If North American Jews could learn something from Israelis, it would be having a sense of peoplehood. I am concerned that, in the U.S. and Canada, Jews are turning Judaism into a religion and losing the idea that we are also in fact a nation.

David Forman: I do not miss very much about Jewish life in North America, except the greater tolerance of different Jewish lifestyles and the exciting creative experimentation in religious services and at our Union camps. Still, none of these can compare with the 24-hour-a-day Jewish lifestyle that defines life in Israel.

Levi Weiman-Kelman: I miss separation of religion and state, decent Chinese and Mexican restaurants, and going to the supermarket without getting into a heated political discussion.

Miri Gold: I miss the American system of democracy. In Israel, while serving as "mayor" of my kibbutz during elections for regional council head, I invited both the incumbent and the challenger to speak in our dining room. The other kibbutz "mayors" from our region, who supported the incumbent, berated me for having given the rival candidate a chance to speak. When I protested, "It's a democracy," they shot back, "Oh, that's your American democracy!" Well, I'm proud of that American democracy. In the Israeli parliamentary system, Orthodox parties have disproportional clout because the party forming the coalition must bow to their partisan demands to remain in power.

Tamara Schagas: I've found that Diaspora Jews feel a deeper interconnection with Jews in the rest of the world than do Israelis: They visit other Jewish communities, express interest in their history, and learn about them. Israeli Jews, on the other hand, are aware that Jews live in other countries, but don't necessarily feel as connected to them. Jewish identity in the Diaspora is built around religion; in Israel, it's built around national identity. I wish we would learn from each other.

Michael Marmur: I miss cricket, crossword puzzles, and the more mature political culture of Britain, home of "the mother of Parliaments." In Israel we sorely need a culture of free and informed discourse without the shouting and screaming.

What do you like most and/or least about living in Israel?

Rich Kirschen: I love the connection to Hebrew. Even the Coca Cola bottles say "Hag Sameach" (Happy Holiday) on Rosh Hashanah. I hate the fact that Israelis always think they're right.

Hannah Yakin: I like when total strangers smile and say, "Shabbat Shalom" on the way to and from synagogue. Also, I appreciate the way people meddle in one another's business because they feel responsible for each other's well-being: the men and women in the street who advise me to cover my head against the sun, or tell me to pick up my grandson if he is crying in his stroller.

Going home after a routine eye examination, I was blinded by the bright Jerusalem sunlight. As I stood helpless on the sidewalk, a woman offered to help. I explained my problem and asked if she could take me to my bus stop. Not only did she lead me by the hand as if she were my nursemaid, she gave me her sunglasses, waited with me until my bus came, asked another woman to help me get off the bus at the right stop, and refused to take back her sunglasses when we parted.

Dalya Levy: I love that people care deeply about their country and want to make it the best place possible. When an Israeli does something noteworthy, the whole country stands a centimeter taller; when an Israeli does something awful, the whole country bears the shame and feels that it reflects badly on us all. We spend lots of time worrying about why, with all our brains, determination, and incredibly talented young people, we aren't the number one country in everything--education, sports, culture, art, cuisine, etc. Striving to be the best gives us a vitality that I never found in the States.

Stacey Blank: Israel is a family-friendly country and a great place to raise kids. Children are welcome almost anywhere--at most restaurants you see people out with their kids, and summer street festivals are always a family affair, with free events like music concerts and puppet theater for kids. When I walk down the street with our two-year-old son, even macho Israeli guys smile at him.

What I like the least is the narrow-mindedness of many Israelis, who see the world as either black or white, especially when it comes to religion. Also, sometimes the endless, heated debates get tiresome. The practical American side of me just wants to get to the point.

Hanan Cidor: I love the Israeli style of arguing about everything, because it signifies how much we truly care about what is happening to friends, family, and country. Israelis feel strong solidarity with one another, and no one is ever a stranger here. We like to treat everyone as family, as if we know them personally, even if this is the first time we've ever met. Whatever might happen to me, I feel I'll never really be alone in Israel. What I like least is constantly having to explain, to the outside world and, more importantly, to myself, why I want to live in Israel and what it means to be an Israeli. I doubt that most Americans or Canadians wrestle with such questions.

Matthew Sperber: As a parent and grandparent, I like living in a little country because my children and grandchildren can never be very far away. Traveling from Israel's most southern point to northern point only takes seven hours. Also, in a small country, one person, one family, and one community can make a real impact on society.

Evan Cohen: Roni, our "specialty vegetable guy" in the Machaneh Yehudah market, noticed that for two weeks in a row I was buying less than usual. He called me over and said, "Listen, if times are tough, you don't have to be embarrassed. Get whatever you need; it's on me. When things get better, which they will, you can pay me back." When I explained to him that I was buying less because we'd been invited to friends' homes for Shabbat two weeks straight, he smiled and said, "Welcome to Israel."

What drives me crazy is the feeling of entitlement and lack of personal responsibility among many Israelis who see everything as the government's responsibility, rather than their own. That explains why garbage fills our parks, there are many fatalities on our roads and highways, and other societal ills.

Miri Gold: I don't like the Israeli bureaucracy. It's not uncommon for me to stand in a line for a long time at a government office, only to discover I'm missing a critical form I didn't know I needed.

Worse, though, is the treatment Reform converts receive at the hands of Israeli officials. One such convert, a Russian woman, was happily married to an Israeli Jew for seven years. When he died, the Interior Ministry tried to revoke her permanent status and deport her, along with her children from a previous marriage. The fact that she converted through the Reform Movement in Israel bore no weight. Our Movement's Israel Religious Action Center took up her cause. The case is still in the courts, which keeps her from being deported. Happily, her daughter married an Israeli, so she has some protection, although the authorities check every year for four years to make sure they are really married.

I'm also dismayed by the xenophobia, prejudice, and ignorance displayed by some government leaders. Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, head of the Shas party, asserted that women wearing a tallit at the Western Wall should be burned in their tallit! Other officials have called for the imprisonment of women who pray and read Torah at the Wall as men do.

Then, because of the fear that foreign, non-Jewish workers and their children will dilute the Jewish State, in 2009 the Interior Ministry decided to deport the children of such workers, even though they were born in Israel, go to Israeli schools, speak Hebrew, and see Israel as their home. Many Israeli Jews are sensitive to this issue because they well remember being stateless refugees and don't want to see anyone else treated this way. Public outcry has been loud enough to get the prime minister to postpone implementation of the decision, but it has not been rescinded.

I especially like how we Israelis acknowledge the sanctity of life on Memorial Day. Every Israeli knows someone who's died or lost a loved one. When the two-minute siren goes off at 11:00 a.m., cars, buses, and trucks stop in the middle of the road. People get out of their cars to stand quietly at attention.

Many people will later visit military cemeteries. Our kibbutz cemetery has a military section where 19 Gezer members and nine soldiers are buried, all of whom lost their lives on June 10, 1948, during Israel's War of Independence. I know some of the widows and children of those who died. Each gravestone tells a story: the person's name, his/her parents' first names, the country from which he/she made aliyah. Ours is a true "ingathering of the exiles": Austria, Czechoslovakia, Germany, Poland, Romania, Syria, Tunisia, Yemen....