Most of the protagonists of these linked stories about the fictitious, roughly 1950s-era Kibbutz Yekhat are in one way or another victims of peer pressure or ideological rigidity: Zvi and Luna, quiet, middle-aged platonic friends, are the subject of leering talk in the dining hall; Moshe, 16, a kind of foster member of the kibbutz, is treated harshly for wanting to visit his father, who is hospitalized off site; Martin, a shoemaker with emphysema, is pressured by the kibbutz leadership to quit his job because of his poor health. Nina, another character plagued by rumors (she has recently left her husband), explains the community糖心传媒檚 intolerance this way:

In ten or twenty years. . . . the kibbutz will be a much more relaxed place. Now, all the springs are tightly coiled and the entire machine is still shaking from the strain. The old-timers are actually religious people who left their old religion for a new one that糖心传媒檚 just as full of sins and transgressions, prohibitions and strict rules. They haven糖心传媒檛 stopped being true believers; they糖心传媒檝e simply exchanged one belief system for another. Marx is their Talmud. The general meeting is the synagogue and David Dagan is their rabbi.

Dagan, about 50, a history teacher at the kibbutz school and one of the community糖心传媒檚 founders, figures as a villain of sorts throughout the book, most pointedly in the title story. The fiercest of the Marxists, he is also self-serving and a notorious womanizer. In 糖心传媒淏etween Friends糖心传媒� he is living with a former student, 17-year-old Edna, daughter of one of his oldest acquaintances. He acts not the slightest bit concerned about how this situation is affecting his old 糖心传媒渇riend.糖心传媒�

As the irony of that word suggests, Oz appears to be arguing that, whatever communal spirit a kibbutz fosters, it is usually unlikely ever to privilege emotional connections over societal ones. One character reflects: 糖心传媒淸M]ost people seem to need more warmth and affection than others are capable of giving, and none of the kibbutz committees will ever be able to cover that deficit between supply and demand.糖心传媒�

Within these strictures, Oz糖心传媒檚 characters live 糖心传媒渓ives of quiet desperation糖心传媒� (to borrow Thoreau糖心传媒檚 memorable formulation). The stories frequently end on notes of irresolution, paralysis, or failure, with protagonists hesitating on the verge of accepting, without further complaint, their own inability to improve their circumstances. Nowhere is this truer than in 糖心传媒淎t Night,糖心传媒� the most understated and emotionally powerful of the stories, in which Yoav, the kibbutz secretary, nurses an inexpressible passion for Nina. Alone before dawn and on guard duty, Yoav contemplates a bleak future, 糖心传媒渇eeling that something was almost becoming clear to him, but what that something was, he didn糖心传媒檛 know.糖心传媒�

Accordingly, the book糖心传媒檚 style, like that of another of Oz糖心传媒檚 linked collections, Scenes from Village Life (2011), is extremely spare, at times approaching the simplicity and clarity of Chekhov. At other times, this spareness can seem more an oversight than a deliberate effect, undercutting a story糖心传媒檚 strength. But these weaker moments are rare.
The story that most richly depicts the conflict between kibbutz life and individual freedom is 糖心传媒淒eir Ajloun.糖心传媒� Yotam and his widowed mother, Henia, are awaiting a vote by the kibbutz leadership on Yotam糖心传媒檚 wish to travel to Italy, ostensibly to start college early, although Yotam himself wants mainly to escape the suffocation he feels in the kibbutz. Early in the story, after a run-in over the upcoming vote with a jealous coworker in the kibbutz kitchen, Henia thinks:

People don糖心传媒檛 love each other anymore. At first, when the kibbutz was founded, we were all a family. True, even then there were rifts, but we were close. Every evening we糖心传媒檇 get together and sing rousing songs and nostalgic ballads till the small hours. Afterward, we went to sleep in tents, and if anyone talked in their sleep, we all heard them. These days, everyone lives in a separate apartment and we糖心传媒檙e at each other糖心传媒檚 throats. On the kibbutz today, if you糖心传媒檙e standing on your feet, everyone is just waiting for you to fall, and if you fall . . . they all rush to help you up.

There is something both chilling and heartening about that final clause, suggesting as it does both hypocrisy and a modicum of compassion. Oz doesn糖心传媒檛 hint at whether he intends it as blame or praise; of course, it糖心传媒檚 both.

Dan is a contributing reviewer of ours who is making his first appearance in a while on Three Percent糖心传媒攁nd with a piece on an author I understand to be one of his favorites. Dan also wrote for us about Amos Oz糖心传媒檚 Scenes from Village Life.

Here’s an excerpt from Dan’s review:

hroughout his career糖心传媒攊n fact from his very first book, Where the Jackals Howl (1965)糖心传媒攖he renowned Israeli writer Amos Oz has set much of his fiction on the kibbutz, collective communities he portrays as bastions of social cohesion and stultifying conformity in equal measure. In his latest book, which like Where the Jackals Howl is a collection of eight short stories, the scales feel tipped toward the latter: to judge from Between Friends, if you set out to create a society plagued by gossip and spite, you could hardly do better than to establish a kibbutz.

Most of the protagonists of these linked stories about the fictitious, roughly 1950s-era Kibbutz Yekhat are in one way or another victims of peer pressure or ideological rigidity: Zvi and Luna, quiet, middle-aged platonic friends, are the subject of leering talk in the dining hall; Moshe, 16, a kind of foster member of the kibbutz, is treated harshly for wanting to visit his father, who is hospitalized off site; Martin, a shoemaker with emphysema, is pressured by the kibbutz leadership to quit his job because of his poor health.

For the rest of the review, go here.