Every June, Israelis join LGBTQ+ communities and allies around the world in celebrating Pride Month.
We celebrate because there is so much to be proud of.
Israel remains one of the few places in the Middle East where LGBTQ+ people can live openly, build families, serve in government, advocate publicly, and march through the streets with rainbow flags. We have openly gay members of Knesset, LGBTQ+ organizations that operate freely, and communities that continue pushing society forward.
These achievements matter.
They did not happen by accident.
They happened because activists fought for them.
Of course, every Pride Month brings accusations of “pinkwashing.”
My view is simple: it is only pinkwashing if your support for LGBTQ+ people begins and ends with a rainbow logo in June.
The activists, educators, parents, community leaders, and organizations fighting for LGBTQ+ equality in Israel do this work every month of the year. They show up when there are no parades, no headlines, and no corporate campaigns. They advocate for better laws, support vulnerable youth, help families, and build communities. You can criticize Israel—as I often do—while still recognizing that the people doing this work are genuine. Their commitment does not disappear on July 1.
But Pride was never supposed to be a victory lap.
It was always a protest.
Fighting to advance LGBTQ+ rights in Israel
As someone who has spent much of my life in activist spaces, I sometimes worry that people forget this. Pride Month can easily become a collection of rainbow logos, colorful social media posts, and celebrations of how far we've come.
And we have come far.
But we are not finished.
Not even close.
The reality is that LGBTQ+ Israelis still face barriers that many heterosexual Israelis never have to think about.
Yes, Israel has made enormous progress. Same-sex marriages performed abroad are recognized by the state, and that matters. But gay Israelis still cannot get married in their own country. They should not have to board a flight to Cyprus to access a right that many of their fellow citizens can exercise at home.
LGBTQ+ youth continue to experience higher rates of bullying, isolation, and mental health challenges. Transgender Israelis still navigate systems that often fail to understand or accommodate their needs. Many religious LGBTQ+ Israelis continue to struggle with communities that tell them they must choose between their faith and their identity.
We have every reason to be proud of how far we've come. We also have every reason to demand more.
What makes me hopeful is that I have seen firsthand how much Israeli society has changed.
I think about Jerusalem Pride every year.
Unlike Tel Aviv Pride, Jerusalem's march has never been easy.
It exists because activists refused to accept that LGBTQ+ visibility belonged only in certain cities or certain neighborhoods. For more than two decades, people have marched through Jerusalem despite opposition, threats, political controversy, and even violence.
The murder of Shira Banki at Jerusalem Pride in 2015 remains one of the darkest moments in LGBTQ+ Israeli history. She was just 16 years old when she was stabbed to death while attending the march because she believed in a more accepting society.
Every year, people return to the streets in her memory.
That choice to return says something important about Israel.
It says that progress is not inevitable.
It must be defended.
The story of LGBTQ+ rights in Israel is not a story of governments generously handing out rights. It is a story of citizens organizing, speaking up, challenging institutions, and demanding change.
That is something worth celebrating.
But it is also a reminder of our responsibility.
Patriotism and criticism are not opposites.
In fact, some of the most meaningful criticism comes from people who care deeply about their country.
I criticize Israel because I love Israel.
I march at Pride because I believe Israel can continue becoming a more equal, more inclusive, and more compassionate society.
The goal of Pride is not to convince ourselves that everything is perfect.
The goal is to build a future that is better than the present.
That means protecting LGBTQ+ youth.
It means supporting transgender Israelis.
It means ensuring that religious and LGBTQ+ identities are not treated as mutually exclusive.
It means continuing the work that previous generations of activists began.
Pride Month should make us proud.
It should also make us ambitious.
The Israel I love is not perfect. It never has been.
But loving a country does not mean pretending its work is done.
It means helping it become the country it promises to be.
I want an Israel where LGBTQ+ teenagers never feel alone. An Israel where religious and LGBTQ+ identities are not seen as contradictions. An Israel where same-sex couples can get married at home rather than boarding a flight to another country.
That is what Pride asks of us—not just celebration, but responsibility. Not just gratitude for the progress we've made, but determination to finish the work.
The writer is an activist and content creator. Raised in Jerusalem and living in Tel Aviv, she has become a leading voice on and offline for Liberal Zionism. A third-generation IDF veteran with over a decade in Israel Advocacy, Hallel has created and executed content for dozens of major organizations. She is an associate at the Tel Aviv Institute.