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Amos Oz and :A.B. Yehoshua Early Writings


Adia Mendelson-Maoz Nurith Gertz

The Open University of Israel is the leading academic publisher in Israel. It had published over 1500 textbooks in all major disciplines, written by scholars and experts from its own faculty and from all major Israeli universities. These books are well known for their excellent academic quality, and they are being used by students and faculty in all colleges and universities throughout the country. In the following pages you will find a sample of our book series Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings, written by Dr. Adia Mendelson-Maoz and Prof. Nurith Gertz. Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua are both world renowned Israeli novelists, who single-handedly influenced a new generation of writers, virtually changing the shape and contour of Israeli literature. Up until Amos Oz's publication of his first stories in the quarterly Keshet at the end of the 1950's, Israeli literature was largely designed to promote and encourage a Socialist-Zionist agenda. Amos Oz's portrayal of real life struggles on Kibbutz, shattered this 'magic mirror' and helped to pave the way for a new generation of Israeli writers whose agendas and writing styles radically differ from those writers during the early days of the Israeli state. Excerpts from a wide range of the authors' writings provide readers with opportunities to delve deeply into both writers mindsets and learn from their skillful writing styles. This three volume series places Oz and Yehoshua in a cultural-socialhistorical context, enabling readers to gain a profound understanding of the seminal importance of their writings in literary circles, within Israeli society and on the national and international stage. Contact details: Mrs. Nava Segal Rights and Permissions Manager The Open University of Israel 1 University Road, P.O. Box 808, Raanana 43107, Israel Tel: 972-9-7781811, Fax: 972-9-7780664 Email: navase@openu.ac.il

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

Preface
In this series we will review the early works of two prominent Israeli authors, Amoz Oz and A.B. Yehoshua, both of whom emerged on the Israeli literary scene in the 1960s. We will describe the writing techniques employed by these two authors, which constituted part of a changing of the guard in the Israeli literary scene. In the series we will discuss writing norms used by the literary generation of the 1950s, the Palmach Generation, and we will trace the transition from standards prevalent among this generation to new writing norms characteristic of the literary generation active in the 1960s and 1970s. The basic premise that dictated prevalent standards in the 1950s indicated that literary works should expedite the development of Israel's budding society by presenting a reliable and realistic picture, with its optimistic portrayals focusing on those parts of reality that reflect positive Zionistpioneering values, garnering support of these values, and contesting negative values. Various elements of the fictional story the author's depiction of reality, the personality of the main character, the narrator's viewpoint, and others were counted on to help shape these norms and perceptions. In contrast, in the 1960s the major role of literature was perceived as aesthetic and not social. Accordingly, literary works were expected to emphasize their literary values, and were not charged with shaping reality and expressing a clear and optimistic social and moral viewpoint. This change in the perceived role of literature and the overall skeptical and pessimistic outlook were manifested in new requisites of literary works and their components: a demand for symbolic and ironic writing, for creating passive characters, and for existential themes. All these were compatible with the aesthetic function of literature and with a departure from the optimistic social certainties characteristic of the previous generation. Literary works recognized as prominent works of this period had many distinct qualities, but it was their common qualities that determined their association with a single literary generation.

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

The 1970s were distinguished by yet another shift in the standards previously introduced by major authors in the 1960s. In the 1970s a certain return to realism is evident, albeit an essentially different realism than that of the 1950s. Whereas in the 1960s writers opted for symbolic writing, only indirectly referring to the social and political reality, in the 1970s we may observe a transition to writing linked to a certain time and place, utilizing components originating from social and contemporary reality. We may notice that in this period the symbolic dimension gradually faded, while patently realistic elements were forged in its stead. Objects and ideas in the text still have symbolic meaning but they also stress a realistic-contemporary meaning. While Israeli literature in the 1950s was concerned with contemporary events and that of the 1960s turned its back on current affairs and introduced individualist elements depicting existential universal situations, in the 1970s these elements were fused within the social-cultural-political context. As in the 1950s, written texts resumed their link with reality and ideology. However unlike the 1950s, references to realistic and contemporary issues did not constitute espousal of the Zionist narrative and its optimistic view; rather they focused on creating contrasting narratives reflecting the complexity and occasionally the failure of the Zionist narrative.

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

My Michael A Late Reading Conflicting Spaces and Political Implications

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

This is the last section dealing with My Michael. In earlier sections we described the thematic structure of the text, concepts of social reality and their manifestation in the main character, including the concepts of love, family, career, and property. We focused on Hannah's foreignness, internal and external plot patterns, metaphorical patterns. We discussed how the war theme fits into the thematic structure, and described the descriptive modes employed in the novel, as well as characterization of the female narrator. In this first reading of the novel the following is a partial bibliography of texts: Band, Avraham (Arnold). "Hamesaper Habilti-Mehayman Be Michael Sheli Uve'Bidmi Yamayha," (The unreliable narrator in My Michael and "In the Prime of her Life"),Hasifrut, Volume III, 1, 1971: 30-34. [Hebrew]; Barzel, Hillel. "Amos Oz: Rikma Psichologit al Michael Sheli" (Amos Oz: Psychological Tapestry on My Michael). In: Mesaprim Beyichudam (The best in Hebrew prose), Tel Aviv: Yachdav, Ichud Publication Ltd., 1981: 317-328. [Hebrew]; Calderon, Nissim. "Lehasir et Hamerchaot Hakfulot: Al Amos Oz" (Removing the quotation marks: About Amos Oz). In: Beheksher Politi (In a political context), Tel Aviv: Sifrei Siman Kriah, HakibbutzHameuhad Press, 1980: 52-77. [Hebrew]; Gertz, Nurith. Amos Oz: Monografya (Amos Oz: Monograph), Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim, Hakibbutz Ha'artzi Hashomer Hatza'ir Press, 1980. [Hebrew]; Shaked, Gershon. "HaOrev Yoshev Baheder" (Waiting in ambush). In: Gal Hadash Basiporet Ha'Ivrit (A new wave in Hebrew prose), Merhavya and Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim, Hakibbutz Ha'artzi Hashomer Hatza'ir Press, 1971: 180-203. [Hebrew];

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

4.5 My Michael A late reading Conf licting spaces and political implications
In previous sections we focused primarily on the character of Hannah, her values, and her role as narrator1. Only in passing did we mention the relationship between the personal story and the sociopolitical background, mainly in the context of the war. This late reading will enrich the discussion by exploring the different spaces utilized in the book. In our late reading we shall endeavor to show how a fusion of the personal and political story forms a national allegory, possibly representing an anti-establishment outlook. In recent years many theoretical studies have been written on space within the discourse on power relations. Michel Foucault's concept of "heterotopia2" is an interesting example of the manner in which real and fictitious space defines one as part of society and forges society's power relations. Heterotopia means a different place (hetero different, topos place). In contrast to utopia (good place), which indicates a hypothetically perfect society, an organized space that does not require a concrete space in order to exist, heterotopia is based on real places, an intersection of occasionally incompatible words and things, linguistic spaces and physical spaces. Georges Perec3 in his work also seeks to explore the concept of space, beginning with the initial point in space words on a sheet of paper, and gradually progressing to wider spaces the bed, the room, the house, the street, the neighborhood, the city, the state, the country, and the world. An analysis of space and of the attitude towards space reveals questions such as: When do we acquire possession of space? What does it mean to

Foucault, Michel. "Different Spaces", in: James Faubion, (ed.), Michel Foucault: Essential Works of Foucault 1954-1984. Penguin Books, London and New York, [1967] 1998: 175185.

Perec, Georges. Species of Spaces and Other Pieces .London: Penguin Twentith Century Classic. Edited and translated by John Sturrock (1977), [Especes d'espace- Paris: Edition Galilee (1974)].

Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua: Early Writings

take control of a space? What are the relationships that take place within a space, between real and imaginary spaces, or between different actual spaces? Our new interpretation of My Michael, stems from a postcolonial perspective as well. Postcolonial literary criticism deals with the exposure of literary aspects related to the relationship between a hegemonic group and various marginal groups, particularly as regarding their race, culture, and geography, referred to as the conflict between "first world" and "third world". The postcolonial reading is a subversive reading. It may reveal aspects that disclose anti-establishment views and expose political power relations underlying the text. Colonialism and post-colonialism are directly related to geographical spaces, in the context of both territorial and cultural occupation. Since the colonialist conflict has a territorial foundation, geographical space becomes the scene of intercultural conflict, and it may also attest to pertinent power relations4. In our reading we will focus on an analysis of spaces, and through these we will relate to the concept of power and control. Both space and power relations are elements that may be interpreted psychologically on the individual level. The concept of space is often used in literature as a metonymy to portray characters' moods and reflect their mental state. Thus in the current work, Jerusalem may be described as a manifestation of the protagonist's shaken and reeling soul. However, in this section we shall present a different aspect of the discussion

Said, Edward. Orientalism, Pantheon Books, 1978; Said, Edward. The World, the Text, the Critics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983; Bhabha, Homi. "DissemiNation: Time, Narrative, and the Margins of the Modern Nation", in: Nation and Narration. NewYork and London: Routledge, 1990: 291-320; Bhabha, Homi. "Prefece - Arrivals and Departures". In: Naficy, Hamid (ed.), Home, Exile, Homeland, New-York and London: Routledge, 1999: VII-XI; Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. Death of a Discipline, New-York: Columbia University Press, 2003.

