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

Abstract

Since the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, only 23 Queer literary works have been published for children and adolescents in Hebrew. This paper examines the characteristics of these works in light of the ambivalent and controversial status of the LGBTQ+ community in Israel. The findings show that the few works that have been published and that present same-sex families or LGBTQ+ characters, and the manner in which Queer themes are presented in those texts, are in line with how these issues are perceived and addressed by Israeli society. Moreover, this article divides the Queer Israeli literature for children and youth into three categories: implied Queer literature that hides the Queer existence through the allegoric genre; Queer-phobic literature that seemingly presents the Queer family but in actual fact promotes homophobic stereotypes; and Queer literature that places the LGBTQ+ character or family in the center of the story without passing judgment or criticism.

Introduction

LGBTQ+ rights have been a controversial topic in the state of Israel since its establishment in 1948. ¹ It was only in 1988 that the Israeli Parliament rescinded the law prohibiting homosexual relations. ² On December 5, 1990, an amendment was made to the Employment (Equal Opportunities) Law, with a section relating to the prohibiting of discrimination based on sexual orientation. This was the first time that the term sexual orientation appeared in a bill that was submitted to the Israeli Parliament (Yonay, 1998). In 1993, the law forbidding the enlisting of LGBTQ+ people into the Israel Defense Force (IDF) was also rescinded. Until then, the Zionist ideology had scorned the homosexual man who wished to serve in the Israeli military, just as it looked down on the European Jew who was too “feminine” and educated. Both were perceived by the Zionist doctrine as effeminate—the antithesis of the heterosexual male soldier, the “new” Jewish man, the Israeli-born tzabar (Gross, 2000).

To date, the Israeli law does not allow same-sex marriages (but does recognize such marriages if they are performed outside the country), nor does it permit surrogacy or adoption for same-sex couples who wish to parent a child. Moreover, the LGBTQ+ community suffers from cases of violence. In 2009, for example, two people were shot dead and 11 were injured in the BarNoar, a meeting place for young LGBTQ+ people in Tel Aviv. Moreover, during the 2015 Gay Pride Parade that took place in Jerusalem, a 15-year-old girl was stabbed to death and six others were injured by an extremist Haredi-Orthodox man. In addition, in a 2019 interview on National television, Rabbi Rafael Peretz, the then Israeli Minister of Education, stated that Conversion Therapy for LGBTQ+ people is effective and that LGBTQ+ identity is the outcome of an unnatural and deviant parenting environment (Naor, 2020). Finally, the March 2021 elections in Israel saw the entry of a new member of parliament from the Noam Party ³ —a political party that strives to promote policies against LGBTQ+ rights.

In light of these examples, and as the LGBTQ+ community in Israel is still a marginal one whose rights are subject to public controversy and debate, it is not surprising that few Queer literary works have been published in Hebrew, with the first one only being published in 1986. Even the Hoshen Israeli nonprofit organization, ⁴ which strives to combat stereotypes about gender identity and sexual orientation and works closely with the Ministry of Education, only mentions five Queer books for children and adolescents on its website. Yet, the problematic positioning of the LGBTQ+ community in Israel does not only translate into a very small number of literary works for children. It also conveys how the Queer concept is depicted. When analyzing the existing works, three main types of literature emerge: implied Queer literature, Queer-phobic literature, and Queer literature. These three literary models echo the ambivalent discourse that exists in Israeli society regarding the LGBTQ+ community, which is comprised of both inclusion and oppression.

Queer in children’s literature

Queer theory defines the economics and mechanisms of the subversiveness. It does not mourn the otherness of unusual people or ask to pity them, but rather glorifies them. It does not view them as creatures who have less freedom than the members of the majority who maintain their given frameworks. As such, independent people who break down barriers are not deviant but are subversive; “Queer people” are those who are actively and tirelessly undermined under hegemonic models. Moreover, Queer theory does not promote the spatial borders of subversive persons (limiting the homosexual and lesbian activity to the private sphere), but rather talks of the Queer’s right to extend beyond the private space into the public one. As such, the “otherness” mechanism will be destroyed, the partitions will be smashed, and the general majority will be filled with otherness (Kazin, 2000).

