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Israel at 75: How Israel’s political crisis took center stage at a major American Jewish conference
KIBBUTZ MAAGAN MICHAEL, Israel (JTA) — About a dozen Jewish leaders from North America and beyond clustered at the edges of a courtyard on this kibbutz by Israel’s northern coastline, standing silent as a two-minute siren rang out in memory of the country’s fallen.
Afterward, young Jews from around the world, some of whom will soon enter the Israeli military, read memorial passages and led the crowd in the singing of Israel’s national anthem. The scene, emblematic of Diaspora support for Israel, delivered the kind of feeling that the Jewish Federations of North America hoped to evoke when it held its marquee conference in Israel this week, and timed it for the country’s Memorial Day and 75th birthday.
It was also a stark contrast from the atmosphere at the conference a day earlier where — even as Jewish leaders emphasized unity in the face of adversity — it was hard to avoid the political strife over the Israeli government’s effort to significantly limit the Supreme Court’s power. A raucous session in the morning was filled with screaming, and other panels touched on hot-button issues such as Israel’s treatment of non-Orthodox Jews as well as human rights groups.
“We’re also living at a time of so many crises and so much painful brokenness,” Rabbi Marc Baker, CEO of the Boston area’s Jewish federation, said in a short address on Monday afternoon to the conference’s 2,000 attendees, while discussing the importance of Jewish learning. “It can feel like things are falling apart, like at best, as leaders, we’re just trying to hold things together.”
The drama did not exactly surprise organizers of the gathering, called the General Assembly, or GA, who had expected protesters to show up and even encouraged their cause. But it pointed to the challenge facing the Jewish Federations, which had hoped to put on a traditionally exuberant celebration of Israel despite the conflict rocking its streets.
Those traditional commemorations and festivities did happen, and sessions covered a range of issues, from racial diversity to philanthropy in Israel. But they were mixed in with anguish over the state of Israeli society, which some attendees and panelists portrayed in urgent terms.
“For the first time, at Israel’s 75th birthday, a government is trying to fundamentally alter the definition of a Jewish state,” Yohanan Plesner, president of the Israel Democracy Institute think tank, said at the tumultuous Monday morning panel, referring to efforts to restrict immigration to Israel and other proposals.
He added, “If this cluster of changes, the coalition agreements, would be implemented, I’m not sure that in the 80th year of our national birthday, the GA will decide again to conduct its event here.”
The departure from business-as-usual was evident from the get-go, when hundreds of protesters came to the gates of the conference to protest a planned speech on Sunday night by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu — who canceled in the face of the demonstrations. Israeli President Isaac Herzog did speak that night.
Julie Platt, the Jewish Federations’ board president, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that she found out about the cancellation earlier on Sunday. Netanyahu’s office told the staff of the Jewish Federations that day of the cancellation, and the news became public shortly afterward. Netanyahu did not reach out personally to Platt or to Eric Fingerhut, the Jewish Federations’ CEO, to let them know he would not be coming.
“We were preparing for weeks and months for the opportunity to have here the duly elected prime minister,” Platt said on Monday. “We were disappointed that he wasn’t part of our celebration.”
Tensions peaked on Monday morning during a session where anti-government protesters repeatedly interrupted far-right lawmaker Simcha Rothman with shouts and chants, and in which Rothman and Plesner verbally sparred onstage. Multiple protesters were removed by security personnel, and the panel took an unplanned five-minute break to cool tempers.
“They’re our brothers, they support us,” said Erez Elach, who protested Rothman at the event, regarding Diaspora Jews. Elach is a member of Brothers and Sisters in Arms, a group made up of military reservists opposed to the judicial overhaul.
Elach said he was protesting in order to honor Diaspora Jews who were killed while serving in the Israel Defense Forces. “We lost friends who served with us, who came from those same places,” he said.
Fingerhut told JTA that the protests of Rothman were “a taste of what’s happening in Israel today,” though he added, “I don’t think anyone benefits from that kind of disruption.”