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of space. Our guiding premise is that even a story about an individual may evoke an allegory of the public sphere regarding society, culture, history, and politics. In such an allegory the individual fate of the literary character and its specific context may serve as a figurative manifestation of the state of the nation. It is possible to read My Michael, via Hannah's story, as a text centering on the issue of dominating space in the form of a national allegorical rendition. The fight for control is the fight for Jerusalem a fight for Zionist control of a Middle Eastern space and its native population. The story ostensibly occurs in a period in which the issue of control is not debatable. However all signs in the novel indicate that surreptitious forces underlying this professed control are at work. 4.5.1 Jerusalem as a conflictual space5 The novel My Michael offers an abundance of spatial descriptions, including descriptions of Jerusalem. These descriptions, similar to those in Where the Jackals Howl, are connected to the thematic structure of the book. In the stories in Where the Jackals Howl, the author created a sense of tension between the illuminated and protected space within the Kibbutz

In writing these sections we used the following bibliography: Shimrit Peled's MA dissertation, Women in urban space Amos Oz's My Michael, Tel Aviv University, 2002 [Hebrew]; Azulay, Esther. "Intertextualiyut Kederech Itzuv BeMichael Sheli Me'et Amos Oz" (Intertextuality as a method of design in My Michael by Amos Oz), Sha'anan, 9, 2004: 245-268. [Hebrew]; Ben Dov, Nitza. "Yerushalayim Shel Amos Oz BeMichael Sheli" (The Jerusalem of Amos Oz in My Michael), Kivunim Hadashim, 19, December 2008. [Hebrew]; Cohen, Uri. "Michael Sheli Vehama'avar Me'ilit Mahapchanit Lama'amad Habaynoni" (My Michael and the Transition from Revolutionary Elite to Middle Class), Yisra'el, 3, 2003: 157-182. [Hebrew]; Feldhay-Brenner, Rachel. Inextricably Bonded - Israeli Arab and Jewish Writers Re-Visioning Culture. Madison, Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003, Chap 10: 221-247; Fuchs, Esther. Israeli Mythologies women in contemporary Hebrew fiction. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987: 75-85.

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fences and the dark place of the jackals outside them. This tension supposedly reflects the conflict in which the characters are engrossed and represents the extremities between which they vacillate. Unlike the stories in Where the Jackals Howl, My Michael is more concerned with the link between personal and national contemporary events are present in the text and even evolve with it. Therefore, aside from reflecting the conflicts experienced by Hannah, the book's descriptions of Jerusalem's geographic reality in the 1950s may also represent a separate critical course. Jerusalem in the 1950s, as described in the book, constitutes a contrast between fantasy and reality. Jerusalem has always represented an idea in search of a place. A sought-after place is always distant, always approached from beyond6. Therefore, Jerusalem served as a type of utopia, inevitably remaining non present. In the book, Jerusalem is present, and therefore it comprises a conflictual dimension. The descriptions of Jerusalem in the book are mostly oxymoronic they consist of opposites. On one hand, Jerusalem's neighborhoods seem legendary, expansive, magnificent, holy, while on the other, they seem gray, miserable, and dangerous. Talpiyot neighborhood, for example is "a forgotten continent in the south, hidden amid her ever-whispering pinetrees" (80)7. While in the first part of the sentence Talpiyot is perceived as sizeable and open on all sides, the second part alludes to inaccessibility and threat. Beit Hakerem neighborhood is described similarly. Beit Hakerem is "a solitary hamlet lost beyond the windswept plain, hemmed in by rocky fields" (ibid). Here too, it is portrayed at first as open and distant, and then as enclosed and confined. Bait-Va'gan neighborhood is "an isolated hill-fort where a violin plays behind windows kept shuttered all day, and at night the jackals howl to the south" (ibid). The neighborhood is presented as a mythical serene place,
6 7 Gurevitz, Zeli and Gideon, Aran. "Al Hamakom" (On the Place), Alpayim, 4, 1993: 9-44 [Hebrew] Oz, Amos. My Michael (translated by: Nicholas de Lange), Chatto & Windus, London 1972.

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but then promptly depicted as tormented by the howls of jackals. The oxymoronic descriptions of Jerusalem create an increasing sense of discomfort. This emerging sensation is a result of the contrast between a state of calm and serenity, manifested in terms such as: forgotten continent, plain, hill fort, and threatening elements, illustrated by the fields, pine trees, and encircling jackals. A state of calm and serenity is often identified with Western-European values, while a state of threat is associated with Orientalism. Thus, in the novel the scholar types on a foreign language typewriter; and the elderly pianist, practicing and preparing a new Schubert and Chopin recital, does not notice the tower of Nebi Samwil: "The solitary tower of Nebi Samwil stands on a hilltop to the north, stands motionless beyond the border and stares night and day at the elderly pianist who sits innocently at her piano, her stiff back turned to the open window" (ibid). Accordingly, the descriptions of Jerusalem constitute a conflict between a European space characterized by open spaces, forts, as well as classical music, and a geographical location rooted in the Middle East, a place of jackals, wadis, valleys, and also peculiar buildings and a different, intimidating culture. Unpredictably, it is those who have come to Israel from Europe who find themselves isolated at the top of a castle, surrounded by malevolent natives. Jerusalem as a conflictual space emerges through geological metaphors as well. Jerusalem is both eternal and aging; both modern and at the mercy of natural forces. It is described as incompatible with nature, but nature virtually surrounds the city, encircles it, and endangers its existence from beyond. Thus, the earth peeks out from among the city walls, and the city maintains "A harsh and silent struggle between the stonework and the stubborn vegetation" (82). Even if at times it seems that nature can be vanquished, it is present in underground currents and does not cease to intimidate the city. The city is supposedly modern roads, sewage systems, and public buildings are constantly being erected. "There are even some spots which convey for an

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instant an impression of an ordinary city", but "the impression is fleeting" (202). Underground geological movement confirms Jerusalem's historical roots. Walking the streets of Jerusalem or residing in the city, one inevitably encounters signs of the past. Hannah and Michael first meet in the Terra Sancta building, which constitutes a conflicting space in its own right. "Terra Sancta College is a Christian convent which was loaned to the Hebrew University after the 1948 war when the buildings on Mount Scopus were cut off" (1). The Terra Sancta building was planned by an Italian architect and constructed during 1924-1927. A statue of the Madonina is poised on the roof. The building was expanded in the 1930s, and in the 1950s it received an addition of several shacks in the courtyard. The Franciscan Church originally built the structure as a center for social activities. Later it became a college attended mostly by Christians, but also by Muslims and Jews who sought a European education. In 1947 it was included in the British security zone, leading to closure of the school operating on site. In 1949 the complex was leased to the Hebrew University, as the university's buildings on Mount Scopus had become inaccessible. Only in 1999 was the complex vacated and ultimately returned to the Franciscan order. The building's name, Terra Sancta, means holy ground. However as a Christian building, its context negates any Jewish underpinnings and charges it politically. Thus, at the same time a Jewish enclave on Mount Scopus was encircled by Jordanian land in Jerusalem, a Christian building used by Arabs prior to the war was serving as a secular Israeli academy. Neither can Hannah and Michael's wedding, a private event, eschew its historical and national context. The secular wedding takes place in the Ratisbonne building, one of the Hebrew University's lecture halls. The room in the Ratisbone convent in which the party was held was tall and old, and the ceiling was sooty. The ceiling was covered with faded designs in peeling paint. With difficulty I could make out various scenes in the life of Christ, from the Nativity to the Crucifixion (38).

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The Jewish wedding is encircled here in the life of Jesus, as designed by Theodor Alfons Ratisbonne, who came to Jerusalem from France in 1855. The monastery served residents of Rehavia neighborhood as a shelter during the riots of 1939, and in the War of Independence it housed children and women evacuated from the Etzyon Bloc. After the war it was rented to Jews, an entire wing occupied by the Hebrew University. Similar to Terra Sancta and the Ratisbonne monastery, Camp Schneller, which arouses in Hannah a sense of oppression, is also a conflictual space. The camp originally served as a Syrian orphanage, founded in 1855 by a German Protestant missionary for Syrian and Lebanese orphans. It also boasted a printing house, a school for the blind, a shingle factory, and an agricultural farm. Burial caves from the Second Temple era were discovered within the complex. At the center of the complex there is an administration building, which also consisted at the time of a church and a dining room, and its faade sports a clock tower. The walled complex was surrounded by staff residences, each carrying the name of cities that had donated money to establish the buildings. During World War II the complex was captured by the British army and attacked by the Etzel. It was vacated in March 1948, and since then has served as a military base. Analogous to the university buildings, the camp as well embodies the essence of Jerusalem and the transience of its changing rulers. The complex is the location of burial caves from the Second Temple era, but at subsequent stages it also served people of different religions for both peaceful and belligerent causes. Finally, the home of the Arab twins has conflicting features as well. When I was a child we had an Arab neighbor called Rashid Shahada. He was a very rich Arab. I expect they live in a refugee camp now. They had a house in Katamon. It was a villa built round a courtyard. The courtyard was completely enclosed by the house. You could sit outside and be shut off and private (189). The house, located on the border of Katamon and Kiryat Shmuel neighborhoods, is an inverted space the entire house is a fortress. The

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courtyard is internal, protected by enclosing walls. It was an upscale house. The lands of Katamon were purchased by the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate in the late 19th century, and after World War I lots were sold to affluent Arab entrepreneurs for purposes of construction. When the War of Independence broke out, a local Arab gang began operating in the neighborhood, harassing the Jews furtively at first, and openly once the British forces were evacuated from Jerusalem. The neighborhood was abandoned by its residents, and populated with refugees from the Jewish Quarter. The house, which gave an allusion of being protected, mainly due to its structure and inner courtyard, eventually proved less of a shelter. As Hannah attests, its residents are currently living in one of the refugee camps. However the history of the building reaches through its tiles and reminds us that "that would not be the last battle for Jerusalem" (187). The description of Jerusalem gives way to a sense of oppression, as phrased by Hannah. Underground currents threaten to erupt. While Michael was born elsewhere and his only connection to Jerusalem is through his academic work, Hannah, raised in pre-Independence Jerusalem, has a different view of the city and its current state. The spaces prevent Hannah from repressing her memories of the pre-State era. 4.5.2 A Woman within a space Hannah and Jerusalem The association between the personal story in My Michael and the sociopolitical story and the national allegory emerges, among other things, from the association between the representation of Jerusalem and the representation of Hannah's personal space as a woman. Hannah's relationship with the surrounding world, with her memories as well as her personal space, is governed in all respects by power and control relations, as shown in previous sections. The relationship between the spaces of her memories and delusions and the real geographical space in which she lives with Michael, reflects the disparity between a secure world with guaranteed control and that which lacks control. While Hannah seeks to delude herself, through her alternate spaces, into believing that she is capable of controlling space, portrayals of her conduct in space indicate the complete opposite.

