Four years ago, when she was 19, A. felt that her ability to repress her emotions was gradually eroding. She had questioned her sexual orientation ever since she was a high-school student in one of the Arab villages in northern Israel, but she remembers that “because it was something that one doesn’t talk about, I didn’t dwell on it too much.”

When she fell in love with her close friend, A could no longer bury these questions deep inside, and she encountered a fresh dilemma: “I was not afraid that she would reject me. I was afraid of admitting my sexual identity to myself.”

It is easy to understand why. While coming out of the closet is not a straightforward process for anyone, for LGBTQ people from traditional and conservative societies – such as the Arab community in Israel – it is even harder.

Although A. only shared her sexual identity with the three people she felt comfortable enough to discuss it with – her sister, her best friend and her family doctor – explosive information of this kind will always find a way to seep out. For the next few years, life in the village turned into hell for her. Every time she stepped outside of her home, she was subjected to verbal abuse focusing on her sexual orientation. “I would not leave the house for events in the village. I would not even go out for a walk,” she says.

A was becoming increasingly preoccupied with herself. She felt rejected both by her community and by her family. At the age of 23, she could no longer stand it and moved to Tel Aviv. But even in the big, liberal city, the life of an Arab lesbian is not easy. “I experienced more homophobia in Tel Aviv than anywhere else,” she said when we met up in a café in Haifa.

“However, for me, standing at a bus stop and hearing strangers hurl abusive comments at me is nothing new; I am in a constant state of anxiety. On the other hand, some people from the village are unable to accept that I am trying to live my life how I want, even if it scares me. They call me selfish because I dared get my hair cut or because I have not visited the village for more than a month.”

A is now in touch with her family only from afar and says that she misses her village – despite the hurtful treatment she was subjected to. When asked whether the Arab society in Israel is capable of changing its attitude toward the LGBTQ community, she sounds pessimistic: “I cannot envisage a future in which it happens,” she says, “A change, if one occurs, might only be as the result of a major social upheaval. But that does not mean we will give up hope.”

Watch Amun speak about his work before the Knesset Committee for Young People:

Alienated, Alone and Without a Support System

A’s story is far from being rare. All of the interviewees for this story – and, indeed, most members of the Arab LGBTQ community in Israel – live in perpetual fear. Fear of being exposed, insulted, alienated, assaulted or even killed.

As Tel Aviv hosts its 25^th annual Gay Pride Parade – an event that has contributed greatly to the ongoing change in Israeli society’s treatment of its LGBTQ community – the situation in the Arab community could not be more different. No Arab town in Israel hosts a Pride Parade. In fact, not a single Arab council or municipality funds any activity organized by the LGBT community; and it does not look like the situation is likely to change any time soon.

The lack of support is not limited to a refusal to hold public events sporting the LGBTQ community struggle for profound social change. While Jewish members of the LGBTQ community enjoy the warm embrace of many politicians - who view their relations with the community as an electoral asset - Arab political leaders avoid the subject. Benny Gantz – a mainstream and rather conservative politician – was one of the keynote speakers at last week’s Pride Parade in Jerusalem, yet not a single Arab Knesset Member was present.

Conservative and religious Arab Members of Knesset were known to insult and incite against members of the LGBTQ community just like their Jewish counterparts. The so-called liberals among them – those who express forward-thinking worldviews about almost every subject and boast a self-proclaimed humanist approach – remain stubbornly tight-lipped regarding the LGBTQ community. As far as they are concerned, the issue simply does not exist.

This catch– of being rejected by their closest circles because of their sexual orientation and rejected by Jewish society because of their national identity – pushes the vast majority of the Arab LGBTQ community in Israel into hiding. Social media platforms are full of posts by families declaring they have severed ties with a son or a daughter, and members of the LGBTQ community are often outed against their will. Only very few find the courage to uproot themselves from their communities and move to Tel Aviv or Haifa, in the hope of building a new life. Most just stay and suffer in the place they were born, not daring to reveal their sexual orientation, for fear of being outcast. Many have no choice but to reluctantly marry a member of the opposite sex.

