Jerusalem Film Festival Seeks Palestinian Voices Amid Boycott Calls

On July 9 the 43rd Jerusalem Film Festival threw open its doors in the holy city, promising a ten‑day sprint of films, talks and parties that would run through July 19. It was a picture‑perfect opening night, complete with the world premiere of Moshe Rosenthal’s drama Tell Me Everything and a buzz that felt almost electric.

Yet, underneath the glitter, a familiar tension lingered. For weeks, activists had been urging a cultural boycott of Israeli institutions, and the festival’s very name was popping up on lists of venues to avoid. In the middle of that debate, Roni Mahadav‑Levin – the executive director of both the Jerusalem Cinematheque and the festival – decided to put pen to paper (well, keyboard to screen) and publish an open letter aimed squarely at Palestinian filmmakers.

Mahadav‑Levin’s missive was straightforward but heartfelt: “We’re offering you a platform, a genuine audience, and a chance to show your stories in a city that belongs to everyone.” She added a parenthetical pause, almost as an after‑thought, that cultural boycotts only serve “hard‑liners on both sides” and that “art thrives on dialogue, not silence.” The tone was part invitation, part gentle rebuke – the sort of thing you might hear over a coffee when a friend is about to skip a dinner party.

And the festival itself was already proving that the invitation wasn’t just lip‑service. Palestinian actor Ehab Elias Salami walked away with the Best Acting Performance award for his role in the Israeli‑produced film Where To?. It was a moment that felt almost cinematic in its own right – a Palestinian talent being celebrated on an Israeli stage, applause echoing through the crowd.

Even more telling was the short‑film collection titled All That Remains. Curated by Fadi Far, the compilation brought together six Palestinian creators, each offering a slice of life, memory, or protest. The pieces were screened back‑to‑back, a quiet yet powerful testament that Palestinian narratives could, and did, occupy the same reels as their Israeli counterparts.

When you walk through the festival’s bustling halls, you hear a medley of languages – Hebrew, Arabic, English – and see a mix of secular and religious audiences, Jews and Arabs sharing popcorn. It’s a reminder that, for a handful of days at least, cinema can be a common ground.

Mahadav‑Levin closed her letter with a hopeful note about the 2027 edition, inviting more Palestinian and Arab‑Israeli voices to submit their work. She didn’t give a hard deadline, but the implication was clear: the doors are open, and the stage is set – all that’s left is for the filmmakers to step forward.

Whether that invitation will be answered remains to be seen, but the 2026 festival proved that, even under the shadow of boycotts, art can still find a way to bridge divides, one frame at a time.