How two new signings opened a nationwide debate on football and multiculturalism

 

The Hebrew translation of “Forever Pure”, demonstrated at a Beitar match in 2013

 

Zaur Sadayev turns away from his marker. Bursting into the box, he finds himself one-on-one with the opposition goalkeeper. He faces the opposing goalkeeper, then the ball, before coolly side-footing a shot past the keeper’s dive and into the bottom corner, giving his new side a 1-0 lead in a crucial match at their home stadium, as they attempt to avoid relegation.

Usually, this would mean an eruption of noise from all four corners of the stadium; a cacophony of cheers enough to make it a memorable moment for the new signing.

That was the case for the most part – except for a small portion of the home fans.

Sadayev, a Muslim from Chechnya, was a January transfer window signing in 2013 for Beitar Jerusalem, a team from Israel with a fanbase notorious for its anti-Arab racism and anti-Muslim religious bigotry. He was signed alongside fellow Chechen Muslim, Dzhabrail Kadiyev, from local side Akhmat Grozny, then a top-half side in the ever-growing Russian Premier Liga.

Some cheers broke out from the majority of Beitar fans after Sadayev’s goal, but a deadly, almost morbid silence was present among Beitar’s far-right ultras group, La Familia, who eventually decided to walk out of the match in a remarkable political statement.

 

Football clubs tend to represent their local communities, and Beitar is no exception. Known for its ties to nationalist politics, it has historically attracted supporters who see the team as a cultural symbol as much as a club to support for footballing reasons. For decades, the identity of the club has included a controversial unwritten rule – an aversion to signing Arab players, a stance that set Beitar apart from every other major club in Israel.

The story around the groundbreaking additions of these players to Beitar Jerusalem’s squad was detailed in a 2016 documentary, entitled Forever Pure, which looked at the attitudes of the squad and supporters alike around this story.

The documentary helped to show how the club’s history made the signings of Sadayev and Kadiyev particularly unprecedented, and how the players’ presence provided an opportunity for the club to embrace multiculturalism at a time when Israeli society continued to navigate questions of coexistence.

That opportunity was short-lived.

The backlash from La Familia was immediate and relentless. Hostile chants filled the Teddy Stadium, while the players were booed and verbally abused during open training sessions. Multiculturalism was framed not as progress, but as provocation. Football and politics became inseparable, with inclusion treated as betrayal.

These tensions can be compared to the wider Israeli–Palestinian conflict, which has only intensified in the years since. In 2025, following the 7 October Hamas attacks on southern Israel in 2023 and the devastating Israeli military response in Gaza, football in Israel exists in an atmosphere of trauma and polarisation. The war has resulted in tens of thousands of Palestinian deaths, widespread destruction in Gaza, and ongoing displacement, while Israeli society continues to grapple with the memory of the attacks and the fate of hostages.

The global outcry surrounding the war in Gaza has affected football, as the conflict has garnered international attention. In October 2025, supporters of Israeli club Maccabi Tel Aviv were not permitted to attend their Europa League match against Aston Villa in Birmingham, as local authorities classified the fixture as high-risk amid safety concerns linked to protests and wider tensions surrounding the Israel-Gaza conflict.

West Midlands Police banned away supporters, prompting widespread criticism from British political leaders who said such moves risked adding fuel to the fire as far as the conflict is concerned. Maccabi later confirmed it would refuse any ticket allocation for its supporters, citing their safety as paramount, but this incident demonstrates how sport can become entangled with political struggles.

 

Within this new climate, Beitar Jerusalem’s identity, already associated with exclusion, has taken on renewed political weight. Chants and banners at matches increasingly echo the language heard in wider public discourse. The Sadayev and Kadiyev affair now reads more like an early warning of how football reflects unresolved national conflict.

The political implications of the signings were evident even at the time. Arcadi Gaydamak, the club’s Russian-Israeli owner, admitted the move was intentionally provocative.

“I wanted to show society as it really is, to show its real face”, Gaydamak admitted on the documentary. “It is not because they are good footballers – I have no idea if they are any good – but it was for the big reaction.”

