The Story of Israel’s National Anthem: Hatikvah

Most people know the melody. Some can hum the tune. A few even know the words.

But almost no one knows the story. Hatikvah, Israel’s national anthem, is a secret history.

It was written in exile, banned by tyrants, whispered in ghettos, and smuggled into the heart of a reborn nation. It has no glory in it. No mention of kings or battles. Just one thing: hope.

Once you hear the real story behind Hatikvah, you’ll never hear it the same way again.

Israeli flags waving (Shutterstock)

A Poem in Exile

The story begins not in Israel, but in exile. The year is 1877. Naftali Herz Imber, a 19-year-old Jewish poet from Galicia (now Ukraine), writes a poem titled Tikvateinu, “Our Hope.” It’s not a poem of a man standing in his land. It’s a poem of a man aching for it.

His words aren’t just poetic. They’re dangerous. Because they remind the Jew that he does not belong in exile. That he has a homeland. That he is not a rootless wanderer or a tolerated minority, but a child of Zion.

"As long as in the heart within,

The Jewish soul still yearns,

And onward, towards the ends of the east,

An eye still gazes toward Zion..."

These words spread like wildfire among Jews who were waking up from centuries of humiliation. The poem became a declaration: we may be broken, but we are not finished. The land is not a fantasy. Zion is real. And we are going back.

The first stanza and the refrain in the handwriting of Naftali Herz Imber, with his signature, 5668 (1907/1908). Wikimedia

But a poem, even a powerful one, is not enough. It needed a melody. Something simple, unforgettable, and haunting.

Enter Samuel Cohen, a Romanian Jew who had immigrated to Ottoman Palestine. He took Imber’s words and set them to a melody inspired by a folk tune from Moldova. Some say it was based on a Romanian lullaby. Others say it came from an Italian opera. It doesn’t matter. Once the words and the melody fused, something divine happened. The anthem was born.

It was sung at Zionist Congresses. It was sung in kibbutzim. It was sung in ghettos. In camps. In forests. It was sung as Jews boarded ships to the Holy Land to make Aliyah, and as they were turned away. It was sung by men who had nothing left but their breath.

It was the song. The anthem before there was a state.

The Nazis Couldn't Kill It

Hatikvah was not officially adopted until 1948, but it was already carved into the Jewish soul. Holocaust survivors recall singing it quietly in concentration camps, where Hebrew was banned and hope was illegal.

Think about that.

Jews, starved, tortured, stripped of their names, still whispered: “Od lo avdah tikvateinu”,“Our hope is not yet lost.”

What kind of people do that?

A people with an unbreakable covenant.

A people who believe that God keeps promises, even when the world doesn’t.

On May 14, 1948, David Ben-Gurion stood in Tel Aviv and declared the rebirth of the Jewish state. Outside, five Arab armies were preparing to attack. Inside, Jews were crying. Not out of fear, but out of something deeper: destiny.

As the flag was raised, Hatikvah was played.

And today? The same song still plays. Every Israeli soldier swears allegiance with Hatikvah in their heart. Every Olympic medalist listens to it as the flag rises. Every Memorial Day and Independence Day, Israelis stand still, not just because it's a tradition, but because it's a sacred moment. Because Hatikvah is not just a song. It’s the sound of dry bones rattling back to life.

The Six-Day War, Jerusalem. The paratroopers sing the national anthem near the Western Wall in 1967 (Wikimedia)

And of course, the world hates it.

Some Arab members of Israel’s Knesset refuse to stand for Hatikvah because it speaks of a “Jewish soul.” Progressives in America sneer at its “ethnocentric” tone. European intellectuals call it “nationalistic” and “exclusionary.”

Good.

Because Hatikvah is not supposed to be inclusive. It’s not an anthem for the world. It’s the anthem of a specific people, with a specific covenant, in a specific land. The fact that it offends those who hate Israel is proof that it still matters.

Just like the Bible, just like Jerusalem, Hatikvah reminds the world that the Jews are still here, and they’re not going anywhere.

The Bible Said It First

The anthem says: “Our hope is not yet lost.” Where does that come from?

Straight from Scripture.

"Your dead shall live; their bodies shall rise.You who dwell in the dust, awake and sing for joy!"(Isaiah 26:19)

That is what Hatikvah is. A resurrection anthem.

And Israel is the living proof.

In a world where anthems boast of empires and power, Israel sings about longing.

Hatikvah doesn’t celebrate what we already have. It mourns what we lost, and clings to what we will never give up.

That’s why it’s so powerful. It tells the truth.

Jews were scattered, but not erased. Hunted, but not broken. Mocked, but not silenced.

And now, after 2,000 years, the Jewish soul has returned home.

Not because of politics.

Not because of the UN.

Not because of armies.

But because of a promise made by God Himself.

So next time you hear that haunting tune, don’t just listen. Stand.

Because Hatikvah is more than a song.

It is the anthem of the impossible.

And it is still singing.