“As the GA grew closer, we knew that the judicial reform issues and the divisions it’s creating in Israel would necessarily be a significant topic,” he said. “By time we were finalizing our plans, we expected it to be a major issue, and it was.”
But he said that he still felt the conference conveyed the importance of celebrating Israel and its ties to global Jewry. “On Sunday night and Monday, we focused on Israel’s history and our contribution to that history. That was not overshadowed,” he said. The battle over the judicial overhaul, he said, “added an agenda item, but it didn’t detract in any way.”
Former Israeli Prime Minister Yair Lapid speaks at the Jewish Federations of North America General Assembly in Tel Aviv on April 24, 2023. (Courtesy of JFNA/Amnon Gutman)
Yizhar Hess, the vice chair of the World Zionist Organization, also said on Monday that things were going well — because of the arguments, not despite them. Hess pointed to the three large gatherings of establishment Jewish groups — the General Assembly, the Jewish Agency for Israel Board of Governors’ meeting and the World Zionist Congress — each of which saw fierce debates or disruption stemming from the judicial overhaul fight.
“This week has been dramatically successful particularly because it’s been so turbulent,” Hess said directly after the session with Rothman. “Zionism and the state of Israel are a subject that stirs up the Jewish people and is at the heart of the argument. That’s a good thing. … Zionism is more relevant than ever, particularly because Jews are fighting over its character.”
Bucking its usual practice of not commenting on internal Israeli politics, the Jewish Federations has made its position on the overhaul relatively clear. The group issued a statement objecting to one of the overhaul’s provisions, praised a decision to pause the legislation, said it was “awed” by the anti-overhaul protesters and organized a “fly-in” earlier this year, in which federation leaders traveled to Israel to share their concerns about the effort with Israeli officials.
Deborah Minkoff, an executive board member at the Madison, Wisconsin, Jewish federation, participated in the fly-in and said she had lobbied to exclude all politicians from the General Assembly stage. She attended sessions where anti-overhaul activists spoke and felt that being in Israel for the conference gave her an opportunity to stand with the protesters.
“I think it’s going to be easier to sell Israel to our community because of this fight for democracy,” she said. “As we articulate what it means to be a free, equitable, democratic society, I think it resonates with the community who has been critical of Israel in the past.”
Attendees gave a warm reception to Yair Lapid, the leader of the parliamentary opposition, whose easy manner suggested that he felt the crowd would be receptive to his words. “I’m happy to be here, unlike some others,” he said to laughter from the audience.
“Don’t give up on us,” Lapid told the crowd. “I know how many people here feel about this current government. I know it doesn’t represent your values. It doesn’t represent mine either. But this government isn’t all of Israel… Today, maybe more than ever, we need you to rally around us.”
But not everyone at the conference was keen to protest. Beto Guzman, a Jewish professional who came to the conference from Helsinki, said the Finnish Jewish community tends not to protest Israeli policies because, given its small size, its involved members value having a positive relationship with Israeli emissaries in the country and do not want to blame them for the government’s policies. He also objected to protesters disrupting conferences, though he said the issues at the heart of the debate should be discussed.
“In Helsinki we don’t really have any protests or anything like this, because the community is very small and everybody has their own relationship with Israel,” he said. “For us that connection is very different. We really like the people from the Jewish Agency, their emissaries, and the embassy, they are very nice to us. So for us to put what is going on in the government on them would be unfair.”
Sandi Seigel, the president of Naamat Canada, a branch of a global Jewish women’s rights organization, said she was troubled by raucous debate she saw at the World Zionist Congress, which had taken place at the end of the previous week. She particularly worries that young delegates to the congress, one of whom she recalled seeing crying, would leave disheartened by the fighting.
“It’s almost like people feel it’s an existential threat for Israel, and so you’re passionate,” she said. “But there used to be an ability to have healthy debate and say, ‘OK, we’re not going to agree on this, OK, but I respect your right to have your opinion. And I think some of that is gone.”
