As Eurovision 2025 proceeds in Basel, Switzerland, this week, the excitement is palpable. Millions across the globe tune in for a celebration of culture, music, and unity—values the competition claims to uphold. But for me, as a Jewish Canadian, this year’s contest feels hollow, as in the past year and a half we have seen antisemitism take a hold in the arts and music world, forcing us to confront a brutal truth: when it comes to Jewish lives and Israeli artists, there is a painful double standard.
While Israel’s Eurovision representative, Yuval Raphael, prepares to take the stage under intense scrutiny and hostility, in sharp contrast, American rapper Kanye West who now goes by “Ye”—one of the most influential artists in the world—recently released a song titled “Heil Hitler,” accompanied by a disturbing music video. It’s not the first time West has trafficked in antisemitic rhetoric, but this moment feels like a new low: the blatant glorification of one of history’s most genocidal slogans. And, despairingly, the song has found a massive audience.
Let that sink in. A young Israeli artist, who survived the horrific Nova Music Festival massacre on October 7, 2023—where Hamas terrorists slaughtered over 411 innocent concertgoers—is being shouted down, protested, threatened, and vilified for participating in a song contest. Meanwhile, one of the most influential musicians of our time is producing a Nazi-saluting music video that goes viral with barely a whisper of condemnation from the mainstream sources you’d expect.
Pro-Palestinian demonstrators march during a protest against the participation of Israeli contestant Eden Golan ahead of the final of the Eurovision Song Contest in Malmö, Sweden, Saturday, May 11, 2024. Martin Meissner/AP Photo.
Raphael is not a politician. She is a survivor. Her very presence at Eurovision is an act of defiance, resilience, and, above all, survival. She ran for her life at the Nova Festival while gunmen murdered her peers. Now, she sings—not about war, but about grief, memory, and perseverance. And still, from Malmö to Madrid to Montreal, activist groups have demanded Israel’s exclusion from Eurovision altogether. Not because of anything Raphael has done, but because of where she’s from—and who she is.
It’s heartbreaking. And it’s dangerous.
When Jewish artists—especially those who have survived terrorism—are treated as pariahs, while many shrug at—and actively embrace as transgressive—actual hate speech from global megastars, something is deeply wrong.
It’s also about something deeper, something uglier. A willingness to excuse antisemitism when it comes in fashionable packaging. If Ye had titled a song “Heil ISIS” or “Long Live the KKK,” the response would have been unanimous and deafening.
The song has been deplatformed by the major music streaming services (though not from Elon Musk’s X), but where are the widespread condemnations from fellow artists? Where are the trending hashtags or solidarity posts? Where are the protests in the street to denounce Ye, such as the ones demonstrating against Raphael?
This is not about politics. You can disagree with the Israeli government, as people do with any government. But attempting to silence a trauma survivor from singing at a festival that’s supposed to unite Europe through music? That’s not protest—that’s prejudice.
And the contrast matters. Raphael is a symbol of what happens when music lovers are attacked simply for gathering in peace. She is proof that survival and art can go hand-in-hand. Yet, somehow, it is her who is met with boycotts, while Ye’s dangerous flirtation with Nazi imagery racks up millions of views and is promoted by massively popular internet influencers.
The message this sends is chilling: Jewish pain is political. Jewish trauma is negotiable. And antisemitism is somehow the one form of bigotry that all too often gets a pass.
We can’t build a world of justice by being selectively outraged. We can’t call ourselves inclusive while treating Jewish trauma as disposable. And we can’t let artists like Ye weaponize hate while ignoring the real human cost—people like Raphael, who will carry the scars of that October day for the rest of her life.
If Eurovision is truly about unity, it must continue to ignore the backlash and include all voices, especially those who have been through hell and are still brave enough to sing. If we claim to care about human rights, we must find the courage to condemn antisemitism, no matter who spreads it.
It’s 2025. We should know better by now.
Raphael will take that stage in Basel not just for Israel, but for the memory of those lost at Nova. She stands for resilience. And she deserves to be heard.
