On Sunday night the final episode of Shabbatot veHagim (Sabbaths and Holidays), the best Israeli television drama series ever, was broadcast. My friend Ilanit came over to watch, and we were so absorbed that we didn't exchange a single word throughout the entire episode - just snuffled a little, in unison, at the bittersweet ending.

For five years, Shabbatot veHagim followed the lives of a group of ordinary Israelis in their thirties (plus one teenage girl, played by the sublime Romi Abulafia), living in Tel Aviv and traveling the psychological/emotional journey with which we're all familiar - of gaining self knowledge, finding and losing and finding love, searching for happiness and personal fulfillment, making many mistakes along the way and not always learning from those mistakes. The only American TV series I can think of that comes close to Shabbatot veHagim is Thirtysomething, but it's not nearly as good - not as deeply felt, not as well-acted and not so completely and utterly real.

As the final episode approached, the media became increasingly interested in analyzing the show, which had a cult-like following. Most critics agreed that Shabbatot veHagim broke new ground in portraying emotions onscreen, and in achieving a sort of ultra-realism in the plot and dialogue. There has also been much talk about the "new Israeli male," as portrayed by the characters of Rafi (Alon Abutbul, the thinking Israeli woman's sex symbol) and his best friend from childhood, Yoel (Dror Keren).

In an article/interview with Abutbul and Keren published in the magazine section of Sunday's Ma'ariv newspaper, Smadar Hirsh, a female journalist, calls Rafi and Yoel "...pathetic. A little. The new kind of man. The crybabies, the vacillating types who talk constantly about their deepest feelings, who take care of each other when they're sick and aren't embarrassed to sleep together in the same bed." (my translation).

And isn't it interesting that a woman journalist would write not-quite-ironically about "sensitive men"! Paul Newman is still alive, but the myth of Ari Ben Canaan has been dead for quite awhile in our post-Zionist society; nevertheless, there is still a deeply ingrained and unique type of machismo in Israel that is quite different from the South American and Italian varieties. It's not a bring-flowers-and-hold-the-door-for-the-little-woman machismo; it's a toughness, a strong preference for decisive action over emoting that often results in a marked inability to express feelings. And I'm quite sure that the mandatory three-year army service contributes not a little to this mentality.

In general Israeli women are so used to machismo that they are surprised at its absence. I noticed this at my previous workplace, when an Israeli guy who'd spent much of his youth abroad and had not served in the army joined my team; he was tall, muscular and goodlooking, but also a sensitive, soft-spoken music lover who wrote poetry as a hobby. He wasn't interested in the hardcore porno photos that the guys emailed each other - despite my frequent, angry and totally disregarded objections. He got a lot of attention from the women on my floor, but they seemed to be stymied by his reticence. One 30 year-old woman from another team cornered me near the espresso machine one morning and said, "He's cute, but he doesn't seem very masculine. Is he gay?" Um, dunno, I answered - you'll have to ask his girlfriend.

Attitudes are certainly changing, but it'll be awhile before Israeli men sit around beating drums and raising their consciousness. Also, there was never a feminist revolution in Israel. While Western women were debating about whether or not to shave their legs or wear a bra and how to word the Equal Rights Amendment, Israeli women were holding things together at home as their husbands were called up for reserve army duty during the Yom Kippur war and its aftermath. As often happens in this country, the exigencies of the "situation" marginalized other concerns.

But Tel Aviv is rather different from most of the rest of the country; it sort of absorbed all the modern,western social attitudes without any great upheaval. Here you have gay couples wandering the streets hand-in-hand, you have lesbian couples with children conceived through artificial insemination, you have lots of hetero couples living as lifelong partners with children but without a marriage certificate, and so on - just like in any modern western city.

Shabbatot veHagim only touched on political issues as they would affect any Israeli's day-to-day life; and even then, the references were quite subtle. During the 2002 season, when suicide bombings were an almost daily occurence (and for awhile, literally a daily occurence), one episode shows Yoel coming over to visit his friend Rafi to tell him about traumatic upheavals in his all-but-over marriage; Daniella, Rafi's teenage daughter, opens the door. Dad's not home, she tells Yoel, but he'll be here soon. Do you want something to drink? No? Okay, well make yourself at home. I'm getting ready to go out; if you're bored, you can watch the news about the suicide bombing that just happened in Jerusalem.

A couple of months ago the director of Shabbatot veHagim, Rene Blair, was interviewed for the edgy, alternative Tel Aviv magazine called 42 Ma'alot (42 Degrees). Here's an excerpt.

So why is the show practically devoid of political references?
"The strongest social statement in the series is that we will live normal lives even though we're surrounded by shit. I don't want politics in my show. We'll love and suffer and be filled with longing and reconcile and live just like normal people in this place. That's our biggest political demonstration/statement."

And so we have grieving?
"The secret of drama is parting, longing and reconciling. Like in physics. The language of emotion works best in terms of abandonment, longing and "reunion" [uses English word]. Our life [here in Israel] is constructed completely differently from the way it is usually shown on television and in books. Once they [the producers] told us to make a happy season. But you can only talk about happiness for half a minute. The guy's happy, that's it – the movie's over. What are you going to do now – 13 episodes about a happy guy? Who's going to watch a show like that? People need to see problems. When there are problems then there's drama, you have something to get involved in, you have momentum, you have moods and emotions. When you're joyful there's no drama, it's over."

And about his decision to end the series, Blair says:

"Over the last 10 years I've experienced a revolution in my life and in the lives of my closest friends. I've seen people change completely because of true love, and I think that when you find your true love and relax, really relax, only then can you start to truly accomplish things. That's the way I feel about Shabbatot veHagim. It's difficult for me to continue talking about people who are looking for love when I've already found it." (again, the translation is mine).