![]() They say little as to the life he has left behind. His stories are uncoordinated and inspired, rather than informative. He is reluctant to take aid in his plight of homelessness and lack of resources, accepting only a bare wardrobe and some essentials from his rescuers. ![]() He refuses to speak Hebrew, employing instead an intermediate command of the French language. Yoav’s murky situation does not clear up with any real pace. But in his eyes, one senses a free and confident spirit, born anew from ash and fire. In his predicament, there is hopelessness and desolation. “I have nothing anymore.” So begins the absurd, philosophical, individualist, fever dream narrative of Synonyms: with an Israeli immigrant, urgently escaped to Paris for mysterious purpose, stripped of all possessions by an unknown force, and rescued from certain death of cold by a bourgeoisie couple as foreign to him as he is to them. “I am Yoav,” says the naked man lying in the bed, staring up at his strange saviors.
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