An ambivalent story: Queer children’s literature in Israel between 1986 and 2022

Implied Queer literature

This category includes allegorical works for prereaders that indirectly present Queer themes. The literary genre of allegory strives to impact the behavioral patterns of society, individuals, and the interrelations between them. This genre aims at depicting society, its faults, and lessons that should be learned through “heroes” and the world of animals (Harel, 1992). As with the parable, allegories depict settings that contain fictional characters, in order to convey a range of worldviews. Mashiach (2010) describes allegories as a “two-floor” structure (46). The first “floor” is comprised of a straightforward and picturesque narrative (i.e., characters, scenery, and plot, as well as fantastical objects), implying that a hidden narrative also exists—one that will be interpreted according to the reader’s perceptive skills. The “second floor,” on the other hand, relates to the extratextual narrative that relates to the readers’ world and includes social-moral values that steer the “first floor.” According to Mashiach (2010), allegories in children’s literature have several roles, as they are humoristic, picturesque, and ironic—which makes them easy to comprehend. The tendency is to employ direct, palpable language (rather than a conceptual-philosophical discussion) to convey messages that would otherwise be expressed in abstract terms or in a long-winded preaching style.

Most works in this category of Implied Queer Literature deal with animals or objects (a geometrical shape). Presented through metaphors, similes, and hints, they can be interpreted as works that address Queer aspects. It should be noted that the main theme of these works is not Queer but rather emotional or social. As such, only the careful reading will yield the understanding that this is a Queer text. The indirect design of the Queer theme could stem from the difficulty entailed in accepting children’s books that deal in sex or sexual diversity. In other words, this “heavy” topic needs to be “softened,” as Israeli society is not yet ready to deal with it in a straightforward manner. As such, authors, poets, and researchers find themselves hesitant and insecure about their pioneering desire to implicitly address the Queer topic in their works.

Examining the corpus of relevant works reveals that most of the texts address the “other” who has been subjected to rejection. For example, in There is no such bird, Kortsifa by Ilan Sheinfeld (1999)—a member of the LGBTQ+ community who established the Shufra Publishing House in order to publish Queer books for children and adults. At first glance, this work seems like a fable that promotes diversity, yet in actual fact, the story realizes the Hebrew phrase “There is no such bird” (meaning, there is no such thing). In this text, the Kortsifa is presented as an alien bird that arrives at the thick of the forest. As this bird has a different identity compared to the other forest animals, she is sentenced to loneliness and suffers an identity crisis:

Kortsifa already understands that she is alone in the world. She has no mother or father, no feathered friends, such as a butterfly or pigeon, who will adopt her as a daughter, or feed her, because she is a bird of a different species. A species that no one in the forest recognizes. ¹¹

The bird’s loneliness and severance lead her to build a discrete inner world that separates her from those around her, and later from self-love. Only when Kortsifa is able to love herself does she find an additional Kortsifa in the forest, and the two become inseparable. Similarly, in Esthi Shakedi’s (2001) allegory The story of a pink triangle, the pink triangle’s loneliness only ends when it meets the blue triangle. A great love develops between the two, excusing them from having to fight for their different identity. The two meet at the “Framework Kindergarten”—a name that emphasizes the pink triangle’s challenges when attempting to break free of the existing boundaries. The color pink is greatly identified with the gay community (especially within the Jewish framework, as while most Jewish people in concentration camps were compelled to wear a yellow star on their arm, homosexuals had to wear a pink one). As such, the author’s decision to depict a pink triangle in kindergarten demonstrates that this is a Queer story about a child-triangle whose sexual and gender diversity is addressed early in their development. The two triangles, who meet at kindergarten, grow up and continue to live together as adults—when they create an orange circle, a purple square, a trapezoid with stripes, and a bald pink triangle. This creation can be interpreted as either the children of the couple or as an alternative creation that the two create from the force of their love—just as Plato (2001) explains in the Symposium: platonic love means a creation that bestows upon the creators an eternity—either children or artwork.

