Somewhere between objectivity and dream/trauma, ‘The Rhine Flows into the Mediterranean’ arrives quietly, like a stranger from afar, from a realm beyond our imagination and beyond what can be represented: the historical event of the Shoah, reflected in the kaleidoscope of echoes from the interviewees, looking the viewer directly in the eye with a questioning gaze. It feels as though one is allowed to look over the shoulder of a detective as he searches for clues: little by little, a force field of connections and meanings becomes visible, a coordinate system that permeates our perception like a watermark – embedded in a piece of paper from which we thought we had already read everything. But when you hold the paper up to the light, something suddenly becomes visible that you have never seen before. In this way, you are drawn in at eye level and become part of the images you see – for what is shown is also part of our own lives today. We all take a stance on the Shoah in one way or another. It is not a thing of the past, but part of our living present. ‘The Rhine Flows into the Mediterranean’ shows us this by allowing us to feel it. The film’s narrative serves as Ariadne’s thread through the labyrinth of the collective invisible.