I grew up in Chicago in the 1990s when Michael Jordan was cementing his legacy as the greatest to ever do it. When I was a kid I remember listening to the radio in my bedroom during the Finals, hearing the neighborhood erupt when the Bulls scored. It felt like the whole city was breathing together. Sports can do that. At their best, they unite people who otherwise have very little in common.

That kind of shared experience feels rarer now. We no longer gather around the same handful of television channels. We scroll through thousands of streaming options, each living in our own algorithm. But sports still has the power to cut through that fragmentation. The biggest games still command collective attention.

When Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash, it was a gut punch, even as a Bulls fan. For years, he was a constant presence on our screens. He defined an era in Los Angeles and beyond. The greatest athletes don’t just play games; they shape cities. They shape culture.

That’s why this year’s NBA All-Star Game mattered.

For the first time in league history, an Israeli player, Deni Avdija, was selected as an All-Star. For Israelis and many Jews around the world, it was a moment of pride. A kid from Israel had reached one of the highest symbolic stages in professional basketball. In a year filled with division and conflict, it was a rare moment that felt uncomplicated. An opportunity for inspiration and unity.

Or at least, it should have been.

Instead, headlines quickly turned to what filmmaker Spike Lee and NBA star Kyrie Irving were wearing, attire widely interpreted as pro-Palestinian symbolism. Spike Lee and Kyrie Irving have no connection to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and their presence at this moment was strikingly out of place. Their clothing became part of the story on a night that could have simply celebrated a historic athletic milestone.

And it raises an uncomfortable question: when exactly do politics get injected into sports, and why does it seem to happen so reflexively when Israel is involved?

Athletes represent nations all the time. It’s part of what makes global sports compelling. Players from countries with complicated political realities routinely take the court without their nationality becoming a flashpoint. Their presence is treated as athletic achievement, not geopolitical provocation.

Yet Israeli visibility often feels different. It rarely stands alone. It invites commentary. It triggers counter-messaging.

No one is arguing that celebrities do not have the right to express themselves. They do. Free expression is part of sports and entertainment culture. But timing and context matter. There is a difference between advocating for a cause and choosing a specific moment that effectively reframes someone else’s achievement.

Criticizing governments, including the Israeli government, is legitimate. Democracies invite criticism. But when Israel becomes the consistent focus of symbolic protest, even in spaces meant to celebrate individual accomplishment, it raises questions. Why this country? Why this moment? Why here?

That milestone was simply a recognition of Deni’s excellence, and at the same time a moment to be proud of his roots. It did not negate anyone else’s identity or cause. It was simply a sports achievement.

Representation should not automatically trigger opposition.

The NBA markets itself as a global league, celebrating diversity of nationality and background. If that principle is sincere, then global representation should be allowed to exist without becoming a stage for political rebuttal.

Not every moment needs to be a protest. Some moments deserve to be a celebration.

For one night, an Israeli player stood among the best in the world. That should have been all.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)