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Hannah meets Michael when she falls on the steps. She is perceived as weak, but she also feels a certain sense of pleasure, seeking as she does a man to lean on. She interprets spatial elements and uses spaces in order to describe her feelings. She compares her relationship with Michael to that among people in a clinic, who have been subjected to an unpleasant treatment, or to an encounter in the hallway. The mere transference of the relationship to these spaces conveys the embarrassment, unpleasantness, and estrangement typical of their relationship, but also the inability to breach this boundary. Hannah feels lost in space, but she cannot save herself on her own. She asks her husband to chart space, to be an architect (85). Hannah and Michael's house, in an analogy to Jerusalem, is a conflictual space as well. Although secular academics, they live in a religious neighborhood. Within their home they act as strangers (135). Michael returns from reserve duty a stranger: "a gaunt, dusty figure stood framed in the doorway" (178). The house is full of furniture, electrical appliances, and even guests. However these visits only serve to stress the alienation within the house. Hannah, enclosed by and lost in space, conducts herself passively. She is compared to merchandise placed on the shelf and tied with a red ribbon "I was carefully made and beautifully wrapped, tied up with pretty red ribbon and put on display, bought and unwrapped" (75). In an encounter with Tchernichovsky, at her father's shop, the poet asks if he can buy her (96). She is portrayed as resembling stone, hard and cold (159), or a sculpture (98). Hannah's lack of control over space portrays her as an object. This image is linked to that of a prostitute wandering the city streets. Hannah's lack of control of space is the opposite of that wielded by the (male) wanderer: while the latter accesses the city streets and traverses them, Hannah is driven into the street, as one sick and unwanted. She runs through the narrow road "in a flimsy nightdress" (95). Through these descriptions of space we discern that Hannah's marriage and daily housewife routine are portrayed as a type of imprisonment. Yet

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leaving her glass prison is tantamount to prostitution. In her hallucinations and fantasies Hannah emphasizes her current or past control. However examination of her conduct in space reflects the reverse. Hannah is depicted as a woman who is led, permitted to all. Similar to Hannah, Jerusalem's neighborhoods are also portrayed "in close circle, like curious by passers standing round a wounded woman lying in the road". Jerusalem is enclosed by a tight circle of villages and suburbs: "Nebi Samwil, Shaafat, Sheikh Jarrah, Isawiyeh, Augusta Victoria, Wadi Joz, Silwan, Sur Baher, Beit Safafa. If they clenched their fist the city would be crushed" (82). "This is a city invaded in on all sides" (20). The weakness of the woman, the prostitute, cut off by glass walls, evolves into a description of Jerusalem. What is implied by the city's portrayal as a prostitute, as intimidated and besieged? Depicting the city as a prostitute demonstrates the tension between Israeli Jerusalem and the hostile Arab space surrounding it. Similar to Hannah's misleading routine, surrounded by a world of delusions that will eventually overcome her, Jewish Jerusalem as well is blocked and closed. By representing Jerusalem as a woman, an analogy is established between Hannah and Jerusalem. Much like Hannah, Jerusalem too lies silent, open to attack. Unlike the city's formerly innocent childhood, in its current maturity it must cope with both Jewish rule and the continuous Arab threat, resulting in feminine helplessness, lack of control, incapacity, lack of definition, and loss. 4.5.3 Fusing personal with national The national allegory My Michael forges a complex relationship between the private and the national. Following our discussion of spaces and of the issue of power and control, a national allegorical interpretation may be proposed. Hannah's conduct within space emphasizes two sides of the same coin. Hannah is engrossed in revealing the past, but she is also involved in tough

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unsolvable fights for control in the present. These two dimensions may form a national allegory. The past represents a period of innocence, control, harmony. In contrast to the past, the present encompasses a breakdown, manifested in the oxymoronic portrait of Jerusalem. This seemingly nostalgic view of the past may be perceived in psychological terms, yet the current discussion intimates that rather than being only a sign of personal distress, nostalgia may also indicate a subversive attitude towards Zionist history. In her dreams and hallucinations, Hannah often revisits the past and recreates her relationship with the Arab twins, whose model of masculinity is the complete reverse of Michael, whom she eventually chose. Hannah declares that she does not like the bear-like Palmachniks, "who used to tackle you with a gushing torrent of deceptive kindness [] carrying off the women of some captured city" (8). In her description, she portrays them as arriving in a foreign city, driving their tractors, and conquering the city and its women. The Arab twins are their antithesis. They too are physical and powerful, and they may be rioters, however they are natives of the land, tied to it by history and by the plants of the earth. What does Hannah want? Does Hannah wish to turn the clock back, to the time of innocence, implying a loss of Israeli sovereignty? The battles for control described throughout the book intimate the battle for control of Jerusalem. The image of Jerusalem as a conflictual space is incompatible with the Zionist utopia. By comparing Jerusalem to a prostitute and portraying its passivity, the author suggests that the violence at the book's conclusion may be perceived as an indication that the Jewish people harbor some type of longing for self destruction and loss of their land. Yet, the book's conclusion must not necessarily be construed as the end of Israeli nationalism. It may be perceived as a phase in which both the protagonist and Jerusalem become disillusioned with the seeming control professed by Zionism in particular and by the Western world in general. For many years My Michael was read without arriving at a clear conclusion regarding the political messages conveyed therein. The cinematic adaptation as well, stressed the personal, while choosing to gloss over the

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critical-national context. The allegory's implications were not acknowledged due to its radical nature, but also as a result of Hannah's unstable personality. In previous sections we introduced the question of Hannah's reliability. On the one hand, Hannah is perceived as confusing reality and delusion, incapable of conventionally understanding and judging the world. Nonetheless, Hannah succeeds in conveying her life course to the readers in an organized manner, analyzing situations within reason, and even arousing empathy. The question of Hannah's reliability has seemed to many a key question in understanding the political context of the book: If she is unreliable, maybe consequently the allegory is not valid, as she would then not represent the views of the implied author. However, as shown here, it is apparently not necessary to grapple directly with the question of Hannah's reliability in order to promote a national allegory. The implied author may have chosen to present his critique of nationalism by using an unstable protagonist, aided by additional descriptions. Thus, Hannah's unstable condition may reflect the "mental instability" typical of the Israeli state and existence. In summary, Jerusalem as portrayed in My Michael is a space of conflicts eternal and expendable, prosaic and holy, modern and ancient, static and evolving. It is a space both protected and confined. Control of this space is both elusive and impossible. The impression that Jerusalem is as vulnerable as a prostitute emphasizes the sense of disruption. Analogous to Hannah, Jerusalem's process of maturation has failed. It is no longer capable of resisting invasion. Jewish victory which arrived from the West, from the place of classical music and of the foreign language typewriter, is represented by bear-like people who come to conquer. However their victory is limited, as even as the victor sings his song of praise he is surrounded by enemies honing their weapons. Those who now pose a threat to the city

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come equipped with history and geography, the subterranean currents and irreconcilable power of people who have lost their homes. Much like Hannah, who cloaks herself in spaces that would be expected to serve as compensation, Jerusalem's seemingly rectifying space is revealed as an illusion posed by the entire Jewish Israeli existence. Hannah is intimidated by this space, she feels that she is competent but in fact she is weak. She cannot find her way, she stumbles, she can't break through her boundaries and establish her identity. Much like Hannah, Jewish control of Jerusalem, as it may be construed in light of this interpretation, must recognize its limits, when attempting to annex a Middle Eastern city encompassing many histories and cultures.

4.6 Epilogue Between My Michael (1967) and A Tale of Love and Darkness (2002)
He spoke in detail of the author's travels and his emotional difficulties. At that time scholars still believed that the writer himself is bound up in his book. (My Michael, page 43) 35 years after publication of My Michael, in 2002, Amos Oz published his autobiographical novel, A Tale of Love and Darkness8. In this novel Amos Oz tells the story of his parents' life and attempts to reveal how he lost his mother. When Amos Oz was 13 years old, his mother, Fania Mussman Klausner, committed suicide, leaving him on his own. This trauma remained an integral part of his life and writings, and it is the essence of the current novel. Immediately upon publication of A Tale of Love and Darkness, attention refocused on Oz's earlier book, My Michael. There is an obvious association
8 9 Oz, Amos. A Tale of Love and Darkness (Translated by: Nicholas de Lange), Vintage Books, London, 2005. Oz's book The Same Sea (1999), also deals with the loss of a mother and uses spatial descriptions (in Israel and elsewhere).

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between the descriptions of Hannah's madness and Oz's portrayal of his mother and of the processes that led her to become depressed and to decide to commit suicide9. In this section we shall briefly discuss several points of contact between the two texts, such that may help us discover the idea, described by Hannah as old fashioned, that "the author is implicated in his book". We shall present this association concisely through the concept of space and by discussing the fusion of personal and political. A Tale of Love and Darkness describes the life of Amos Oz and therefore is also connected to his previous works. The book relates the story of a scholarly father, a refined mother with a sensitive soul tending to depression, and a single child, Amos. The triad father-mother-child is featured at the core of both books, from different perspectives10. While My Michael is narrated by the mother, in A Tale of Love and Darkness the narrator relating his personal story is the child. Life in a modest Jerusalem neighborhood emerges in both works, creating an analogy between the neighborhood of Mekor Baruch in My Michael and Kerem Avraham in A Tale of Love and Darkness. Both texts portray Jerusalem's academic bourgeoisie, whose lesser members such as Michael and Arieh Klausner (Oz's father) live on side streets, while those more prominent live in Rehavia and the vicinity. The Terra Sancta library, workplace of the author's librarian father, Arieh, is the romantic meeting place of the characters in My Michael. This is where Hannah Gonen sits and reads about the "element of orphanhood" an element discussed in both books in Hebrew renaissance literature. Similar biographical scenes and details recur in both texts. For example, an encounter with poet Shaul Tchernichovsky appears in My Michael,

10 On A Tale of Love and Darkness see for example the selection of articles in the issue of Yisra'el, 7, 2005, edited by Nurith Gertz [Hebrew], as well as: Mendelson-Maoz, Adia, "Amos Ozs A Tale of Love and Darkness in a Framework of Immigration Narratives in Modern Hebrew Literature" Journal of Modern Jewish Studies, 9:1 March 2010: 71-87.

