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Annalise Koltun may be functionally illiterate in Hebrew, but she shines in French, merci. She currently lives in Tel Aviv, but was born in Chicago, and roots for Cubs, Hawks, Bears, and Bulls.
Hebrew has a verb to describe the act of a Jew immigrating to Israel: la’ahloht, “to ascend.” Upon deciding to leave Israel, our correspondent starts the slow process of descent well before boarding the plane.
For the middle-class residents of Tel Aviv, housing is either too expensive or difficult to find. On one city street, apartments are plentiful but—for more than one reason—not the kind you’d like to see.
For Americans, invitations to Israel—with lavish parties, higher education, and United Airlines tote bags—come easy. But if your homeland lies elsewhere, Israel’s welcome is far less loving.
Israel and Iran are swaying on the brink, if you listen to the international media. A peek inside the Israeli capital finds people acting blasé, but not making summer vacation plans just yet.
A grocery visit or dinner out in Israel can sometimes leave your stomach churning, but not for the reasons you might think.
For Israelis of a certain age, marriage beckons. But in this cradle of so many religions, a tangle of ancient rules and modern laws makes things surprisingly complicated.
Language students rely on local television shows for vocabulary and instruction. But not all Three’s Company remakes should be trusted. Surveying Israeli TV from Orthodox Jewish sitcoms to comedy that equally offends Jews, Arabs, and sheep.
When you are immigrating to a new country, it’s not always clear which vowels you’ll miss most. After six months of studying Hebrew in Tel Aviv, what it’s like to discover you’re illiterate.