In Dafna Ben-Zvi’s Zuzi Shemesh (Snoozie and Sunny, 2009), the author presents a story about the shared living of a female cat name Zuzi (“move” in Hebrew) and a female dog named Shemesh (“Sun” in Hebrew). This allegory presents lesbian relationship, with the cat and dog being personified and presented as two women. In the text, Zuzi and Shemesh are described as two friends who live together, yet they are life partners rather than just roommates. The two live at the end of the town in a hidden house that enables them to conduct the lifestyle of their choosing, without disturbance or interruption. On their front door is a sign that could mean either “Zuzi and Shemesh are friends” or “Zuzi and Shemesh are girlfriends”. In Hebrew, the word Haverot means both “friends who are females” or “girlfriends”. As such, the Queer theme here is vague. Choosing a liminal space, “…at the end of the town, behind a tall hill, hides a small house with a flourishing garden,” helps present this unique couple—as this space-off does not prevent anti-hegemonic activities. ¹² Shemesh the dog takes care of Zuzi the cat, who spends most of her time asleep. Her lack of desire to wake up and take part in Shemesh’s adventures indicates her avoiding life. Zuzi only likes two things: sleeping and eating. The illustrations in the book emphasize her large body. In a society that idealizes slimness, Zuzi stands out in light or her refusal to take part in rituals that promote the “beauty myth” (Wolf, 1990). Her sleeping and eating indicate her defiance against the external demand for bodily rituals or adventurous behaviors. The highly active Shemesh suggests that Zuzi gets up, but is not critical in doing so. She asks Zuzi to play with her as she is lonely without her. The transition takes place during a storm, when Shemesh becomes trapped outside and cannot return home. Zuzi is therefore required to leave the safety of her home and venture outside into unknown and unsafe areas. It should be mentioned that the relationship between the two is so symbiotic that while sleeping, Zuzi has a bad dream that awakens her into the realization that Shemesh is in actual danger.

From the moment Zuzi awakens and understands that Shemesh may be in distress, she proves that her lack of activity is calculated and conscious: her concern for Shemesh instantly breaks down her mental block and turns Zuzi into an active partner within the space—just as Shemesh was at the beginning of the story. The fifth double page spread illustrates Shemesh’s movements through a dynamic illustration that multiplies her character many times over—an analogy of the 11^th double page spread that depicts Zuzi’s dynamic search for Shemesh. In addition, in contrast to Shemesh who becomes inactive as she is afraid of the rain, Zuzi does not perceive the rain as an obstacle and runs-floats in her haste to find Shemesh. Once Zuzi locates Shemesh, they return home together and their roles are switched: Shemesh rests in bed while Zuzi looks after her and makes sure she eats, after her upsetting experience. At this point, readers learn that just as Zuzi knew how to navigate in her search for Shemesh, she is also familiar with domestic skills. The illustration even depicts Zuzi reading a story to Shemesh, with a freshly baked cake on the table beside them. The final illustration in the book depicts them asleep while embracing one another. It is here that the (adult) reader understands that this is in fact not a story about friendship and bravery but about two partners who live together and maintain a familial-romantic relationship. ¹³ The love between the two, despite their being very different (cat/dog, adventurous/avoidant), is emphasized after they are reunited. Their returning home together reflects a contrast between their warm and safe home and the threatening and unpredictable outdoors.

The title Zuzi Shemesh, two words that have no punctuation or additional words between them, also emphasizes the connection and harmony between these two entities that have no barriers or intervening objects between them. They also lack a last name, thereby creating a new balance for themselves through their relationship and shared lives. These serve as an implied allegory that presents the child recipient with same-sex partners who overcome their difficulties (the storm) in a manner that is unapologetic and does not attempt to shape the same-sex presentation to suit the mold of the compelling heterosexual perception.

The mutual love of Zuzi and Shemesh is strong enough to weather the storm, both physically and metaphorically. The text also hints at storms that are specifically encountered by same-sex couples, through two almost marginal details: the location of their home (in a hidden and uninhabited area) and the forgoing of a family name—indicating the emotional detachment that the spatial detachment caused. Zuzi’s long periods of sleep could also be interpreted as depression, an attempt to escape life. Yet, despite the difficulties they encounter or perceived, these two females successfully build a life for themselves that is an antithesis of the external world regarding both its conventions and its demands.

