The glittering stage of Eurovision 2025 tells a story far more complex than its sparkly surface suggests. Behind the dazzling lights and pitch-perfect harmonies lies a tale of survival, controversy, and the sometimes impossible task of separating art from politics.
At the heart of this year’s contest stands Yuval Raphael, Israel’s representative whose journey to Basel began in unthinkable darkness. The 24-year-old survived the October 7 Hamas attacks by hiding beneath bodies for eight hours at the Nova music festival — a horror that would have broken many. Yet somehow, she emerged with an even fiercer determination to pursue her dreams.
“When I was there, I realized that everything could be over in a moment,” she told Israel Hayom, her voice carrying the kind of wisdom that comes only from staring into the abyss. “You don’t want your life to end without experiencing it.”
The path to Eurovision glory has never been simple, but this year’s competition — with its almost painfully ironic motto “United by music” — feels different. More than 70 former contestants have demanded Israel’s exclusion, while Basel’s streets have become a canvas for passionate protests. The contest’s traditional sequins-and-sunshine atmosphere keeps bumping up against harsh geopolitical realities.
“I’ve been given another chance at life,” Raphael says with remarkable composure, “so it’s my duty to not be afraid — and to spread the light.” Her perspective cuts through the typical showbiz narrative like a shaft of sunlight through storm clouds.
Her entry, “New Day Will Rise,” carries an unmistakable weight. Set against twinkling piano notes, lyrics like “New day will rise / Life will go on / Everyone cries / Don’t cry alone” take on profound meaning given their context. The song feels less like a typical Eurovision entry and more like a testimony.
During rehearsals, protesters have already made their presence known — waving oversized flags and using whistles to disrupt performances. It’s a preview of what might await during the final, though Raphael seems prepared. She’s even incorporated “practicing being booed” into her rehearsal routine, approaching the possibility with striking pragmatism.
“I think I’m expecting it,” she acknowledged in a recent BBC interview, “but we are here to sing and I’m going to sing my heart out for everyone.”
This year’s Eurovision has seen its share of drama — from Malta’s linguistic mishaps to Finland’s eyebrow-raising choreography choices. But none carry the gravity of Israel’s participation amid the ongoing conflict in Gaza, where the death toll has surpassed 53,000 since October 2023.
Perhaps never in Eurovision’s 69-year history has the tension between art and politics felt so palpable. As Raphael prepares to take the stage in Basel’s newly renovated arena, her performance represents something far beyond the usual quest for douze points — it’s become a complex symbol of survival, resilience, and the controversial question of whether music truly can unite us during times of profound division.
For Raphael, whose life changed forever that October morning, the answer seems clear: “I see it as an honour and a responsibility. I love my country, I love the Israeli people.” Whether the Eurovision audience — and broader global community — will embrace her message remains to be seen. But her presence alone tells a story that transcends the typical glitter and glamour of Europe’s beloved song contest.
As the countdown to the final continues, one thing becomes certain: this year’s Eurovision will be remembered not just for its music, but for the complex human stories it brings to light — stories of tragedy and triumph, of division and hope, all playing out beneath those famous stage lights.
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