For years, a cheap airline ticket made the Jewish state feel almost European. An Israeli could fly to Warsaw for the weekend, a student in Milan could visit family in Israel, and a European Jew could travel to Tel Aviv almost as easily as to another European capital.
Budget aviation accomplished something that diplomacy and treaties never quite achieved: It made the Mediterranean Sea seem smaller and brought Israel into the everyday rhythms of European life.
Then came Oct. 7, and the old boundaries reappeared.
A recent report on the changing economics of European aviation offers an unexpected window into this transformation. According to the report, selected economy fares on Ryanair, easyJet and Wizz Air were 39.2% higher in May than a year earlier. Compared with early 2024, average fares had more than doubled. Fuel costs have risen sharply, while baggage, seat selection and other additional charges have become increasingly important to the business model.
These companies are making commercial and security calculations, not geopolitical statements.
For European travelers, this is primarily an economic story. The era of extraordinarily inexpensive flying may be changing. For Israelis, however, two developments are converging: Low-cost flying is becoming less low-cost, while regional instability has made air links to Europe increasingly fragile.
In the past seven decades, Israel has become deeply connected to Europe without ever becoming fully part of its institutional order. The European Union is Israel’s largest trading partner. Israeli researchers participate extensively in European research programs. Israelis study at European universities, purchase homes in European cities, acquire European citizenship and travel across the continent in enormous numbers.
Budget airlines provided much of the physical infrastructure for this relationship. Ryanair, easyJet and Wizz Air turned European capitals into places Israelis could visit frequently rather than occasionally. Rome and Vienna became weekend destinations. Bucharest and Athens were less than three hours away. At times, a flight to Berlin could cost less than dinner at a Tel Aviv restaurant.
This wasn’t simply tourism. It altered how Israelis imagined their place in relation to Europe.
The wars since the Hamas-led terrorist attacks in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, have exposed the fragility of that arrangement. When security conditions deteriorate, foreign airlines can leave—and quickly.
Europe remains deeply attractive, even when Israelis are angry with it.
easyJet has canceled its Tel Aviv services until late October 2026, while Ryanair remains absent for a combination of commercial and operational reasons. Wizz Air offers perhaps the clearest illustration. It returned to Israel in May following an earlier suspension, only to halt its Tel Aviv operations again when Iran fired missiles at Israel in June.
Nothing is surprising about an airline protecting its passengers, crews and aircraft. These companies are making commercial and security calculations, not geopolitical statements. What matters is what their decisions reveal about Israel’s relationship with Europe.
For decades, globalization encouraged Israelis to believe that physical location mattered less. Europe appeared close, inexpensive and readily available. During periods of calm, an Israeli could inhabit several worlds almost simultaneously: working in Tel Aviv, holding a Portuguese passport, collaborating with colleagues in Brussels and spending a weekend in Budapest.
Security crises reveal the limits of that experience. European citizens continue moving within one of the most integrated transportation systems ever created. Israelis looking toward the same network discover that their ability to enter it can vanish from an airline timetable within hours.
This vulnerability has another dimension that receives far less attention: Europe’s Jewish communities.
Budget aviation has transformed contemporary Jewish life as well. For many European Jews, Israel is not just another foreign destination. Children study there. Relatives live there. Families travel for holidays. Friends move between Israeli and European cities. Some contemplate aliyah. Others would never consider leaving their home countries, but still regard Israel as part of their emotional, communal and religious world.
Frequent and affordable flights, therefore, helped create an informal Jewish space stretching from Tel Aviv to London, Paris, Berlin, Madrid. An airline seat became one small part of the infrastructure sustaining ties across that space.
This has acquired particular importance since Oct. 7. Jewish communities across Europe have experienced a dramatic resurgence of violent antisemitism. Against that background, Israel can assume a different psychological role for many European Jews. Here lies the paradox: At precisely the moment when some may feel a stronger bond with Israel, getting there has become less predictable.
That doesn’t mean European Jews are preparing to leave. Nor should every discussion of European antisemitism end with the question of aliyah. Jewish life on the continent is ancient, diverse and deeply rooted. The more interesting issue is how the ability to travel to Israel shapes the meaning of belonging in Europe.
Knowing that Israel is three hours and a modest airfare away produces a different sense of security and belonging than knowing that flights may disappear with the next missile attack. Physical proximity and emotional attachment are different things, but they inevitably influence one another.
There is a mirror image in Israel.
At times, a flight to Berlin could cost less than dinner at a Tel Aviv restaurant.
Israelis have rarely been more critical of Europe politically. Disagreements over Gaza, settlements, violent settlers, the recognition of Palestine and international law have strained relations with several European governments. At the same time, Israelis continue to seek European citizenship, travel across the continent, attend football matches and purchase apartments in European cities. Europe remains deeply attractive, even when Israelis are angry with it.
The changing aviation map therefore illuminates a broader feature of Israel’s relationship with the continent. Israel is deeply embedded in European economic, academic, cultural, sporting and social networks, yet it does not enjoy the institutional protections that underpin integration among E.U. member states.
In ordinary times, that distinction is easy to overlook. Political agreements, research programs, tourism, dual citizenship and frequent flights create an extraordinary degree of proximity. Under pressure, however, the limits become unmistakable. Airlines withdraw. Academic relationships come under strain. Cultural and sporting participation becomes politicized. Ties that once appeared routine suddenly look provisional.
The airline ticket was, therefore, never just an airline ticket. It represented a remarkable period during which Israelis and European Jews became accustomed to treating Israel and Europe as parts of a shared social space.
Now the economics of European aviation are changing as well. Fares are rising, operating costs are increasing, and carriers are reconsidering where they deploy their aircraft. For many Europeans, that may mean paying more for a weekend abroad. Israel faces an additional vulnerability: It sits at the edge of the European aviation system and risks being removed from it whenever the regional security calculus changes.
For 20 years, budget airlines taught Israelis that Europe was next door. Since Oct. 7, they have been reminded that it is still abroad.
For Israelis and European Jews alike, what is becoming more fragile may ultimately matter far more than the price of the ticket.
