Inside Tel Aviv's Homeless Shelters: Dissonance on the Coast
An inside look at Tel Aviv's Mol HaYam shelter highlights the struggles of homeless men battling addiction, systemic shortages in welfare housing, and the bureaucratic hurdles of Israel's social services.
Walking between Charles Clore Park in Tel Aviv—one of the most photogenic sunset spots in the city—and the new luxury hotels, cafes, and restaurants, one finds the Mol HaYam shelter for homeless men struggling with active addiction. Run by the Leshova association on behalf of the Tel Aviv municipality and the Ministry of Welfare, the facility provides shelter, showers, and three hot meals a day to about 120 men.
"If the thousands of people passing by here every day walked through this door, they wouldn't believe the dissonance," says Lihai Tonik, manager of the shelter. Recently, the municipality organized guided tours of historical buildings for elderly residents. Dozens of seniors arrived expecting a lecture on art and architecture, but instead encountered the residents. For the first time, they were truly exposed to the fascinating figures typically ignored on the streets, resulting in five new volunteers.
The Path to the Streets and Addiction
Around 120 men grappling with active addiction arrive here after nights spent in public parks, bomb shelters, and abandoned buildings, following prison sentences, hospitalizations, and numerous rehabilitation attempts, often after completely severing ties with their families. Shalom, 28, who was cast out of his home at age 12, vividly remembers the nights in the alleys of Jerusalem, the city where he grew up. Falling asleep on the street was sheer terror, marked by constant threats of violence and robbery.
By age 17, Shalom was deeply immersed in street life, turning to synthetic cannabinoids and eventually hard drugs like crystal meth. Drugs became his escape, despite severe physical toll. As his addiction deepened, the financial burden forced him into survival prostitution. His vulnerability began even earlier in his childhood home, where he suffered sexual abuse that led to profound alienation from his family. Life on the street, he notes, trains a person to be deeply suspicious of everyone.
Systemic Shortages and Bureaucracy
Shalom's story is far from unique. According to recent data provided by the Ministry of Welfare, approximately 4,500 homeless people live in Israel, while the out-of-home care system offers only about 870 beds. Emergency shelters like Mol HaYam operate in just four locations nationwide: three in Tel Aviv and one in Rishon LeZion. Meanwhile, the Housing First model—which seeks to provide stable housing without requiring prior sobriety or treatment—remains stalled years after it was first considered.
"The feeling is that the establishment is deliberately making things difficult for us," says Yossi Azulay, 68, a homeless resident at the shelter. "They know that when they demand so many documents, we will fail to produce them and simply give up." Azulay, who previously lived abroad and built a successful life before a business collapse and personal tragedies, spent months battling bureaucratic hurdles to secure basic rental assistance.
Diverse Backgrounds and Hopes
Not all paths to homelessness begin in a difficult childhood. Sergei, 43, immigrated from Ukraine with his academic mother at age 17, studied computer science in Germany, and built a successful tech career before sliding into addiction at age 30 due to stress and isolation.
Today, residents like Shalom—who has been clean for two years—hope for simple futures: a respectable job, an apartment, and perhaps stability. The Ministry of Welfare stated in response that it continues to work on expanding services for the homeless, including pilot programs for disability benefits, debt relief, and the upcoming rollout of the Housing First model in cooperation with the Tel Aviv-Yafo municipality.
