To many outsiders, the very notion of “Israeli politeness” is an oxymoron, even an anathema. It is common knowledge that to tourists, foreigners, and even new immigrants, Israelis are perceived as rude or, at the least, as “not polite.” Anyone arriving here notices it immediately: People push each other without apologizing, cut in line, and beep their horn at the slightest annoyance; children often lack the manners of their American or European peers.
All of this is true. But what does it really mean?
In The Civilizing Process (1939), sociologist Norbert Elias described politeness (including manners and etiquette) as a long historical process. As societies shifted from the wars of the Middle Ages to the courts of kings, new codes of conduct emerged to frame emotions, restrain violence, and establish social hierarchies.
Civilized form over substance
Politeness became a way to present oneself as “civilized,” to show respect, and to internalize social norms. The long process of refinement meant learning to restrain one’s passions and impulses, as well as to speak and act with moderation.
Yet one may wonder today whether Western societies might just have overemphasized these codes, choosing form over substance. Politeness, etiquette, and even political correctness seem to have focused on appearances rather than ethical meaning. Behaviors, words, and gestures may have been polished to a point where their content has become hollow. In time, this discrepancy can only lead to a reframing of this process – if not its reverse.
The violence that was once kept in check is finding its way back in different ways, such as on social media and, in some cases, spilling into the streets. This tendency is perhaps an indicator of the fragility of the social construct that is politeness. After going through centuries of refinement, Western societies are losing sight of the values this was meant to convey and internalize.
Israel, on the other hand, offers a sort of counter-model. Tourists and newcomers often struggle to adapt to the rougher social codes. But over time, many acknowledge something deeper: Israelis speak directly, react quickly, and express emotions openly – sometimes too much and too loud, one could argue.
While life here is definitely less polished, it appears to be less mediated and thus more immediate, as well as fuller. There is a simplicity to it – and a form of humility. People do not hide behind elaborate social codes, they appear as they are. You may not hear “please” or “excuse me” very much, but you will see strangers offering water on a hike, stepping in spontaneously to help. Formalities, as we know them abroad, may be minimal, but substance is aplenty.
In Israel, this lack of polish extends to everyday life. Take clothing, for instance. The necktie, a symbol of refinement and status for men in the West (straight out of French royal courts), has always been an oddity in Israel, even among CEOs and Knesset members.
Language, too, carries fewer markers of formal politeness. External signs of civility are reduced, leaving room for the essential to emerge. The result means rougher edges and more friction, but this ruggedness, which also stands for strength and resilience, allows for a form of real connection with scarce filters, mediation or adornments. It allows people to really see and recognize each other, to act ethically and without pomp or ceremony.
Judaism offers a framework for understanding this mode of behavior: derech eretz (“the way of the land”). More than etiquette, it is an ethical and moral guide to human interaction, rooted in the Torah. According to some midrashim, “Derech eretz kadma l’Torah” which means that this concept precedes the Torah. Whether this refers to chronological order, as some argue, or priority of importance, the principle is clear: Before studying the Law, one must first learn how to behave as a human being.
Only once the foundation of ethical interaction is internalized can the law be fully grasped and applied. The Torah itself is rich with guidance on how to act with justice, compassion, and recognition of others. Torah teaches us derech eretz, and derech eretz allows us for a fuller grasping of the Torah – they go hand in hand.
Perhaps, as its name suggests, derech eretz is also conditioned by the Land of Israel itself.
Life in Israel shapes a social code that is deeply ethical (the same code taught through Jewish law over centuries across the world), but with a specificity that makes it more raw, more tangible, and more concrete.
Since October 7, this has been visible everywhere: neighbors caring for each other, volunteers stepping up for soldiers and their families, people assisting strangers. What outsiders might perceive as “rough” or “unrefined” could be, in fact, a more authentic and balanced social and moral behavior.
Derech eretz is expressed in simple gestures: greeting someone, making eye contact, acknowledging them instead of ignoring them, listening without interruption, and calling them by their name. French-Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas emphasized the spiritual dimension of such gestures: They are not superficial politeness but acts that recognize the humanity of the other. In this sense, politeness becomes not only a social code of interaction but a spiritual code of being. It is not about appearances or ease; it is about substance, recognition, and responsibility.
In Israeli society, formality recedes to make room for ethical substance. Yet the almost “ethereal” roughness, characteristic of Israelis, expresses a fragile and paradoxical balance which must be preserved. The slippery slope to brutishness and violence, such as we have witnessed, with the endless quarrels and the big divide within the political echelon and Israeli society, threatens to erode the very ethical core that derech eretz seeks to protect.
Concurrently, the deep desire within some parts of the Israeli public for civility, zero intensity, and zero friction also threatens this fragile balance. Whether in family life, community interactions, or national discourse, the challenge is constant: to recenter on the essential, to cultivate recognition, presence, and care for others, even amid heated debate or social tension – and not only in times of war.
For Israel, derech eretz is a constant call. It reminds us that civilization is not a matter of polish, but of substance.
Less formal polish may feel chaotic to outsiders, but it carries a power Western refinement often lacks: to grip life with both hands and grasp it in the moment, not in hindsight or conjecturally. With derech eretz, Israel demonstrates a form of deeply human politeness that is both ancient and contemporary, grounded in Torah and shaped by the land.
Maybe what seems “less civilized” at first is in fact more alive, more authentic, and in a deep sense, more civilized. And maybe the world, especially the polished West, could learn a thing or two from this unique Israeli mix of friction, presence, humility, and simplicity: the real derech eretz.
The writer holds a PhD in cultural studies from Tel Aviv University. Her work focuses on post-Holocaust and Jewish literature.