Four tormented souls. Two impossible love stories. One inescapable fate.
The Middle Between Us delicately unfurls the love stories of two sets of couples, detached by time but brought together by fate. Where one is set in the artisanal streets of 21st-century city life, the other depicts the breathtaking wild mountains of eastern Europe as itâs set ablaze by the religious zealotry of World War I. Where one revolves around two men coming to terms with their own sexual identities, the other forces its two young lovers apart in the face of insurmountable odds. Seemingly unrelated at first, the two star-crossed couples find out they are not only parallel â but deeply intertwined.
Itamar S.N. delicately but unapologetically weaves the complexities of modern-day romance with conflicts as old as time, finding the middle between love and acceptance, intimacy and desire, obsession and art.
Four tormented souls. Two impossible love stories. One inescapable fate.
The Middle Between Us delicately unfurls the love stories of two sets of couples, detached by time but brought together by fate. Where one is set in the artisanal streets of 21st-century city life, the other depicts the breathtaking wild mountains of eastern Europe as itâs set ablaze by the religious zealotry of World War I. Where one revolves around two men coming to terms with their own sexual identities, the other forces its two young lovers apart in the face of insurmountable odds. Seemingly unrelated at first, the two star-crossed couples find out they are not only parallel â but deeply intertwined.
Itamar S.N. delicately but unapologetically weaves the complexities of modern-day romance with conflicts as old as time, finding the middle between love and acceptance, intimacy and desire, obsession and art.
 When Erez lifted his eyes from the black bar and saw the stranger standing at the entrance, the ground beneath him disappeared for one timeless second. The sensation was thrilling yet confusing, bringing back the smell of his childhood bedroom to his nostrils. He didnât know why he felt so attracted to this man, but from that moment on, nothing and no one could distract Erez from him.
It seemed like forever before he crossed the wide hall. When he finally approached the bar and leaned on it, Erez responded immediately, ignoring the rest of the hot, impatient customers. âYour usual drink?â Erez was surprised at the odd question that slipped out of his mouth without thinking. What usual was I talking about? I had never seen this man in my life.
Erez didnât hear the manâs answer. He wasnât listening. Even in the darkness, between the columns of smoke that were being blown from side to side by the large fans, he couldnât help noticing the light, greyish eyes, with a tint of green. Their depths were inviting, like an enchanted well, lit from the bottom. âIâd love a glass of wine,â said the man, âor anything else you recommend, since you obviously didnât hear my request.â
 Erez came back to reality. Lucky itâs dark in here, he thought, since he was known for the scarlet that would spread over his cheeks to the tips of his ears when embarrassed. âIâm sorry. I was just trying to figure out where we have met before. Iâm pretty sure that⊠Sorry, donât mind me. Wait here while I fix your drink.â
âTake your time,â shouted the man, trying to overcome the music and the crowd. âI am not much of an alcohol fan, but noblesse oblige, nâest-ce pas?â Erez returned with the glass, fuller than usual, as a gesture of apology. The man took the glass, turned and disappeared into the crowd without a comment and without paying. From that moment on, Erez lost all concentration. The strong sensation that he knew the stranger gnawed constantly at his mind. Had he met this man, and if so, where and when? In his hometown Afula? No. In the army? Most definitely not. Maybe in the art academy? No place evoked memories of the manâs familiar eyes. Erez couldnât wait for him to return to the bar and scanned the dark space relentlessly, but to no avail. After a few drinks and what seemed like an eternity, Erez began to think the man had left without paying. His frustration grew. It wasnât every day he met a man who swept him off his feet right from the start. He loved that feeling and wanted the episode to go on, if only for that night.
âWhy do you look so worried? Did something happen?â Erez found himself in front of the stranger again. The tenderness in his voice felt like an embrace. âThe wine was not bad at all, but I certainly feel too old for this place. I think Iâll pay my bill now, before I do something rash.â Erezâs pulse was racing. He was angry with himself for thinking the mysterious man had left without paying or more importantly â without saying goodbye. âThank you very much, sir,â said Erez. He took the money and turned around. âWait a minute,â said the man. Erez froze. âWhen are you working again?â he asked. âOn Saturday,â said Erez, his back turned, so the man couldnât see his wide smile. âSo, I guess Iâll be back on Saturday. We have some unfinished business. Donât work too hard tonight.â By the time Erez turned back around, the man had already blended with the crowd and was on his way out. Erez knew he should say something, but his tongue failed him, like so many times before. Unfinished business? He thought. What the Fu**?
*
At least one light in his small studio always stayed on. He didnât like the darkness, not even during sleep. Research he once read revealed that statistically, itâs the people who are afraid of the dark who choose to work nights. It seemed contradictory, but logical at the same time. He certainly preferred to fall asleep after the sun came out of its mountainous hiding place in the east.
Tonight he returned home while the night was still in its prime. He hung the keys on the nail to the right of the door. His cats, the white furry female and the orange male alley cat, ran to him, rubbing up between his legs and emitting a deep, loud purring. They looked for some love, and also their usual âguilt treatâ. He took his shoes off and put them in the wide drawer at the bottom of a closet that stretched across one of the walls of the tiny apartment. Everything had its place. A mess would disorient him and bring on stress. He took his clothes off, folded them neatly and stood naked in front of the heavy wooden mirror hanging near the side of the bed, disproportional for the size of the apartment. He felt the need to look closer and re-evaluate himself. Rarely he liked what he saw, usually he was a ruthless self-critic. He touched his chest and abdomen; stretching, pulling, lifting, twitching his face. One moment he was smiling, and then he became serious. He preferred himself clothed, knowing he was too lazy to achieve the perfect âsix-packâ so many gays were slaves for.
The image of the stranger, his soft voice and the spicy scent of his cologne, wouldnât leave him, re-igniting his imagination. He wondered if his thoughts were sexual. Was this just a physical attraction? Was it mutual? He touched himself again, this time in a tender, less judgmental way, but immediately stopped, snickering absurdly at himself. Fantasizing erotically about this man was cheap and inappropriate. Maybe because of that, it is sexual, he thought. The few times he had fallen in love, he fantasized about the moment of first touch. That was the real turn-on. There was magic in the first time holding hands, the feeling of warm breath caressing the face before the first electric contact of the lips. This was the real deal, not the sex, not the animal breaking loose. That was fun, but it came much later for Erez.
He took a bottle of water from the fridge and got into bed. He always had a cold bottle of water waiting for him on the small dresser packed with books beside his low bed. He would finish this bottle during his sleep without even noticing. Cold water flowing down his throat, cleansing his inner parts, made him feel pure, as if the water was washing away the squalor of the night.
Tel Aviv is a perfect place for the creatures of the night. It is a city that attracts huge numbers of people from all over the country and the world. There is a never-ending party taking place. In good times and bad times; In war or peace. The city constantly rocked to a bass drum beat that sent waves from the clubs to the streets of this urban beehive. Erez liked working in clubs, to be part of this wild nightlife, to cross paths with people who were out to have fun and to forget theire dayâs worries. At the same time, though, he felt the filth, the impulses, the burdens, and the pain behind the drunken, seeking eyes.
Sometimes Tel Aviv seemed to be a metropolis of aging bachelors and bachelorettes constantly looking for one more false night of love. He was satisfied to look at them, sharing vicariously their visible and hidden feelings. He felt more comfortable to be behind the counter, an outsider, not fully belonging. His favorite hobby was to watch. In the night everything was sharper, more extreme, more fascinating and thrilling, without the phony, âeverything is greatâ masks of the day.
The humid heat was unbearable. The noisy old air conditioner had seen better days, and it took some time to cool even his small apartment. His two cats settled down to sleep close to his body, and the thin summer blanket just seemed to trap the heat in. He couldnât fall asleep and slipped softly out of bed, not wanting to disturb the sleeping cats. He went to the stereo and put on Edith Piafâs Ă quoi ça sert lâamour? Erez was addicted to kitsch in general, and to French chansons particularly. The larger than life voices, the drama, the melody penetrating his veins, made him happy because they made him feel a strong, wide range of different feelings. They made him feel alive.
