Have you ever accompanied an Israeli in a crowded shop, where s/he might have to wait for service? It's an education.

Some 25 years ago, I walked out for a few months with an Israeli pilot temporarily employed by an Ontario airline. One sunny summer Saturday afternoon, we went to a fashionable ice-cream parlour. The queue wound around the shop and out the door to the street.

My pilot friend simply could not stand it. At home, there would have been no queue -- the customers would have thronged the counter, those with the sharpest elbows using their skills and attibutes to ensure the fastest service. He tried standing in line but it just wasn't in his nature; finally, he thrust a $10 bill into my hand and fled to the hot, dusty street where he paced like a caged leopard.

He is also the only adult I have ever met -- an intelligent, sophisticated adult at that -- who would impulsively point out and loudly comment on a facial blemish or a shirt stain. He never quite hoisted in that, in Canada, one just does not do that without running the risk of a fat lip.