Queer-phobic literature

Feminist readings differentiate between the following four categories of texts: hegemonic, subversive, hegemonic disguised as subversive, and feminist. Hegemonic texts are founded on normative systems that marginalize all deviation from hegemonic norms; Subversive texts have a double meaning, whereby although they convey accepted norms regarding genre, medium, theme, ideology, and style, these texts also allow the integration of contradicting messages that do not address the needs of the hegemonic core (but instead provide it with a marginal alternative); Hegemonic texts that are disguised as subversive one provide a double representation of feminist norms. They undermine their being worthy of imitation, thereby actually eliminating the subversiveness that they so-called present; Finally, Feminist texts contradict both the hegemonic text and the subversive one: their so-called feminist values are not judged as being negative and the feminine experience is placed center stage. Readers do not “battle with” these texts as a means for extracting contradicting values, but rather locate and identify them as being taken for granted by the text (Lubin, 2003).

The term Queer-phobic literature relates to a category of texts that is defined by Lubin (2003) as “hegemonic in the disguise of subversive.” In these texts, we can identify the unequivocal presentation of the Queer theme, without textual or symbolic disguise—as the text presents sexual variance in a manner that seems to convey acceptance and inclusion. Yet then, the “others” are depicted not only as different but also as inferior, and their representation is through stereotypes that reinforce their marginality. Moreover, the Queer cell is depicted as being dependent on the heterosexual structure, lacking the legitimacy to free itself of this dependency (such as the repeated choice to present two gay men realizing their parenting with a woman). The books in this category are intended for preschool children and early readers.

The story Everyone has their own family by Yehuda Atlas and Yael Mishali (1999) was the first Israeli story to be published that presents different models of the family. As such, it was quickly incorporated into the education system for preschool, first grade, and second grade children—being perceive as a book that educates children to accept “the other.” ¹⁴ Reviews of this book are mainly positive. Baruch (2001) writes that the power of this book stems from its uniqueness and from the legitimacy that it conveys towards social diversity. Hadas (2005) describes this work as warm and brave, and praises the creators for instilling tolerance, understanding, and love of others among readers. In the story, seven-year-old Gilad, the hero-narrator, presents the class custom whereby on their birthday, each child describes his or her family. Liel reveals that her parents are divorced and talks of her difficulty accepting this situation. Yahel talks of his life with a single-parent mother. Yiftah says that he was adopted. Hadar talks of life with two mothers. Daniel continues this trend and talks of his gay fathers who are raising him together with his mother through shared parenting. Omer adds the aspect of nationality, explaining that his father is Arab and his mother is Jewish; Renana adds the racial aspect, saying that her mother is from Ethiopia while her father is from Russia. After Gilad relays his classmate’s stories about their families, that shatter the perception of the hegemonic family’s model, he tells his friends about his own “regular family,” that differs greatly from the “other” families. His family is comprised of a father, a mother, a brother, and a cat. The story ends with the moral of the story, whereby “If everyone were the same as everyone else, the world would be a very boring place” (p. 28). However, despite this list of alternative families that comprise Israeli society, the authors also present a systematic and hegemonic train of thought, as well as repetitive stereotypical traits that raise the following fundamental question: Does diverse representation promote liberal attitudes, or are we facing different representations of family that were merely meant to prevent or delay the acceptance of the “other”—in order to determine the supremacy of the hegemonic heterosexual family?

The two men who are raising Daniel are described through a range of stereotypes relating to the “feminine” gay: Yoel, the first father, likes to cook; Avner, the second father, dances and paints. A gay man who serves as an officer in the army is missing from the text (even though serving in the military is compulsory in Israel). That role is saved for a different father—Tal’s father—who protects the country and only comes home every other weekend. This maintains the absolute dichotomy between the “masculine” heterosexual father and the “feminine” gay one. On’s father serves in the Navy and is depicted as being very muscly, while Daniel’s “feminine” gay father, Yoel, is depicted in the kitchen, wearing an apron while cooking.