Ejected from his parents’ home and becoming a homeless soldier living on a meager conscript’s pay, H became what he describes as “a slave to older men for a few hours at a time.” He despised every such encounter but felt that he had no choice.

No Arab town in Israel hosts a Pride Parade. In fact, not a single Arab council or municipality funds any activity organized by the LGBT community; and it does not look like the situation is likely to change any time soon.

H Was Raped. He Was Too Afraid to File a Complaint

Naturally, it is impossible to say with any certainty what proportion of the LGBTQ community in Arab society in Israel is out of the closet. According to a survey conducted in 2021 by the Aguda – Israel's LGBT Task Force and the Israeli Institute for Gender and LGBTQ Studies – found that 83 percent of Arab LGBTQs prefer not to reveal their sexual orientation. Seventy-two percent of them said that their immediate families did not support them, because of their sexual orientation.

H, a 25-year-old man from a conservative Druze family in northern Israel, experienced such rejection firsthand. “When I was younger, our home was in a secluded part of the village, and one evening, when I was walking home, a car with its lights off started following me. Three men I never saw before got out and had beaten me unconscious. The next morning, I woke up on the ground near my home, and I realized I had been raped. I got myself together, crawled home and went straight into the shower. I discovered I was bleeding profusely. I was too scared to tell anyone and it had taken four more years before I was able to share my experience with some friends.”

When he was 17, after rumors about him started spreading through his village, H was stabbed by a masked assailant, just outside his parents’ house. And again, he did not contact the police, as he was worried that any complaint would attract too much attention to him.

Shortly after he was drafted into the Israel Defense Forces, someone in H’s village discovered his profile on an LGBTQ dating application and distributed a screenshot – thereby involuntarily outing him. Members of his extended family told his father that H’s sexual orientation brought shame on the whole family, and his father threw him out. His mother stood by and said nothing.

H became homeless and, for the following months, until his IDF conscription date arrived, he lived in his car. He discovered, however, that being away from the cultural norms of Druze society did not improve his life, and he was victimized by the other new recruits. “One day, a group of soldiers came into my room and told me that from that moment on, I was not allowed to look at them or sit with them. I was not even on friendly terms with them to begin with,” he says.

H was also bitterly disappointed by the response of a Druze officer in his base whom he approached, hoping for assistance or at least some empathy. “When I told him what I was going through, he did not display any solidarity whatsoever. He just blurted a few inappropriate homophobic comments which would reflect badly on anybody uttering them. When I protested, he confined me to base for two months.”

Ejected from his parents’ home and becoming a homeless soldier living on a meager conscript’s pay, H became what he describes as “a slave to older men for a few hours at a time.” He despised every such encounter but felt that he had no choice. “At the time, I had no idea that there are organizations that could have helped me,” he says. “I didn’t even talk to the military welfare officers to get extra pay which soldiers who are not supported by their families are entitled to.”

H, too, sounds very pessimistic about the future. “I don’t think the issue will ever be normalized,” he says; “Maybe only after we raise awareness about the LGBTQ community.”

According to Israel's LGBT Task Force and the Israeli Institute for Gender and LGBTQ Studies, 83 percent of Arab LGBTQs prefer not to reveal their sexual orientation. Seventy-two percent of them said that their immediate families did not support them, because of their sexual orientation.

Alone, Without Support

The traumatic experiences of A and H are indicative of the plight of thousands of Arab LGBTQs, who feel completely isolated. The Welfare Ministry only offers them very limited assistance – and there are merely a handful of NGOs and projects focusing on members of the Arab LGBTQ community in Israel.

Aya Ras, a Muslim lesbian and the single parent of two girls tries to help in any way she can. She works as the housemother at the Avnei Derekh (“Milestones”) hostel in Holon, which houses LGBTQ youths who were rejected by their families. More than a third of the young people who turn to the hostel for help are Arab.

“From my experience, most of the gay Arab youths who come to us are under threat for their lives. In this, they are vastly different from the Jewish youths who come here. Every single gay member of the Arab community feels threatened,” she says.