In Queer theory, the term “gender” becomes fluid, undermining the school of thought whereby a person’s identity is rigid, and belonging to a certain sex requires gender performance that is typical of that sex (Gross and Ziv, 2003). According to Butler (1990), gender is a role that we fill in order to create a certain impression, yet despite society’s objection, we are not tied to the one role but can create additional behaviors that undermine the role that we are expected to fill. Through formal means such as psychiatry, and through informal means such as bullying, society punishes Queer people in an attempt to “regimize” gender. However, Queer thinking enables the demonstration and acceptance of less familiar and less accepted gender performances that could empower the members of both sexes. As explained by Wittig (2020), “One is not born a woman” (p. 220) but “man” and “woman” are imaginary categories that simply provide the foundation for the forced patriarchal and heterosexual arrangements—that is, a world where hegemony is given to the white heterosexual man.

At the forefront of children’s literature appear the desires, fears, and moral codes of the adult world (Rose, 1984). Analyzing Queer texts enables the reexamining of hegemonic terms and moral codes such as “femininity” and “family.” As such, Queer themes will be those that promote the critical examining of terms such as the gender performance of each of the sexes, the legitimacy of gender performances that shatter the hegemonic gender codes (masculine/feminine), and the defining of alternative families while depicting them as having a presence and legitimacy for existing within the public sphere (Rudin, 2013).

The appearance of Queer themes is tied by a Gordian knot to the seeping of the “other” into children’s literature and to its increased presence. As of the 1970s, we have witnessed the appearance of new themes that were originally neglected by Israeli children’s literature. Baruch (1991) examined the differences between the collectivist values that characterized Israeli children’s literature in the 1940s and the individualistic values that have been typical of this literature since the 1970s, when the child’s emotions were first placed in the center, helping to understand the emergence of “others” in these texts.

Few studies have examined Queer Hebrew literature, for children or adults. ⁵ Padva (2014), for example, divided Queer books in English into four categories, yet only two of these categories exist among the books published in Hebrew: books that enhance a pluralistic perspective of the other and those that emphasize the legitimacy of alternative families. The two additional categories that are lacking in the Israeli literature are books that deal in Queer role models and books that object to the use of coercion for forcing children and adolescents to adopt hegemonic masculine codes. Rudin (2013) examined Israeli Queer works for prereaders and found an indirect representation of gender themes, through allegories and metaphors that disguise the Queer identity of the heroes. Glazner (2021) and Gordon Ginzburg (2019) found allusive Queer representations in classic Hebrew children’s literature, such as the works of Dina Dzatelovski (Glazner, 2021) or Paul Kor (Gordon Ginzburg, 2019)—in an attempt to identify encrypted Queer broadcasts about lesbian relationships or about the Queer character that differs from those who surround them.

Queer in Israel—between society, education, and children’s literature

A significant gap exists between the cultural, legislative, and legal achievements of the LGBTQ+ community in Israel and individual-level processes. Kama (2003) differentiates between two socio-historical eras: The Era of Absence, where no gay/lesbian presence was seen in the Israeli public sphere and that continued until the 1980s; and The Era of Presence, where the community is impressively represented in the fields of politics, art, and society, and that began during the 1990s. Despite there being Queer themes in the arts and communications systems, Kama addresses the mental difficulties that gay and lesbian adolescents continue to face, despite the transition from era to era—as these young people feel lonely and encounter numerous difficulties while establishing their sexual identity in light of the conservatism and lack of acceptance by Israeli society.

According to Rudin (2013), the emergence of Queer themes in Hebrew literature for children and adolescents during the 1980s can be categorized into four trends: local-cultural, poetic, historical, and educational-systemic. At the Israeli local-cultural dimension, the Machoist Zionistic ethos of what man should be and how men should behave enables the critical writing on the one hand and the integration of topics that were missing from children’s literature on the other hand—such as sex, sexuality, gender identity, and sexual identity. ⁶

At the poetic dimension, erotophobia is characteristic of literature for children and adolescents in the western world, whereby issues relating to sexuality are omitted from such works, regardless of the type of sexuality. This type of “textual silence” includes the lack of sex in children’s literature in the West, as well as the embarrassment experienced by educators and parents when discussing sex with children. As a result, the topic is widely ignored, and authors choose to present gaps instead of depicting sexuality (Meek and Watson, 2003).

At the historical dimension, social and cultural changes have led the literary discourse to also include Queer representations, for a number of reasons. First, the understanding that homosexuality is a sexual tendency, not a deviance, which only became a legitimate perception after homosexuality was removed from the psychiatric lexicon in 1973, when it was first omitted from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) of the American Psychiatric Association. Remains of the previous school of thought can be seen in “The disappearance of childhood ” by Neil Postman (1982), where homosexuality is referred to as a “secret” that needs to be hidden from the child recipient, as he believed that being exposed to this way of life results in a shortened childhood. ⁷

Next, the visibility of homosexuality in Israeli society—in both public discourse and the legal battle for equal rights—has led to a new approach to the phenomenon and promotes its being perceived as legitimate. Finally, many same-sex couples in Israel have become parents, raising the need for Queer texts that will help parents explain their family’s different and special place to their children, and will enable children from classic hegemonic families understand and become familiar with other types of families.