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in which the poet asks to buy Hannah, then a little girl. A Tale of Love and Darkness describes an encounter with the poet at the parents' home, reaching a climax in the warm and loving contact formed between the poet and the child Amos. Both encounters indicate a disparity between the incident as described by adults and the child's view. Hannah's father is proud of the encounter, but in Hannah's mind it reflects an attitude usually reserved for merchandise. In the later novel, the parents describe the child as sitting on the poet's lap, while Oz remembers that he was lifted after having fallen and hurting himself. The fusion of personal and national components is one of the most fascinating links between the two texts. Both texts are supposedly written in the format of 19th century classical novels, such as Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, Flaubert's Emma Bovary, etc. These are stories of women who live a dreary life with a spouse who is incapable of accommodating them. Although mentally rich, they are portrayed as stifled by their obtuse husbands. The stories of the two women convey personal and psychological meanings, but as we have seen in My Michael they have national meanings as well. The protagonists, Hannah Gonen and Fania Mussman-Klausner, perceive their reality as contrasting and contradicting their inner life. Their dejection begins with a disruption of external circumstances, increasing their personal crisis and eventually leading to the outbreak of their illness. Thus, in both books national pathology is linked to personal pathology. As stated, My Michael presents the disruption that occurred as a result of the War of Independence, which is construed by the protagonist, who became separated from her childhood friends and who experiences the city in its divided form, as cutting her off from sources of vitality. In A Tale of Love and Darkness the protagonist is portrayed as separated from her physical and emotional world, through the process of leaving Eastern Europe and her hometown Rovno and immigrating to Israel with her parents. Fania does not feel at home in Israel. She is a woman of Eastern Europe, of space, forests, forts and fairytales, who is incapable of adapting to her new circumstances and feels detached and desolate.

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Hannah Gonen retreats from the dreary present to dreams and hallucinations sustained by literary texts. In this stormy and turbulent world she feels in control, confident, and free (148-149). The protagonist of the later novel is not portrayed through her dreams, but she too is described as someone who tries to escape reality and spends many hours reading, both day and night. On the personal level, both texts describe a woman's decline, the product of an unfulfilling husband, a fettered routine, harsh life circumstances. On the national level, both texts describe a breaking point between past and future, between a sense of belonging and strength and a sense of weakness and cessation. Although dealing with the emotional tribulations of the two women, the texts' orientation is not entirely psychological. My Michael does attempt to trace the source of anguish, and it forms one step in the direction of a psychological realistic writing style, yet the book encompasses many symbolic and allegorical elements. The geological allusions portray the human soul as constructed of subterranean currents, however these dimensions are clearly only one part of the story, while the description of the realms strung and distorted within the human soul is in fact aimed at another dimension, creating as it does an analogy of the state of the nation. A Tale of Love and Darkness was written as a realistic autobiographical novel focusing on facts and skeptical of the explanatory power of psychology. It is the process of listening to the family's testimonies, particularly those of the sisters, that leads the narrator to the understanding that much remains unknown. However the material thus collected merges to create a testimony relevant not only to the personal story, rather also constituting part of the national narrative. The description of the women's adversities is portrayed comparably as well. This is particularly evident in parallel scenes within the two texts; for example, the flooding and freezing scene. In My Michael, sick Hannah stands under a current of cold water, flooded by her delusions (147-151). In the midst of this incident Hannah begins to feel love, lust, and life, but the image ends with a concern of drowning and freezing. Hannah is saved by Michael she feels that he brought her

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back to life from another place, to which she was headed. The doctor who comes to visit her after the event understands that "the body is trying to get well, the mind perhaps is causing us delay" (152), but reminds her that she is a mother and asks "please to take into consideration also the young child" (ibid). A comparable image appears in A Tale of Love and Darkness, related as seen by the son. The narrator can't invade his mother's consciousness and understand her thoughts, and thus the event is described from the outside. The child Amos returns from school and finds his mother sitting in a chair, where torrential rains have been pouring down on her for several hours. He drags her home and sees that she is freezing cold. He brings her dry clothes from the closet and scolds her. Both scenes focus on water, and their female protagonists are located on a sequence progressing from flow to freezing. Flow facilitates life, and differs from a state of desolation. Flow lets the women experience pleasure, helps them reach physical sensations and bring together the conflicting spheres within their souls. However, flow is also destructive. The water is cold, and they risk becoming frozen. Thus, the process of leaving the state of desolation is construed as leading to dangerous regions. The analogy between these two scenes emphasizes their different perspectives: In My Michael the implied author introduces us to the protagonist's world of delusions, and the reader is required to understand the disparities between the two worlds for example, to separate the positive adventurism and challenging dangers of the imaginary world from the real danger of freezing; while in A Tale of Love and Darkness the protagonist is portrayed from the outside, and we have no access to her soul. In the later book we are also aware of the child's view, which begins with passivity and progresses to a forced rapid maturity compelling him to save her. 4.6.1 Space within the two novels In the previous section, we expanded on the issue of space in general and the Jerusalem space in particular in My Michael. Now it would be intriguing to explore the spaces in A Tale of Love and Darkness, adding

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another dimension to our comparison between the two books. A Tale of Love and Darkness, similar to My Michael, features an interesting relationship between spaces and within spaces. Our brief study of Oz's later novel indicates two major spectrums reflecting relationships between spaces. The first spectrum reflects the relationship between the Israeli space and the European space. The second spectrum reflects the relationship between national space and personal space. A Tale of Love and Darkness is a story of immigration. The fictional, delusional, and intertextual spaces of My Michael are replaced in A Tale of Love and Darkness by European spaces, the locus of childhood and longing. Europe for them was a forbidden promised land, a yearned-for landscape of belfries and squares paved with ancient flagstones, of trams and bridges and church spires, remote villages, spa towns, forests and snow-covered meadows. Words like 'cottage', 'meadow' or 'goose-girl' excited and seduced me all through my childhood. They had a sensual aroma of a genuine, cosy world, far from the dusty tin roofs, the urban wasteland of the scrap iron and thistles, the parched hillsides of our Jerusalem, suffocating under the weight of white-hot summer (2). European landscapes are portrayed as vividly green, cool, and innocent. These are the landscapes of both recreated and fictional family history, the landscapes of the mother's memories and stories. The relationship between spaces typical of the mother's European homeland and Israeli spaces helps comprehend the trauma inherent in immigration. Resembling the concerns born by Jerusalem in My Michael, conceptual and utopian concerns that cannot be fully realized, the Land of Israel in A Tale of Love and Darkness as well cannot easily become a home and render the exile null and void. The book describes how even those who return to their historical home must endure an arduous immigration process. When they came to Israel their dreams were shattered and smashed,

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"dashed on a hot dusty pavement of Jerusalem stone" (207). For people who had arrived in Jerusalem right out of nineteenth century landscapes, the neighborhood of Kerem Avraham was inadequate. They suffered poverty and deprivation, the jobs they found were incompatible with their skills, and they were unused to the culture and the weather. They must have felt like short sighted drivers lost in the dark among the convoluted alleys of a foreign city, at the wheel of an unfamiliar vehicle. Place and time are crucial categories for any discussion of identity, immigration, and memory. Immigrant identity is composed of memories strung along a time sequence and of a point of divergence manifested in a change of location. The work under discussion employs a writing style focusing on the issue of identity and reflected in the portrayal of times and places. Not only the mother's dreams breach borders and times, rather the narrative itself. The book opens in the small apartment in Jerusalem, in a limited and constricted spatial setting, later progressing to the family's ancestry in Israel and Eastern Europe, Vilna and Rovno. Moreover, spaces emblematic of distant ancestors are as present and influential as those in close proximity. From her stuffy, gloomy, clean and tidy, over-furnished, always shuttered two-roomed flat in Wessely Street in Tel Aviv [] Aunt Sonia takes me to visit the mansion in the Wolja quarter in the north-west of Rovno (150). A Tale of Love and Darkness makes a point of not distinguishing between "there" and "here", and sees Israel and Europe as continuous and not opposites. The past is present in the future, and Rovno is present in Tel Aviv. The second spectrum that we will discuss regarding spaces featured in A Tale of Love and Darkness concerns the relationship between public and political spaces and personal spaces. In what respect is the book concerned with individuals and in what respect with the entire nation? This
11 Shapira, Anita. "' Ha'Sipur Ha'tzioni shel Amos Oz" (The Zionist Narrative of Amos Oz.) Israel, 7, 2005: 163-171 (Hebrew); Golan, Avirama. "Ha'im Hasipur shelo ho Ha'sipur shelanu" (Is His Story Our Story?) Ha'aretz books August 31st, 2005 (Hebrew).

