It would be good to have no images of certain things, Beckermann’s urgent narrator’s voice says. That way they would be remembered. Her pulsating film essay, however, works against forgetting on a lost search for home. It is both a personal and a historical journey, undertaken by Beckermann with her camera and a restlessness that needs to know more. The weight of the past is made tangible by the wakeful and permissive registration of what is happening in the here and now. We drift through the remains of a Jewish identity in Czernowitz, Israel, the set of a television film made in former Yugoslavia and the Viennese streets where Kurt Waldheim divides the population.