This week, I met two European friends, a gay couple based in Brussels. One is a teacher; the other works for an international organization in the city. They spend every summer in Israel. For them, Tel Aviv remains the perfect vacation destination, even today.
“The moment we arrive at the El Al check-in counter and people realize we are a couple, the red carpet is rolled out for us,” they told me.
It was heartening to hear, especially now. Since the October 7 massacre, a growing rift has emerged between Israel and influential segments of organized LGBTQ activism across Europe. The disagreement is no longer simply about the war in Gaza but about solidarity, moral consistency, and the meaning of universal values.
For decades, Israel was widely regarded as part of the liberal democratic family to which Europe also belongs. Tel Aviv became one of the world’s leading Pride destinations and a symbol of openness in a region where same-sex relations remain criminalized in many states and LGBTQ people face persecution.
Israeli and European organizations worked together to advance equality, combat discrimination, and protect minority rights. Even when they disagreed over the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, they still regarded one another as partners committed to the same democratic ideals.
That sense of partnership has been badly shaken.
The war in Gaza has caused immense civilian suffering, which deserves sustained attention and public debate. Yet for many Israelis, another striking feature of public discourse has been the relative silence surrounding the atrocities that precipitated the war: the October 7 massacre, the widespread sexual violence documented by United Nations investigators, and the prolonged captivity of the hostages, some for more than two years.
The issue is not whether Israel should be criticized. Democracies invite scrutiny, and Israel is no exception. The issue is whether empathy has become selective. When public discourse recognizes only one side’s suffering, it loses the moral complexity required to understand a conflict in which civilians on both sides have paid a terrible price.
The modern LGBTQ movement achieved remarkable victories by insisting that rights belong to every individual, regardless of political opinion, nationality, religion, or ethnicity. That principle transformed societies, changed laws, and expanded liberty for millions.
An advocacy movement need not endorse every political position. It should, however, distinguish criticism of Israeli policy from treating Jewish or Israeli identity as prima facie evidence of culpability or complicity. When participation is conditioned on repudiating one’s nationality or communal ties, inclusion becomes a political loyalty test.
The consequences extend beyond politics. Universities, cultural institutions, civil society organizations, and Pride events have become arenas where Israeli and Jewish participation is contested, and Jewish organizations have at times been expected to distance themselves from Israel before being accepted as legitimate partners.
During WorldPride Amsterdam this August, unauthorized flyers bearing the logos of the city, WorldPride, and the anti-discrimination platform RITA displayed the names, photographs, and locations of Israeli and Jewish artists, as well as people described as IDF soldiers. Readers were urged to “watch out for war criminals.” WorldPride organizers, the municipality, and RITA disavowed the flyers, and the police opened an investigation.
In Berlin, a participant at a Christopher Street Day march reported being harassed over Israeli symbols. Whether viewed individually or as part of a broader pattern, these incidents raise an uncomfortable question: Why has the presence of Jews and Israelis in spaces intended to foster inclusion begun to attract suspicion and, at times, intimidation?
Political coalitions often unite unlikely partners, and shared opposition to one issue – Israeli policy – can eclipse disagreements on other matters. But when universal principles become subordinate to political alignment, something essential is lost.
Selective defense of rights
A movement that asks society to defend rights without qualification cannot defend those same rights selectively. This is not simply a question of political consistency. It is a moral challenge.
How can organizations dedicated to protecting minorities overlook antisemitism within coalitions they otherwise embrace? Israeli organizations are not immune from criticism.
The test is whether Jews and Israelis can participate without being treated as representatives of a government or required to prove their political innocence. In some places, simply being visibly Jewish or Israeli is enough to make people feel unwelcome in a movement founded on inclusion.
The incidents in Amsterdam and Berlin do not prove that an entire movement has abandoned its ideals. But they do show why Jews and Israelis in some LGBTQ spaces increasingly fear that visibility will bring suspicion rather than solidarity.
This tension also reflects a broader divide between Israel and Europe. Israeli public discourse often begins with the security trauma of October 7, while European debate often begins with the humanitarian devastation of Gaza. Both speak the language of human rights but are rooted in different wounds. Each perspective becomes morally incomplete when it erases the other.
The debate, therefore, extends far beyond Israel. It is ultimately about whether liberal societies remain capable of defending their principles consistently, including when doing so is politically inconvenient. A universal value ceases to be universal once it is applied selectively.
At their best, Europe’s LGBTQ movements have demonstrated that equality is meaningful precisely when it protects people who are unpopular or politically isolated. Their challenge now is to uphold that principle when Jews or Israelis are the ones asking for inclusion. That is where moral leadership begins. It is also where prejudice, however carefully disguised in the language of tolerance, is finally exposed.
My two friends have already booked an apartment in Tel Aviv for next summer. They still see Israel as a place where they are welcomed for who they are. That welcome should not remain the exception. If Europe’s LGBTQ movement wants to honor the principle it was built on, it must ask why that welcome is fading and start extending it again.
The writer is a senior fellow at the Jewish People Policy Institute (JPPI) and a professor of European studies and international relations in the Department of Politics and Government at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev.