Introduction 8 Dear babybloom community, Let me transport you back to 1984 in the city of Haifa. I was about 15, rushing frantically home from ¿ʼnjs«±ʼnªsoʼn ªī«ʼnµ«sħʼn3¿ʼn^lsʼn½^«ʼnȵ«soĢʼn and my entire body was trembling. It was Memorial Day eve. As usual, we were chilling in Amir's room, gossiping about the girls in our class. I delved into a drawer brimming with letters and notes we had exchanged during endless hours of mind-numbing lessons, picking out the ones that would make us laugh the hardest. "I'm not sure if Guy is gay, but he's a really nice guy anyway," wrote Michelle, an exchange student from a Jewish school in Chile who had stayed with us recently. Amir quickly said, "I don't think you're like that, or I wouldn't be your friend." "How did this even come up?" I asked, pretending not to care. Amir shrugged it off, saying he didn’t remember, and suggested we head out to the kitchen for dinner. I told him I didn’t feel like eating and ran off home. That night, I locked myself in my room, crying and listening to George Michael on repeat. The next day was Memorial Day, and I remember doing my best to keep my distance from Amir. During the ceremony, we all marched around the schoolyard as the principal recited the names of the fallen. He noted that no school in Israel had lost so many of its former students, and urged us to march in sync with the rhythm – a gesture of respect to the families of the fallen soldiers who attended the ceremony. I may have tried to avoid him, but Amir wasn’t even looking for me, which drove me nuts. 'ʼn½^±soʼn±ʼnÇoʼnµ±ʼn½¿ʼn3lssʼn^oʼn½ª±±sʼn±^±ʼn about me, and I had a hunch that he did ask her about it. But if the discussion about my gayness went beyond “Guy is gay” among the people I trusted, who should I be concerned about? That's what worried me as I walked alongside the girls who had always supported me.
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