Well, if it's gay Israel experiences you're looking for I can't provide a lot of insight since I was "straight" then and didn't "do nightlife" but I can describe some pretty homoerotic missed opportunities:
1) Worked in a Palestinian youth hostel run by French Jews frequented by anti-Israel European backpackers enjoying what Israel provided them - security, modern conveniences like closed sewers, ready access to holy sites of all faiths, and freedom to criticize, which the guests chose to do in abundance - in fact, they tried to provoke arguments between the Jewish employees and Palestinian owners who got along and would literally have to tell those guests to chill and have a cup of tea. The owner's son was about my age, sometimes shirtless, with a lithe, wiry chiseled torso and legs almost as skinny as his mustache; he loved to take me on at arm wrestling because he was surprisingly strong. When I recently googled that hostel it appears to have since developed a reputation for recruiting European youth into the West Bank and Jordan for terrorist training. Though I don't trust Google as my go-to news source.
2) Became friends with a 19 year old Palestinian bodybuilder, who'd competed in and perhaps won (who can remember) Teen Mr. Jordan, whose pro-Israel parents owned stores in the Old City's Arab souk which had thrived exponentially since Israel acquired, modernized and restored its four Quarters after Israel was attacked in the Six Day War. You should've seen his house in the Arab Quarter, even then worth a fortune. We'd met cute - me, lanky yet muscular and jockish with a shock of brown hair, white cotton pants and a tight college t-shirt scissored into a spaghetti tank given the heat, nimbly strolling the souk, and he calling after me "How do you spell 'clearance'?" with me responding "S-A-L-E." I was only a few years older but looked a few years younger than him; he was a big boy with a very handsome but almost brutish clean-shaven but heavily shadowed face neanderthalized, presumably, by steroids, and he constantly got snatch, which I can attest to as his wingman Friday nights at the Wailing Wall, where we went to pick up chicks. I suspect that if at any one time he didn't land a date I'D have been on the menu, and it would've taken three of me to fend him off if I'd been so inclined.
3) In the same tank top and snug Dolphin shorts (it was
the '80s, fellas), even oblivious me couldn't help but notice that I was severely turning on the old paunchy Arab shepherd who engaged me in a needlessly long conversation in a deserted valley in the middle of nowhere at the ruins of a German Crusader castle near Galilee.
4) That gorgeous, green-eyed, muscular Israeli windsurfing instructor in the black speedo in Tel Aviv. 'Nuff said.
From a visual tourist perspective, it's like Turkey: spectacular ancient ruins, religious sites, and geography, except Israel's so small that you can practically go from brutally hot desert (Negev) to verdant beach (Ashkelon) to frost-covered hills (Golan Heights), from what feels like Ghana (Eilat) to what feels like Boca (Caesarea), like "The Little Prince" - by just shifting your chair.
Click on the link to see pics of the national park in Ashkelon a hair north of Gaza, ancient home of the Philistines. Back in the day I'd crash in a sleeping bag there, with visions of Victor Mature and Hedy Lamar in my head; now I don't think I'd be able to sleep there at night: https://www.google.com/search?q=ashkelon+national+park&biw=1040&bih=633&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=a9jNVMekJoScNtrMg-AG&sqi=2&ved=0CC0QsAQ