At the same time, Seigel does not feel that the General Assembly was too focused on the debate over the judicial overhaul, which she framed in existential terms.
“If you have something, and you don’t know, if this doesn’t get resolved, [whether] Israel will be Israel anymore, or it won’t be the Israel that I can live in — there are a lot of things to talk about, but if you don’t deal with that, you can’t talk about anything else,” she said. “Because there’s nothing left to talk about.”
—
The post Israel at 75: How Israel’s political crisis took center stage at a major American Jewish conference appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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‘Time Zone’ — poetry by Jake Schneider
צײַטזאָנע (אַטלאַס)
פֿאַר די ייִדיש־שרײַבערס פֿון יאָר 2100
אַן עסײ־פּאָעמע געשריבן אין יאַנואַר 2026
12:00
טײל פּאַסאַזשירן דרײען צוריק די זײגערלעך
בײַם אָפּפֿלי, אַנדערע בײַ דער לאַנדונג.
רובֿ פּאַסאַזשירן אָבער טראָגן מער נישט
קײן זײגערלעך און װאַרטן ביז די מאָבילקעס
פֿאַרבינדן זיך מיט דער נײַער צײַט.
די צײַט באַשטײט פֿון פֿאַרבינדונגען.
אױף די עקראַנען: מאַפּעס מיט גרענעצן.
אונטער די פֿענצטער: אַנאָנימע פּײזאַזשן.
אײן עראָפּלאַן מיט דרײַ צײַטזאָנעס:
אָפּשטאַם, צילאָרט און פֿלימאָדוס.
1:00
פֿעטער אַרטשיבאַלד דער אַװאָקאַט
גלײבט נישט אין זומער־זײגער.
אָפֿט קומט ער אָן אַ שעה פֿריִער
פֿאַר אַ זיצונג מיטן ריכטער.
זײַנע שפּעטע װעטשערע־געסט, װידער,
קריגן בלױז אַ שטיקל פּעקאַן־פּײַ.
לױט דער באָבען לײענט ער באַריכטן
הין און קריק, אױף זײַן הױדע־בענקל.
2:00
אין ברוקלין האָט די מאַמע ע״ה בדעה
צו שענקען מײַן זומער־לאַגער אַ זונזײגער,
גיט זי אַ קלונג רבֿ קונדא ז״ל,
דעם דירעקטאָר און דערצײלער.
צו קאַלקולירן אַן אַקוראַטן װײַזער־שאָטן
דאַרף מען קודם די פּינקטלעכע פּאָזיציע.
אפֿשר לעבן דער הײַזקע װוּ ער דערצײלט
יעדן שבת זײַנע אַלטע משפּחה־מעשׂיות?
דװקא דאָרט װוּ מיר קינדער פֿאַרלירן
נאָך מנחה דעם חשבֿון פֿון די שעהען?
3:45
כינע־צײַט װערט טראַנסמיטירט
פֿון צײַט־צענטער אױף באַרג לישאַן
פֿאַר אַ ראַדיאָ־עולם פֿון װיגורסטאַן
אַזש ביז כּמעט ביראָבידזשאַן.
צענטראַל־מערבֿ־אױסטראַליע־צײַט
¾8 שעה נאָך לאָנדאָן־װעלטצײַט
פֿירט זיך אין פֿינף אָפּרו־סטאַנציעס
אױפֿן שאָסײ פֿון קײַגונע קײן גרענעצדאָרף.
אַן אַטלאַנטישער קאָנטײנער־שיף
פֿאַרמאָגט מער נישט קײן שיפֿגלאָק.
דאָס באַשליסט בלױז הער קאַפּיטאַן
װען אַ נײַע צײַטזאָנע הײבט זיך אָן.
די אַװיאָנען פֿון „פּאַװע לופֿט“ טיקען
צום טאַקט פֿון די סטואַרד/קעס הערצער:
אָט פֿאַרלעשן זײ די קאַבינע־ליכט;
איצט פֿירן זײ דאָס שפּײַזװעגעלע.
