In its 65th year, Jerusalem's Israel Festival returns not as an escape from war but as a reckoning with it — routing performances through communities shattered by the October 7 attacks and centering the voice of a man who composed songs in his mind across 498 days of captivity because he had no other way to hold onto himself. Art, the festival's organizers suggest, is not a luxury in times of catastrophe but a form of survival, a way of sketching a different portrait of reality when reality has become unbearable. From a high-wire act above Hinnom Valley to a former hostage singing on the lawn
Israel Festival's 65th Edition Weaves Wartime Resilience Into Art, Music and Hostage Stories
Kibbutz Nir Oz lost a quarter of its residents (killed or taken captive) in the October 7, 2023 Hamas attack; Dekel-Chen was shot and tortured during his 498-day captivity.
A lawn with a different shade of green now
Mark
Why does a festival matter right now, in the middle of everything?
Mimi
Because the organizers see it as survival itself. Not escape—survival. They're saying: we're still here, we're still making things, we're still gathering.
Luke
But is that true for everyone? The source says the festival goes to communities hit hardest by war, but it doesn't say how many people from those communities will actually attend, or whether they want to.
Mimi
Fair. We know Dekel-Chen is performing at Nir Oz, his home kibbutz, where a quarter of residents were killed or taken. That's concrete.
Mark
What does it mean that he wrote these songs in his head for 498 days and then recorded them in two days?
Mimi
It means the songs were already there, fully formed, waiting. He couldn't write them down in captivity, so he held them. The moment he was free, they came out.
Luke
But we don't know what the songs sound like, what they're about, whether they're about his captivity or something else entirely. The source doesn't say.
Mark
He said it's not a celebration or closure. What is it, then?
Mimi
Another chapter. He's performing on the same lawn where he played as a child, where he met his wife, where his friends died. The lawn itself has changed—he said it has "a different shade of green now."
Luke
That's a powerful image, but it's his metaphor. We don't know what he means by it literally.
Mark
What about the cultural boycott mentioned at the end?
Mimi
International performances that were supposed to come to Israel didn't, or wouldn't. The festival is documenting that absence.
Luke
The source says some productions "couldn't or wouldn't"—that's doing a lot of work. We don't know which is which, or how many.
Mark
So the festival is also a statement about isolation.
Mimi
Yes. And about continuing anyway.
El Pulso
- Sagui Dekel-Chen spent 498 days in Gaza captivity with no contact with the outside world, not knowing whether his pregnant wife and daughters had survived — and he held nine songs entirely in his memory because he had nothing to write them down on.
- Within two days of his release in February 2025, he recorded all nine songs on his phone; now he will perform them publicly for the first time on the lawn of Kibbutz Nir Oz, where a quarter of his community was killed or taken hostage.
- The festival is navigating an active international cultural boycott, with a 20-minute program called 'Temporarily Removed' documenting the performances and artists that were meant to come to Israel but could not or would not.
- Programming deliberately travels to the western Negev and northern Israel — the regions hardest hit by war — framing the festival's geographic reach as an act of solidarity rather than logistics.
- Organizers describe the festival not as celebration or closure but as commitment: to keep creating, to keep coming together, and to allow art to create distance from an immediate present that has become almost impossible to inhabit.
In its 65th year, Jerusalem's Israel Festival returns not as an escape from war but as a reckoning with it — routing performances through communities shattered by the October 7 attacks and centering the voice of a man who composed songs in his mind across 498 days of captivity because he had no other way to hold onto himself. Art, the festival's organizers suggest, is not a luxury in times of catastrophe but a form of survival, a way of sketching a different portrait of reality when reality has become unbearable. From a high-wire act above Hinnom Valley to a former hostage singing on the lawn where his neighbors were killed, the festival asks what it means to keep creating — and gathering — when the world outside is watching, and sometimes turning away.
Jerusalem's Israel Festival opens July 28 for its 65th year, running through August 20 with performances across the capital, the western Negev, and Israel's north — deliberately threading the three-week event through the communities most devastated by two and a half years of war. It begins with an aerial performance above Hinnom Valley and unfolds into music, dance, theater, and spoken word created in the shadow of recent loss.
The centerpiece is a concert by Sagui Dekel-Chen, a former hostage who will perform nine songs he composed during 498 days of captivity in Gaza. The performance takes place on the lawn of Kibbutz Nir Oz — where he was born, raised his family, and where a quarter of the kibbutz's residents were killed or taken on October 7, 2023. Abducted that morning while his pregnant wife and daughters sheltered in their safe room, he was shot and tortured, and spent nearly seventeen months with no contact with the outside world. He held the songs entirely in his memory. Within two days of his release in February 2025, he recorded all nine on his phone.