It is fairly obvious why the proportion of Arab youths who seek help from the hostel is far higher than their proportion in the general population. While every local council and municipality in Israel receives a modest sum from the state to employ a social worker to help members of the LGBTQ community, a Shomrim investigation found that only one-fifth of the 255 councils and municipalities in Israel have filled that position. Among the Arab council and municipalities, not a single one has employed a dedicated social worker for members of the LGBTQ community.

The Welfare Ministry said in response that it operates a wide range of projects to provide solutions for the Arab LGBTQ community in Israel, including funding the employment of a nationwide social worker for the Arab community, dedicated to helping the LGBTQ community, and running a hotline in Tel Aviv which also helps Arab citizens with gambling addictions. At the moment - and regardless of the claim by a source in the Welfare Ministry that the required funding has already been found - it remains unclear when a promised hostel for gay Arab youths - which would allow them to stay for up to six months - will open. 

Even when initiatives to help the LGBTQ community come from within the Arab  community, they encounter unique problems. The Beit el-Meem project receives only meager funding from the Ministry of Social Justice and receives some funding from the LGBTQ Aguda. In order to survive, Beit el-Meem needs donations, but its staff discovered time and again that funding only comes from one sector of Israeli society. “Our funds come from Jews, not Arabs. The only Arab sponsor we ever had donated office furniture,” says project director Arwa Adam, frustratedly.

A year ago, when Adam launched his first billboard campaign with the slogan “We have a home” in Arabic, he hoped to raise awareness for the project in the Arab community. Many of those billboards, however, were swiftly defaced. Adam adds that, in order to secure the safety of participants in Beit el-Meem events, he and his staff have to vet everyone who expresses an interest in attending. They have denied some people entry in the past. There is always an armed security guard on duty at the meetings.

Adam was given another vivid illustration of the Arab society’s estrangement from the LGBTQ community and the organizations seeking to help it when he sought a social worker for Beit el-Meem. “When I was looking for someone, I discovered that 90 percent of those who applied were aiming to use conversion therapy. Only three people applied with the true purpose of working as social workers for the LGBTQ community,” he says.

Adam adds that there are many gay Arabs who have reservations about accepting help from an organization that “is run by Jews.” Therefore, he hopes to be able to turn the project he founded into an independent NGO. “Organizations that want to be part of the change in Arab society, must talk to the Arab community in its own language – Arabic,” he says.

Arwa Adam: “When I was looking for someone, I discovered that 90 percent of those who applied were aiming to use conversion therapy. Only three people applied with the true purpose of working as social workers for the LGBTQ community,” he says.

Politicians are not the Solution

In July 2020, when the bill banning conversion therapy was brought before the Knesset for its first reading, most Arab members of parliament – who were, at the time, all members of the United Arab List – either voted against it or abstained. The only Arab MKs who voted in favor of the legislation were Ayman Odeh and Aida Touma-Suleiman. They were both heavily criticized for it, which might explain why neither of them agreed to be interviewed for this story.

The head of the Ta’al party, MK Ahmad Tibi, who also declined Shomrim’s request to interview him, once said that he personally opposed “the LGBTQ phenomenon.” His party, he added, also objects to laws that promote LGBTQ rights and its members do not believe that the Pride Parade should take place. They also object to visits of LGBTQ representatives in school - aiming to dismantle stereotypes against the community.  

The head of the Ta’al party, MK Ahmad Tibi, who also declined Shomrim’s request to interview him, once said that he personally opposed “the LGBTQ phenomenon.” His party, he added, also objects to laws that promote LGBTQ rights.  

An exception is former Labor Party MK Ibtisam Mara'ana, who, during her short parliamentary career, tried to help Arab LGBTQs – including those who fled from the Palestinian Authority territories to Israel in search of safety (which was the subject of an extensive Shomrim investigation last year). Mara'ana is convinced that Jewish organizations are incapable of understanding how profoundly complex the issue is in the Arab community. “That is why we need leaders from the Arab community to become the spearhead for change,” she said.