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may be one of the most fascinating questions worthy of debate, and the answer seems to be necessarily ambiguous. The story of immigration portrayed in the book is both a personal and a national story: It is the story of a mother who arrives in Israel and experiences adversities that eventually lead her to commit suicide, and the story of a nation who immigrated to Israel freely or from necessity, in search of refuge. Accordingly, spaces featured in the book may be personal spaces a home, a room, a neighborhood, but they may also assume national significance, representing as they do the city of Jerusalem and the Land of Israel11. By focusing intensively on a specific family, its genealogy and history, the novel reinforces its personal dimension. This emphasis is stressed in the description of personal spaces the small hillside apartment in Jerusalem, the rooms, the armchairs, the bookshelves. However when recounting the declaration of independence, personal spaces give way to a view of the streets, representing national aspects. The distinction between personal and public space is not that sharp. One space can represent both the personal and the general and create transitions between the two. For example, the description of the aunt's ground floor apartment in Tel Aviv states that one room was rented out to military commanders, but the paragraph's conclusion provides a link to the personal domain: One of the two rooms in Haya and Tsvi Shapiro's ground-floor flat at 175 Ben Yehuda Street in Tel Aviv was sublet to various senior commanders of the Haganah. In 1948, during the War of Independence, Major-General Yigael Yadin, who was head of operations and deputy Chief of Staff of the newly-established Israeli army, lived there. [] Three years later, in the same room, my mother took her own life (169). The association between personal and national spaces creates a pendular motion between understanding the story as a personal traumatic story, undermining and even criticizing the national story, and recognition of and reconciliation with the national story identifying Israel as a source of

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salvation and deliverance. Spatial conflicts and transitions between spaces exist in both books, as we have shown. In both there is a movement between personal and national. However an analysis of the books' endings may indicate disparate orientations. In the earlier book the protagonist experiences a gradual decline, reflected in the choice of metaphors, which become gloomier as the plot evolves. At the plot's conclusion which relates how the Arab twins planned the terrorist attack and how Hannah came to their help the personal story shifts to the realm of national allegory. This conclusion transfers the story from the personal to the national-critical dimension. In contrast, the autobiographical novel A Tale of Love and Darkness concludes with a description of the mother's final hours, centering mainly on the personal. Oz as a witness narrator, who was not beside his mother in these hours, describes and conjectures what she did and where she went. He portrays his mother with a focus on the personal her image, and his sensations as a child and as an adult left orphaned, hurting, angry, and crying. Therefore, this book shifts from the national to the personal. Both novels are concerned with the link between personal and political, and in both we may discern transitions between the two, as well a blurring of their boundaries. However, different emphases may be revealed in the two books. Perhaps their orientations are different. A Tale of Love and Darkness shifts from the national and public to the personal, and therefore it encompasses a type of reconciliation. In contrast, My Michael, seemingly a much more personal work, shifts towards the end from the personal to the national and public, and therefore the criticism it voices may be much more acute.

4.7 Summary
In this chapter we presented the novel My Michael as embodying one of the high points of Oz's writing in the 1960s. From a certain respect the

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novel continues to evince writing standards characteristic of 1960s' prose, including unrealistic prose associated with the metaphorical as well as the symbolic domain. From another aspect, we identified a process of evolvement from "The Trappist Monastery" and "Nomad and Viper" to My Michael, attesting to the increasing emergence of social and political topics in Oz's works. In the first part of this chapter we saw how the thematic structure tossed the protagonist between contrasting worlds: between dreams and reality. We also saw how reality based values permeated the dream world, and how contemporary events invade the novel. The author's ambivalent attitude towards the protagonist/narrator resembles his attitude towards protagonists in previous works. The technique of narrators who prove incapable of upholding the same standards that they prescribe for their protagonists, is also recognizable from stories analyzed in previous chapters. However, My Michael is distinct from previous works, as the narrator and protagonists are more complex and arouse greater empathy; it differs also by designing a complex inner plot and more realistic circumstances, and by relating to social topics in a more direct manner. Our late reading sought to pinpoint the social and political aspects of the book. In our initial interpretation we mentioned social and political contexts mainly in relation to the war and to the manner in which the war creates a climax analogous to the fluctuations in Hannah's inner world. In our late reading we examined the political context from a different perspective by providing a postcolonial reading and a spatial analysis. This reading led us to propose a national allegory based on the text.

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"Early in the Summer of 1970" A Late Reading Fathers and Sons

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9.12 "Early in the Summer of 1970" A late reading Fathers and sons
In previous chapters, as well as earlier in this chapter, we focused on a thematic structure shared by many of A.B. Yehoshua's works, emphasizing the protagonist's isolation and his often unsuccessful attempts at extricating himself from this isolation. This sense of isolation and desolation is also represented metaphorically, through elements of light and darkness, sight and blindness, sound and silence, among others. In addition, we focused on temporal themes past, present, and future, and examined their interrelations. In all the works we explored, intergenerational or father-son relationships were encountered. These relationships involved the temporal dimension. In "The Yatir Evening Express" we saw an intergenerational conflict between the narrator and Arditi. The silence between them signified their remoteness. At the end of the story the narrator disengages from Arditi and in fact takes his place, thus turning his back on the past. In "Facing the Forests" as well, the relationship between the protagonist and his father is characterized by silence. Despite the father's attempts at rapprochement, no significant contact is formed. The protagonist endeavors to form a link with the past and the future through his relationship with the tongue-severed Arab and his daughter (with all its social and political connotations). This relationship evolves throughout the story and reaches a climax during the fire, but cannot materialize, and the protagonist remains alone. In "The Continuing Silence of a Poet" we saw a father-son relationship, a conflict in which the father tried to maintain his status versus the younger generation. In this story as well, the circle of loneliness and desolation is not breached. Other works by A.B. Yehoshua from the same period, such as "Three Days and a Child", have a similar focus. In all the works previously discussed, the mother is absent, creating a reduced family consisting of only father and son. The father-son relationship is characterized by silence, indicating a lack of intergenerational communication. The parent generation has an ingrained social conception. In contrast, the sons are portrayed as not following in their parents' footsteps. Therefore, Arditi is committed to the daily train ritual, while the narrator departs from this tradition. The son in "Facing the Forests" could

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have chosen to focus on studying Jewish suicide during the Crusades, as suggested by his father, but he doesn't do so. The son does not accept the father's patronizing attitude towards the Arab. His sense of disassociation with his father is so extreme that he adopts an alternate father, as well as an alternate daughter, in the knowledge that he himself will bear no children. In "The Continuing Silence of a Poet" the father is saddened to see that his son is incapable of following in his footsteps. In all these cases, the rift between father and son is also associated with paternal and social expectations of the son and the son's inability or unwillingness to fulfill them. Inability to fulfill expectations leads to alienation on the one hand and destructiveness on the other. We stressed that in "Early in the Summer of 1970", as in "Facing the Forests", the family rift, isolation, and detachment, assume historical and contemporary significance. As in My Michael, here too the isolation is breached by a violent social act the war, forming an analogy between the personal and the social story. Our late reading of "Early in the Summer of 1970" will deal with the father-son relationship and with the myth of the Akedah (the binding of Isaac) interwoven in the story. It will embrace an intertextual reading, emphasizing the relationship between different symbolic sets and constructing an analogy between various texts. Use of different symbolic sets and recognition of their role in the text, studying the connection between our text and the story of the Akedah and its modern variations adds interpretive information. By constructing an analogy between the ancient text and its usage in the Israeli cultural and social context, we can pinpoint the critical dimension of our late reading, as detailed below12.
12 The following is a selection of sources on the story. Our late reading was informed particularly by the most recent: Haefrati, Yosef. "Ktzat Textim Veharasim: 'Bithilat Kayitz 1970' Umekomo Bayn Sipuray A.B.Yehoshua" (Some texts and shards: 'Early in the Summer of 1970' and its place among the stories of A.B. Yehoshua), Siman Kriah, 1, (September) 1972: 156-169. [Hebrew]; Calderon, Nissim. "Kalkalot Besiporet: Al Sifrayhem Ha'aharonim Shel A.B. Yehoshua, A. Oz Ve-A. Appelfeld" (Iniquities of prose: On the recent books of A.B. Yehoshua, A. Oz and A. Appelfeld), Siman Kriah, 1,

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The book's writing norms, which serve to connect the personal story and the psychological aspect of generational relations to the social sphere, indicate that the discussion of father-son relationships provided below may lead us to understand the work as a contemporary critical text describing not only the isolated father rather an entire society, an entire generation in the midst of a moral crisis. 9.12.1 Elements of the Akedah in the story The connection between "Early in the Summer of 197013" and both the biblical story of the Akedah and the modern myth is obvious14. Analogous
(September) 1972: 313-321. [Hebrew]; Shaked, Gershon. "Shehamavet Behalonav" (With death in his windows). In: Gal Hadash Basiporet Ha'Ivrit (A new wave in Hebrew prose), Merhavya and Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim, Hakibbutz Ha'artzi Hashomer Hatza'ir Press, 1971: 125-148. [Hebrew]; Shaked, Gershon. "Ha'umnam Rak Bit'hilat 1970?" (Only early in 1970?) Siman Kriah, 1, 1972: 150-155. [Hebrew]; Ganz, Chaim. "Ha'hayrut Lilkot Zradim" (The Liberty to Gather Twigs), Siman Kriah, 5, 1976: 291-294. [Hebrew]; Yehoshua, A.B. "Hatima: Levatel et Ha'akayda al Yedey Mimushah" (Conclusion: To eliminate the Akedah Through its Realization), In: Ben Dov, Nitza (ed.), Bakivun Hanegdi Kovetz Mehkarim al Mar Mani Shel A.B. Yehoshua (A collection of essays on A.B. Yehoshua's Mr. Mani), Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1995: 394-398. [Hebrew]; Shalev, Mordechay. "Hotam Ha'akayda Be'Shlosha Yamim Veyeled', 'Bit'hilat 1970' UveMar Mani (The mark of the Akedah in "Three Days and a Child", "Early in the Summer of 1970" and Mr. Mani). In: Ben Dov Nitza (ed.), Bakivun Hanegdi Kovetz Mehkarim al Mar Mani Shel A.B. Yehoshua (In the other direction A collection of essays on A.B. Yehoshua's Mr. Mani), Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1995: 399-448. [Hebrew]; Feldman, Yael. S. "Between Genesis and Sophocles: Biblical Psychopolitics and A.B. Yehoshua's Mr. Mani. In: William Cutter and David C. Jacobson (eds.), History and Literature New Readings of Jewish Texts in Honor of Arnold Band, Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2002: 451-463. 13 Yehoshua, A.B., Early in the Summer of 1970, Doubleday & Company, NY, 1977. 14 A detailed study of the Akedah motif in the book may be found in the article by Mordechay Shalev, "Hotam Ha'akayda Be'Shlosha Yamim Veyeled', 'Bit'hilat 1970' Uve'Mar Mani" (The mark of the Akedah in "Three Days and a Child", "Early in the Summer of 1970" and "Mr. Mani"). In: Ben Dov, Nitza (ed.), Kovetz Mehkarim al Mar Mani Shel A.B. Yehoshua (A Collection of Essays on A.B. Yehoshua's Mr. Mani), Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1995: 399-448.

