The voice and the rifle: How Umm Kulthum became a target of the Mossad

In the early hours of 3 February 1975, the Arab world stood still.

More than four million people flooded the streets of Cairo for a funeral second in size only to that of Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser.

Umm Kulthum was mourned as the "Lady of Arabic Song", a voice that for decades had united the Arab world. Her monthly live radio concerts brought cities to a halt and her singing gave language to love, grief and longing across generations.

But her legacy was never confined to the stage. 

More than 50 years after her death, newly surfaced accounts shed light on a woman whose voice was considered so potent that it allegedly landed her on an Israeli assassination list decades earlier.

Long before borders were hardened by conflict, Umm Kulthum's voice served as a bridge across the Levant. Between 1929 and 1935, she visited Palestine at least three times, performing in the cultural centres of Jaffa, Haifa and Jerusalem.

These visits, documented by the legendary Palestinian musician Wasif Jawhariyyeh, highlight a period of cultural renaissance and rich artistic life. Travelling by train between cities, she performed early works such as En Kont Asameh (If I Forgive).

It was during these tours that she reportedly received her most iconic title. According to local lore, a fan at a theatre in Palestine, moved by her performance, cried out: "Kawkab al-Sharq", the Star of the East.

These performances were evidence of a flourishing Palestinian cultural milieu that included a vibrant theatre and literary scene, featuring figures such as Jamil al-Bahri and Najib Nassar - a world that would be largely silenced by the events of the 1948 Nakba.

A national mission

As the geopolitical landscape shifted, so did perceptions of Umm Kulthum's influence. In July 1949, the Egyptian newspaper Al Balagh reported that Israel's state radio was broadcasting daily "death sentences" against Umm Kulthum and other prominent Arab artists, including Salima Pasha Murad and Siham Rifqi.

Umm Kulthum's performances were evidence of a flourishing Palestinian cultural milieu

Their supposed crime was the mobilisation of Arab public morale and support for Arab armies during the 1948 war. Although these reported "sentences" were later dropped following the 1949 armistice agreements, a dangerous precedent had been set: Israeli authorities viewed her cultural influence as a security concern rather than mere entertainment.

But it was in the wake of the 1967 defeat, known in Arabic as the Naksa, that her political life entered its most dramatic chapter.

Umm Kulthum would not remain silent, and later reflected on that moment. "I refused to surrender to despair after the Naksa in 1967. I had only two choices: either to remain silent and retreat into a corner of psychological collapse, or to move forward with my weapon - my voice - and give all the effort I could to the battle. I chose the second," she said in an October 1971 interview with Al-Hilal magazine.

She launched a massive fundraising campaign to support the rebuilding of the Egyptian military, describing herself as being on a "national mission".

That mission followed her on to stages across the Arab world, and eventually to the Olympia theatre in Paris in November 1967, where tensions reached a breaking point. 

The concert itself was exceptional - historian Namik Sinan Turan notes that the Olympia's director, Bruno Coquatrix, invited Umm Kulthum at the urging of President Charles de Gaulle, who was reportedly in attendance. 

Egyptian radio broadcaster Jalal Moawad introduced her by saying: "Today, Umm Kulthum will sing in Paris, and tomorrow in occupied Jerusalem."

The theatre's director reportedly rushed backstage in a panic, fearing the political fallout. Umm Kulthum stood her ground, insisting that she was on a national mission and warned: "If this shames you, we will pack up and leave."

She won the standoff, and the announcement was repeated to thunderous applause.

Operation 'Cow's Eyes'

Drawing on declassified British and US intelligence documents, the Arabic-language book Umm Kulthum and the Mossad: Secrets of Operation Cow's Eyes by journalist Tawhid Magdy details how Israeli intelligence monitored Umm Kulthum as part of a covert operation.

The book recounts how Israeli operatives closely tracked her fundraising activities, surveilled her home in Cairo, attempted to plant listening devices and explored ways to intimidate her into abandoning her financial support for the Egyptian army.

Intelligence reports cited in the book suggest she raised enough money to finance the purchase of 12 modern tanks or five fighter jets.

The book further describes how the Mossad foreign intelligence agency placed Umm Kulthum on a so-called "liquidation list" and pursued plans to eliminate her, including an attempt to plant a Greek operative disguised as a nurse to exploit her chronic knee condition with lethal intent. The operation reportedly failed, but the episode underscored her standing as a pillar of Arab resistance.

In 2020, the municipalities of Lod and Haifa decided to name streets after Umm Kulthum as a symbol of coexistence, a plan that sparked fierce opposition. Critics accused her of holding anti-Israel views or of singing a song titled Slaughter the Jews.

In reality, the controversy centred on the song Asbaha Andi Alana Bunduqiyah (I Now Have a Rifle), written by Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani and composed by Egyptian singer Mohammed Abdel Wahab in 1968. The lyrics contain no such language and instead speak in the register of resistance, loss and dispossession.

Umm Kulthum worked with Egyptian Jewish artists throughout her career, including the remarkable composer Dawood Hosni, born David Haim Levy. One of her closest friends was the Jewish actress Raqiya Ibrahim.

At the same time, Umm Kulthum held clear anti-Zionist and anti-colonial positions and did not separate her art from the political realities shaping the region.

Asbaha Andi Alana Bunduqiyah (I Now Have a Rifle)

Lyrics: Nizar Qabbani
Music: Mohammed Abdel Wahab (1968)

"I now have a rifle, to Palestine take me with you
To the hills of sorrow, like the face of Mary Magdalene
To the green domes and the stones of the prophets
For 20 years, I have searched for a land and an identity
Searching for my home, which is there
Searching for my homeland surrounded by fences
Searching for my childhood and my neighbourhood friends
Since I held my rifle, Palestine has become only metres away
Oh rebels... in Jerusalem, Hebron, Beisan and Bethlehem
Advance... advance to Palestine, the only path passes through the mouth of a rifle..."

(Translation by Majd Asadi)

By the early 1970s, her health was failing. During her final performances of Laylat Hob (A Night of Love), musicians noted that her voice - usually a force of nature - wavered with a new fragility. When the curtain fell for the last time, a "deafening silence" filled the stage.

Half a century after her death, Umm Kulthum remains more than a singer. She is the echo in the radio, the symbol of a lost cosmopolitan Palestine and a reminder that in the Middle East, a song can be as formidable as a fortress.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye.