At ROMEO, we know how hot this topic is both emotionally and politically. We’re a gay dating app for fun, but sometimes, real life breaks in. One of our team members, Eli from our Quality Assurance team, who has been with ROMEO for six years, travelled to Tel Aviv Pride with friends last week. What he experienced wasn’t just a celebration, but something far more intense. Today, we share his personal story, first-hand and unfiltered, about Pride, fear, and the strength of our Rainbow Family in uncertain times.
My Arrival in Tel Aviv
With a group of lovely people, we left Amsterdam to visit this year’s Tel Aviv Pride – just like we’ve done many times before. I knew there might be some risk involved, but I also knew that safety is always a top priority for the Pride organizers.
Since our trip was about more than just partying, we also visited the LGBT+ Open Houses in Jerusalem, Be’er Sheba, and Haifa. These places offer support for the community, regardless of background. Coexistence and unity are real here within the Rainbow Family.
Pre-Pride Party Vibes
On Thursday night, the day before the Parade, some of our group went to a party in central Tel Aviv. Lots of shirtless guys, good vibes, and open conversations. Nobody wanted to talk about politics. We danced, drank, and laughed.
I left the party at 2:30 a.m. on Friday morning, wanting to get some rest before the big day. When I got back to the hotel, I sat in the lobby with a friend. So far, everything felt like every other year, until it didn’t.
The Night Everything Changed
Suddenly, a large group of police officers rushed into the hotel lobby. They told us that the air raid sirens had gone off, and they were following emergency protocols. Seconds later, all of our phones buzzed with an alert: “Prepare for a significant threat.” Nothing else!
More and more people gathered in the lobby. Nobody really knew what was happening. Some of us moved to the underground parking garage, which served as a bomb shelter. People stayed alert but tried to rest, if that was even possible.
The Pride Parade was officially cancelled. But the next day, the city still had a strange sense of life. People were out, having coffee, going to the beach. It looked normal. But something in the air had changed.
We were in a new kind of reality. One where you might be sitting with your friends, having a drink, and suddenly have 90 seconds to get to safety.
Living Between Sirens
The next few days, that became our new routine. If the alert said “threat expected,” we had 10 minutes. If it was real and near, we had 90 seconds. Usually, a warning was triggered 2–3 times a night.
Our group set up a meeting point in the shelter. We had a system, everyone had to give a thumbs-up on a message. That’s how we knew everyone was safe, even when we weren’t together.
I started carrying an emergency backpack: water, snacks, a first aid kit, even toilet paper. I slept fully clothed, ready to run at any moment.
The Impact Hits Close
Usually, I was so fast getting to the shelter that I didn’t even hear the sirens. But I did hear the explosions, some distant, some closer. I still felt safe, somehow.
Until one night, when a rocket hit nearby. The blast was so intense it broke windows. Alarms blared. Dust poured into the shelter. We panicked.
We didn’t know if the building had been hit or if we were trapped. It was the first time I truly felt afraid. The shockwave shook my body. The sound of the explosion was like nothing I’ve ever heard.
When we finally came out, we saw what you usually only see on the news: broken glass, smoke, fire. A rocket had hit a building just 400 meters behind our hotel, right where the gay bar Mesh is located.
An Unexpected Exit
I couldn’t sleep anymore. Days were spent sitting outside the hotel, near the shelter. Watching people go back to their daily routines felt surreal. I just wanted to go home. But all flights were cancelled.
On Tuesday morning, after five sleepless nights, I finally got the call. I had five minutes to pack. A boat would take me to Cyprus.
I didn’t even have time to buy seasickness medicine. While waiting outside, I told a woman about it. She didn’t hesitate. She asked me what I needed, jumped in her car, and brought me medicine and snacks from a pharmacy and supermarket. I was speechless.
Human Kindness in the Darkest Moments
I’m typing this on a ship headed to Cyprus. It takes 20 hours.
I came for Pride, for fun, and to support the LGBT+ community. I never expected to end up on an evacuation boat.
But what stays with me isn’t the fear, it’s the way strangers helped each other. The way the Rainbow Family stayed united under pressure. That gave me hope. That gave me pride.
I’ll come back. That’s for sure.
— Your Eli