From a systemic-educational aspect, changes can be seen in the Israeli Ministry of Education’s approach to dealing with Queer. A study conducted by Yedid et al. (2001) examined the Ministry’s policies regarding LGBTQ+ youth, from the 1970s until the beginning of the 21^st century. These researchers found that the issue was completely overlooked during the 1970s, but in light of HIV and AIDS, in the 1980s, the issue was mentioned in school programs as a side note. During these years, homo-lesbian terminologies became part of the public discourse regarding healthy sexual behavior and the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases. However, in addition to values such as tolerance and acceptance of the other, the relationship between homosexuality and sickness was also heightened. As such, when the topic was discussed by the education system, homophobic discourse was also promoted.

The change in the Ministry’s attitude towards gender and sexuality can be traced back to 1995, when it issued an experimental book called “Same-sex tendency (homosexuality and lesbianism)” that contained theoretical material and three suggested lesson plans (Barnea and Lorenz, 1995). However, in 1997, the then Minister of Education, Zevulun Hammer, tried to prevent the broadcasting of an episode of the “Open Cards” talk show on the Israeli Educational Television Channel that dealt in teenagers with sexual diversity—claiming that broadcasting it on the Educational Channel could be interpreted as their legitimizing homosexuality. The Association for Civil Rights in Israel filed a petition to overturn the Minister’s decision, claiming that canceling the broadcast violates free speech, discriminates against homosexuals, and conveys a negative message against this population. The court ruling was unanimous and the Minister was instructed to lift his objection.

Only at the beginning of the 21^st century did the educational work relating to the LGBTQ+ topic become an inseparable part of the sex education program. ⁸ In May 2006, upon coming into office, the new Minister of Education, Prof. Yuli Tamir, vowed to promote a culture of tolerance that would allow each and every person the individual freedom of choice to shape their character and path. Indeed, in June that year, the Education Unit in the Psychological and Counseling Services (SHEFI) Division of the Ministry of Education issued the “Life Skills” educational program ⁹ that deals with the topic of LGBTQ+ identity, but mostly focuses on gay/lesbian identity, and provides a range of educational materials, personal stories, website links to relevant organizations, and workshops for a range of target audiences (educators, teachers, students, and parents). In September 2007, a new version of the “Life Skills” Program was published and included a number of chapters for ninth grade students that deal in homo-lesbian identity. In Israel, the Ministry of Education requires 10^th grade students to participate in voluntary activities throughout the year. Three years later, the Minister of Education formally recognized the participation of 10^th grade students in the “IGY” LGBTQ+ Youth Movement as a valid volunteering program. In May 2011, the Ministry of Education issued a document asking school principals to mark the International Day Against Homophobia through a suitable educational activity. In June 2021, education institutions across Israel raised the rainbow flag in honor of the LGBTQ+ Pride Month and to support students and teachers from the LGBTQ+ community. ¹⁰

These data convey a progress that is both slow and partial. Indeed, activists from the LGBTQ+ community and educators have criticized the fact that counselors and educators are expected to use a book that was issued in 1995 and whose content is no longer relevant or updated. Claims have also been made that addressing the content during sex education lessons renders the topic within the borders of sexual relations, with limited attention being paid to acceptance, tolerance, and even harassment of Queer young adults. In a study conducted on the circumstances and experiences of homo-lesbian adolescents in Israel, researchers found that students lack access to relevant informational and study materials at school—both in the library and in class (Shilo, 2007). Finally, progress continues to be greatly hindered due to the political power of the ultra-orthodox (Haredi) parties in Israel, who continue to prevent pro-LGBTQ+ legislation.

Israeli Queer literature for children, youth, and young adults

This research paper examines how Queer themes are presented in Israeli literature for children, youth, and young adults according to three main themes: (1) Implied Queer literature; (2) Queer-phobic literature; and (3) Queer literature. Each category is also exemplified through representative texts. The list of literary works addressed in this study (Appendix 1) was created based on the cross-checking of three Israeli search sources: Academic library catalogs, publishers’ catalogs, and the Levin Kipnis Center for Children’s Literature. Many of the literary works addressed in this study were published privately rather than by an established and known publishing house. The search led to a total of 23 books in Hebrew for children, youth, and young adults that contain Queer themes. The first of these books was published in 1986. In an attempt to classify these works, the following questions were asked: Is the Queer theme a central theme in the plot, or just a secondary one? Is the Queer concept clearly presented, or is it merely implied? Is the Queer existence presented in terms of acceptance, or is it mocked and rejected? Finally, society’s role is also examined, that is, are the Queer concepts accepted by society or does it suffer from homophobia? If the latter is true, then is this homophobia supported or criticized by the text?

