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parlez-vous ivrit?

I just returned from Paris, where I met my parents to spend a week visiting my younger sister, who is spending a semester abroad in the City of Lights. This was only the second time I’d left Israel in over 6 months, so the trip promised to be a bit of a culture shock. And boy it was it! Despite their Western vibes and rich history, French and Israeli cultures couldn’t be more different. Several times each day, I found myself marveling at the unique aspect of French language and culture that stood in stark comparison to the country I have called my home since September. Israel is already special in many ways—as the only Jewish state in the world, it is the only country in which businesses are closed on Saturday and tax money goes to build synagogues. But it wasn’t until my week in Paris that I came to appreciate the unique aspects of Israeli culture that I have come to take for granted.

In this post, I have chosen several aspects of cultural life to compare. Please keep in mind that my experience in both countries has been limited to the more metropolitan, mainstream areas of both: the central of Paris, and the center of Israel. Also, this venture necessitates the use of stereotypes. It is in no way intended to speak for all (or any) people of either nationality or culture. It’s mostly for comedy, and a little bit of fun reflection. But don’t take it too seriously—no one deserves to be put in a box.

Language (verbal)

An obvious starting point. French is widely regarded as a profoundly beautiful and romantic language. It is also historically relevant, having constructed some of the greatest literary works our world has seen, from Hugo and Dumas to Sartre and Camus. As a romantic language, French is also relatively grammatically complex, with a multitude of tenses and, dissimilar from English, distinctions between masculine and feminine nouns. I, for one, have been studying the language for the better part of two decades and have yet to truly understand when to use the subjonctif tense (by definition, used to express actions or ideas that are subjective or uncertain—but if we are reading Sartre, isn’t that everything?!). Modern Hebrew is a different animal entirely. Revived in the 19th and 20th centuries from its Biblical roots, Modern Hebrew is a language designed for speaking, and if you are Israeli, speaking quickly. Verbs take many forms, requiring one where romantic languages often use two or three, and there are a quarter of the number of verb tenses in Modern Hebrew than French. Words are often combined, or eliminated entirely, for the sake of verbal efficiency. For example: “My name is” translates to “ha shem sheli” which quickly becomes “sh’mi”. You can relate any noun or preposition to yourself without a possessive pronoun by adding an “i” at the end (my sister: achot’i; my house: bayit’i; for me: bishvil’i). In short, Hebrew is just… easier. In trying to revive what is left of my once-fluent French, I found myself eliminating words or entire phrases just because I was used to the brevity of Hebrew.

Language (nonverbal)

Another glaring difference between French and Israeli culture. The French are known to be cool, collected, and calm at all times. They speak quickly but fluidly, with limited and languid use of extremities. They also have a lovely nonverbal expression for disdain: a short puff of air through closed lips implies disdain. How very French. Israelis have this type of expression as well: it is a tongue click (of which there are several types, depending on circumstances—a disappointed tongue click is much different than one that says “I don’t care”. This distinction has proven problematic for me in several situations). Israelis are also significantly more expressive. They speak loudly, and with passion, even on trivial topics. They will use their eyes, mouths, hands, arms, legs—you name it—to get their point across, and will not stop until you’ve understood. It is for this reason that Israelis are often perceived as argumentative. Yet I’ve found it is merely a signal of the impassioned, intense spirit that permeates the country.

Food & Drink

Both fantastic, but defy comparison. While in Paris, my family and I gorged ourselves on fine pastries, cheese, and wine—all for a couple Euros a pop! And, faced with massive variety, we never drank the same wine or ate the same cheese twice. Now, Israel has great dairy products, but these are limited to soft, white cheeses and yogurt. And don’t even get me started on Israeli wine. While the country does have a thriving wine scene, accessibility is limited to northern wine regions and bottles are expensive.

In Lod, we drink a brand of grocery store wine called Selected, whose taste palette has been described as “a two-buck Chuck that was left out overnight…uncorked”. To add insult to injury, one bottle of Selected costs as much as a fine bottle of French Bordeaux. But it all balances out, as Israel’s produce and nut game is far superior to anything I found in Paris. Upon tasting the cashews and dates I brought from the homeland, my sister promptly requested I ship her weekly supplies to Paris. So there.

