The second paradox is that Tel Aviv was founded by ascetic Zionist pioneers but is now one of the world's most pleasure-seeking cities. In its early years, there were plenty of cafés serving coffee and cakes to German and Austrian immigrants, sweating in their suits, pining for Berlin and Vienna, but few luxury restaurants. For a long time after the establishment of the state in 1948, there was little food culture. Meat and even fresh eggs were an expensive treat. Israel was virtually a one-party quasi-Socialist state. Bourgeois pleasures were frowned upon. Meals were fuel, taken quickly. No longer, I discover the next day at Orna and Ella, a restaurant on Sheinkin Street, the hub of The Bubble and Tel Aviv's hip, sexy heart. Outside the window, a parade of tanned, pierced beauties of both sexes stroll by. "Israel is a young country—we're not like France or Italy, where food is part of the culture and they are very proud of it. Dealing with food, and the joy of food, was considered something bad," says gastro journalist Keren Tsur, over Orna and Ella's legendary sweet potato pancakes.

Neighborhood places such as Orna and Ella—and Café Noir, with its trademark schnitzel—have a devoted clientele: The food is one attraction, the famously handsome waiters another. Israeli chefs are creating a mod-Med style utilizing the country's dazzling produce and mosaic of cuisines. "Israeli cuisine is new and has developed quickly because it's an immigrant cuisine. Israelis are adapters, they learn fast. They traveled and learned to appreciate good wines, fine cheese. They understand these things now," says Keren.

The third paradox is that Israel can be a macho, sexist society, yet Tel Aviv is home to a substantial gay and lesbian community. That nurtures a sexually ambiguous, charged atmosphere, especially in the summer months. Each year, tens of thousands attend the Gay Pride Parade, which lasts all day and ends in a giant beach party. All of which is another reason not all of Israel loves Tel Aviv. The spirit of The Bubble was best captured in the film of the same name directed by Eytan Fox. Much of The Bubble takes place on Sheinkin Street. Three twentysomething friends decide to hold a "rave against the occupation," neatly dovetailing Sheinkinites' reflexive liberal politics and love of chemical pleasures. But when Noam, a reserve soldier, falls in love with a gay Palestinian, their comfort zone, and private bubble, are soon blown to pieces. Literally. In more conservative Israeli circles, Sheinkinite is a deadly insult. But those using the word as a slur probably don't know that Sheinkin is also home to a Hasidic community that lives peacefully with its tattooed, spaced-out neighbors.

Later that day, I walk south on Rothschild Boulevard, toward the coast and the neighboring ancient port of Jaffa, from which Tel Aviv was born. It's a gorgeous spring afternoon freshened by the breeze blowing in from the sea. Mothers are wheeling their babies down the green islands in the middle, and the crowds are three deep at the open-air coffee bars. If the story of Tel Aviv begins anywhere, it is at numbers nine and eleven Rothschild, which once belonged to the Chelouche family, who helped found Tel Aviv. These two villas were the center of political and intellectual life in the city's early years, where the Chelouche brothers—Yaakov, Avraham Haim, and Yosef Eliyahu—entertained diplomats and mayors, writers and musicians. Number eleven is now a trendy microbrewery.