Daniel also addresses the difficulties of living with two gay fathers who raise him together with a woman: “In a different home I also have a mother, Ayala, half the time I’m with them, and half the time – with her. It’s a bit annoying because all week long, I don’t have a permanent place” (p. 19). The difficulty that Daniel presents undermines the legitimacy given to the type of family that he describes, as it is the child who pays the price of “other” parenting, as he feels that he lacks a private space, is continuously moved from place to place, and even feels that he has no real home—even though he actually has two homes. By describing the spatial crisis that is experienced by the child of Queer parents, the story enhances the phenomenon of the “victimizing homosexual” that is addressed by Watney (2003), whereby although the homosexual belongs to the margins of society and suffers from exclusion, he is presented in culture as a victimizer rather than as a victim—even by those who can exert violence towards him. In the story, Daniel is illustrated carrying bags, toys, and shoes. In other words, he has a heavy weight to carry—both physically and emotionally as he is a homeless wanderer.

Although characterizing different types of families could serve as a means of acceptance, in this story, the fate of the child-narrator outshines those of his classmates, as he is being raised within a conventional heterosexual family unit. His mother bakes with him, his father reads him a bedtime story, he is a popular and well-liked child whose grandmother brings him homemade pickled cucumbers from the kibbutz—a symbol of the rooted Israeli. For many of the children who are described in the story, additional family members—who may provide familial support—are not mentioned and their social standing is unclear. (For example, does Daniel have any friends in light of the fact that he is being raised by two fathers and a mother? Does Omer have any friends in light of the fact that his mother and father are of different religions, a practice that is greatly negated in Judaism.) As such, the detailed representation of the child who lives within a hegemonic family provides explicit validation for the traditional family unit.

Tension can also be seen in the book for early readers, All the rainbow colors by Smadar Shir (2010). The work has a declared motto:

Every family is different

Indeed, the child recipient is exposed to different types of families (adoptive mother, separated parents, lesbian parents, a family who uses the help of a surrogate, a daughter of an elderly man who was born from his third marriage, and the daughter of a man who is divorcing her mother and living with another man). Yet, these are in stark contrast to the text’s hidden judgment of the Queer existence.

The story “All the rainbow colors” tells of Noa, whose parents are divorced and whose father lives with his male partner. Noa’s mother is a doctor—a profession that differs greatly from the profession of her father’s partner who is an artist (as is Avner’s gay father in Everyone has their own family). In this story, the “victimizing homosexual” (Watney, 2003) is clearly conveyed as the story presents a man who left his wife and embarked on a Queer lifestyle with another man. The Queer unit is only created after the heterosexual family has been broken up. It is not presented as a natural, legitimate, and stand-alone family unit; the father is depicted as a person who lacks decency and morals. In addition, the dilemma at the center of the story is shaped in light of Noa’s desire to display the rainbow flag, that she herself bought, on her father’s balcony. Noa discusses this issue with Yaniv, her father’s partner, who replies:

‘I am not ashamed of the fact that I love your father,’ said Yaniv. ‘Everyone knows that I live with him and with you. But I don’t feel the need to announce that I’m gay to everyone who walks down the street. It just seems unnecessary’ (p. 100).

Although these words enhance the right to privacy that is indeed heightened in this story, Yaniv then discusses his neighbor’s choice to display the flag, adding: “Everyone has the right to live their life as they see fit. Perhaps our neighbor encountered difficulties and issues and has displayed the rainbow flag in full view in order to heal a wound that is burning inside him” (pp. 100–101). Such words convey a message whereby displaying the gay identity in public sphere is the result of hardships; the neighbor does not do so out of self-acceptance and completeness, but rather as a means for dealing with his emotional difficulties. Yaniv asks Noa if she would display a flag that told everyone of her liking apple juice. This comparison between Queer identity and apple juice harms the Queer struggle and renders sexual orientation a marginal issue. Moreover, according to Yaniv, displaying the rainbow flag is political, an unnecessary and extrovert act that stems from a person’s lack of self-acceptance. It is here that we see an expression of the conservative perception whereby LGBTQ+ people can be LGBTQ+ in the privacy of their home, yet not while they are out in public.