4:00
אין „גאַלעריע צײַטזאָנע“ געדױערט
אַ מינוט כאָטש הונדערט סעקונדעס.
אַ באַזוכערין פֿון אױסלאַנד װערט אומזיכער:
אין װאָסער יאָרהונדערט איז זי אַרײַנגעפֿלױגן?
די װענט באַמאָלענע מיט אַלטנײַע אותיות,
אױסגעפּוצטע מיט חוצפּהדיקע אַנאַכראָניזמען.
אַ מאָל פֿאַרבעט מען געסט פֿון דער װײַטנס
אױפֿצוטרעטן װירטועל אױף דער לײַװנט,
נאָר ס׳איז שטענדיק שװער זיך צו אײניקן
אױף אַ סינכראָנישער שעה פֿאַרן זום־קלונג
װײַל טײל האַלטן די גאַלעריע פֿאַר פֿאַרבײַ,
אַנדערע דװקא פֿאַר דער צוקונפֿט.
5:00
צײַטזאָנעס, אַזױ װי לשונות, קענען זיך
טוליען, איבערשנײַדן, אײַננעסטיקן:
צען שפּראַכן אין אײן צען־דירהדיקן הױז;
צען שפּרפּאַכן אין אײן מוח. פֿון דרױסן
באַמערקט אַ פֿאַרבײַגײער די פֿענצטער,
סײַ די ליכטיק װאַכע און סײַ די פֿינצטער
פֿאַרחלומטע. װאָסערע לשונות הערן זיך
דערינען? װיפֿל איז דאָרט דער זײגער?
איבער די הײַזער פֿליט אַן אַװיאָן
מיט פֿאַרמאַכטע פֿענצטער־רולעטן,
פֿאַרלאָשענע מאַפּעס און קאַבינע־ליכט—
נאָר עטלעכע פֿון אױבן באַלײַכטענע ביכער.
6:00
אױף דער אונטערבאַן־ליניע אַכט
מאָנטיק זעקס אַ זײגער אין דער פֿרי
– צענטראַל־אײראָפּע־צײַט, פֿאַרשטײט זיך –
פֿאָרט אײנער אַ מידער
אַהײם פֿון קיטקאַט־קלוב
לעבן אַ צװײטער אַ מידער
װאָס זי פֿאָרט צו דער אַרבעט.
7:00
די צװישן־צײַטזאָנעס שטרעקן זיך אױס
פֿון דרעמל־קנעפּל ביזן צװײטן װעקער
פֿון ליפֿט־קנעפּל ביז דער אָפֿענער טיר
פֿון שלום־עליכם ביזן ערשטן קוש
פֿון זײַ־געזונט ביז דער קאַלטער גאַס
8:00
„פּאַװע לופֿט“ באָט אָן פֿאַרבינדונגען
צו אַלע צײַטזאָנעלעך פֿון ייִדישלאַנד.
כאָטש געװיסע פֿליִען הײבן זיך אָן
אין שװער צו דערגרײכן יאָרן.
אַבי עס בלײַבט אונדז עפּעס
אַ פֿאַרבינדונג צװישן די דורות.
9:00
די געשיכטע פֿון כּלל־צײַטזאָנעס
איז אַ מעכטיקע משפּחה־מעשׂה
פֿון סינכראָניזירטע אימפּעריעס
מיט כּלערלײ קונציקע זײגערס:
60 מינוט אין אַ שעה לױט די בבֿלים
12 שעה אין אַ נאַכט לױט די מצרים
24 שעה אין אַ מעת־לעת לױט די גריכן
7 טעג אין אַ װאָך לױטן רױמישן קײסער
12 חדשים מיט קײסערלעך רױמישע נעמען
דער בריטישער פֿלאָט האָט באַזיגט
דעם זונפֿאַרגאַנג און יעדן מערידיאַן
מיט זײַנע כּסדרדיקע כראָנאָמעטערס
װאָס טראָגן לאָנדאָן־צײַט װײַט און ברײט
נאָר די טראַנסקאָנטינענטאַלע אײַזנבאַן
האָט געדאַרפֿט שאַפֿן צײַט־פֿאַרבינדונגען
צװישן די שיפֿן און די רעלסן און די פּײסאַזשן.
