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ReflectionAustraliaZedi

This pride season, I’m staying in exile

As a Jewish journalist who’s vocal online, gay pride no longer feels like my ‘safe space’.
Gideon Cohen
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Jewish members of the LGBTQ+ march in pride carrying rainbow

Jewish members of the LGBTQ+ march in pride carrying rainbow flags at the 2025 Pride March on Fitzroy Street. (Photo by Michael Currie/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images)

Published: 5 February 2026

Last updated: 17 February 2026

Before October 7, I never planned to share my thoughts about Israel in public. I’d avoided the conversation for nearly a decade.

I grew up attending a modern orthodox Jewish school and travelled to Israel several times during my teens. I have many friends and family there, but after school I’d taken a break from visiting. 

My high school experience as a Jewish, gay teen in the 2010s was difficult, compounded by my dad’s cancer diagnosis and his tragic death the morning after my graduation. It was a dark, alienating time, set against the backdrop of Australia’s ugly debate over same sex marriage. By the time I finished high school in 2014, I was ready for a fresh start. 

I skipped the traditional Jewish gap year in Israel and went straight to university, where I quickly made many queer, non-Jewish friends. I spent my twenties enjoying every gay club, queer event, and pride party in Melbourne. At the time, it felt liberating.

During this time, I grew increasingly distant from my Jewish identity. As for Israel, it seemed like a place that I’d visited enough – somewhere too politically messy to return to anytime soon. In the years leading up to October 7, I often saw anti-Israel content on social media shared by Melbourne’s queer community. I tried my best to ignore it. 

Naively, I told myself that their rhetoric accusing Israel of being a ‘settler-colonial state’, was hyperbolic. “They just oppose Israel’s current, right-wing government,” I thought. “Surely, they don’t actually want to see Israel dismantled, ‘from the river to the sea’.” 

For years, I kept quiet on the subject. I felt accepted, and assimilated, in what I thought was my second community. I turned out to be very wrong.

Almost every Jewish LGBTQ+ person I’ve met also has a story of being cut off by their queer friends

In order to explain the Melbourne queer community’s reaction to October 7, I first need to explain its demographics. In the south-east suburbs, you’ll find a fairly apolitical gay scene, where most people don’t involve themselves in the Israel-Palestine conflict. There, I’ve met many gay, non-Jewish people who love Tel Aviv and its pride parade. 

The progressive, queer scene in Melbourne’s inner-north is a different story. Today, everything in that community is politicised from a hard-left position. Influenced by radical Marxist and Islamist ideas, it’s a worldview that is anti-capitalist, anti-Western, and aggressively anti-Israel. The Jewish state is falsely smeared as an evil outpost of Western colonialism – one that must be destroyed. Visit any northside queer club and you’ll see posters or graffiti saying “Boycott Israel” and “Fuck Israel”. 

My exile from that community was hard and fast. Immediately after October 7, queer activists, academics, DJs, and event organisers in Melbourne posted content on social media to justify, or even outright glorify, the Hamas massacre as an act of ‘resistance’ and ‘decolonisation’. When the full extent of Hamas’s atrocities became too difficult to justify, they pivoted to denial. I was horrified when a young, queer academic, who had once tutored me at university, reposted a tweet saying “Israel was fucking lying” about October 7. 

Meanwhile, many of my Jewish friends had loved ones who were murdered on that day. In the past two years, I’ve also befriended several brave, young Israelis who either survived the Nova festival or served as first responders during the attack. For me, there was no choice but to combat the vile rhetoric I was seeing in the queer community.

When I posted on Instagram to condemn Hamas and support the hostages, the backlash was immediate. Dozens of queer friends and acquaintances unfollowed me. Most have never spoken to me again. I also expressed horror over the war and loss of life in Gaza and shared videos of hostage families wishing for peace. It wasn’t enough. Having publicly sympathised with Israelis, I was cancelled. At this point, I could have shut up and got offline. Instead, I decided to double down. 

In January 2024, Jewish LGBTQ+ organisation Dayenu were concerned about marching in the Mardi Gras parade, due to hostility from pro-Palestine activists. Pride In Protest, a radical left, queer organisation, posted a response on their Instagram, calling Zionism a “right-wing extremist ideology” and “white supremacy”. Their account also features several posts calling to “globalise the intifada”, along with inverted red triangles – a military symbol of Hamas. Two members of this organisation currently sit on the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Board.

I personally knew people associated with that group who had shared pro-Hamas content after October 7. After seeing their post about Dayenu, I finally snapped. I shared a lengthy statement to my Instagram stories, calling out the extremists in the queer community for their incessant justification of terrorism. I’ve felt persona non grata at northside queer clubs ever since.

Now fully cancelled with nothing to lose, I returned to Israel in June 2024. I’ve since visited twice more, in June 2025, when I was caught in the Iran war, and again this past December. I’ve visited the sites of October 7 twice, including the kibbutzim and the Nova dance floor. Despite the war, I’ve experienced Tel Aviv’s incredible, diverse queer scene and made many new friends, both Israeli and from the Jewish diaspora. Almost every Jewish LGBTQ+ person I’ve met also has a story of being cut off by their queer friends.