Yaniv and Noa’s argument takes an unexpected turn when Noa’s father comes home from work. Unlike Yaniv, her father supports his daughter’s desire to raise the flag. In doing so, he validates Yaniv’s claim that displaying the flag is the result of an internal wound, as Noa’s father had harmed and shattered his heterosexual family. The identity transition of a person who up until his divorce had been socially defined as heterosexual is a complex one that is probably completely missed by the child recipient but not by the adult reader. As such, Yaniv’s earlier words shed light on the character of the father, not just of the neighbor, as being someone whose sexual identity has not yet formed completely and who chooses to raise the rainbow flag out of the incompleteness that he feels as a person transitioning between identities, rather than as a person who has come to terms with his sexual identity.

It should be noted that two additional flags appear in the story—the flags of Israel and of the United States—that Noa saw in the store. This conveys a contrasting analogy between the legitimacy of raising the State flag compared to the illegitimacy of a flag that is related to a person’s sexual orientation—as the term “political” undergoes a reduction in the story and is related solely to state politics, rather than to sex and gender politics that provide the intellectual infrastructure for the Queer theory.

Butler (1990) expands on the “coming out of the closet” metaphor and wonders about the stereotype whereby “out of the closet” also means “out of harm’s way.” While Yaniv raises two reasons for not displaying one’s gay identity (privacy and completeness), Butler exemplifies why staying in the closet provides a protective shield against violence. The salesperson’s hesitance to sell the rainbow flag to Noa indicate the violence of “being out” and its revulsion from the Queer idea, as the salesperson wishes to protect Noa, knowing that this flag invites violence.

In summary, this category shows a line of superficial and stereotypical characteristics. By promoting hidden messages that relate to the lack of legitimacy and morality of same-sex partners, works that strive to expose children to “others” become texts that intentionally condemn and reinforce their marginal place in society. In other words, these works do not promote tolerance, nor do they work towards altering prejudice, patronizing, and disliking.

Queer Literature

In this category of Queer literature, we can find texts that choose to position the heroes’ sexual and gender drama in the center of the story. In these texts, the readers do not receive merely hints as to the characters’ sexual or gender orientation or regarding their gender identity, as this is presented in a direct and explicit manner. In addition, the more complex the text, the more it includes references as to how the characters themselves become aware of their gender and sexual otherness, and their society copes with it. While most texts for children in this category focus on same-sex parenting with no judgment or criticism, texts for youth and young adults place the focus on the girl or boy who are dealing with a Queer identity, again without criticism or judgment. This category includes books for preschool children (both allegories and realistic books), books for early readers, and books for youth and young adults.

The texts in this category convey a perception whereby even if certain people in society label LGBTQ+ as negative: (a) a non-heterosexual tendency is still legitimate; (b) homophobic people are narrow minded; and (c) recognizing sexual tendencies means dealing with an environment that is divided into those who support LGBTQ+ individuals and those who condemn them. Moreover, the text also promotes the recognizing of sexual/gender identity and subversive gender performance as an integral part of the character’s personal and mental identity—a part that must be accepted rather than ignored or rejected.

The main theme in the texts that comprise this category relates to the issue, sometimes leading to feelings of discomfort, difficulty, and even mental suffering. In this context, Queer books for children provide a twofold didactic tool: While children learn about the existence of diversity and even sometimes identify with the “other,” adult recipients understand the need to educate their children (and themselves) to accept diversity rather than enable social exclusion. These works serve as a type of warning sign for parents whose children are of gender/sexual diversity, enabling them to prevent the repetitive pattern presented, that is, retiring from society, feelings of sadness, or covenants between “others” that make it easier for them to disconnect themselves from society.