4 זאָנעס איבער אַלע באַזיגטע געביטן.
24 זאָנעס פֿאַראײניקטע מיט טעלעגראַפֿן.
אין װאַשינגטאָן האָט מען באַשטימט
אַז דער טאָג הײבט זיך אָן אין לאָנדאָן;
אין זשענעװע האָט מען פּראָקלאַמירט
די „װעלטצײַט“ לױט אַ גענױער סעקונדע
אַן אַטאָמיש געמאָסטענע אין פּאַריז
10:00
דער טאָג
לױט סװאַטש־
הײבט זיך אָן
האַלבע נאַכט
לױט דער כּלל־צײַט
פֿון ביל, שװײץ
און צעטײלט זיך
אױף טױזנט „טאַקטן“
װעלכע גלײַכן
זיך פּינקטלעך
צו פֿראַנצײזיש־
רעװאָלוציאָנערע
דעצימאַלע מינוטן
די רעװאָלוציאָנערע
צײַט האָט טױזנטער
צײַטזאָנעס לױט דער זון
איבער יעדן דאָרף און שטעטל
סװאַטש־צײַט
פֿונדעסטװעגן
איז סינכראָניזירט
צװישן יעדן דופֿקדיקן געלענק
11:00
אין װאָרמס
טראָגט אַ ייִנגל אַ בוך.
זאָל „פּיפּער־
נאָטער לופֿט“
אים טראָגן בשלום
קײן מאָליעװ
און פֿון דאָרטן בשלום
קײן בערלין.
זאָל ער זיך אַראָפּ־
לאָזן װי אַ ראָזשינקע
אױף טעמפּלהאָפֿער פֿליפֿעלד
און װײַטער לײענען דאָס בוך
אױף טראַמװײַ נײַנאונײַנציק
אַזש ביז צײַטזאָנע —
11:59
דאָס בוך גופֿא
איז אַ פֿליפֿאַרבינד
איבער לשון־צײַט,
אַ צײַטזאָנעלע
פֿון אױגן־
ציטערנישן
צװישן
אָט און
איצט.
אָט—
נאַט אײַך
די בילעטן.
מיר װינטשן אײַך
אַן אײַנגענעמע
רײַזע.
The post ‘Time Zone’ — poetry by Jake Schneider appeared first on The Forward.
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Abe Foxman built the Jewish establishment. He died troubled by what it had become
Abe Foxman never texted me Shabbat Shalom, and he didn’t always answer my calls. I couldn’t blame him, because I was often looking for something more from Foxman than his comment on current events.
Foxman, who died on Sunday, was a consummate insider who had become troubled by what he viewed as the cowardice of the very Jewish establishment he helped create during his five decades at the Anti-Defamation League. This dynamic fascinated me, and I sometimes pressed him articulate these concerns more candidly. But Foxman didn’t want to become a gadfly following his retirement in 2015 and picked his words carefully.
Occasionally, though, his frustration slipped through.
When I asked him a few years ago about the boom in new organizations created to fight antisemitism — more than 75 nonprofits with that mission have been created since he left the ADL in 2015— he lamented that it had become much more difficult for legacy organizations to say no to donors with political agendas because they could now take their dollars elsewhere.
“I had rules,” Foxman said. “Maybe that’s why they’re able to raise more money than I could.”
The erosion of rules that had once governed American society alarmed Foxman because he recognized that it was those norms — political correctness, trust in the mainstream media, bipartisanship — that had protected Jews.
“Antisemitism has always been here,” Foxman said on Israel’s Army Radio in 2018, during Donald Trump’s first term as president and after the Charlottesville “Unite the Right” rally had opened the nation’s eyes to an emboldened antisemitic movement. “What has changed is a new permissiveness, a new legitimacy, a new emboldenment, as if it’s OK — or more OK — today to be an antisemite.”