A loud knock on the door woke Erez. He got up, swaying from sleep, feeling his way, blinded by the sun shining through the window, looking for some underwear and a shirt. Another knock sounded, less amicable. âIâm coming!â Erez tried to yell, his voice, husky from the night of alcohol and smoke, coiled around his throat, refusing to let go. It took some time, but in the end he reached the door. He had hardly turned the key when the door burst open.
âGood morning, or in fact good afternoon to you, girlfriend. Had you forgotten we planned to have breakfast this morning, before my trip up north?â Erez scratched his head, feeling like a kid scolded by his mother. Mickey, or Michel as she preferred to be called recently, stormed in, smelling as fragrant and fresh as a new spring day. âMickey, Iâm sorry, I completely forgot. Didnât we say weâd talk in the morning to plan for a precise time?â Mickey, his best friend from Bezalâel Academy, a talented photographer and rising star in the Israeli fashion industry, was definitely the dominant one in their long relationship. She was surprisingly short, but compensated with her confident posture. She had dark, mocha skin and long wavy black hair that framed a strong Mediterranean face. Furthermore, she was a real spitfire, always full of the energy Erez lacked. âNo,â she said impatiently. âWe said that if there was a change of plans, weâd talk in the morning.â It wasnât difficult to notice the dissatisfaction in her twitching lips. âYou have five minutes to get yourself organized. Your face looks like one of Picassoâs Cubist women. Did you drink like a fish last night? Again? And for the millionth time, for Godâs sake, calling me Michel applies to you too. Are we clear?â
Erez preferred to ignore the comments and got into the shower. He washed himself quickly with cold water, and within five minutes he was ready. He knew it was in his best interest not to contradict an angry woman, especially not Mickey.
 They sat in a cafĂ© at the shared corner of both their streets. Every Tel Avivian has his own âhome cafĂ©â and a âhome falafel standâ, chosen from the thousands that are spread all over the city, one exactly like the other. âYou know,â Mickey said, âwe donât appreciate how good we have it right now. We can sit in our cafĂ© without worrying that some suicidal maniac will blow himself up and us along with him.â Erez just nodded without saying a word. He agreed with her, but he had no desire for political conversations. He was too excited about the events of the previous night.
Mickey took off the trendy aviator sunglasses that covered half her face. Erez was taken aback, seeing dark circles around her eyes. âWhat happened to you?â he asked worriedly. âIt looks like you havenât slept in weeks, and we only saw each other two days ago.â âForget it. I donât want to get into that,â she said. âThe doctors suspect he may be having a relapse. Today theyâre examining him and a final diagnosis will be given on Sunday.â She blew a frustrated gush of air out of her small body. âAnd I thought I was going to my parentsâ to calm down from the exhausting week Iâve had.â She sighed. âHow long will the poor old guy have to live with the axe of death hanging above him?â Erez knew her father very well. Their parents had been friends before they were born. Mickey was five years older than him, so during their childhood they didnât hang out with the same crowd in Afula. Only years later after she left the north, when by chance they met again in Bezalâel art academy, did they become close. Sometimes they were great friends, and other times they were like a sexless married couple. Mickey went in and out of short relationships, mainly with women, while Erez remained mainly alone, afraid to take chances. âIâm so sorry. Iâll keep my fingers crossed.â He took her hand and she immediately withdrew, sitting upright on the straw chair, fixing her hair. She had a wide, loving, understanding shoulder to lean on and cry. But she couldnât let herself be vulnerable, not even with Erez.
âIâll be alright. Please, letâs change the fucking subject. Tell me something new that will get me excited and help me forget.â Erez hesitated. He couldnât wait to tell her, but it didnât seem appropriate at the moment.
âWill you please say something already?â She pushed his shoulder tenderly. âWe are not going to sit here for two hours lamenting his fate, nor mine. It wonât do us any good. I can see you have something to say.â She leaned back and crossed her arms, waiting.
