A few years ago, the al-Mahamids fled Bashar al-Assad and Syria to settle in Montreal. A nuanced portrayal of a courageous family coping with a seemingly interminable war, thousands of kilometres away, that continues to affect their lives.

Several years ago, after taking part in the mass uprisings against Bashar al-Assad, Adnan al-Mahamid had to flee Syria with his wife, Basmah, and their four children. Now settled in Montreal, the family opens their door to filmmaker Pascal Sanchez. They’ve adjusted to life in a peaceful city, but Adnan and Basmah still fear for loved ones back in Syria whose status and whereabouts remain unknown. The war that’s thousands of kilometres away continues to haunt them, surging suddenly to the fore in a conversation, Skype call or Facebook feed. Far from Bashar chronicles an endearing family as they go about their lives, tormented by a distant and seemingly interminable conflict.

Adnan al-Mahamid, his wife, Basmah, and their four children fled the Syrian city of Daraa for Canada in October 2014. An engineer and ardent pro-democracy activist, Adnan took part in the mass uprisings against Bashar al-Assad. But his desire for freedom came at a heavy price as the regime came down hard on him and many of his friends, arresting or abducting them. Fearing for their lives, the family embarked on the long road of exile before eventually settling in Montreal.

The film opens on a sombre anniversary as Adnan painfully relives his arrest and incarceration, events that took place three years ago to the day. “It hangs like a curse over those who have survived it,” he says.

As 15-year-old Basel, 14-year-old Raniah, 10-year-old Saja and 4-year-old Ali quickly take to life in a peaceful city, making friends with the kids at their local school, Adnan and Basmah fear for loved ones back in Syria whose status and whereabouts are unknown.

After a few years living far from Bashar al-Assad, how does one go about reconciling a new life with wartime trauma? Adnan perfects his English as he studies social work at McGill University; Basmah learns French as she keeps on top of developments back home. The kids are in an immigrant entry class, effortlessly switching from English to French to Arabic. At the apartment, the war in Syria is both distant and vividly present, surging suddenly to the fore through a conversation, Skype call or Facebook feed.

The family generously opened their door to filmmaker Pascal Sanchez. Built around close observations of their daily lives paired with an exploration of Adnan’s social media posts, Far from Bashar chronicles an endearing household tormented by a conflict whose end is, alas, nowhere in sight.

To date, the Syrian war has claimed more than 350,000 lives, with at least 50,000 more people “forcibly disappeared” or detained by the regime. Capturing the apparent ordinariness of life today for the al-Mahamids, Sanchez’s documentary is a moving testimonial to the love that unites them and from which they draw the strength to go on, far from Bashar.

I first imagined Far from Bashar as the daydream of a Syrian child who’s been plunged into new surroundings, haunted by the war he’s just left and eager to embrace the life he’s just begun. I wanted to make a film about thought. To film thought as if it were an actual landscape, full of people, animals, flowers and trees. At a time when Canada was still largely closed off to refugees, I began looking for such a child in Montreal. I asked around endlessly. At long last, I met the al-Mahamids: Adnan, Basmah and their children, Ali, Basel, Raniah and Saja.

I was struck by their story. In particular, by the militant Adnan, his experience both in Syria and here in Montreal, his social commitment, his faith in tomorrow. I also noted the resilience of the kids, their liveliness, their desire to be here. I saw the presence and courage of their mother, Basmah. This family, I sensed, could help my fledgling ideas take shape. Because I saw in them something of myself.

The project got quickly underway. They opened their doors to me, invited me into their home. Since I don’t speak Arabic, I often filmed with little idea as to what was being said, relying instead on body language and affectionate gestures. I captured Raniah at school with her brother Basel, going full speed ahead with their lives. Saja would watch her parents closely, becoming the documentarian’s alter ego, in a way. The family’s apartment was bursting with life. But there was also tremendous vulnerability, pain, a terrible fear for loved ones left behind. I told myself we know nothing about this war—that our ignorance was downright obscene. That the repressive regime was hideously, incredibly violent. And this was something the al-Mahamids had to cope with daily as they struggled to build their new lives. In filming them, I wanted to pay tribute to their courage, humanity and immense love for one another.

There were days when the suffering refused to be ignored, would come surging back into the present. Adnan would relive his arrest and incarceration, the pain of each moment springing vividly to life. These days from the past would fill the air. We talked about it. The scene that starts the film is one such day. Adnan, improvising, softly addresses Ala, a friend of his who’s still in prison. He mentions his brothers. His words are beautiful, profound. He also shares his writing with me. When I ask him why he agreed to be filmed, he answers: “Because we are good people.” I understood, then, that he was alluding to the racism and stereotypes his family must cope with at every turn. If they opened their door to me, it was also to change these perceptions.

Far from Bashar won’t change the course of the war in Syria. It may, however, succeed in making some of us a little more open to those affected by it.