Noa had also planned to attend Pride today, but with the parade cancelled, instead she spent Friday soaking up the sun-bleached beaches of Tel Aviv.
The Middle East’s largest LGBTQ+ event was expected to draw thousands to Israel’s famously liberal city. Guest of honour Caitlyn Jenner was set to attend what was due to be the first Pride since October 7 and locals were clearly ready for a bit of joy.
On HaYarkon Street, Ori, 60, who owns a local shop, is gutted. “There is a large gay community here in Tel Aviv and Pride is central to the gay community,” he says. He hopes it will be rescheduled. “It makes people happy – we need a little bit of happiness right now.” Still, he supports the strike against Iran. “It’s about time,” he adds while restocking shelves.
We had to walk around to find a café that was still open
A few blocks away on Allenby Street, Gal, 42, sits outside his rainbow-festooned bar, nursing a quiet beer with a small group of friends. The place had been prepped for Pride – but the party never came.
For Gal, Pride is more than a parade, it is a symbol of freedom – the very thing he believes Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government is threatening. “The government is trying to kill our spirit,” he says. “If we’re free, we might do whatever we want and not what they want us to do.”
The cancellation has disappointed the international crowds too. At the hotel next to Gal’s bar, guests from the US, UK and France had flown in for the festivities. “Now they came here for nothing,” he shrugs.
Still, the city remains defiantly colourful. Rainbow flags flap from balconies, and at Shuk Hacarmel, the city's largest market, a bartender wears one like a superhero cape as she blasts music and mixes arak.
Carmel Market was quieter than usual (Photo: J Prinsley)[Missing Credit]
Nearby, Roxy, 34, from London, and her friends wander the quieter-than-usual market lanes. “We’re used to sirens,” she says, “but the phone message was something new. Were they telling us to do something? Or just warning we might have to? It was a bit unclear.”
They’re annoyed about Pride being cancelled, but more irritated that some of their favourite brunch spots are shut. “The main issue,” says Jude, 32, “was we had to walk around to find a café that was still open.”
Abrishal, 25, a Tel Aviv local, was at the beach when the sirens went off. He headed with friends to a nearby underground car park to shelter. Today, he is basking in the sunshine, eating a challah roll shirtless.
“If they’re not telling us we’ll be dead tomorrow,” he laughs, “then in Israel we think everything is fine. Don’t worry. This is the Israeli way.”
Near the beach, four North Americans – Talia, 20, Layla, 18, Eden, 18, and Clara, 19 – are still buzzing after a chaotic night. In Israel for summer internships, they were on a bus home from Moonchild, a popular club, when the sirens hit. They got lost and ended up in Jaffa, where they stumbled into a bomb shelter. “I thought we’d be stuck in this random shelter all night,” one recalls.
Desperate to get home but unable to find a taxi, they eventually found a driver – an anarchist, they say, who ignored the government’s warnings. They made it back to central Tel Aviv just after dawn.
“I didn’t get to sleep until after 6am,” says Layla. “I didn’t even sleep,” adds Talia.
But now, glistening in bikinis and draped in Judaica, they’re back from the beach and plotting their evening; the sirens have not dented their spirit.
The few open cafes thronged with Tel Avivians (Photo: J Prinsley)[Missing Credit]
“As long as people are able to walk on the streets, I’m sure they will throw parties,” says Eden. “Here, people live life to the fullest.”
That attitude is easier for some to adopt than others. For market stall owners, the situation has impacted trade. Mortaz runs a juice stall and heard the sirens from bed. Today, his main worry is the slowdown in business. “It’s very down,” he says, surveying the quiet market where most non-essential stalls are shuttered. He opened – the fruit would spoil otherwise – “It’s not a problem for me, but people think it’s unsafe,” he says.
“But it is a good attack,” he adds, “Iran tried, but they haven’t made any impact.”
If they ask me to sit a week in the shelter, I will do it
At the edge of Carmel Market, Moishe, 38, stands by his familiar Friday spot. He works in security, but for 15 years has been coming here to help men lay tefillin. He was also asleep when the sirens blasted and is a little tired after the eventful night.
“At first, I thought it was another missile from Yemen,” he recalls. “After a few minutes, I checked the news and realised it was not rockets. The Iranians are the most dangerous entity in the world for the Jewish community.”
He believes the strikes might finally bring the war to an end, targeting what he calls “the head and the body of the snake”.
He was later than usual to his normal spot for tefillin, waiting for the security advice to allow Israelis to travel freely again. “As soon as the advice changed that we could come out, I came here,” he says.
He is prepared for what comes next. “If they ask me to go and sit a week in the shelter, I will do it. I am OK to sit in the shelter and pray to God.” He pauses. “I worry about the retaliation... but in Israel, this is our routine. This is our life.”
A woman stops by his stall to collect free Shabbat candles. The market continues to hum, quieter than usual, but alive. Sirens may halt the music, but they do not stop the rhythm of life in the White City