Unlike many of the leaders who succeeded him atop the country’s most powerful Jewish organizations, Foxman drew a direct line between the rise of Trump and skyrocketing hostility toward Jews.
“Trump’s presidency — in spirit and in deed — has given succor to bigots, supremacists, and those seeking to divide our society,” Foxman wrote in his endorsement of Joe Biden. “He and his administration dehumanize immigrants, demonize the most vulnerable, and undermine the civility and enlightened political culture that have allowed Jews to achieve what no diaspora community outside Israel can claim in two millennia.”
Foxman slammed Jonathan Greenblatt, his successor at the ADL, and other Jewish leaders for failing to follow his lead during the campaign.
But Foxman had, in some respects, paved the way for the state of affairs that he later bemoaned.
Take his relationship with Fox News owner Rupert Murdoch, who he met in the shvitz during one of Foxman’s biannual visits to a spa for billionaires, where each week-long stay cost nearly $9,000, paid for by an ADL donor. “I have come to know the man, not his image,” Foxman said after presenting Murdoch with a leadership award in 2010.
When I asked Foxman whether he regretted feting the founder of Fox News, which had almost certainly contributed to the erosion of political correctness and trust in the media that he later lamented, he cryptically brushed aside the concern: “Fox wasn’t Fox back then.”
And Foxman could claim impunity when it came to countering antisemitism in the way that he saw fit.
After the ADL found itself embroiled in a scandal over its close monitoring of political activists in the early 1990s, including activists against South African apartheid who were also critical of Israel, a Washington Post reporter wrote that Foxman “testily argued” to him that the ADL “has a right to do whatever it must within the law to combat antisemitism,” including receiving files the police said were stolen from the FBI.
Foxman also lobbied Congress not to recognize the Armenian genocide, worried that doing so would endanger Turkey’s Jewish community and damage the country’s relationship with Israel, before eventually reversing course. And, in what became the central allegation in longstanding complaints from the left that Foxman had stoked Islamophobia, he insisted that it was offensive to build a proposed mosque near Ground Zero in Manhattan.
Foxman also deeply believed that Israel’s security was connected to the safety of Jews in the United States, and that animus toward Israel was often a veiled expression of animosity toward Jews, something he remained concerned about until the very end.
This willingness to play ball with billionaires and stake out controversial political positions intended to protect Jews or Israel — often blurring the line between the two — would help shape how the Jewish community evolved in the decades after Foxman became ADL director in 1987.
Foxman achieved his towering status partly through his gravitas and charisma, what Nicole Mutchnik, chair of the ADL board, referred to as his ability to be a “warm friend, advisor, spirited antagonist and hugger — all over lunch.”
But I suspect it also had to do with his ability to maintain what has become an untenable political stance: a deep belief that Jews must fight for civil rights without giving up particular Jewish concerns around Israel and antisemitism.
This meant investing in the ADL’s civil rights portfolio — voting rights, immigration, racial justice, LGBTQ equality — even as he defended Israel in ways that rankled many liberals inside and outside of the organization.
And it meant becoming a forceful voice against both Trump and Israel’s far-right turn in recent years, even as he complained about what he viewed as unfair criticism of AIPAC by progressives and Democratic politicians drifting away from support for Israel in recent interviews.
Foxman shared this commitment to both liberalism, and a connection to Israel that at least sometimes conflicts with that liberalism, with a plurality of American Jews giving the ADL arguably the strongest claim of any legacy organization that it actually represented the American Jews it claimed to speak for.
But despite Foxman’s success — praise for his legacy came from wildly diverse corners of the Jewish community — the current crop of Jewish leaders have not adopted his politics.
The largest establishment organizations, including the current iteration of the Anti-Defamation League, seem to have determined that a wider-ranging commitment to civil rights advocacy and vocal opposition to Trump is a nonstarter if they intend to continue advocating for Israel, at a time when much of the Democratic Party has turned actively hostile to the Jewish state.
