"If you were a fruit...what would you be?"

When I was a kid in WV, my school mates and I liked to ask each other this important question of identity. My answer was always “a strawberry!”  Small and sweet, cute and bright!  I never once heard someone call themselves a “prickly pear,” which is a term often used to describe native born Israelis.  The Hebrew word is “sabra.” The sabra fruit has a sweet soft interior, if you can get past the tough and prickly hide. 

The trick is getting past it. American tourists usually gasp “Israelis are so rude!” at some point during their visit. They had to learn the hard way that standing politely in line to buy tomatos at the shuk was not going to get them anything but a looong wait. They are shocked to find that the customer is  NOT always right. They’re bewildered when asking “how are you” results in a long diatribe of misery - they have to adjust their ideas on boundaries.  And they have to deal with impatience, line-cutters, and really aggressive driving.

Then there was me, the unassuming strawberry who always picked her words carefully so as not to offend or create confrontation. More than once I assumed annoyance in the simple question, “Are we leaving now?” and responded indignantly.  I had to get used to raised voices.

Before I knew Hebrew, I couldn’t gauge the severity of an exchange by the verbiage used. I just heard  exasperation.  It happened often with Z and his mother. But soon after (or between) a shouting match, they’d be laughing or mom would be asking how much sugar to put in his tea.  For mom and son, rudeness was a form of affection.

That’s not uncommon in Mediterranean culture. Ever seen Moonstruck or My Big Fat Greek Wedding? You’ll recognize the drama that goes on in these deeply loyal families. And I think that’s where the sabra’s softness comes in.

Despite a NY cut-the-crap attitude, a sense of family unites the people in this tiny country; and they won’t hesitate to treat a stranger as family with an invitation for a meal.  Once at the table, the stranger will begin to see that for all the bluster, Israelis have a sensitive side. So many times I was asked, “So what do you think of Israel? Do you like it here? It’s beautiful, right?” in a casual tone that ached for a positive response.  But no matter what you respond, you’ll be invited back again. That’s how easy it is to make a friend for life.

For Z’s part, when he arrived in the U.S. he was caught off guard by people smiling "good morning!" on the sidewalk. After the weirdness wore off, he enjoyed the friendliness. But he missed the random friends and family that would show up uninvited on the doorstep on a Saturday and linger for hours over coffee and sunflower seeds. Three years later, he loves America but the sense of isolation remains. He has moments of longing for his “tribe.”

As for me, I still don’t know how to let it all hang out; but I realized I’d rather forgo a random hello in the street for the knowledge that someone I met yesterday would be there in an instant for me tomorrow.

I’ll never be a sabra, I'm a strawberry all the way. But these days I'm a bit more difficult to bruise.