"I'm not a singer," he said. "I'm a father who sings." He was clear that the concert is not a celebration or closure — it is another chapter. The lawn where he will perform is the same place where he ran as a child, where he met his wife, where his friends fell. "It was once the site of joyful celebrations," he said. "Since then, it has mostly witnessed funerals."
The broader festival weaves together work by seven choreographers deconstructing the concept of war, a two-day tribute to Aner Shapira — an off-duty soldier who saved lives on October 7 and was known for his raps and artwork — and a program in which female performance artists engage with the wartime diaries of Etty Hillesum. A 20-minute piece called "Temporarily Removed" documents the international performances that were meant to come to Israel but could not or would not because of the cultural boycott that has taken hold since the war began.
Festival CEO Uri Vaknin framed the event's existence as a statement in itself. Artistic directors Michal Vaknin and Dafna Karon described the programming as rooted in art as a tool for survival — work designed to create distance from the immediate present and allow people to imagine a different portrait of reality. Free performances run alongside ticketed events, with discounts for seniors, students, soldiers, and Jerusalem residents.
Jerusalem's Israel Festival opens on July 28 for its 65th year, running through August 20 with performances across the capital, the western Negev, and Israel's north—deliberately routing the three-week event through the communities most ravaged by two and a half years of war. The festival begins with an aerial performance above Hinnom Valley, a high-wire act inspired by Philippe Petit's 1987 crossing of the same ravine, and from there unfolds into music, dance, theater, and spoken word created in the shadow of recent loss.
The centerpiece is a concert by Sagui Dekel-Chen, a former hostage, who will perform nine songs he wrote and composed during his 498 days in captivity in Gaza. The performance takes place on the lawn of Kibbutz Nir Oz, where Dekel-Chen was born, where he raised his family, and where a quarter of the kibbutz's residents were killed or taken on October 7, 2023. He was abducted that morning while his pregnant wife and two daughters sheltered in their safe room. He was shot in the shoulder during the attack and subjected to torture while imprisoned. For nearly seventeen months, he had no contact with the outside world, no way of knowing if his family had survived the massacre that killed roughly 1,200 people and took 251 hostage. When released in February 2025, he recorded all nine songs on his phone within two days—melodies and lyrics he had held in his mind, unable to write them down.
"I'm not a singer," Dekel-Chen said in a statement for the festival. "I'm a father who sings. I never intended to become a singer or perform." He was clear about what the concert is not: not a celebration, not a party, not closure. It is another chapter. The lawn where he will perform is the same place where he ran as a child, where he met his wife Mili, where they raised their daughters, where he fought for his life, and where his friends fell. "It's a lawn with a different shade of green now," he said. "It was once the site of joyful celebrations; since then, it has mostly witnessed funerals."
Beyond Dekel-Chen's performance, the festival weaves together work by seven choreographers deconstructing the concept of war in a piece called "All the Spirits," and a two-day event called "Verse" created in memory of Aner Shapira, an off-duty IDF soldier who saved lives in a field shelter on October 7 and was known for his raps and artwork. "Verse" brings together musicians including Ehud Banai, Ninet Tayeb, and Berry Sakharof for performances, conversations, documentary screenings, and participatory art designed as a form of reaching out and connecting. Another program, "The Thinking Heart," has female performance artists engaging with the diaries of Etty Hillesum, a young Jewish woman in Amsterdam during World War II, whose writings also inspired a 2026 drama series directed by Hagai Levi.
A 20-minute tour called "Temporarily Removed" documents the absence—artistic directors and curators share encounters with international performances and productions that were meant to come to Israel for the festival but could not or would not because of the cultural boycott against Israel and Israeli performers that has taken hold since the war in Gaza began. The festival CEO Uri Vaknin, who took over leadership from Eyal Sher after eleven years, framed the festival's existence itself as a statement. "For us, the festival is not merely a production or artistic achievement," Vaknin said. "It is an expression of our commitment to keep creating, working, and coming together even in the midst of a complex reality."
The artistic directors Michal Vaknin and Dafna Karon described the program as rooted in art as a tool for survival—work designed to create distance from the immediate present and allow people to sketch a different portrait of reality. The festival takes place at locations along seam lines and meeting points between different communities throughout Jerusalem, and travels to the western Negev and northern Israel to reach all residents. Free performances are offered alongside paid events ranging from 50 to 140 shekels, with discounts for seniors, students, soldiers, and Jerusalem Card holders. The festival is partnering with hotels throughout the city and the Jerusalem Development Authority.
Citas Notables
I'm not a singer. I'm a father who sings. I never intended to become a singer or perform.— Sagui Dekel-Chen
For us, the festival is not merely a production or artistic achievement—it is an expression of our commitment to keep creating, working, and coming together even in the midst of a complex reality.— Festival CEO Uri Vaknin
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