Eurotrash and disco

Until I moved to Israel almost 31 years ago, I had never heard of Eurovision. Not recognizing the annual music festival which enthralls everyone on this side of the Atlantic was akin to apostasy. But slowly, slowly, we western yokels got into the swing of things and let our fiercely competitive streak burst to the surface along with other ‘sabras.’ Even my ultra-Orthodox grandchildren can hum along with the winning Israeli entries, despite never having seen the extravaganza on live television.

What makes the crime of ignorance even more egregious is that Israel – not technically a part of Europe – has won the 70 year old competition a total of four times, has captured the second place spot another four, and finished in the top five on seven other occasions. (My favorite song will always be “Hurricane,” – originally called “October Rain” – sung by Eden Golan, a paean to the survivors of October 7, 2023 and our blessed, resilient nation of heros.) It’s critical to note that Israel has only participated a total of 49 times!

And It may or may not come as a shock that with increasing frequency, everyone and their brother is attempting to oust Israel from Eurovision, not unlike the international campaign that aims to oust Israel from the world. Couple this with an ongoing debate in our beleaguered country about whether or not we should even participate. Why go where we are hated and even in danger? Have we no pride? Our singers and support staff are jeered and hurriedly escorted through police-lines that we pray are well-equipped to repel the rabid protesters. A further argument might include Israel’s isolation throughout the week-long festivities, including targeted exclusion from tours, cafes and other myriad social events. Who needs it?

In case you have not yet checked out “Worst Acts From Eurovision” on YouTube, let me save you time and the resulting mental health challenges. Think of a massive caldron into which one tosses some disco-skits from Rowen & Martin’s “Laugh In,” wind machines, half-naked back-up dancers, near-lethal pyrotechnics, life-size marionettes, Viking heavy-metal acts, Alpine yodelers (with an occasional opera-belting milk-maid), background animation of Japanese cavemen with a real-life Barney Rubble moon-walking in front of the screen while rapping in Greek.

Metaphorically speaking, Eurovision is a car wreck from which you cannot avert your eyes, despite promising to never watch it again. It is so bad, so tacky, so mind-numbing that we should look away but Israel has consistently been so good, so elegant (well, “Diva” and “I’m Not Your Toy” were pretty kitsch), so masterful that, despite the hatred that confronts us, we remain rapt.

Eurovision distracts us once a year, offering a smattering of psychological reprieve from the weighty reality of life in our holy land. Only the day before, we celebrated Jerusalem Day, commemorating the miraculous reunification of our capital after the Six Day War when we were attacked by the armies of Egypt, Jordan and Syria.

Fifty-nine years later, we are still burying beautiful, principled soldiers who fought with valor, knowing too well the cost of not fighting for what has been bequeathed to us by God. We cry so hard, mourn so deeply, yearn with unparalleled fervor.

And still the annual yuk-fest of Eurovision offers Israelis an all-too-rare opportunity to level the playing field, separating the holy from the profane with strobe-lights, aerial ropes and purple vinyl go-go-boots.

* * * *

(Reprinted with permission of San Diego Jewish Journal, June 2026)