In the annals of Holocaust cinema, few stories capture the raw tension of concealment and the extraordinary resilience of youth quite like My Name Is Sara. Directed by Steven Oritt in his feature debut, this 2019 drama (released in the U.S. in 2022) recounts the harrowing real-life experiences of Sara Góralnik (later Sara Shapiro), a 13-year-old Jewish girl who evaded certain death by assuming a false Christian identity while living among suspicious Ukrainian farmers under Nazi occupation. Clocking in at 111 minutes, the film blends the intimacy of a character study with the pulse-pounding suspense of a thriller, offering viewers a window into one of history’s darkest chapters through the eyes of a remarkably resourceful adolescent.

The provided still captures the essence: Zuzanna Surowy as Sara, in “My Name Is Sara.” Her composed yet haunted expression speaks volumes about the quiet steel required to survive. Photo courtesy of Strand Releasing.

Historical Context: The Holocaust in Western Ukraine

To fully appreciate the film, one must understand the brutal realities of Nazi-occupied Ukraine. Before World War II, Korets (Sara’s hometown) was part of independent Poland, home to a thriving Jewish community with roots stretching back over a millennium. The region saw deep integration between Jews and their neighbors, but the 1941 German invasion shattered this coexistence.

Operation Barbarossa brought swift devastation. Jewish populations faced ghettos, mass shootings, and eventual liquidation. In Korets, as in many Volhynian towns, the Nazis and local collaborators carried out horrific aktions. Estimates suggest that of the roughly 4,600 Jews in Korets pre-war, only about 500 survived. Sara’s family was among those caught in the net. Her parents, recognizing the inevitability of their fate, urged their children to flee and survive at all costs—a directive that becomes a haunting motif in the film.

The broader context involved not just German forces but complex local dynamics. Ukrainian peasants often harbored deep antisemitism, exacerbated by Soviet policies and wartime hardships. Yet some risked everything to shelter Jews, earning the designation of Righteous Among the Nations. Sara’s story navigates this gray zone: farmers who despise the occupiers but also harbor prejudices against Jews. The film’s Ukrainian setting gains added resonance today amid ongoing conflicts in the region, reminding viewers of the land’s layered history of occupation and survival.

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Voices that Survived: Jewish Memory and Resilience in Ukraine

Historical image of Jewish children in a Ukrainian Talmud Torah school, evoking the pre-war communities destroyed during the Holocaust. (Public domain archival photo)

Plot Overview: From Ghetto Escape to Hidden Life

The film opens in September 1942 with Sara and her older brother Moishe (Konrad Cichon) fleeing the Korets ghetto as it faces liquidation. Their parents (Ksawery Szlenkier and Aleksandra Pisula) make the agonizing choice to send them away, emphasizing survival as the ultimate revenge. The siblings attempt to reach a pre-arranged safe house, but danger lurks everywhere—Nazi patrols, informants, and the unforgiving wilderness.

Moishe soon realizes the risk his presence poses and parts ways with Sara, believing her fair features and youth give her a better chance to “pass.” Alone, Sara emerges into a field and approaches farmer Ivan (Pawel Krolikowski), fabricating a story: she is Manya Romanchuk, fleeing a troubled home. Ivan tests her immediately—demanding she cross herself to prove she is Christian. She passes, but suspicion lingers.

Taken in by Ivan’s brother Pavlo (Eryk Lubos) and his young wife Nadya (Michalina Olszańska) as a nanny for their two small sons, Sara enters a precarious new existence. She must navigate daily life on the farm while concealing her identity from those around her. The household is fraught with its own tensions: Pavlo’s attraction to the young “Manya,” Nadya’s secrets, resentment toward German requisitions, and underlying antisemitism in the community.

Periodic reminders of the stakes punctuate the narrative—executions of those sheltering Jews, encounters with other desperate individuals. Sara’s knowledge of Christian rituals (gleaned from a prior friendship) proves vital, yet every prayer, every pork meal, every church visit tests her resolve. Flashbacks to her loving family provide emotional anchors amid the isolation.

Performances and Direction: Tension Through Restraint

Zuzanna Surowy’s debut performance as Sara is nothing short of astonishing. Selected from over 650 amateurs in an open casting call across Poland, the then-teenager brings a stillness and underlying resolve that anchors the film. Critics note her ability to convey inner turmoil through subtle facial expressions—a beat of hesitation before responding to probing questions, a fleeting glance of sadness quickly masked. As director Oritt observed, Sara’s real-life demeanor was passive and careful; Surowy embodies this without making the character passive on screen.