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to biblical Abraham, in this story the father agrees to sacrifice his son. The father is not the direct cause of his son's death, but the text alludes to his association with this death. The son is considered dead, almost died or should have died, but then he is saved. As in the biblical story, here too it is eventually revealed that someone else died in his stead. As in the biblical story where Abraham is acquitted by proving his faith in God beyond all doubt, in this story as well the father is acquitted from the fictitious death. He manages to extricate himself from his loneliness and isolation and attains social recognition. The father chooses to declare his age, reminiscent of biblical genealogy: "Seventy years old" (59). The son's death is described using a sentence resembling the biblical tripartite verse: "your son, your only son, whom you love". When describing the fallen son, the narrator always uses triple forms: "Thirty-one years old. An only, beloved son" (37-38). There is a clear allusion to the spilt blood: "The shed blood" (42). The connection with the biblical sacrifice is mentioned in other episodes: for example when referring to the grandson, who is also prepared to be the object of a future sacrifice, described as "drooping with sleep, like a plucked flower" (16), and dressed: "Put him into some kind of sewn-up sheet like a little shroud and lay him on my bed" (18). The father is portrayed as someone who grasps at trees: "It is the branch that makes me so suspect" (34). The father in this story is perceived as both killing and giving life. In his imaginary speech before the graduates, the father emphasizes the responsibility of parents who send their sons to their death, thus placing himself in the role of sacrificer. As representative of the Palmach generation he is also portrayed "as though in some furtive manner I were enjoying this war" (17), or as though "it were I who issued call-up orders" (64). But the father who sacrifices his son also revives him: "as though by my power I had killed him, as though by my power brought him back to life" (68). All this with divine approval: "And to look at once for signs of a dead, distant, biblical deity among the arid hills flanking the road" (55). As stated, most of the intergenerational conflict in Yehoshua's works from the 1960s and 1970s is based on the relationship between the generation of 1948 - that which sanctified the War of Independence, created the Zionist entity, and established the sacrificial myth - and the next generation, which proceeded to challenge the manner in which Zionist ideology was implemented and therefore undermined its myths. From this respect, the

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current discussion of the Akedah, as well as that emerging in other texts by Yehoshua discussed herein, reflects this historical intergenerational conflict. Father-son relationships in the novella "Early in the Summer of 1970" can be read as a sign of criticism towards the myth of sacrifice and of the Akedah as forged in the 1940's and 1950s. The father, representing the Palmach generation, is prepared to accept the myth of the Akedah, and therefore is also prepared for his son's death. Moreover, he seems to strive to attain this status, as he perceives that only as a bereaved father may he restore his self-respect and continue the process of establishing his worldview. His son, belonging to the next generation, does not consent to play his role in the sacrificial myth, and therefore remains alive. 9.12.2 Political meanings In our previous discussion of the story, we stressed that the death announcement puts on an end to the father's isolation. All those who had distanced themselves from him now return the principal, the teachers, and also his daughter-in-law and grandson. In fact, instead of the deep grief naturally anticipated of the father we see an active person who proceeds to pull out of his former state of existential isolation and desolation. The story describes the rift between father and son in detail. At first they are portrayed as having some external resemblance: "they are amazed by the resemblance between us two" (16), but they do not show any signs of affection for each other. Their encounters are characterized by silence and darkness. The son returns from the United States and expresses no special interest in his father's life, and the father does not understand his son's studies and is unable to talk to his daughter-in-law and grandson. After the death he "cleanse myself, put on fresh linen, find a heavy black suit in the wardrobe and put it on" (23). He takes full advantage of his son's death he glorifies in his disaster, replans his future. He is fully prepared to take his son's place. At first he seeks the son's wife after hearing the news "I fall down sobbing on the rug where they lay that night" (Ibid). She is "of the kind that many years, eons ago, I might have fallen in love with, pursued in my heart, year after year" (25). She is also the object of his lust at the military base, "in the close air of the Jordan Valley" (67). He wakes

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up, finds himself on the bed, and imagines himself making advances on her, "rubbing against the pinups, fall upon her, kiss her brow, stroke her hair" (66). In his role as replacement for his son he also serves as father of his grandson, and comes to pick him up from pre-school. Professionally, he is ready to try and understand the son's new ideas, going through his possessions, trying to see if he can continue his research, "will have to try and read these as well" (32), and even planning to collect his works in a book. But not only on the personal level does the father "gain" from his bereavement. Publicly as well, he feels that his status has changed; people seek him out. He imagines himself giving the main speech to the graduates. He has restored his pride, and in dying, his son has become reunited with him. "I was prepared for his death in a manner, and that was my strength in that fearful moment" (38). It seems he was not only prepared, but even consciously or subconsciously desired it. Our impression that the father has "gained" from his son's death links us to the Akedah not only as an ancient text, but rather to the role of the Akedah in modern Israeli discourse, and specifically to the connection between the Akedah and the issue of bereavement. The death of Israeli "sons" on the battlefield has long been portrayed in terms of an Akedah. The heroization of fallen soldiers stemmed from a sacrificial myth, wherein the fallen "in their death, bequeathed us life" i.e. life in Israel is made possible thanks to the soldiers who lost their lives. This sacrificial myth has become associated with the religious text, in which the act of sacrifice serves as an instrument for strengthening the link between a single believer or a community and the world. However, in this worship of fallen soldiers the altar of God is replaced by the "altar of the homeland". The human sacrifice demanded in order to establish the state is always a sacrifice of the sons. Referring to fallen soldiers as sons derives from the concept that the nation is one big family encompassing all fallen soldiers. Fathers and sons are connected by blood ties. Description of the sacrificial myth and of blood ties uniting the people has led to a fresh reading of the

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biblical story of the Akedah, with the additional benefit of providing the families with some sort of comfort. Many writers of poetry and prose, mainly in the 1940s and 1950s, embraced the model of the Akedah and portrayed the sons as bound sacrifices, or as the dead-living; meaning that they are not considered entirely dead because they died on a national mission. Poems such as Alterman's "The Silver Tray" express these sentiments. In chapter 2 of this book we saw that Shamir's novel He Walked in the Fields corresponds with this myth as well15.
15 The following are several examples of this myth in Hebrew poetry and prose: Natan Alterman, "Magash Hakesef" (The silver tray), Davar 19.12.1947, and in Hatur Hashvi'i I-III, Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad 1973; Haim Gouri, "Hare'ut" (Friendship), Mishpahat Hapalmach Yalkut Alilot Vezemer (The Palmach family Collection of tales and song), eds. Haim Gouri and Haim Hefer, Tel Aviv: Palmach Members Organization (no date), 233; "Hineh Mutalot Gufotaynu" (Here Lie Our Bodies), Pirchay Esh (Flowers of fire), Merhavya: Sifriat Poalim, 1949, 65; Shlonsky, Shirim (Songs), Merhavya: Sifriat Poalim, 1954; Natan Yonatan, Shvilay Afar (Dirt paths), Merhavya: Sifriat Poalim, 1951. Mosinzon, Yigal, Be'arvot Hanegev (In the Negev plains), Tel Aviv: Tversky, 1949; Moshe Shamir, Hu Halach Basadot (He walked in the fields), 1957, Bemo Yadav (With his own hands) 1951, new editions: Tel Aviv: Am Oved. Of the many studies on the subject, we would like to mention Dan Miron's book, Mul Ha'ah Hashotek Al Shirat Milhemet Ha'atzma'ut (Facing the silent brother: On the poetry of the War of Independence), Jerusalem: Open University Press and Keter, 1992, as well as the book by Michael Gluzman, Haguf Hatziyoni Leumiyut, Migdar Veminiyut Basifrut Ha'ivrit Hahadasha (The Zionist entity Nationalism, gender, and sexuality in modernist Hebrew literature), Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2007, chapter 5. Oz Almog, in his research on the native Israeli, refers to this myth as well. Almog, Oz. Hatzabar Dyokan (The Sabra A profile). Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1997. Ofrat, Gideon (ed.), Akedat Yitzhak Ba'omanut Hayisre'elit (The Akedah in Israeli art). Ramat Gan: Museum of Israeli Art (not dated); [Hebrew]; Ben Gurion, Aryeh (ed.) Al Tishlah Yadcha El Hana'ar Shirim Vedivray Hagut Al Ha'akedah (Raise not your hand against the lad Songs and thoughts on the Akedah). Jerusalem: Keter, 2002. [Hebrew]; Feldman, Yael. "Yitzhak O Edipus Migdar Vepsichopolitika Begilgulay Ha'akedah" (Isaac or Oedipus Gender and psychopolitics in manifestations of the Akedah), Alpayim 22, 2001: 53-77 [Hebrew]; Feldman, Yael. "Shel Mi Hakorban Hazeh, La'azazel? Aliyato Unefilato Shel Avraham Ha'oked Bishnot Hahamishim" (Whose sacrifice is this anyway? The rise and fall of Abraham the binder in

