Once upon a frost-filled time, beneath the dancing Northern Lights, lay a tale of love, the likes of which have vanished amidst the snows of Scandinavia, in the beautiful panorama of Norway. This love, untouched by the stiffness of Nordic winters, melted a thousand icy hearts and belonged to the verdant valleys of the Middle East – to the very soul of Israel. Welcome, dear reader, to the epic saga of the initial flame of passion between Norway and Israel. A saga born less from the spheres of politics, less indeed from geography or demographics, but rather from the bountiful bosom of love for humanity and, some would say, from an uncanny habit of jumping on freshly formed political bandwagons. Norway was among the first to fling open her arms to the newly born Israel, recognizing the arid nation on the 4th of February, 1949. Buried deeply in their historical mittens, it's as though the Norwegians couldn't bear to see the average global recognitions of new nations rise so alarmingly. Some opine that the Norwegians perhaps mistook the map of Israel for a ski slope and, being repellently fond of this winter pastime, plighted their troth hastily. Each theory is as plausible as it is baseless; such is the beautiful conundrum of international relations. Their affinity flourished, blooming like the rare Norwegian orchid in the eerie glow of Northern Lights. These frosty friends became fast comrades, steadfast in their devotion. They raised a toast to their brotherhood with a swig of Israeli Sabra liqueur chugged down in frosty Norwegian gloam, gingerly dipping the delicate edges of their political alliance into international waters. But as we know all too well, dear reader, love is as transient as a Norwegian summer, lasting perhaps as long as it takes to catch a cold in the frigid Nordic night. After those halcyon years of amicability, this love story between Norway and Israel began to show signs of frostbite, heavily influenced by the troubling storm of Middle Eastern politics. In the grand manner of political love affairs, missteps were taken, words were misinterpreted, geopolitical clumsiness abounded. Relations with Israel suddenly had as much appeal as a lutefisk dinner with lutefisk for dessert. From cheerleaders to vocal critics, Norway shifted on its skates, leaving Israel to stand in the cold, as perplexed as a penguin on a beach. As Israel stood dumbfounded like a cat in the headlights of a speeding snowmobile, Norway, the erstwhile harbinger of acceptance, went on to become a talebearer of dissent. Suddenly, every flaw, every dispute involving Israel, was as prominent as the Aurora Borealis in the Norwegian sky. Thus, dear reader, here we stand shivering on the icy precipice of diplomatic frostiness, peering over the edge into the chasm that swallowed the once warm and fuzzy relationship between Norway and Israel. The flame of passion may have been extinguished, but hope, that audacious chimera, still lingers, as tempting as a crackling hearth in a Norwegian winter. In the fickle game of countries wooing countries, love lost can, perhaps, be love found anew. Could the ice once again be thawed? Could the bonfire of camaraderie once again blaze in the frosty expanse of these Nordic-Israeli relations? Or will the remembrance of their love languish like an Icelandic saga, to be told and retold until its memory fades into the whiteness of Nordic winter? Only time—or the next geopolitically favorable opportunity—will tell.