Who those leaders will be, however, is anyone’s guess. Mara'ana accuses Arab lawmakers of putting their electoral prospects before moral consideration when it comes to the LGBTQ community. She accused them of being “cowards.” “Maybe on the day that the LGBTQ community and its allies stand up and demand equality, our representatives in the Knesset will get the message and do something about it,” she added.

Mara'ana accuses Arab lawmakers of being “cowards.” “Maybe on the day that the LGBTQ community and its allies stand up and demand equality, our representatives in the Knesset will get the message and do something about it,” she added.

Dr. Salim Brake, a lecturer of political science at the Open University who specialized in parliamentary and party politics, argues that the main reason for the opposition to the LGBTQ community in the Arab community is religious. “(Homosexual intercourse) is one of the strictest prohibitions in Islam and that is why politicians flee from the issue. MK Aida Touma-Suleiman’s support of the LGBTQ community led to vicious attacks against her and she was even accused of destroying the Arab society, no less. The number of openly gay people in the Arab society is tiny, so their electoral power is limited. As far as politicians are concerned, addressing the issue is more damaging than beneficial. The Islamic Movement jumped at the opportunity and used the issue to campaign against Hadash party (a veteran political party constructed around the Communist Party), against secularism, and especially against the discourse of gender equality.”

Brake is not optimistic about the prospects of an expected change in the Arab community’s view of its LGBTQ community. “Openly – in a way that does not reflect its true extent, of course – it is an esoteric phenomenon that is pretty much limited to the margin of society. Muslim society, which is generally very conservative, will not allow this issue to be on the public agenda any time soon. The United Arab List, (under the leadership of Mansour Abbas), is fighting rather aggressively against the LGBTQ community – and that is why, in my opinion, the party preferred to join the Israel right in coalition, and not the left.”

In the meantime, even attempts to find out how many homophobic attacks have taken place within the Arab community are doomed to failure. This is partly because of the deeply rooted distrust of the police among members of the Arab community, and partly because of the fear of being exposed as gay by filing formal complaints.

The Israel Police stated that it does not categorize hate crimes committed in Israel by sector. In other words, no one has any idea how widespread violence against LGBTQs in the Arab community is, and whether it is getting better or worse.

Dr. Salim Brake: "As far as politicians are concerned, addressing the issue is more damaging than beneficial. The Islamic Movement jumped at the opportunity and used the issue to campaign against Hadash party, against secularism, and especially against the discourse of gender equality.”

The Situation is Dire, but There’s Room for Optimism

The number of researchers looking into the LGBTQ in Arab society in Israel is also minuscule. Dr. Hadar Franco Gal-Or is a lecturer of criminology at the Ono Academic College. She researches gender, Jewish and multicultural identity in Israel. While she agrees that the current situation of Arab LGBTQs in Israel is dire, she had identified some changes for the better. “If you were to Google search for the phrase ‘Arab LGBTQ’ a few years ago, you would get very few hits. However, in recent years, Jewish and Arabic newspapers are writing about it; there were Knesset members who addressed the issue – and we are starting to see some research interest among academics, too.”

Franco Gal-Or says that some progressive processes in Israel start in secular society, move in time to more conservative and religious Jewish sectors, and only then start influencing the Arab community. “The things that happened to secular society 20 years ago are now starting to happen to the Arabs. And the processes that the Jewish-religious sectors underwent some five years ago, are only now starting to happen in Arab society.”

In the academic world, she recognizes a new desire among Arab students to research issues that are directly or indirectly linked to Arab LGBTQs, femicide and hate-fueled violence. In reality, however, “there is a gulf between what they want to research and what they can research. They tell me that they wanted to research something specific, but no one agreed to be interviewed for their project. I always tell them: try harder, you can do it. It is important because I see the students’ desire to investigate and to give these voices a platform - and this passion is the solution and the path to change.

“LGBTQs in Arab society today are extremely brave people who are taking a risk – just like Jewish secular LGBTQs did 20 years ago. They understand that, in order to bring about change, they have to fight – and they are doing just that,” she added.

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