What can Rob Lowe teach us about Israel?

I’m a child of the ’80s. I know the soundtrack to Pretty in Pink better than I know my kids’ phone numbers. Back in the day, my walls were plastered with Michael J. Fox and Kirk Cameron “pin-ups,” carefully removed from the middle of Teen Beat. So when I heard about a game show hosted by Brat Pack poster boy Rob Lowe, I was the first to jump on the couch to give it a try. Little did I realize how that bid for nostalgia would end up illuminating some key differences between American and Israeli culture.

If you’ve yet to see it, The Floor is a quiz show where players stand on squares in a giant grid. Each contestant picks their category — like Furry Animals, Flags, or ’80s TV shows — and defends their square of territory by competing in head-to-head duels with their neighbors. Win the duel, steal the square. The player with the most territory at the end wins $250,000.

Once our family started watching, we realized the challenge is more about speed than smarts. Identifying a glass of water in the Beverage category or the Nike logo in the Corporations category kept us entertained for a bit, as did Lowe’s charm and looks. But neither were compelling enough for long-term loyalty. Just when we were ready to move on, we discovered that Israel had launched its own version of The Floor — and suddenly, we were all in again.

I thought that HaZira, or The Arena, would help us learn random Hebrew words like “armadillo” or “carbonated.” But there was nothing random about the interactions, categories, and atmosphere of HaZira. Watching it alongside The Floor gave us a crash course in cultural contrasts.

Let’s start with the hosts, for example. Lowe is friendly, but reserved with the contestants. He aims to connect more with the audience, like with a knowing look to the camera when a contestant doesn’t recognize a movie he starred in, or a “complaint” that People never chose him as its Sexiest Man Alive. He’ll banter with the prettier contestants, but most players get a polite handshake and a formal “Good luck,” as they come and go off the stage. After a contestant wins a tough round, Lowe offers something simple, like “Nicely done,” while the camera pans to contestants watching quietly from their spots on the floor. 

The contestants follow Lowe’s lead, with comments that sound scripted by ChatGPT: “I came to win!” or “That was intense.” Since you don’t get a lot of genuine emotion or natural humor, the game’s atmosphere feels more like a waiting room than a living room. 

Unlike Lowe, HaZira’s host, Reshef Levi, engages with the contestants like a nosy neighbor. When a contestant whose day job is a delivery driver comes up on stage, Levi ribs him, “Are you sure you know the way? You’re not going to get lost, right?” The contestant banters back, “I’ll find the address before you find a good punchline!” Meanwhile, another contestant from the floor yells out, “Stop talking, I’m so nervous for him!” Everyone laughs together.

Both HaZira players and Levi make unscripted jokes. Levi often addresses the loser of a round before congratulating the winner. And winners often hug their opponent with a loud “Kol HaKavod,” in appreciation, as the rest of the players cheer them off the stage. 

Levi also isn’t your typical heartthrob game show host. He is best known as a writer and producer behind some of Israel’s most iconic movies and TV shows, and was also the official playwright of HaBima, Israel’s national theater. One of his biggest TV hits is HaBorer (The Arbitrator), about a crime family whose boss settles underworld disputes by quoting Torah passages. The show became a cultural phenomenon in Israel — and is one of my personal favorites.

While Lowe grew up in a fairly conventional family in Ohio, Levi’s family embodies the struggles and triumphs of Israel’s history. Levi’s father, an immigrant from Yemen, joined the Hagana and other pre-state Jewish defense groups as a teenager. The British jailed Eliyahu Levi when he was 16, and later deported him to an internment camp in Carthago, Sudan. Reshef Levi is one of eight children and has seven children himself. He created a series called Carthago with one of his brothers about their father’s personal story, which he says left a lasting imprint on his upbringing. Another of his brothers, Regev, died when both were in their early 20s, just starting their careers. To honor this brother, Levi signs his written works with the name “Reshef v’Regev Levi,” instead of just his own. 

These acts of remembrance say so much about Levi himself, but also reflect the deeper cultural contrasts that show up in HaZira. Like how it’s perfectly acceptable for the contestants to wear anything from shorts and t-shirts to Jewish star necklaces to a kippah and even payos. Or how a Haredi contestant might face off against a tattooed guy in a tie-dyed shirt. The winner might go up against a gay, Christian Arab whose family came as refugees from the Lebanese civil war and who works as a pro-Israel advocate. On the other hand, most of the Americans on The Floor come in a uniform of brightly colored clothes likely dictated by producers. Their makeup looks perfect, but we don’t learn anything about their personal family histories.

The categories contestants choose also say a lot about each culture. Where The Floor categories are often sterile like “Dog Breeds” or “US Presidents,” HaZira’s more culturally personal categories include “Mizrahi Divas” and “Army Slang.” Answers in the “Holidays” category include Simchat Torah, Sukkot, and Tu B’Shvat. These categories don’t just require knowing random — and often pretty obvious — facts. They require shared experiences and history you can only understand if you’ve lived them. 

It’s that feeling of connection that’s at the heart of the difference between Israeli and American culture. Where Americans often value individualism, surface-level interactions, and glossy looks, Israelis tend to prioritize community, directness, and stories that reflect real struggle and resilience.

American style is easier, but it doesn’t typically lead to closeness. Rob Lowe wants you to know about — and maybe even be jealous of — his accomplishments and good looks. Reshef Levi wants you to know about his father’s — and Israel’s — struggle for freedom. He wants to share his success with his late brother. It’s no wonder the US faces an epidemic of loneliness, but Israel does not.

This is the difference that sets Israeli culture apart, as Dan Senor and Paul Singer describe in The Genius of Israel. They highlight how emotional honesty, deep personal bonds, and a sense of shared purpose are what keep Israelis moving forward in the face of existential threat. Senor and Singer interview Lior Raz, creator of the hit show, Fauda, who emphasizes how important personal connection is: “Stories are everywhere in this country. It’s how we cope. It’s how we make sense of things.”

Maybe that’s why someone who writes and produces stories for a living is better able to connect with his on-stage and off-stage audiences than someone who reads scripted lines for a living — even if he does have the prettier face.

So sure, I came for Rob Lowe and ’80s nostalgia. But I uncovered a profound lesson: authenticity runs way deeper than even the most sparkly façade. Israel reminds us that the best stories aren’t the most polished ones. They’re the ones we share together.