Supporting turns elevate the material. Eryk Lubos as Pavlo and Michalina Olszańska as Nadya portray a marriage strained by war, secrets, and power imbalances. Their interactions with Sara add layers of psychological complexity—attraction, suspicion, reluctant reliance. The child actors, including Marcin Sokolski as young Stepan, bring authenticity to domestic scenes.

Steven Oritt, working from David Himmelstein’s script (informed by extensive interviews with the real Sara before her 2018 passing), masterfully sustains tension. Shot on location in northeastern Poland (standing in for Ukraine), the cinematography by Marian Prokop captures the stark beauty of rural life contrasted with ever-present peril. Oritt avoids sentimentality, letting the horror emerge through everyday moments rather than melodrama. The score by Łukasz Targosz subtly heightens unease without overwhelming.

The production received support from Steven Spielberg’s USC Shoah Foundation, with Sara’s son Mickey Shapiro as executive producer. This personal connection infuses the film with authenticity—90-95% faithful to events, with some composite characters for dramatic cohesion.

Themes: Identity, Trust, and the Cost of Survival

At its core, My Name Is Sara explores the fragmentation of identity under existential threat. Sara must erase her name, heritage, and faith to live. The film poignantly shows how children, in particular, adapted—learning new prayers, suppressing memories, and performing normalcy. This “choiceless choice” echoes broader Holocaust narratives of hidden children.

Trust is illusory. Sara confides in no one, even as she learns the farmers’ secrets and witnesses community hypocrisies. The dynamic with Pavlo introduces uncomfortable undertones of power and attraction, handled with nuance. Antisemitism among locals underscores how prejudice enabled genocide, yet individual acts of humanity (or self-interest) offered slim lifelines.

The thriller-like pacing stems from constant micro-dangers: a wrong word, a forgotten ritual, an unexpected visitor. Oritt keeps suspense taut but humane, focusing on Sara’s quiet endurance rather than graphic violence (though tough moments, like executions, are depicted).

Language choices—English for Ukrainian dialogue with subtitles for others—may feel awkward to some but serve accessibility. Minor exposition gaps exist, but they do not detract significantly.

Reception and Legacy

Premiering at festivals like Giffoni (where it won the CGS “Creative Paths” Award), Warsaw Jewish Film Festival (Grand Prix and Best Actress for Surowy), and others, the film garnered nominations and acclaim for its sensitive handling of trauma. Roger Ebert’s site praised its engrossing focus and Surowy’s performance. Outlets like the Los Angeles Times called it a “worthy addition” to Holocaust dramas, highlighting its atmospheric tension.

Critics commend its avoidance of clichés, emphasizing one girl’s singular ordeal amid millions. Its timeliness—echoing modern displacements and identity struggles—adds relevance. Sara Shapiro lived to tell her story late in life, moving to the U.S., marrying a fellow survivor, and raising a family. Her testimony, preserved via the Shoah Foundation, ensures her voice endures.

Why This Story Matters Today

My Name Is Sara transcends historical drama. It humanizes the abstract statistics of the Shoah—1.4 million Jews murdered in Ukraine alone—through one teenager’s wits and will. In an era of rising antisemitism and global conflict, it reminds us of the fragility of identity, the courage required for ordinary people to defy evil, and the long shadow of trauma.

Sara’s mother’s words resonate: survive, and that survival is revenge. The film honors that by refusing easy catharsis. It ends not with triumph but quiet persistence, mirroring real survival’s incompleteness.

For educators, historians, and cinephiles, it pairs well with testimonies and books on hidden children. Its production values—fine cinematography, authentic locations—immerse viewers without exploitation.

In conclusion, My Name Is Sara stands as a powerful testament to human adaptability and the moral complexities of wartime. Through Zuzanna Surowy’s breakthrough turn and Oritt’s restrained direction, it transforms one survivor’s extraordinary feat of concealment into a universally compelling narrative. At approximately 2000 words, this exploration barely scratches the surface of its emotional and historical depth, but it underscores why such stories must continue to be told: to remember, to learn, and to affirm the indomitable spirit of those who refused to vanish.