âOkay, so itâs like this,â began Erez. âYou know that odd feeling when you meet someone for the first time, and it feels like you have known him your entire life?â
âOh my, heâs starting the drama again,â laughed Mickey. âLet me guess. You met a hunk, but because youâve been celibate for so long, youâre reading your hormones like a Jane Austin novel.â She leaned over with her arms on the table, leaned even closer to his face, and winked. âSo what does he look like? Did you meet him at the bar? Please tell me you had sexâŠâ
Erez became irritated. Her curt directness often raised his blood pressure. âItâs really not like that. Will you listen to me? Itâs on another level altogether. Not everything has to do with sex, Mickey, and besides,â he whispered, âIâm quite sure heâs not into men. Believe me, itâs something else, more thrilling than a momentary lover, though God knows I need one of those too.â
âSo, my righteous friend, why do you sound so sad when you say heâs not gay?â Mickey asked. Erez sighed. âI donât know, but I feel heâs here to stay. I just donât know what role heâll play in this under budget production known as my life.â Erez knew he automatically painted a lot of emotions, usually dark ones, on every small aspect, but it was who he was. He just couldnât help it.
He changed the subject to avoid being immersed prematurely. An hour later, outside the cafĂ©, they hurriedly kissed goodbye by Mickeyâs car. âAre you sure you donât want a lift?â âNo, Iâm happy to walk a little. Iâve begun to look like your Volkswagen Beetle â too old and slow to climb a hill without choking. Give my love to your mother and tell your father to be strong and that I love him. He is a strong man. He will win this battle too, youâll see.âÂ
Anush and Katya, a boy and a girl living in the region where Eastern Europe meets Asia on the eve of World War I. Erez and Niv, two men in modern-day Tel Aviv.
Â
Each couple meets, feels an immediate connection, and is swept up in the beauty and excitement of early love. Each relationship grows and deepens in secrecy. Times together are idyllic, but very separate from their ârealâ lives.
Â
But can they go on that way? Each of the couples face their own challenges. The barriers range from political and social to deeply personal. This book explores the question of whether each of these obstacles is valid. When someone has a choice in the matter, does love demand that they make the braver choice? Or can fear and hesitancy be forgiven?
Â
Anush and Katyaâs story is sweet, and certainly stirs emotion. It is a familiar love story. If it is not as gripping as its counterpart, I donât see that as a flaw of the book, because I think they are mostly there as a foil for Erez and Niv. Their relationship is fresh and its course is not predictable.
Â
The book is at its most resonant and engaging when the reader is inside Erezâs mind. His is the most authentic voice. His internal struggles with himself and his loneliness are vivid and believable. When Niv comes into his life, bringing him his first professional recognition as an artist and a romantic attraction, Erez cannot believe his good fortune.
Â
The reader also wonders if Niv is too good to be true. As Erez grapples with his Cinderella-story success, the reader anticipates that there will be some sort of caveat, and hopes it will not be one that breaks Erezâs heart.
Â
The writing is clear, articulate, and sometimes beautiful. I was especially moved by the passages in which Niv (in most ways the more confident of the two, full of bravado in most areas of his life) turns to Erez (often anxious and self-doubting, but secure in his sexuality) for guidance as he embarks on his first gay relationship. Now he is the one who is tentative. Erez is able to share wisdom gained from his own self-discovery and coming out journey.
Â
When Niv asks him about a piece of art that appears to present a lifeless image of his feminine side, Erez explains:
Â
âDeath here isnât a bad thing. Each of the dead souls sacrificed itself on the altar of difficulty and learning, to enrich and to teach the main soul: the one that embodies all conclusions and that grows from the pain of the others.â
Â
I finished the book with the sense that my eyes had been opened to new ideas about compassion and acceptance. When Erez receives a revelation that opens his heart, it is an invitation for the reader to also expand and soften our own perspectives. I highly recommend The Middle Between Us for lovers of LGBTQ+ literary fiction and for anyone who appreciates an exploration of how characters negotiate a relationship with no easy answers.
Â
Â
Â