POSTCARD FROM RAANANA

If you miss Brenda Walsh, come to Israel. Of course Israel is still Israel: a sliver of a Jewish state with minimalistic European architecture and stunning landscapes. There are dazzling markets where spices are as colorful as they are strong, and streets wind thousands of years into the past, where Jewish, Christian and Islamic names and histories overlap with tens of half-for-gotten pasts. It is still a country where archaeological digs routinely turn up artifacts from the earliest fortified cities and people my age wear peagreen uniforms, berets and guns--whether defending Israel on the Lebanese border or guarding their purchases at the supermarket checkout.

Yet here in Raanana (an 80,000-person city just north of Jerusalem's younger, larger, secular brother Tel Aviv), "Beverly Hills 90210," "Family Matters" and "Full House" are on the menu daily, not to mention CNN. There are also some shows you might have missed the first time around, like "Mr. Rhodes" and "California Dreams." Kellogg's, Subway and Puff Daddy are household names here, and NBA basketball is followed closer than in the States. English words in Hebrew-Aramaic characters fill the newspapers, as do all-too-familiar faces--from George Clooney to Kenneth Starr.

Israel has a particularly proud culture, its foreignness escaping all but the most trite and incomplete description by this American tourist. Yet where language and culture has such a long history, why has the American version invaded with such force?

To contemplate the situation I took myself out to the (kosher) McDonald's. Over my Big Mac, across the shopping center from the Laser Center (spelled in awkward Hebrew) and above the Castro clothing store (named after either the district of San Francisco or the Cuban dictator or both, given the number of red dresses), I wondered why Israel is populated with so many things American. One potential answer is the most superficial: people speak English here as their second language, as a way to travel the world and to serve their own tourists. The seeping of American foods and names into the culture, then, makes sense, but it should be more uninvited, less sought-after. This explanation justifies the ubiquitous Coca-Cola, but what about other, original products with names like "Spring" and "Jump" that are at best distant and perhaps estranged family members of the American beverage universe.

Last week, "Clueless" was on TV and "Armageddon" was in the theatres (my cousin said it was so-so, a "typical American movie"). American sitcoms are not what I expected from Israel. Just as at home or on vacation in other parts of United States, it has become a search to find things authentic--the genuine, unfranchised restaurant and the ever-more-elusive regional item that was not manufactured alongside American knick-knacks in China. It is remarkable how similar the battle against corporate blah-ing exists here too.

But not everyone is fighting. Many, especially younger children, flock to this American invasion and sit catatonic in front of the screen as the English dialogue is matched by Hebrew and often Arabic or Russian subtitles. Hours on end they sit, watching-and learning. Dylan Mckay, the Fresh Prince and Kramer have a new job on their hands here: they are teaching English around the clock, more thoroughly and at a younger age than the Israeli school system manages to do. The children soak up the language and with it what they see as American styles, dress and mannerisms.

I can't say I blame them. When I join them at the tube, I see an America where all problems are solved in 30 minutes, often with time for commercials. My 16-year-old cousin looked at me incredulously (and asked in perfect English) what was wrong with me that I would leave California for Israel of all places--or leave California for anywhere, for that matter. For them--and probably for many more people in America and elsewhere--the Beverly Hills of the television show is reality: everyone can wear nice clothes, there is little crime, no politics and no taxes, serious problems rarely arise and every day is eventful. Race and religion are never an issue, and everyone lives in a multi-story house with a yard, a garage and a pet or two. People don't die, they move to France.

Sounds good to me, too--and totally Hollywood. The latter sentiment does not always sink in here; even if they know it's just TV, somehow its distance from reality gets lost in translation. Israel by its very nature has been always looking for ideal worlds; for some, America is it. In some ways that is the worst part: this country is its own answer, with a lot to teach us too. Maybe the lessons can't fit into 30 minutes, but here races and religions have a long and increasingly bright history of cooperation rather than war. Israel can also teach us about housing shortages and how to maintain order and hope in the face of faceless terrorists. Israel, built in a desert, can teach Beverly Hills and the rest of thirsty California about water conservation.

I hope Brenda is taking notes.

Adam I. Arenson '00-'01 of San Diego, Calif., is spending the summer with his cousins in Raanana, Israel.