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As early as the late 1950s, some were already criticizing utilization of the Akedah motif in a national-Zionist context. Yizhar in his book Days of Ziklag, published in 1959, writes explicitly: "I hate Father Abraham who goes to sacrifice Isaac. What right does he have over Isaac. He should sacrifice himself". Haim Gouri, in his book Compass Rose, also published in the same period, describes the wound that the Akedah left on all sons: "Isaac, as recounted, was not sacrificed. / He lived for many days, / [] But he bequeathed that hour to his sons. / They are born / With a knife in their heart"16. As stated, our story's roots in the Akedah correspond with the bible, beginning with the use of this motif in the context of the War of
the 1950s), Mikan 9, May 2008: 125-157. [Hebrew]; Sagi, Avi. "The Meaning of the Akedah in Israeli Culture and Jewish Tradition" Israel Studies 3. 1, 1998: 46; Abramson, Glenda. "The Reinterpretation of the Akedah in Modern Hebrew Poetry" Journal of Jewish Study 41:2, 1990: 101-114; Karton-Blum, Ruth, "Me'ayin Ha'etzim Ha'eleh Beyadi: Ha'akedah Kemikreh Bohan Bashira Ha'ivrit Hahadasha" (Where is that wood from: The Akedah as a paradigm in modern Hebrew poetry), Moznayim, 62: 9-10, 1988: 9-14 [Hebrew]; Weiss, Hillel. "He'arot Livhinat 'Akedat Yitzhak' Basiporet Ha'ivrit Bat Zmanenu Ketopos, Tema Umotiv" (Remarks for examination of 'Isaac's binding' in contemporary Hebrew literature as topos, theme and motif). In: Zvi Levi (ed.) Ha'akedah vehatocheha: Mitos, Tema Vetopos Basifrut (Fathers and Sons: Myth, Theme, and Literary Topos), Jerusalem, 1991, 5372. [Hebrew] 16 Yizhar, S. Yemay Tziklag (Days of Ziklag), Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1958, II 804, Gouri, Haim. "Yerusha" (Legacy), Shoshanat Haruhot (Compass rose), 1966; Amir Gilboa, "Yitzhak" (Isaac). In: Shirim Baboker Baboker (Songs in the early morning), 1953, Yehuda Amichai, "Akedah" (Binding), Me'ahoray Kol Zeh Mistater Osher Gadol (Behind all this hides great happiness), 1985, Yehuda Amichai, "Kach Na Et Bincha Et Yehidecha" (Take Thee Your Only Son), Patuah Sagur Patuah (Open closed open), 1998; Yehuda Amichai, "Hagibor Ha'amiti Shel Ha'akedah" (The true hero of the Akedah), She'at Hesed (Hour of grace), 1983; Hanoch Levin, "Avi Hayakar" (Dear father) and "Akedah" (Binding), in Malkat Ha'ambatya (Queen of the bathtub), Ma Ichpat Latzipor (What does the bird care), Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1987, 89-92; Yitzhak Laor, "HaMetumtam Hazeh Yitzhak" (This Fool, Isaac), Rak HaGuf Zocher (Only the body remembers), 1985; Yitzhak Laor, "Hametumtam Hazeh Yitzhak" (This Fool, Isaac) (new version), Layla Bemalon Zar (A night in a strange hotel), 1992.

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Independence, and ending with critics' view of this motif (which remains present in Hebrew poetry and prose to this day). The story's approach to the myth of the Akedah involves generational disparities between father and son, and their differential views of war. The story occurs in 1970, but it refers to 1967. The father's isolation crisis dates back three years. The principal has not been talking to him for three years, in fact since the last war. The grandson must also be about three years old. The father seems to live from war to war. In contrast to the father, the son has new concerns: "novel experiments [] the methods themselves such a revolution" (24), the New Left, and new ideologies. The word "peace" is featured on his paper knife, and the Hebrew language and the State of Israel are not his highest priority. Even when they meet in the Jordan Valley at the son's military camp, the son complains "You can see for yourself [] such a loss of time so pointless" (64). Consequently he is not willing to be sacrificed, and remains alive. In an essay published by A.B. Yehoshua in a book devoted to Mr. Mani, he outlined his interpretation of the biblical Akedah story. In his final years, Abraham was uncertain whether Isaac would abide by his faith. How could he ensure that his son not only continued his lineage but also sustained the new faith? According to Yehoshua's analysis, through the Akedah Abraham showed Isaac a redeeming God to whom Isaac now owes his life. This interpretation is echoed in Yehoshua's oeuvre in order to secure their sons' faith fathers must steer them towards a perilous situation in which a knife is placed dangerously close to their hearts. At the last minute, in the staged act of rescue, salvation can be attributed to a higher power17. In "Early in the Summer of 1970", the father invents a slaughtering knife game, hoping to draw his son closer to his own world of values, even at the expense of his son's death. The novella pushes the father's ideological loyalty to an extreme. Since the father represents society, Yehoshua's
17 A.B. Yehoshua, "Hatima: Levatel et ha'akedah al yedei mimusha," (Conclusion: To eliminate the Akedan through its Realisation) in Bakivun Hanegdi Kovez mehkarim al Mar Mani shel A.B. Yehoshua, (In the other Direction: A Collection of essays on A.B. Yehoshua's Mr. Mani) ed. Nitza Ben Dov (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1995), 394-8.

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criticism is directed not merely against him but against all agents of sacrifice and bereavement. Society as reflected in this text is an ideological vacuum, worships disasters and wars, and endorses sacrifice for the sake of rejuvenation, only to discover in the aftermath of war that its disintegration continues unabated.

10.9 In lieu of a summary Remarks on literature and identity in the writings of Shamir, Oz, and Yehoshua
In this book we endeavored to examine the changing of the guard within Israeli prose in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. We explored fluctuating norms through a detailed study of Moshe Shamir's book, He Walked in the Fields, as representing writing standards in the 1950s, and by studying selected stories and novels by Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua, two major authors in the arena of Israeli prose, who began writing in the 1960s and established new writing standards. Our study of the works of Oz and Yehoshua also revealed a change in writing techniques in the transition from the 1960s to the 1970s. We now wish to summarize the main transitions from a new perspective. This perspective will show that the shifting standards between generations reflect transformations in Israeli society in the 1960s and 1970s, representing a changing approach to the concept of identity in general and the concept of Jewish and Israeli identity in particular. In recent decades, the concept of identity has attracted much attention. Formerly, identity was perceived as comprised of immutable elements shaped throughout one's process of growth and development. Society, obviously, encourages individuals to shape their identity in accordance with surrounding norms. Within society, individuals are required to design their own narrative conception yet this narrative is influenced by a recommended life story a desirable way of life, as defined by society. With the emergence of new schools in the study of literature and culture, revealed in our book mainly in the late readings, the concept of identity became fragile. One's identity, according to two major thinkers within

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the new theory of culture, Homi Bhabha and Stuart Hall18, is a work in progress rather than an immutable factor. It is constantly changing, and it is also complex rather than straightforward. Most identities are actually hybrid identities, composed of the tension between the identity compatible with that required by the social center and those parts of the identity that do not fully conform to society's dictates and are usually associated with the personal, communal, ethnic, or national periphery. One's identity is in fact linked to two vectors. One is the diachronic vector associated with history, with a concept of the past, with the continuation of former generations, and with the place outlined by the past and thus aspiring to a certain future. This vector has a dimension of continuity and change, but sometimes, it may reflect separation and alienation (from the past and from the future). The other vector is synchronous, associated with relationships and forces within society. One's identity is formed concurrently with other identities and in contrast to them. One's identity is formed in contrast to others who's identity is perceived as undesirable. Therefore, one's identity is always shaped as an antithesis of something else, of another identity, which poses a threat. Changes in writing standards, discussed in this book, reflect changes in perceived identity within Israeli society. Here we must emphasize that these are reflected not only in the changing themes between the literature of the 1950s and the 1960s and 1970s, rather also in the changing of writing techniques. These thematic and poetic changes establish a process of transition from a fixed normative identity to its disruption,
18 Bhabha, Homi. "DissemiNation: Time, Narrative, and the Margins of the Modern Nation" In: Nation and Narration. New York and London: Routledge, 1990, 291-320; Bhabha, Homi. "Preface Arrivals and Departures", In: Hamid Naficy (Ed.), Home, Exile, Homeland., New York and London: Routledge, 1999: VII-XII; Hall, Stuart, "Cultural Identity and Diaspora" In: Patrick Williams and Laura Chrisman (Eds.), Colonial Discourse and Post-colonial Theory, Hertfordshire: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1994: 392-403; Hall, Stuart, "Ethnicity: Identity and Difference" In: Geoff Eley & Ronald Grigor (Eds.), Becoming National. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996: 339-349.

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from authoritative establishment of the desired narrative conception to a situation in which the complexity of the concept of identity is recognized. As stated, the novel He Walked In the Fields was portrayed as reflecting writing standards characteristic of the 1950s. The book presented a thematic structure built around a problem with which the protagonist must grapple, eventually reaching a solution creating a state of harmony an integration of the public and the personal sphere. This is in fact the narrative conception intimated in the book, and this is also the concept of identity that facilitates adherence to collective social values as well as reinforcement of family values. The book describes a story of initiation expected to lead the protagonist to the shaping of a defined and wellformed identity. It is interesting to see how even when the protagonist is unable to realize his ideal identity, the book still reflects optimism regarding the possibility of forming such an identity. The protagonist is aware of his problems, and the modes of description and causal reasoning in the text emphasize that he has the faculty to change his environment and adapt it to his plans and goals. People who are influential and capable of adapting themselves to their environment, will eventually achieve their goals, and this is true of our protagonist as well, even if in the novel he fails. The protagonist is portrayed as representing society, and the plot creates a system whereby characters are subjected to reward and punishment, thus establishing a clearly normative outlook. The two identity vectors that we mentioned are conspicuous in the novel. The historical-familial context, which forms the diachronic vector, is evident in the association between the parents' generation and that of the children. Despite the inherent difficulties, the parents' generation is very dominant throughout the book, stressing its standards and its demand on the younger generation. At the end of the book Willy and Rutka, who belong to the parents' generation, succeed in reaching longed-for harmony, thus illuminating the normative desirable identity. In fact, as we showed in our late reading of the book, the protagonists seek to define themselves and their identity in relation to the previous generation, and the book reflects the strong ties formed between the past and the perceived future. The other vector we mentioned is the synchronous one. This vector is dominant in