Meanwhile, the progressive Jewish groups who remain most committed to civil rights work have largely abandoned Zionism as part of their missions.
This may be a more honest form of Jewish politics than what came before. But it has also left many Jews feeling politically homeless and played into the erasure of a political center that Foxman, and no shortage of Jewish historians, have insisted is integral to Jewish safety.
“We do well when we’re in the center,” Foxman told me shortly after I started this job. “And there is no center today.”
The post Abe Foxman built the Jewish establishment. He died troubled by what it had become appeared first on The Forward.
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Clashes over Israel again define Eurovision — this time under the shadow of the Holocaust
VIENNA — Lisa Wegenstein is putting shakshuka on the menu. She hopes it won’t get her any hate.
Wegenstein, 59, runs Kantine, a laid-back café and bar in Vienna’s Museumsquartier, a hip museum area next to the historic inner city. Kantine has been a local staple for the past 23 years, with a generous cocktail happy hour, a stylish indoor bar and cozy tables in the backyard. And since May 4, it has sported a purple-and-blue sticker for the Eurovision Song Contest on the glass door, with an Israeli flag on each side.
Kantine is one of the 21 temporary “Eurofan Cafés” across Vienna. From May 12 to 16, the ESC will take place in the city, after Austrian sopranist Johannes “JJ” Pietsch won last year’s competition in Basel, Switzerland. Eurovision is Europe’s glitzy song contest: think American Idol meets the Olympics. It’s popular: 80,000 guests are expected to come to Vienna for the event — which features two semi-finals and a grand finale — planning to watch the shows and celebrate at public viewings, parties and cafés.
Vienna’s coffeehouse culture was enshrined as an intangible cultural heritage by UNESCO in 2011. This is why the ORF, Austria’s public broadcaster — which this year organized the ESC — has come up with a plan, together with the association of Viennese coffeehouse owners: Different cafés “adopt” participating countries and their fans, hosting cultural programs and adapting the menu. Originally, no cafés were assigned to adopt Israel — the only competing country left behind.
Behind the seemingly small incident brews a massive debate. The anxieties that Israel’s participation has caused have implications far beyond the ESC’s fan base. Vienna’s authorities are on high alert, fearing protests and terror attacks. With the contest taking place in a city that once had a sizable Jewish community, it once again raises uncomfortable questions about the thin line between political protest and antisemitism.
“That’s a scandal,” Lisa Wegenstein, who is the founder of an annual human rights film festival, remembers thinking when she heard that Israel had no café. Her maternal grandfather is Jewish, and while she only found out about her Jewish heritage as a teenager, she sports a massive gold “chai” on her chain.
“I wanted to stand up against antisemitism,” she says. So she volunteered to host Israel at Kantine.
Controversy amid celebration
Israel’s participation in the song contest has long caused controversy, especially since the Hamas massacre of Oct. 7, 2023, and the subsequent war in Gaza. Last year, Israeli participant Yuval Raphael, herself a survivor of the Nova music festival massacre, triggered anti-Israel demonstrations on the streets of Basel. In 2024, Israeli singer Eden Golan was only able to leave her Malmö hotel in disguise for the same reason. 2024’s winner, Swiss singer Nemo returned their trophy in December 2025 in protest against Israel’s continued participation in the contest.
After JJ won last year, he said in an interview that he’d rather not have Israel join the contest in Vienna. Spain, Ireland, Slovenia, Iceland and the Netherlands are not participating this year in protest against Israel’s involvement.
Vienna has enhanced security measures for the main event venue, Stadthalle, which has space for up to 10,000 people. A massive demonstration against Israel is scheduled for May 16, the day of the finals, in central Vienna. On May 15, a “song protest” will take place in the Prater, a park close to the inner city. The event will also commemorate Nakba Day, the organizers have said.
