature film and hold its own in a movie theater." The hardest part was editing 200 hours of footage into a 106-minute film. The editing process, anchored by the award-winning Bolado, who has worked on several films, including Like Water for Chocolate and Amores Perros, took two years to complete. Both Goldberg and Shapiro praise Bolado's ability "to create cinema out of documentary material." The directors say the response to the film has been overwhelmingly positive. Shapiro proudly cites one e-mail she got: "I'm a Zionist, and pro-Israel, and for the first time I wonder about the Palestinians. Thank you."

Elizabeth DiNovella is Administrative Coordinator for The Progressive and a reporter for WORT, the community radio station of Madison, Wisconsin. "Promises" will be screened at theaters in major U.S. cities this summer. To see listings, go to www.promisesproject.org.