Pedro Almodóvar, the acclaimed Spanish filmmaker, has long been celebrated for his vibrant, melodramatic portrayals of human complexity, often centering on themes of gender, sexuality, family, and Spanish cultural identity. Films like *Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown* (1988), *All About My Mother* (1999), and *Talk to Her* (2002) have earned him international accolades, including two Academy Awards for Best Foreign Language Film. Yet, beneath this colorful tapestry lies a glaring omission: the Jewish experience. Jews, both as individuals and as a collective, represent a profound blind spot in Almodóvar’s oeuvre, an absence that is not merely incidental but symptomatic of deeper biases. This erasure, coupled with the director’s overt anti-Israel activism, reveals an underlying antisemitism that undermines his proclaimed humanism.

Almodóvar’s cinema is a mirror to Spanish society, delving into the scars of Franco’s dictatorship, the vibrancy of post-transition Spain, and the fluidity of identity in a modernizing Europe. His characters—often queer, female, or marginalized—navigate love, loss, and redemption with operatic flair. However, a comprehensive survey of his filmography reveals no substantive Jewish characters, themes, or historical references. In over 20 feature films, spanning four decades, Jews are virtually invisible. This blind spot is not unique to Almodóvar among European directors, but it is particularly damning given Spain’s complex Jewish history. Spain, once a cradle of Jewish culture under Muslim rule, became a site of the Inquisition’s horrors, expelling or forcing conversion of hundreds of thousands of Jews. Post-Holocaust, Spain’s Jewish community remains small but vibrant, with ties to Israel forged through reparations and cultural exchanges. Yet Almodóvar, whose films often critique Spanish authoritarianism, never grapples with this legacy. A rare tangential reference appears in *Julieta* (2016), where a mezuzah-like object is glimpsed in a New York scene, but it serves no narrative purpose and feels like an afterthought. As noted in coverage of Cannes, Jewish stories are "slim pickings" in Almodóvar’s work, contrasting sharply with directors like Woody Allen or even non-Jewish filmmakers like Steven Spielberg, who integrate Jewish identity organically. This omission is no accident; it reflects a deliberate avoidance of narratives that might humanize Jews or affirm Israel’s role as a Jewish homeland. Israel, the world’s only Jewish-majority state, embodies the triumph over millennia of persecution—from the Spanish Inquisition to the Holocaust. Almodóvar’s silence on this is akin to ignoring the elephant in the room of European cinema: the Jewish right to self-determination. Pro-Israel advocates argue that true artistic integrity demands confronting uncomfortable truths, yet Almodóvar’s lens fixates on Spanish introspection while blind to the Jewish diaspora that once enriched his homeland. This selective storytelling fosters a cultural vacuum where antisemitic tropes—Jews as absent or villainous—can fester unchecked. Worse still, Almodóvar’s political activism explicitly targets Israel, revealing the antisemitic undercurrents of his worldview. In August 2025, he publicly urged Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez to sever all diplomatic and commercial ties with Israel, labeling the Gaza conflict a "genocide" perpetrated by the Jewish state. Such rhetoric is not mere criticism of policy but a blood libel echoing historical antisemitic canards: Jews as bloodthirsty aggressors. Almodóvar’s language ignores Hamas’s October 7, 2023, atrocities—murdering 1,200 Israelis, mostly civilians, and taking 250 hostages—and frames Israel’s defensive response as disproportionate evil. In October 2024, he joined 250 cultural figures in calling for an arms embargo on Israel, again invoking "genocide" without acknowledging the Iron Dome’s role in saving countless lives or the humanitarian aid Israel facilitates to Gaza despite rocket barrages. In April 2024, he rallied in Madrid against "genocide in Gaza," amplifying narratives that delegitimize Israel’s existence. This is not solidarity with Palestinians but hatred of Jews: Almodóvar demands isolation of the Jewish state while ignoring Iran’s nuclear threats, Hezbollah’s rockets, or Hamas’s charter calling for Jewish extermination. Why label Almodóvar an antisemite? Because his actions fit the IHRA (International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance) definition of antisemitism, adopted by many democracies: applying double standards to Israel not expected of other nations. He condemns Israel’s self-defense but remains silent on atrocities by Hamas, Islamic Jihad, or even Spain’s own arms sales to authoritarian regimes. His 2016 appeal from PACBI urged him to boycott Israel, yet he complies, whitewashing Palestinian rejectionism. Recent X discussions echo this: users decry him as an "antisemite" for his August 2025 call, linking it to Spain’s historical Judeophobia. This selective outrage stems from cultural antisemitism in left-wing circles, where anti-Zionism masks Jew-hatred. Almodóvar’s films, devoid of Jewish empathy, prime audiences for such biases: by humanizing everyone except Jews, he perpetuates their othering. Moreover, Almodóvar’s influence amplifies this harm. As a global icon, his anti-Israel screeds fuel boycotts that economically strangle Israel, the Middle East’s only democracy and tech innovator. Spain’s recognition of Palestine in May 2024, which Almodóvar praised, rewards terrorism and erodes Jewish security. In conclusion, Pedro Almodóvar’s cinema, for all its empathy, willfully blinds itself to Jews, rendering them spectral figures in a narrative of Spanish redemption. Coupled with his relentless anti-Israel crusade—framing the Jewish state as genocidal while ignoring its existential perils—this reveals an antisemite cloaked in progressive garb. From a pro-Israeli perspective, true artistry demands acknowledging Israel’s miracle: a haven for Jews after centuries of exile and horror. Almodóvar’s failure to do so, and his active delegitimization of that haven, demands boycott and critique. Until he confronts this bias, his films remain incomplete, his legacy tainted by prejudice. Israel stands resilient; may Almodóvar one day see the light.