In stories for preschool children (such as Two fathers by Makda Ben-Naeh [2003], How many do you count when you count a family by Dor Lihi [2008]), and Houses in all kinds of colors by Leeran Meiri [2020]), the same-sex family is presented in a non-hierarchic manner. It is not shaped to fit the hegemonic family mold, nor does it pass judgment or encourage delegitimization. The story Belly Mommy, Heart Mommy by Lee Reuveni Bar David (2015), written for preschool children, presents five-year-old Ilay who relays the story of how his mothers met and married. Ilay says that even though some say that his family is special, he thinks he has a regular family. In order to explain to the readers how two mothers can bring a child into the world, he says: “One mommy raised me in her belly and the other mommy held me in her heart.” Similarly, the allegorical story by Nadav Shechtman, Boy lovebirds (2010), presents a deconstruction of the biblical Flood story (Genesis 6–8) with two male doves requesting shelter in the arc. This story serves as Queering the Canon, as it anchors a same-sex couple within a central Jewish myth, transitioning it from a heterosexual myth to one that combines between the heterosexual and the Queer. In addition to texts that present same-sex or alternative families, this category also includes works that address the formulating of the Queer identity, such as a lesbian girl, a gay boy, and a bisexual girl. To date, only one novel with bisexual character of a girl hasbeen published for youth in Israel—The pendulum’s swing by Carmit Gilboa (2019).

The novel The end of summer (1986) was written by Galila Ron-Feder, a renowned author in Israel from the 1970s, who has published more than 400 books for children and adults (Rudin, 2018). The end of summer was the first Queer work to be published in Israel that presented a gay character, who eventually committed suicide because of the homophobia that he suffered. Yaron, a close friend of the novel’s heroine Maya, is described as “other” who is ridiculed by those who surround him. The book also depicts a romantic relationship between Yaron and Patrick—a stranger who arrives in town. In the opening chapter of the book, the characters are described as being in the 12th grade and having just completed their final high school exam. They get into their car but do not wait for Yaron. “Wait up!” he shouts (p. 9). His friend Maya describes him as “thin and fragile like an 8th grader.”

In this situation, the reader is exposed to Maya’s inner thoughts. She is not critical of her friends but rather of Yaron: “He gives in, does everything to be mocked. He doesn’t make any effort to change the image that’s been created. The lame boy from the 12th grade accepts the sentence of the ‘good’ guys and doesn’t put up a fight” (p. 9).

The group explains Yaron’s otherness as the outcome of his mother, Tikva: “His mother shattered his confidence, and he’ll stay ruined until the end of his days” (pp. 12–13). His mother is labeled a “loose woman” because she lives alone with her son and does not want to remarry after her first husband, Yaron’s father, abandoned them.

Yaron is greatly concerned with his upcoming enlisting to the military, as seen in his conversation with Maya:

‘Only we are messed up in this country,’ says Yaron.

At the time of the story (1985), the serving of gays in the Israeli military was not considered a legitimate practice. Yaron’s concerns, therefore, are real. He has no escape route: If he is excused from service because of his sexual orientation, he will be denounced by everyone in the town, because of his going against their sacred ethos, that is, the compulsory military service that they hold with high regard. The town’s youth view themselves as Zionistic and are greatly characterized by militarism.

When Maya falls in love with Loni, an author who no longer lives in Israel, she is unaware of the crisis that Yaron is experiencing, or of his love for Patrick, or of the rumors about him that are spread around town that later lead him to take his own life. When the two friends talk, Yaron asks Maya to ask him about things he does not tell her. Yet she refuses, is impatient, and does not recognize that he is in distress. “The most important things I never told you” (p. 85), he says. During their conversation, Yaron says, “Emotions are also a matter of education” (p. 86)—words that could be interpreted in different ways. In his own way, Yaron tries to examine the compulsory heterosexuality that is typical of his world.

Adrienne Rich (1980) discusses the romantic Western traditional beliefs whereby women are inevitably attracted to men, women need men for financial and social protection, and only a heterosexually based family will provide the foundation of a society. Rich explains how these attitudes steer women towards conducting romantic relationships with men and sufficing with a “lesbian continuum,” periods of time when they use the assistance of other women to help them survive. Her discussion focuses on relationships between women, yet her insights can be applied to Yaron’s story. Yaron confesses to Maya that he is “in love” (p. 88), yet says that he cannot tell her who he is in love with. In a society that directs its sons to serve in the army as fighters, to demonstrate machoistic masculinity, Yaron feels unable to share his different sexual orientation. This is the price that a young gay boy has to pay in a heteronormative society: He has to hide his feelings, be the victim of mockery, be labeled as having a disease, and eventually collapsing. Yaron is not able to come out to Maya, despite his attempts. Eventually, her friends tell her that they saw him and Patrick in an intimate situation. In other words, Yaron was only able to convey his sexual orientation through actions, not through words. Queer discourse in a machoistic society is too difficult to conduct.