Gaydamak became a majority shareholder of Beitar in 2005, investing money into Israeli football clubs in an attempt to gain political power in the country. This later backfired, his party gaining no seats in the Jerusalem mayoral elections of 2008.

After the issue related to the signing of Sadayev and Kadiyev, Gaydamak sold the club – businessman Eli Tabib acquired 75% of Beitar, while 25% was controlled by the club’s supporters. This gesture at the end of an unprecedented time for the club signified the importance of the supporters of Beitar in dictating the political views of the club.

It became clear among the fanbase at the time that there was a divide between those who wanted to make their political opinions clear, and those who just wanted to support the team without outside distractions.

Lifelong Beitar fan Omer is of the latter group, and he explains how the fanbase was impacted and divided by the signings in 2013.

“I hate it when politics gets involved with football, especially when it hurts Beitar, like it did 12 years ago”, he says. “As I was only young at the time, I don’t really remember [when Sadayev and Kadiyev signed], but I remember the reaction caused a lot of damage to the image of Beitar.

“I still think there’s a sense of divide between groups like La Familia and those who just want to support the team, but it is not as obvious as it used to be. You can’t really feel it when you’re in the stadium, it’s mostly on social media.”

In the years since 7 October, that divide has again widened. Social media has become a space where nationalist language circulates freely, often intensified by the ongoing war in Gaza, and football fan pages mirror the same division seen in wider Israeli society.

 

Maya Zinshtein is the director of Forever Pure, which became an Emmy-award winning show in 2018, helping to cast a harsh spotlight on Israel’s right-wing, revealing the darker consequences of unrestrained nationalism.

Speaking to New Frame, Zinshtein explains how the documentary has left a lasting legacy on not only the Beitar fanbase, but also the nationalism debate in Israel.

“Today, ‘forever pure’ is used as an expression for hostility, not just about Beitar”, Zinshtein explains. “It’s a film about a club's season but it tells a wider story.”

While critically acclaimed, Forever Pure was seen by La Familia as an unfavourable representation of the supporters of Beitar, and the organisation, furious with how they were portrayed, subsequently sent death threats to Zinshtein.

“Members of La Familia did not like how they were presented even though it was a fair and accurate reflection”, she reflects. “That is why they got angry.

“It was one of the hardest times of my life, but I was not shocked.”

 

There was no happy ending for the Chechen players, as Beitar avoided relegation on the final day of the season by the skin of their teeth – with Sadayev being shown a straight red card in that match. The documentary portrays how, moments after the final whistle, they travelled to the airport to fly straight back to Chechnya, having terminated their contracts with the club.

The documentary utilises a full-circle structure, as Forever Pure shows supporters turning up to watch a training session, the first one of pre-season, several weeks after Sadayev and Kadiyev have departed the club. The first training session at the start of the show demonstrated a sense of optimism for the season ahead, but by the end of the season, the relationship between La Familia and the club and its management had completely broken down. The same chants remained, but there was a palpable sense of discontent among the fanbase.

One particular chant, against captain Ariel Harush, calling him a ‘traitor’ demonstrated just how this section of the fanbase had turned against the club – goalkeeper Harush had publicly supported the integration of the Chechen players, which La Familia saw as a betrayal of the fanbase’s culture.

 

More than a decade on, the story of the signings continue to resonate in Israeli football and society alike. In 2025, as Gaza remains in ruins and Israeli society wrestles with the moral, human and political consequences of war, the signings of Sadayev and Kadiyev stands as a reminder of how deeply football is entwined with identity.

Their presence at Beitar did not resolve conflict or dismantle prejudice, but it forced a conversation that many would rather have avoided. Multiculturalism in football, as this story shows, is not just about representation on the pitch, but equally about whether environments are willing to accommodate difference.

 

The Chechen signings remain one of the most significant moments in the history of Beitar Jerusalem. It was a moment when football forced a conversation about multiculturalism that extended far beyond the pitch, challenging a fanbase to reconsider who belongs.