Just before midnight on Saturday, as the winner of Eurovision 2026 was about to be announced, Israeli contestant Noam Bettan covered his eyes and muttered something under his breath. To those of us in the know – or with a knack of lip-reading – it was clear he was saying the Shema, no doubt praying for an Israeli win, after the country was pipped to the post last year.
I too was saying the Shema – but willing the opposite outcome, as were the two friends sat on the sofa next to me. Our hands were over our eyes, in prayer but also due to our inability to look at the screen – for fear of seeing Israel crowned winner.
To quote a friend on a WhatsApp chat shortly after Bulgaria took home the Eurovision trophy: “How nuts is that?” That despite maxing out our votes on Israel, we didn’t actually want them to win at all, but to come in at a very respectable second place. Which they did. Phew.
And, how nuts is it that we should care that much whether Israel – or the UK or any country, for that matter – wins or not? It’s a singing competition, for heaven’s sake.
How to explain this topsy-turvy way of thinking? As another friend messaged: “I just couldn’t bear the idea of the stadium erupting into boos if Israel had won.”
This was certainly an immediate fear, given the jeering which erupted straight after Israel’s audience score of 220 propelled it to the top of the board momentarily. None of us could quite face the absolute discomfort and awkwardness of Israel winning in front of a not altogether sympathetic live crowd – while being broadcast to millions of viewers around the world.
But our anxiety went beyond the night itself. The aftermath of an Israeli win would no doubt have meant vitriol being spewed all over social media: accusations of conspiracies and vote-rigging; the lines between antizionism and antisemitism becoming ever more blurred; more countries boycotting Eurovision, and, at worst, the demise of the competition itself. And who would have been blamed for that?
It would have meant the end of the most joyous, campest, maddest music festival in the world. But more than that – as our charming hosts in Vienna kept reminding us, Eurovision is about music being a unifying force – one which Israel has been a part of since it began in 1973, taking home the trophy four times.
The show is one night a year when Israel can be a player on the world stage – not as a political or military force, but as a cultural one to be reckoned with.
It gives Israel a chance to show its human side – something which is sorely lacking in much of the press and social media, and on the pro-Palestine marches, where Israelis are not only dehumanised but demonised.
It’s also an opportunity for those allies who love Israel – whose views are usually drowned out or left unvoiced – to show support in their own quiet, anonymous way.
To lose Eurovision would be like losing Israel’s last line of defence. It’s better than any other PR strategy the country has come up with in years – and boy, does it need one.
But, despite our love of Eurovision and Israel’s rightful place within it, as the continual barrage of physical and virtual attacks on the Jewish community leaves us feeling emotionally battered, many of us just don't have the koach to take on the hatred which would inevitably have followed an Israeli win.
Second place was enough. It filled us with a sense of pride – but also unexpected relief. Maybe next year, the world will be ready to see Israel take home the Eurovision trophy once again – and hopefully, so will we.
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