How a country that’s always at war finds peace only when someone yells “Twelve Points, Israel!”

Eurovision: the annual reminder that Israel doesn’t actually crave international legitimacy – just 12 points from Greece.

Every year we swear we’re done with it.
Every year we get hurt.
And every year, like a divorced guy crawling back to his toxic ex, we sit in front of the TV whispering:
“Maybe this year she’ll finally appreciate me… maybe this time Europe will say I’m special.”

Meanwhile, Europe does what it does best:
smiles politely, votes politically, and hands us zero points with the gentle warmth of
“It’s not you. It’s the geopolitics.”

But fear not.
We are here for the glitter, the chaos, the emotional whiplash,
and the eternal hope that one day Belgium will remember it has a Jewish aunt somewhere in Antwerp.

Israel and Eurovision – a relationship so dysfunctional, even therapists refuse to treat it.

The Not-So-Secret Romance That Refuses to Die

Some countries love quietly.
Some love loudly.
And then there are relationships like Israel and Eurovision –
the kind that should have ended after the third heartbreak,
yet somehow survive 50 years of sequins, political voting, and questionable key changes.

Eurovision isn’t a fling for Israel.
It’s an addictive, unhealthy, borderline-masochistic entanglement –
the national equivalent of eating spicy food that burns on the way in and on the way out,
but hey… you keep going back.

Welcome to the love story conducted under strobe lights, shaky peace treaties,
and a very specific desire to see Europe clap on beat.

“The Next Star” Isn’t a TV Show – It’s a Government Procurement Process

In most countries, choosing a Eurovision contestant is entertainment.
In Israel, it’s basically a strategic appointment.

Our representative must be:

• charming like a Mossad agent,
• photogenic in HD and in tank-top selfie mode,
• fluent in English (and preferably in pain),
• marketable for TikTok,
• emotional enough for Sweden,
• exotic enough for Azerbaijan,
• and authentic enough to squeeze a sympathy vote from a Lithuanian grandmother.

It’s not casting.
It’s a national tender.
The only thing missing is security clearance.

The Israeli National Mantra: “Europe Hates Us”

The yearly emotional cycle:

1. Announcement: “Guys, this is our year. No question.”
2. Rehearsals: “Okay, competition is tough, but we’re in the top five.”
3. Performance: “Europe will cry. Guaranteed.”
4. Results: Greece gives 12. Germany gives nothing. Armenia gives 6.
5. Public Reaction:
   • “The contest is political!”
   • “They’re antisemitic!”
   • “Europe can’t handle our light!”

And yet – next year we return with absolute amnesia and renewed optimism:
“This time it’s ours.”
Israelis don’t give up.
They just shout louder.

Eurovision: The Only Front Where Israel Isn’t at War – Just in a Complicated Relationship

Northern border tensions?
Southern border chaos?
Domestic political meltdown?
Existential threats?

Forget it.

During Eurovision week, the nation unites around a far more crucial issue:
Is the chorus strong enough?

Suddenly the most divided country in the region speaks one language:

Left, right, secular, religious, Tel Aviv hipsters, settlement families –
everyone becomes a temporary expert in staging, vocal mixing, and Balkan tempo shifts.

For 48 hours, Israelis are not arguing about politics, corruption, or ideology.
They are arguing about the important things:

• “Why is the camera cutting to the audience?!”
• “Why didn’t we add one more key change?”
• “Cyprus really outdid us this year.”

It’s practically therapy.

Winners? We’re Geniuses. Losers? Europe Is Corrupt.

Israelis can process anything –
except losing Eurovision gracefully.

When Netta won:
“It’s a victory for our culture, our creativity, our spirit, our trauma, our everything.”

When our entry finishes 23rd:
“The whole system is rigged.”
“The judges were bought.”
“Europe is afraid of a strong Israel.”
“THIS IS A CONSPIRACY!”

Our national denial mechanism works better than Iron Dome.

Eurovision as a Cultural Mirror – and Not Always a Pleasant One

Israel spent decades trying to be “European” on stage:

• dancing like Swedes,
• dramatizing like Italians,
• shouting like Spaniards,
• dreaming like Iceland,
• praying for votes like… well, Israelis.

Eurovision is not a music contest.
It’s a continental cosplay festival,
where every country presents not who they are –
but who they want the world to think they are.

Ireland brings a ginger with a guitar.
Italy brings sex.
Sweden brings lasers, blond hair, and existential sorrow.
Israel brings a mixture of “powerful message,” “glitter,”
and “remember the Holocaust, yes?”

It’s a branding strategy you won’t learn in business school.

So Why Do We Keep Coming Back?

Because Eurovision is our one annual escape
from rockets, news flashes, political collapses, and traffic jams on the Ayalon.

For a few colorful days:
We’re not a pressured, divided, besieged little country.
We’re a nation of dancers, dreamers, hopefuls,
and people who desperately want Iceland to love them back.

We just want someone to say
“Twelve points, Israel.”
And honestly-that’s priceless.

Conclusion: A Dysfunctional Romance We’re Proud Of

Israel and Eurovision are a couple that should’ve broken up decades ago.
She insults us.
We complain.
She ignores us.
We return.

It’s not logical.
It’s not healthy.
It’s not rational.
But like all great loves – it’s uncontrollable.

And if we don’t win this year?
Who cares.

Next year we’ll show up again,
stronger, louder, shinier, and with at least one unnecessary key change.

Eurovision isn’t a contest for Israel.
It’s our national love story –
messy, dramatic, petty, addictive,
and absolutely unforgettable.