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That made-by-Hamas footage that got the documentary invited-uninvited-reinvited to the º£½ÇÉçÇø¹ÙÍøInternational Film Festival on the preposterous grounds that legal clearance for the killing spree content had not been obtained from the globally designated terrorist organization.

Oh, organizers had scrambled left and right seeking a toehold of obfuscation — ass-covering — as retroactive rationale. But the objective was quite clear in the statement originally released: “The invitation for the Canadian documentary film ‘The Road Between Us: The Ultimate Rescue’ was withdrawn by TIFF because general requirements for inclusion in the festival and conditions that were requested when the film was initially invited, were not met, including legal clearance of all footage.

“The purpose of the requested condition was to protect TIFF from legal implications and to allow TIFF to manage and mitigate anticipated and known risks around the screening of a film about highly sensitive subject matter, including potential threat of significant disruption.’’

What, Hamas would sue for infringement of intellectual property rights?

There was a small shout-y protest outside Roy Thomson Hall on Wednesday afternoon when the film was screened for the first and last time at the festival. Meh, big deal. The usual suspects, who’ve yet to understand that all the demonstrations in the world won’t stop Israel from continuing to wage an ever-merciless war on the Gaza Strip. Only the Israeli government, at a time of its own choosing — whatever the rest of us may think about the appalling suffering of Palestinian civilians — will make that determination. And Israel has shown, for nearly two years, that it is unmoved by international condemnation. Or the fate of the remaining hostages.

Of course, TIFF reversed itself promptly, shamed by outrage over what amounts to censorship. (Just as it suspended the documentary “Russians at War’’ at last year’s festival, then did an about-face.)

TIFF CEO Cameron Bailey has been apologizing for the past fortnight for pulling “The Road Between Us.’’ He did so again before the film was screened for a sold-out audience — 1,800 tickets sold, largest venue for a TIFF screening. “I want to apologize to the Jewish community for the mistakes I made in the lead-up up to this day, for the hurt that we caused.’’

I won’t accuse anyone at TIFF of antisemitism and certainly not Bailey, who absorbed most of the vilification, especially on social media. What was in their hearts, I’ve no way of knowing. It certainly quacked like moral cowardice, though.

Let the film speak for itself, Bailey urged the audience. Which is precisely what its Canadian director, Barry Avrich, had pleaded, insisting he had no political bias or agenda. His purpose was to tell a story of human proportions, of one selfless individual, retired Israel Defence Forces Maj.-Gen. Noam Tibon — and his wife, Gali — who moved heaven and earth to rescue their son, their daughter-in-law, their two young granddaughters, bolted inside the saferoom at the Nahal Oz kibbutz, as hundreds of marauding Hamas militants descended in a slaughter-everybody rampage, while dragging upward of 250 hostages — dead and alive — back into Gaza as pawns.

On that day, Oct. 7, 2023, never-again for Jews was transformed into never-before, as murderers and pillages penetrated the narrow, fenced border — invading by cars, pickup trucks, motorcycles, even paragliding into the Nova music festival — on a mission of unspeakable atrocity. It was a security disaster, a complete breakdown of communication and command by the IDF — up to 10 hours before platoons arrived in Nahal Oz and the other stricken kibbutzim.

“The Road Between Us’’ is one man’s intimate narrative, a 35-year career soldier armed with just a pistol — until he took a rifle off a slain soldier — who not only successfully emancipated his family but, even before that, rescued a couple who’d been at the Nova festival, found them hiding in the bushes, and drove them to a safe zone, then doubling back. Who saved the life of a grievously wounded IDF soldier — shot in the belly, bleeding out — delivering him to his wife, who’d taken refuge in a roadside shelter (surrounded by the dead, killed when a grenade had been thrown into the structure), for transportation to hospital.

“Something inside my gut told me go-go-go,’’ Tibon recounts, of his response after receiving a text from his son Amir that Nahal Oz was under attack, that he’d retreated to the saferoom with his wife Miri and their kids, aged three and 18 months, could hear the terrorists on the other side of the wall, the sound of mortar and guns firing. “It was the instinct of a father, a grandfather.’’

Racing southwards from Tel Aviv, Gali at the wheel of their jeep, Noam desperately trying to reach any of his army contacts. Nobody was answering.

“I’m on a mission,’’ he said. “I’m going to use my army experience, all my knowledge, to save my family.’’

Dramatic tension heightens as Noam nears the kibbutz, a “terrible quiet’’ on the streets, before they begin to encounter the ghastliness — a dystopian landscape of mangled vehicles, dead bodies, pools of blood everywhere. And this is where much of the live-streamed video is resurrected. “I saw dead bodies in my years in the army. But I never, ever saw something like this.’’

Noam’s dismay when IDF paratroopers refused to accompany him into Nahal Oz — all but one, a wounded soldier, who defied his own commander. They’d tried to block Noam’s progress but he would not be thwarted. “Right now, nobody in the world can stop me.’’

The documentary retraces all of the retired general’s movements across those many hours. This is what happened here, this is what happened there. This is where we had a full battle with Hamas fighters. While, at Nahal Oz, a small band of kibbutz security guards had stood their ground to protect the community, their own leader killed. Fifty-two dead soldiers at the army outpost across from the kibbutz.

Noam shot and killed one fighter, wounded another approaching the kibbutz gate. “By killing them, we opened the road to Nahal Oz.’’

Clearing houses before reaching his own family. “Don’t worry. I’m here.’’

This is the essence of documentary filmmaking. Unvarnished truth. It must be heard and it must be shown and it must never be forgotten.

There is doubtless valour among the besieged Palestinians as well: The 15 brave medics and rescue workers killed by the IDF in March, then buried in a mass grave, just one abysmal page amidst the annals of death and destruction. Their stories should be told, too, their calamities enshrined for the historical record.

More than 1,200 Israeli men, women and children were slain on that one day of Hamas savagery, most of them Jews. The death toll in Gaza is upward of 64,700 according to the Hamas-run Health Ministry, which doesn’t distinguish between civilians and fighters.

But do not ever forget, rationalize or justify — the repellence of “resistance’’ — the depredations of Oct. 7.