Fashion

This one isn’t even fair. Upon arriving in the fashion capital of the world, I was overwhelmed at the sheer stylishness of the French masses. Everyone I passed on the street, from students to children to the guys selling chestnuts, was effortlessly chic, at once easy and trendy. To be sure, Tel Aviv has its share of stylemongers. But the constant pursuit of fashion really just isn’t there. Often among religious conservatives, both Jewish and Arab, modesty takes priority over style, and I believe this mindset affects even secular Israelis. Still, browsing the shoe section at the Galerie des Lafayettes did make me wonder how much I really needed my monthly grocery budget.

left: standard bar outfit in israel. leggings, socks, sandals. in paris i'd be denied at the door.

Social cues

If you can’t predict this one yet, go back and read the language section. For French and Israeli culture, social interaction styles could not be more different. I found the French to be reserved, quiet, and certainly aloof, especially to tourists. Although it was clear I was a tourist, most spoke exclusively in French to me and expected I do the same to them. Public spaces like cafes or metro trains, while lively, are quiet—on one of my first few days in Paris, I was scolded by my sister for laughing too loudly on the metro. In contrast, Israelis, while often guarded in public, are some of the warmest and mostly welcoming people I have encountered. They are also loud—extremely so. To put it in perspective, my forbidden laugh on the train would probably have been considered a polite chuckle by Israeli standards. And I can’t tell you the amount of times I have been alarmed at an argument between two Israelis that turned out to be a friendly conversation. Most are eager to practice English, and will respond in English to anything I say, even in near-perfect Hebrew. Manners come second to the importance of the conversation or objective, which I personally enjoy, but would seem horrifying to the French, for whom manners are of the utmost importance. For example, I was once kicked out of a café in Paris for sitting at a table without ordering anything (for the record, both of my parents had ordered espressos). I received another dressing-down by my now-Parisienne sister for trying to save lunch leftovers in a Tupperware I had brought in my pursue. As a former college student and current resident of Israel—Israelis are known to bring plastic baggies to hotel breakfast buffets—this was deeply troubling to me.

typical israeli backgammon scene (note import beer) vs. backgammon set from french museum

Security

Unfortunately, this last element only became significant after the first morning of my visit, when 2 bombs killed 30 people at an airport and metro station in Brussels. Although I’ve never felt explicitly threatened in Israel, the uneasy security situation is constantly in the back of my mind. To come to Paris on vacation and immediately face terror…well, it hit me pretty hard. But what was most shocking was after the attacks. In Israel, I am accustomed to seeing soldiers pretty much everywhere—on public transportation, in malls and grocery stores, basically every public space with lots of traffic. And after an attack, security typically increases. But when we stepped outside our hotel the morning after the Brussels attacks, it was business as usual. No extra security at the metro or in public squares, just metal detectors at entrances to museums that I’m sure were already there. In fact, the only soldiers I saw all week were in the Jewish Quarter, at the Shoah Memorial and the Jewish museum. I was perplexed—where is the sense of urgency, of security I find in Israel at every turn? It all made sense once I saw the scene at le Place de la Republique, just a few blocks away from our hotel: a memorial for the victims of the November terrorist attacks, updated just that morning to honor victims of the Brussels attacks as well. As shown in the picture below, there was a banner across the statue that said “Meme pas peur”: still not afraid.

As I gathered from the memorial and conversations throughout the week, the French refuse to make concessions to the terror gripping Europe, and will not change their daily routines for fear of attack. For all the (nonsense, in Hebrew) about the French being aloof, even rude, I found in Paris a people that is strong, vibrant, and fiercely proud to be French. Likewise, Israelis can come off intense, brash, and aggressive. But it is only because they are facing a constant struggle to maintain their daily lives in the face of near-constant conflict. Is it their culture which enables survival, or is it the fight to survive that shapes culture? Whatever the answer, in this question I consider the most unifying element across both societies: pride in individuality, and strength in dignity.

for more pictures, check out my gallery!

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