Every culture has its cultural icons – artists, musicians, and actors who don’t just reflect their time but shape it, bend it, and redefine it. In Israel, it used to be that the dominant voices in music and film belonged to secular Ashkenazi men, and their influence was undeniable.
The Bourekas films of the 1960s and ’70s were a prime example, shaping Israeli humor and nostalgia, even if, for me, they never quite hit the mark. I know all the famous lines, but do I actually find them funny? Eh. So-so.
Growing up as the child of olim (immigrants), my cultural touchstones were different. I didn’t feel connected to nostalgic Israeli music or the slapstick Bourekas genre. Instead, my musical world was filled with hassidic singers and choirs – most of them American. And while I never belonged to a hassidic or haredi (ultra-Orthodox) community, there weren’t many musicians in the Israeli mainstream who aligned with the values my family and my community held dear.
That has changed.
Today, Israeli music is no longer dominated by a single cultural stream. Sephardi sounds have blended into the mainstream, and artists are increasingly drawing from traditional Jewish texts. Eyal Golan’s “Am Yisrael Chai” was the song of the year. Israel’s Eurovision entry weaves in a verse from Shir HaShirim (Song of Songs). The airwaves are filled with songs of resilience, faith, and national pride.
But what about Jews outside Israel? Who are their cultural figures? Who are the musicians, actors, or artists who can give them a sense of identity and belonging? If you’re an Orthodox Jew, there’s a whole genre of music catering to you. But what about everyone else? Who do Jewish parents feel comfortable sending their kids to see in concert?
For years, we were told that being Jewish in America could be summed up in the humor of Jerry Seinfeld – a funny, charming, but ultimately superficial take on Jewish identity. A cultural Judaism that made you laugh but didn’t give you much to hold onto. Was it enough? Did it make people proud to be Jewish?
Then, October 7 happened.
And suddenly, everything changed.
Seinfeld, the man who had long represented that detached, lighthearted Jewish identity, became an outspoken supporter of Israel. He said he had “no patience” for Palestinians. Jews who had never considered themselves religious – so-called “October 8 Jews” – woke up and realized they wanted to be more connected to their Jewishness, but didn’t know how.
In Hollywood, a few actors and artists stood with Israel. Some stayed silent. A small fringe openly attacked Israel.
But something deeper was happening: American Jews, Israeli Jews, and Jews across the Diaspora were shifting. They became more conservative, more attached to tradition, even more spiritual. And yet, the big question remains: Who will create the soundtrack of this Jewish generation?
A Jewish Wonder Woman
“My name is Gal. And I am Jewish.”
That’s how Gal Gadot opened her speech at the Anti-Defamation League’s event last week. A room full of Jews, journalists, activists, and donors went silent as she stood at the podium, her voice steady, her presence commanding.
“I’ll say it again,” she continued. “My name is Gal. And I’m Jewish.”
And just like that, a simple fact – a name, an identity – felt like a declaration of war.
She wasn’t joking. She wasn’t being diplomatic. She was stating what should be obvious, but in today’s climate, felt radical.
“Isn’t it crazy,” she asked, “that just saying that, just expressing such a simple fact about who I am, feels like a controversial statement?”
She wasn’t wrong. That’s exactly where we are today.
Before October 7, Gadot had always tried to avoid politics. She had never wanted to be an activist. She was Israeli, yes, Jewish, yes – but not defined by it. She was a Hollywood star, a global citizen. The kind of actress who could be cast in a Cleopatra film, not just a Sabra role.
But then, everything changed.
“I never thought of myself as being where I came from,” she admitted. “It was an aspect of who I am, but it didn’t define me. And then October 7 happened.”
You could hear a pin drop.
She spoke about her grandfather, a Holocaust survivor who built a new life in Israel. She spoke about her father’s side of the family, Israelis for eight generations, deeply rooted in this land. She spoke about how, overnight, the comfortable Jewish identity so many had taken for granted was shattered.
And she spoke about the moment she realized she could no longer stay silent.
“Never did I imagine that we would witness such a day of such death and destruction of Jews in our lifetime. And never did I imagine that on the streets of the United States and different cities around the world, we would see people not condemning Hamas, but celebrating. Justifying. Cheering on a massacre of Jews.”
There it was.
The October 8 Jews – those who had spent their lives distant from their Judaism, suddenly realizing they needed it.And Gadot explained she wasn’t just talking about the past, but about what came next. The rediscovery of Jewish identity, of Jewish resilience.
“I found myself in a synagogue,” she said. “I’m not a religiously observant person. But I felt the embrace of the Jewish people and the power of our community. And for those few precious moments, the chaos and violence of the outside world felt just a little easier to deal with.”
Who will create the soundtrack of this Jewish generation?
This shift, this Jewish reawakening, is happening across the world. In Israel, it’s reflected in the music – in the biblical and Zionist themes taking over the airwaves. But in the Diaspora, the question remains: Who will put these emotions into music? Who will create the soundtrack of this Jewish generation?
Music has always been the soul of a people. After October 7, it feels like an entire people is searching for its soul again.
We need artists who can take what we’re all feeling – the pain, the loss, the pride, the defiance – and turn it into something real. We need music that can uplift us when we’re down, give us hope when we feel lost. We need songs that make us want to sing together, dance together, stand together.
Because if we don’t create these voices, these cultural anchors, then who will?
Gadot ended her speech with the words “Am Yisrael Chai.”
Now, we need musicians, artists, and creators who will give this new Jewish generation its own anthem.
Because this time around, we need to begin rebuilding who we are.