An encounter between Yaron and Dafna at the beach presents readers with a dehumanization process that gays are subjected to in Israeli society. Yaron and Patrick are seen sitting side by side when Dafna says, “I wonder what Patrick sees in our small mouse” (p. 100). Comparing Yaron to a mouse conveys her feelings of superiority and contempt. After this encounter, Yaron and Maya meet for the last time, and Yaron attempts to come out to Maya. He tells her of his deep connection to Patrick, yet not for a moment does she imagine that Yaron is gay, and it seems that she does not pick up on his hints. Yaron leaves her room, and the information is in fact later conveyed to Maya by Dafna, who had seen the male couple at the beach, and where Yaron was subjected to a humiliation ceremony, when Shai and Yigal pull down his bathing suit. Patrick steps in to save Yaron and pounces on the boys.

Maya and her friends discuss Yaron and his tendencies: “The details were surprisingly fitting. As if there was some sort of puzzle and the missing piece has been found. That’s what came of Tikva’s crazy education, or rather her neglect. Her son is a homosexual” (p. 42). The perception whereby gay people are the outcome of poor education is a homophobic attitude that has often been sounded by the conservative sectors of Israeli society, as seen in the words of Rabbi Rafael Peretz stated above (Naor, 2020)—who 35 years after the book is published still view homosexuality as unacceptable and perverse. In the story, the teenagers do not discuss Yaron but rather his military service: “If the army finds out about this […], they won’t enlist him,” says Yigal (p. 142). Yaron’s new relationship annoys the boys, as he no longer fits the niche of the victim. They laugh at him saying, “That freak, Patrick, protected him like a beloved wife. Almost killed us” (p. 143).

The boys, who were used to a fixed hierarchy of humiliator/humiliated, victimizer/victim, were angered by the fact that an external source had saved Yaron. Yaron and Patrick’s kiss on the beach is interpreted as an act of defiance, rather than as an act of love. Maya’s father says, “I always knew there was something different about that boy. […] Someone who insists with all his might on being different is suspicious in my eyes” (p. 146).

In literature for youth and young adults, the parents represent an authority that teenagers constantly attempt to challenge, yet in most cases, this is a moral authority that represents the social order and norms (Baruch, 1991). In this case, Maya’s father represents society, a senior and much-admired officer. Yet, this society maintains norms of excluding and denouncing the “other.” The father’s interpretation exemplifies his ignorance, as a different sexual tendency is an “insistence,” a trend, a desire to be different. He defines Yaron as “a loser” (p. 147), as someone who lacks direction. Similarly, Maya’s brother Nir, a cadet pilot (one of the most prestigious positions in the Israeli military), also delegitimizes Yaron, as he says to his sister: “He was always messed up. Everyone saw it but you. He just had a crush on men. He was just scum. And the only person he managed to persuade that he had artist’s block is you. Men don’t go about whining all the time, men were made to be men” (p. 158). For Nir, being a gay meant not being a man, and the moment someone loses their manhood, they no longer have the right to exist. The gay man is defined by one single parameter, that is, not being a man. As such, Nir believes that Yaron is not fit to serve in the military: “I really hope they don’t enlist him. I would never count on him in a battle” (p. 158). This is a case where a person’s sexual tendencies lead society to denounce his humanity.

The connection between the love of men and military service can be seen at the center of Phaedrus’s speech to Plato during the Symposium. According to Phaedrus, if an army is comprised of gays, “There is no doubt that they will manage the place in an excellent manner, as everyone will avoid performing embarrassing acts and will compete against each other to perform pleasant acts. And when such people fight together, they will probably beat everyone they face, even if they are few versus many. After all, it is unbearable for a man who is in love to abandon the battle or throw his weapon aside in front of his loved one, and many would prefer to die” (Plato, 2001: p. 34).