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

In structure, composition, the strings of closeness;

And every family is happy

When its home is open and filled with love.

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.

‘That’s because we don’t have a choice,” I said.

Yaron sat down.

‘I was born in the wrong place,’ he said.

‘You can get up and leave,’ I said.

‘I can’t,’ he sounded as if he were about to cry.

‘You can,’ I insisted.

‘I’m not strong enough for that,’ he said. ‘I was brought up in our messed-up town to take into account what other people say.’

[…]

‘Are you really afraid of enlisting into the army?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ said Yaron.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged… ‘Maybe because of the uniform. Maybe because they work on you to forgo everything that’s different about you. Maybe it’s because of the orders [we’re given]. I’m a person who needs his quiet’ (pp. 26–27).

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.

Conclusion

In 1986, the first Israeli literary work for youth that describes the life of a gay boy was published. Literature often predicts social processes, and indeed, 2 years later, the law prohibiting sexual relations between men in Israel was revoked (Yonay 1998). The corpus of works has not significantly grown since then, indicating that Israeli society still has a long way to go until the gay community is fully integrated into it. Of the 23 Queer literary works that were published in Israel for children, 15 were published privately, depicting individual initiatives of LGBTQ+ creators who strive to promote inclusion and tolerance.

The categories that were reviewed in this article depict Israeli society and the complex manner in which it treats members of the LGBTQ+ community—fluctuating between acceptance and rejection (Gross, 2000; Yonay, 1998).

Implied Queer literature does not specifically mention Queer terms and is therefore “easy to digest.” Most works in this category are allegories for prereaders, leading to the desire to disguise messages about alternative gender performance and same-sex couples. Similar to the study by Mashiach (2010), at the “first level,” these allegories mainly discuss themes relating to belonging and socialization; it is only at the “second floor” that indications of same-sex couples and social rejection can be found, stemming from the different gender norms of the heroes.

Queer-phobic literature was created by non-LGBTQ+ authors and is a type of Trojan horse: these works claim to promote pluralistic values, yet they spread homophobic stereotypes regarding members of the LGBTQ+, same-sex couples, and alternative parenting—and also relate to the Queer existence as “despicable” (Kristeva, 1982). This is the smallest category in the corpus, and most of its works address early readers.

The category of Queer children’s literature has the largest number of works and greatest poetic complexity, and it refers to a variety of complex family models as well as to LGBTQ+ people as individuals, with an emphasis on the process of consolidating the LGBTQ+ identity. Yet, only one work refers to the consolidating of an undermining gender performance of a child. As such, the “textual silence” with regards to sexuality can also be seen in Israeli Queer literature for children, youth, and young adults, similar to the parallel literature in the West (Meek and Watson, 2003).

From a social aspect, we learn of the freedom from the shackles of the Zionistic theme that was dominant in the Israeli children’s literature from the 1940s to the end of the 1970s (Baruch, 1991). This theme led to distorted representations of sex, gender, and sexuality, and prevented an anti-stereotypical discussion of gender—as it was part of the initial children’s literature in Israel, that remained true to the Zionist ethos and promoted machoistic masculinity instead of masculinities (Connell, 1995; Gross, 2000). From a literary aspect, there is a significant difference between works aimed at young children—most of which are constructed like a catalog and present different family models with no plot or conflict whatsoever—and texts aimed at youth and young adults that deal in complex mental and social processes. In addition, no Israeli author who wrote Queer literature for children did so in more than a single work. It seems that addressing this topic once was sufficient for them.

While Queer theory encourages self-acceptance and feeling proud with the renewed definition of the gender performance (Kazin, 2000), works that address the process through which gender identify is formed emphasize the emotional difficulties, social ostracism, and concerns that are all part of belonging to the LGBTQ+ community. These findings are in line with the words of Jacqueline Rose (1984) who claimed that children’s literature conveys the moral codes and fears of the adult world. To be even more precise, these are heterosexual codes. As such, there are few Israeli Queer works, and those that exist provide a shallow and tragic representation. After all, Queer is not just same-sex parents and undermining gender norms. Queer existence encompasses pride and feelings of internal completeness—features that are greatly lacking in the works that were reviewed in this study.