Wegenstein has had talks with the security team of the Museumsquartier and the police. She‘d rather not share any details. “Maybe we’ll be overrun, maybe we‘ll be boycotted,” she said, “I have no clue.”
Rising antisemitism
Austria is walking a thin line. The country‘s history weighs heavily on its handling of Israel-related issues: Long deemed Hitler’s first victim — it became part of Nazi Germany in 1938 — it was only in the 1990s that the country admitted to its complicity in the Holocaust.
That catastrophe decimated Austria’s Jewish community. Up until 1938, more than 200,000 Jews lived in Austria. Jews made up 10% of Vienna’s population. Today, there are around between just 10,000 and 15,000 Jews in Austria. Almost all of them live in the capital. Jewish institutions were heavily guarded even before the Oct. 7 attack; antisemitism has spiked even further since that day.
Roughly three-quarters of all incidents are Israel-related antisemitism, according to the Israelitische Kultusgemeinde, Austria’s Jewish community.
“I wasn’t surprised by the protests against Israel’s participation in the ESC,” said Isolde Vogel, who researches antisemitism at the Documentation Center of Austrian Resistance, a scientific organization researching fascism and its consequences in Austria. “The protests are not about criticising politics or the military, but about demonization fantasies. Israel isn’t a regime that can be equated to Russia.”
She added that KAN, Israel’s public broadcaster — which organizes Israel’s participation in Eurovision — is not close to the government, but independent.
“Excluding Israel would be the end of the independence of KAN,” says Alkis Vlassakakis. He has just given an almost two-hour tour through a temporary exhibition about Eurovision, which he co-curated at QWien, a small museum focused on queer topics.
Vlassakakis, 61, who was born in Greece, is an artist, actor, and die-hard Eurovision fan. He wears a black t-shirt that says “Merci chéri”, the title of a song by Austrian singer Udo Jürgens, which led to Austria’s first Eurovision victory in 1966. “Merci chéri” is also the name of Vlassakakis’ podcast, which he has been hosting together with the former Green party politician Marco Schreuder since 2019.
A mirror to society
It’s no coincidence that the song contest has become a queer fan favorite.
Maybe it’s because of the flamboyance and the cheesy tunes, maybe because of the message of love, tolerance and fun. In 1961, French singer Jean-Claude Pascal won the contest with the song “Nous les amoureux” about a secret love. “Was it a Romeo-and-Juliet-type story? A love story across classes? Or a queer story? You can read into it what you want,” explains Vlassakakis, who is openly gay. “The contest has always mirrored what is possible in society.”
In a somewhat ironic twist of history, the first transgender singer to win the ESC was the Israeli singer Dana International, who brought the ESC to Tel Aviv in 1999, accelerating a cultural shift within Israel that made Tel Aviv a destination for LBGTQ+ tourists.
If this year’s Israeli entry, 28-year-old French-Israeli Noam Bettan, were to win, would young queer Eurovision fans come and celebrate in Tel Aviv of 2027?
Probably not — at least not all of them. The queer community is experiencing a generational shift, Vlassakakis observed. There are younger people who have joined the protest movement, boycotting ESC events because of Israel’s participation. One popular queer ESC event is not taking place this year, officially due to security concerns.
“I hope that afterwards we’ll say that we didn’t need all the security measures,” Lisa Wegenstein of Kantine said. Right now, she’s focusing on fine-tuning her cafe’s cultural program — which will include readings, as well as musical performances by mostly Jewish local artists — and organizing people to hang around and engage in calm, meaningful debates about Israel, if necessary. Think a low-key, voluntary “awareness team.”
The Viennese Jewish community has been very supportive, she says. “Some have asked if they should come and help in the kitchen.”
Wegenstein rejected the offer, because her kitchen is too small. She also still needs to find a suitable shakshuka recipe. What if the guests don’t like the Israeli eggs-in-tomato-sauce brunch staple? That, at least, is the kind of hate she can deal with.
The post Clashes over Israel again define Eurovision — this time under the shadow of the Holocaust appeared first on The Forward.