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the book as well. Characters' identity is defined based on their negative form, displayed as characters who do not toe the line and are penalized accordingly. All the components mentioned emphasize the need to aspire to a specific desirable identity. Shamir's text illustrates a state of mind prevalent in the 1950s. In the novel he builds a well-rounded image of the native Israeli and designs the contemporary scene in a realistic and reasoned manner. He presents a close knit and uniform moral structure, accepted unanimously by all. The concept of identity in Shamir's writings is clear and singular, usually presented as desirable and even possible. However, this concept begins to unravel. Our late reading reveals a new understanding of the concept of coherent customary normative systems. This reading undermines the book's optimism by emphasizing the aggressive component contained in the wish to sanction a defined identity. This view helps us discern the heavy price involved in enforcing a uniform integrated moral system that is unanimous and that creates an unattainable ideological obligation. Emergence of this process was evident in the transition to the 1960s, manifested in the changing of writing standards. The two first stories written by Amos Oz, "The Trappist Monastery" and "Nomad and Viper", systematically endeavor to destroy the idea of a uniform identity by undermining both identity vectors. On the historical (diachronic) vector, expected to convey a sense of continuity (or at least a discussion of continuity), we find that these stories harbor a sense of discontinuity. This is a result of the noncausal plot that describes a world with no meaning, whose characters and narrator are isolated and cannot understand or judge it. The shaky reality neutralizes any grasp of a narrative conception, as the story's linear narrative is weakened, and thus the characters' identity is not associated with a historical sequence. On the synchronous vector, these stories stress the contrast between identities with no clear preference. "The Trappist Monastery" presents a

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parody of the hero image, an image that promoted the identity concept prevalent in the 1950s. In this story the image identified with the native Israeli identity, that portrayed as an ideal in He Walked in the Fields, is replaced by an anti-hero, whose values are decidedly vague. In "Nomad and Viper" we encounter a narrator who proves unable to express a clear opinion on the narrative. We see protagonists torn between conflicting worlds, acting pointlessly and drawn to destructive associations. Our late reading as well shows how social and political radical elements breach the distinction between self and other, contributing to a violation of protagonists' identity components. Our reading of My Michael exposed another sphere of the identity issue and connected it to Israeli reality. If in previous works a state of disruption existed on the symbolic level, here it is manifested in cultural and social contexts. In a certain respect the novel continues to display writing standards characteristic of 1960s' prose, with its symbolic and metaphorical roots. However in this book, which integrates realistic standards as well, social and political topics prove more pervasive. In this case the protagonist's world is permeated by the fluctuation between conflicting worlds dreams and reality, Jewish and Arab, pre-1948 Jerusalem and partitioned Jerusalem and she is incapable of displaying a consistent identity. She declares values that she does not strive to achieve, and she vacillates between the different worlds, unable to decide. She is torn between the identity expected of her by society, a bourgeois, boring identity, and the wish to breach this identity. By merging personal and national components a national allegory is created, and thus Hannah may be perceived as representing the Israeli identity. This is a mad, split, and complex identity, comprising more than a little self-destruction. Diachronically (historically), this is an identity that experiences disruption (the disruption in the book is associated with 1948). Synchronically, Hannah's relationship with the Arabs breaches the borders of her identity in its definition as an antithesis of others. Hannah's violation of her identity and her madness represent the madness of Israeli society. She represents an identity that has become established and bourgeoisified

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and experiences desolation and isolation. Only by resuming a state of confrontation and war can she recover her vitality. Both later works by Amos Oz studied in our book expand on this concept. In "Late Love" the protagonist vacillates between personal desolation and destructive attempts at attachments to political and metaphysical ideas. The protagonist's major crisis, manifested among other things in the modes of description used in the text, which defy all logic and mix unrelated realms, is the distress that stems from a hybrid identity. The narrator, who is an immigrant, leaves the plains of Russia for the Land of Israel. This creates a rift in his identity that justifies his behavior. In "Unto Death" Oz resumes the poetics typical of his initial stories, and the text is indeed symbolic. Here criticism of the synchronic vector of identity becomes more pointed; the characters are shaped in a contrasting manner, but what initially seems a contrast eventually emerges as a similarity. The protagonists try to disengage from the bad by acting bad. They seek to free themselves of their other (Jewish) identity, only to ultimately understand that they themselves bear this identity. In this work Oz discerningly presents the struggle involved in any concept of identity, between the self and the non-self other. A similar process associated both with the writing standards and worldview manifested in Oz's works, may be identified in the writings of A.B. Yehoshua. "The Yatir Evening Express" portrays a state of isolation and lack of meaning. Loss of identity forms part of the existentialist worldview, which sees no purpose in human existence. This state of isolation can only be breached through violence and destruction. The story's characters, including the narrator, believe in distorted goals, which lead them to follow the concept of destruction. The design, the protagonists' actions, and the status of the narrator in Yehoshua's first stories, are similar to those in Oz's first stories: The protagonists are incapable of real action, and the narrator cannot judge them unambiguously, since the stories take place in a world with no clear moral values to potentially guide either actions or judgment.

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The identity component of "The Yatir Evening Express", particularly according to our late reading of the story, is found in the contrast between center and periphery. Therefore, those who live in the village of Yatir are always defined in contrast to those who travel on the express train, who exclude the former. The diachronic vector exists as well and is manifested in the discontinuity enforced by the narrator on the character of Arditi and the history of Yatir. The narrator actually seeks to uproot himself from the historical sequence and to lead society in a completely different manner. In this story the identity crisis is presented symbolically and is not rooted in Israeli society. Not so in Yehoshua's later works. In contrast to "The Yatir Evening Express" and similar to Oz's My Michael, "Facing the Forests" combines two writing standards: On the one hand, the symbolic standard is still dominant, dictating the attribution of realistic details to well-formed patterns that construct meanings symbolically; on the other hand, the story occurs in a familiar reality, the events in the plot are connected to each other through nearly complete causal ties in the real world, and characters and environment are shaped by patently realistic means. The story is based on the same worldview, and therefore the identity crisis is still valid: The protagonist has no strong loyalties, although he is charged with caring for the forest and protecting it. The protagonist endeavors to define himself by attempting to connect with the past or with history, but is incapable of doing so through his father. He chooses the Arab and his daughter, but even this choice does not lead to a solution. The story's conclusion, similar to its beginning, portrays a return to a life of desolation and existential emptiness, with no past nor future. In "The Continuing Silence of a Poet" and in "Early in the Summer of 1970" a new standard of literary writing is created, consistent with Oz's later standard. Here too the symbolic orientation is not completely abandoned, but there are conspicuous realistic elements. Rather than being the product of a symbolic world and of subconscious protagonists and narrators, the distorted world expresses the thoughts of protagonists and narrators attempting to flee to a world of delusions and dreams (as we saw in My Michael as well as in "Late Love").

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These works emphasize the historical vector of the identity concept and the rift between the former and current generations. The father-son theme discussed at length in the stories of A.B. Yehoshua, is also present in The Lover, and we mentioned it in our short reading of Mr. Mani as well. This theme deals with the loss of Israeli society's collective identity. In many works by Yehoshua we have seen that links with the past are associated with intergenerational father-son relationships. In all his works, this relationship was doomed to failure. We have seen that father-son relationships are characterized by a silence attesting to lack of communication between the generations. The parents' generation, with its typical social perception, presents a narrative conception that is unacceptable to the next generation: The narrator in "The Yatir Evening Express" changes the daily train ritual; the son in "Facing the Forests" embraces another family; in "The Continuing Silence of a Poet" the father regrets that his son is unable to continue in his footsteps; in "Early in the Summer of 1970" the father strives for his son's death; and The Lover portrays the loss of an irreplaceable mute son. The split between fathers and sons is also a split of identity, as portrayed by Yehoshua (and Oz as well, particularly in My Michael and "Late Love"). In contrast to the fathers' generation, the sons have no confidence in a specific concept of identity, and they do not see themselves as continuing the previous generation. They live their personal life, busy establishing themselves financially but lacking any ideological purpose. In a few of the texts we have presented, by both Yehoshua and Oz, the disruption of this relationship and the historical rift leads the characters to breach the barriers between self and other. Thus, for example, in "Facing the Forests" the son associates with the Arab, the son in "Early in the Summer of 1970" associates with an American woman, and in The Lover various characters, such as Gavriel and Na'im, represent different sectors of society. The two identity vectors, the diachronic vector based on historical continuity and the synchronous vector based on rejection of others, are contested in the works of Amos Oz and A.B. Yehoshua. This occurs at first symbolically by presenting a system of contrasts and revoking the

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possibility of causality. Towards the 1970s the identity vectors began emerging in different forms. On the diachronic sphere, protagonists become separated from their parents and from the past. This separation leaves no room for forging identities based on the values and traditions of the past. On the synchronous sphere, characters draw closer to their others and come to grips with those who pose a threat to their perceived identity. The writing norms customary in the 1970s are compatible with this process and provide it with a sociocultural dimension. Loss of identity is typical not only of individuals. It reflects the identity crisis of an entire society, whose basic values became distorted in the 1960s and were transformed into the meaningless symbols of statehood and militarism, while its members are concerned only for their personal and financial advancement. The protagonist, whose identity is not monolithic, is a passive follower, feeling desolate. The only way for the protagonist to become revived is to pursue violence and destruction, personified on the national sphere as war. This is a distorted imitation of the Palmach generation's identity, with its absolute focus on the Zionist mission, an undisputed goal at the time. Objection to the values of statehood and militarism, first evident in the Sinai War (1956), as mentioned in the introduction, can no longer permit continued substantiation of the uniform integrated narrative conception, modeled on native Israelis with their monolithic identity. The previous generation accepted the linear historical narrative leading to establishment of the state and to its fight for survival; the same generation accepted that citizens should define themselves as new people in a new state (people who obey the native Israeli concept and reject any other identity) whereas in the 1960s these two components are absent. The historical narrative is controversial, and therefore the diachronic vector of identity is undermined. The synchronic vector is also tested, for there are continuous attempts to eliminate the desire to construct a new identity based on negating any other identity (Arab, Eastern, female, and so on). Identity crises lead to desolation and lack of meaning which are transformed into destructiveness, violence, and war. Protagonists reflecting Israeli society are disposed towards destruction of the environment and of the self capable of revival only by means of war. War becomes a type of

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distorted forging of the previous generation's center of identity (the War of Independence). The new generation seeks to become separated from the previous generation, but in fact it is similarly revived by disaster and war. In contrast to the previous generation, for whom war and disaster formed a conspicuous part of a widely established moral and historical conception (as portrayed in He Walked in the Fields), the 1960s are characterized by a distorted version of the war, responsible for providing withered protagonists with a limited quantity of foul oxygen. After all, when the war is over all will resume its former place, and protagonists will continue to experience identity crises while waiting for the next war.

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