Differences

"Crazy!" Emily and I said in unison as Ziv and Hila told us that the mall was open from 8pm to 10pm Saturday nights. They had a few things to pick up before taking off this morning for a few days in Prague, so we went with them to experience an Israeli mall (our first experience involved huge backpacks and no ability to look around).

Besides, Saturday being Shabbat, much of the city was shut down and only a few pockets – like the recently renovated port/marina we went to in the afternoon – had things going on. We had a lot of downtime – as is the point of Shabbat – and the trip to the mall seemed especially interesting.

During these two hours of operation, the mall was as busy as could be. Ziv and Hila said it may be the mall's most profitable two hours per week. People are off work – and have things to buy and do – but they can't during the day because the malls are closed for Shabbat. So, all the retail activity we undertake during our weekends, Israelis pack into two hours.

And it was, as we said – crazy.

As Ziv and Hila hit the Office Depot and a few other stores, we explored a mall that was astonishingly similar to the malls we know at home – only with Chinese-stylized Hebrew signage over the fast-food Chinese place in the food court.

Traveling is a constant exercise in examining the differences and similarities. Sometimes, I find myself trying not to do it – but it's a program that runs in our brains. Whether or not we realize it, we do it all the time. How is this person similar or different from me? How is this product similar or different to what I know? How is this group of people similar or different?

So, when you travel, it all just comes to the surface because that's part of the fun of travel – seeing something different.

When arriving in a country full of Jews, my initial thought and assumption is that more should be similar than different. I think it is. But suddenly, as much as at home, my Jewishness makes me a little different from other Americans, here my American-ness makes me a little different from other Jews.

Philosophic meanderings over – here's what we've marveled at.

At least among the young, secular Jewish population, Yiddish isn't in their consciousness. Ziv and Hila – despite each having Ashkenazi family members – don't know a single word. I pitched a few to them just in case they didn't know the words were Yiddish in origin. "Shpiel" – no. "Haimish" – no. Even basics like "Milchik, fleishik and pesadich" – no. My friend Mazyar knows more Yiddish.

Hila said that her grandfather was a Polish holocaust survivor and that he decided to leave Yiddish behind with the past. Perhaps being in a Jewish nation made it the opposite of Emily's grandparents and my great grandparents whose first languages were part of holding onto their cultures and identities.

Along with Yiddish, I have seen no Jewish deli's the way we know them. No restaurants specializing in the traditional Ashkenazi foods I knew growing up – the foods and recipes my great grandparents brought with them to America. I was puzzled. These foods and yiddish phrases are part of what define the American Jewish experience. They are things you have in common with others – pieces of culture we preserve.

Here, there are plenty of Israeli restaurants modeled on Middle Eastern foods and traditions of Sephardic Jews.

Some of it, of course, is location – Israel is in the Middle East. Ziv says that people have their grandmothers to make Ashkenazi foods – and that maybe one day, if too much is forgotten, people will become nostalgic and want Jewish Delis or Ashkenazi restaurants.

I wonder, though, if their absence doesn't stem from a phenomenon early in Israel's history. Originally, in many of the founders of Israel there was an attitude that the strong, military Jew who fought to create Israel was the way people should be and that the Holocaust was in part a sign of the weakness of European Jews who allowed themselves to fall into their horrific situation.

The attitude has changed with time – but this attitude in Israel's infancy may have limited the amount of Ashkenazi influence in the culture.

As a result, there's an element of the Jewish experience that I don't share with my Israeli friends. There's a place where our stories diverge.

Along with this – in the simplest of ways – was the hilarity of yesterday's breakfast. We got up late Saturday morning after a late night prior. Our hosts suggested making brunch and Hila had even bought a challah at her favorite bakery in Haifa where she had been the day before to visit her parents.

It came out that they had never had challah french toast (a staple in my house growing up) – so I offered to make it. As I made the big pieces of challah french toast, Hila started chopping vegetables, pulled out some cheeses, sliced some additional challah and mixed some zatar (fantastic mix of Arab spices) with olive oil.

And there, on the table was a beautiful spread of Israeli breakfast to be enjoyed in addition to the challah french toast.

Hila then asked me if there was anything that should go with the french toast. I told her maple syrup, powdered sugar or jam are common. She pulled out some maple syrup. Ziv was surprised we used maple syrup for breakfast. I asked what he used it for – because they had it. "To top coffee cake," he said with an implied, "duh".

And here we were, at a lovely homemade brunch – four Jews divided by our breakfasts.

"Why do you use butter to cook the french toast?" Ziv asked. Hila had originally pulled out olive oil for me. "It's just more what people use when cooking breakfast," I replied. "Why?" And I was stumped. I assume it has something to do with available products in Europe and tastes and traditions migrating to America. But in the moment, I had no decent answer.

"So, you guys have vegetables and no fruit with breakfast?" I asked. "Fruit? No, that's for later…." Ziv said. Hila said she had read that one should have fruit first thing of the day – but that's not something she's ever done.

Shabbat too was an interesting topic.

"We don't enforce religion," Ziv said, "Just some of it," referring to malls waiting for Shabbat to be open at sundown in order to open.

He felt that probably 50-70 percent of secular Jews would in fact, go to malls on Saturday were they open. He felt most shop owners would happily open on Shabbat if they could, because they would do very well – but they can't afford to do it, or they could lose the business of the religious population permanently.

However, restaurants can be open with less problem, apparently. Food is considered more vital, Hila explained. "But doesn't it take people's labor to make it? Aren't they still serving it? And isn't there money exchanged?" Well, yes – but somehow it's more permissible than retail sales.

Of course, these things separating cultures seems relatively few compared to most places I've been. We all talk about Shabbat with the same knowledge and understanding. We all come from immigrant grandparents or great grandparents who were escaping something. We all live a similar lifestyle. We all have dryers in addition to our washing machines – which separates us from so much of the laundry hanging world.

Now Ziv and Hila have so generously left us their apartment and their dog while they're away and we turn to other friends and places to visit. Soon, we visit Jerusalem. Later in the week, the Dead Sea and next weekend, Eilat where other aspects of Israel will surely unfold.

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