The gay boy in the novel represents a panorama of diverse characteristics that are denounced by society: unreliable, dirty, insane, lack of aspirations, unable, dependent on other people to “save” him—rendering Yaron without a feeling of belonging, without the ability to share his sexual orientation with Maya, and finally, without the will to continue to live.

Only Maya’s mother, an artist who does not complete her artworks, the wife of a military man who leaves her to raise their children and take care of their home, is an antithesis of her environment. The broken trees that she draws reflect her losing her way, and Israeli society losing its way. She tries to cheer Maya up, saying: “Being a homosexual is not like having leprosy. […] You can still continue to like him. […] In a small place, people can be very unforgiving of other people’s problems” (p. 167). Yet Maya is not convinced, as she thinks to herself: “There are some boys whose homosexual tendency is a temporary slip-up, a crisis that one can recover from” (p. 169). It seems that Ron-Feder has poured into the novel a range of stereotypes and misinformation about homosexuality, thereby reflecting society’s attitude towards the LGBTQ+ community and sexual diversity in Israel of the 1980s.

Loni complains that in Israel, a person is evaluated according to his military service: “And if you are too sensitive to meet the criteria, no one will ever forget it” (p. 172). Loni declares, “I think that Yaron has the right to live his life, […] and to follow his heart. He could have been a happy person if it weren’t for the pressure of the people here” (p. 172). These words were said prior to Yaron’s suicide, and they almost seem to predict it. Even after Maya talks to Yaron, she still refuses to accept his sexual tendencies, and thinks to herself: “He has to get out of this story. He can do it, I know he can, Yaron loves girls. If he fights this, he can connect with a girl” (p. 174).

In a reality that is comprised of ongoing condemnation, destructive labeling, and alienation—even by his good friend Maya—Yaron hangs himself. Maya points at collective blame, saying: “We all killed Yaron, and before we killed him, we abused him” (p. 207). The doctor found a loophole, enabling Yaron to be buried within the cemetery, sparing the town from shame (according to Jewish law, suicide is forbidden and people who die by suicide must be buried outside the gates of the cemetery): As he took tranquilizers before he took his own life, it was decided that he may have been unaware of his actions.

At this point of the story, the title of the novel, The end of summer, becomes clear. At the plot level, this is the characters’ last summer before joining the army. The end of the summer is the end of their childhood, which now makes room for maturity and adulthood. Yet, at the metaphorical level, Israeli society is experiencing the end of the summer, that is, the end of social solidarity and moral standards that were typical of the generation of Israel’s founders. By the end of the summer, Loni needs to submit the draft of his novel that deals in the collapse of the Zionist vision, and he returns to the United States armed with much information about the society that he chose to abandon.

It should be noted that not all novels in this category end with a negative outcome. For example, You have pleased me so by Ami Gdalia (2003) concludes with the unity of two loving young girls, while I love Tamir by Eli Lahar (2005) and Winter – summer by Shai Feniger (2012) conclude with the hero coming out of the closet and being accepted by society and by himself.

At the end of this analysis of Queer Israeli literature for children, youth, and young adults, Meira Firon’s The dress (2021) should be mentioned. Written for early readers, this is the first text in Hebrew to depict a child who likes to wear dresses and presents the undermining of gendered performance. It is the first text in Hebrew that promotes the perception that transgender identity is not a sexual orientation but a gender identity. The story depicts friends—the young girl narrator and Ami, who are playing together. Suddenly, Ami asks his friend if he can wear her older sister’s dress, but the narrator refuses. She is worried that Ami will get it dirty. Ami, however, does not take no for an answer, puts on the dress, and begins to dance around in it. The narrator changes her mind and wants him to keep dancing in the dress. The two later dirty their clothes with orange juice and decide to do other “forbidden” things, such as eating watermelon and painting—anything that will dirty them even more. The narrator transitions from not accepting Ami’s desire to wear the dress to inclusion and to breaking away from the various limitations and regimes to which they have been subjected. Ami is the first Israeli boy in children’s literature to wear a dress and exhibit a lack of trust in the hegemonic gender norms and in the gendered appearance of boys. Ami is not depicted as undergoing an identity crisis, and it is his self-confidence that leads his good friend, the narrator, to accept him for who he is and stop asking him to take the dress off.