Online hate from the queer community has been frequent. As a gay, Jewish journalist, who’s vocal online, it comes with the territory. When I was in Tel Aviv during the second night of the Iran war, I received a torrent of abusive messages from a guy I hooked up with years ago. He was disgusted by my coverage of the war, saying I was “on the wrong side of history”. All I had posted were news updates, videos of running to bomb shelters, and messages of peace and solidarity posted by Iranian and Jewish activists. 

When I tried to reason with him, sending him Instagram accounts of Iranians who were anti-Islamic Republic and pro-peace with Israel, he wrote that I had “a mental illness” and blocked me. A minute later, red alerts flashed on my phone and I rushed to a shelter. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of being abused online – by someone who once slept in your bed – as ballistic missiles are hurtling towards you. The situation would almost be funny if it wasn’t so sick.

After Bondi, the past two years feel like an open wound, which no amount of glitter can conceal

That brings me to this year’s pride season. I absolutely encourage all LGBTQ+ Jewish people, along with their friends and family, to attend events, celebrate their identities, and have an amazing time. Seeing images of the Jewish groups at last weekend’s Midsumma Pride March in St Kilda brings me joy. 

In the last two years, I’ve made a point of attending LGBTQ+ events with other gay, Jewish friends, all of us wearing Magen David necklaces around our necks. My friends are continuing to do so this year, which I’m thrilled to see. But this year, for the first time in my life, I’ve decided not to attend a single event. I just don’t have it in me. After the Bondi Beach massacre in December, I’m completely burnt out. 

Personally, I think the reaction to Bondi, from a large portion of the queer community, has been obscene. For the last two years, many queer people have gleefully marched at weekly pro-Palestine rallies, where attendees have screamed for a “global intifada” and waved the flags of Hamas, Hezbollah and ISIS. When that intifada finally hit the shores of Bondi, they either said nothing, or doubled down and insisted they’ve just been marching for peace. I’m no longer buying it.

I won’t be attending this weekend’s pride street party in Fitzroy, where I’m sure to see anti-Israel posters plastered all over the suburb. I have no desire to party under a rainbow flag with the northside crowd – people who have been aggressively hostile to the Jewish community, my community. And frankly, I refuse to dance alongside people who glorified the murder of innocent, dancing Israelis at the Nova festival. 

After Bondi, the past two years feel like an open wound, which no amount of glitter can conceal. I need time to regroup. I’ll return next year, proudly wearing my Magen David once more.

Last Sunday, when I skipped the pride march, I went to the Iranian Australians’ freedom rally at Parliament House. There, I stood next to two Jewish women draped in Israeli flags. The crowd chanted for an end to the Islamic Republic, the tyrannical regime that has slaughtered tens of thousands of Iranian civilians in the last month. The same regime that trained and funded Hamas to commit October 7. 

Unsurprisingly, there was not a single ‘queer for Palestine’ in sight.

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About the author

Gideon Cohen

Gideon Cohen

Gideon Cohen is a Melbourne-based journalist and a content creator and editorial assistant at TJI. He holds a master's degree in journalism from the University of Melbourne and his work has appeared in various publications including Broadsheet and The Jewish Chronicle.

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Comments8

  • Avatar of Dawn Cohen

    Dawn Cohen13 February at 08:24 am

    Thank you Gideon for your courage and integrity. Jewish acceptance in LGBTQ community and on the left is conditional now on distancing yourself fromIsrael and from Zionism. A exclusion of us that is driven by and endorsed by antizionists. It’s so cruel and no Jew should have to go through that. And yet we do. Good on you for not selling yourself out. I am so sad and sorry you have to suffer that. When we started Dayenu it was so that there was a home in ehat was then gay community for Jews and in Jewish community for ( gays and lesbians ( it was before LGBTQ). We succeeded in the Jewish community ehere mainstream Jewish institutions are now so much more welcoming but unfortunately thanks to antizionist activism, not so much in queer community . We wanted better for you. May that home be yours one day!!!

  • Avatar of Zak Douek

    Zak Douek12 February at 07:43 am

    Gideon, your article mirrors my experience since October 7 and sadly since 14 December exactly.

  • Avatar of Anna

    Anna11 February at 01:11 pm

    You are an inspiration! Keep questioning and keep being your true self.

  • Avatar of Ashley

    Ashley6 February at 11:09 am

    Excellent article
    So sorry the way you’ve been treated

  • Avatar of Hannah Fink

    Hannah Fink6 February at 04:29 am

    Thank you Gideon for your courage and honesty. Take good care of yourself

  • Avatar of Debbie

    Debbie6 February at 03:33 am

    I suspect there’s a whole other book similar to “Ruptured” from gay Jews. This made shocking reading: the repulsive behaviour by adult humans who suddenly lost every shred of decency

  • Avatar of Dennis Altman

    Dennis Altman5 February at 10:43 pm

    Gideon: so sorry you feel this way. Happy to discuss at any point if you’re interested 🙂

  • Avatar of Maddie Brygel

    Maddie Brygel5 February at 07:05 am

    This is an incredible article