Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, one is the praying capital of the world while the other is the start-up capital. These two cities are the yin and yang of Israel, delicately balancing each other out, be it religious orthodoxy or nightlife.

Israeli author and journalist, Amos Oz, in his memoir A Tale of Love and Darkness, describes Tel Aviv as the antithesis of Jerusalem. He writes, “There were great sportsmen in Tel Aviv. And there was the sea, full of bronzed Jews who could swim. Who in Jerusalem could swim? These were different genes. A mutation.” Studying these mutated genes is like watching the lives of brothers separated at birth growing up in very different households.

To explore these two contrasting cities and experience them like the locals do, I choose to venture out on Fridays, when the religious weekend kicks in. That is when the truest forms of the cities become evident.

It is a Friday, in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem this means it is time for last minute grocery shopping. It is most probably the one habit that unites Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. In Tel Aviv, the centrally located Shuk HaCarmel (the Carmel Market) is great place to begin the Friday experience. People converge on the market to purchase vegetables, spices, nuts, fruits and bags and bags of pita bread to tide over the weekend when markets and grocery stores will remain shut across the country.

Similarly in Jerusalem, the Mahane Yehuda market is abuzz with shoppers and vendors crying out bargains on vegetables, fruits and breads. Golden brown challah breads fly off the racks here as soon as they emerge from the oven. The overpoweringly sweet smell of the breads draw me into the market in Jerusalem and I watch people picking ripe tomatoes and cucumbers that will go into the typical Israeli salad.

As the day progresses, bargains in the markets in both the cities will get better with vendors selling perishable items at throwaway prices. The last minute frenzy peaks in the Mahane Yehuda market around 3pm and then in a flash the cacophony ebbs away, replaced by sounds of shutters coming down and people greeting each other with the weekend greeting: Shabbat Shalom. The weekend has begun.

It is around 4pm on Friday, the entire country is going into hibernation and will mostly remain indoors until Sunday morning. In Tel Aviv this idleness will be far less pronounced with people heading out to parks, public squares, cafes etc., with their partners, children, and pets to unwind for the weekend. In Jerusalem, once shabbat sets in, people will emerge from their homes, for the most part, only on Sunday morning barring trips to their synagogue or the Western Wall to offer prayers.

Tel Aviv’s residents are irreverent when it comes to shabbat rules. When the bus service stops in Tel Aviv, yellow shared taxis take over and ferry people from cafes to beaches to pubs and maybe, finally home late at night. The rest of the country and Jerusalem may have shut for shabbat, but in Tel Aviv, you will have to make reservations in restaurants and start early to keep those reservations because taxis are harder to catch during the weekend (not because they are few in number but because they are mostly engaged).

It is just as hard to find a spot with shade on the beach if one does not arrive early enough. The beaches here attract more crowds during the weekends with swathes of the beach being taken over by people playing beach sports like volleyball and an all-Israeli sport called matkot played with hard paddles and a small plastic ball. It is not just the beach that is busy on weekends, even the promenades are crowded with athletic Tel Avivans who continue to run, jog and cycle come rain, shine or shabbat.

Of the two siblings separated at birth, Jerusalem was presumably brought up by a disciplinarian guardian. Jerusalem takes shabbat more seriously than its whimsical sibling, Tel Aviv. The streets, restaurants, cafes, shops and even the Old City empty out with the rare non-observant Jew going for a run without a care on the middle of the road. The city itself sets as the sun comes down on the city.

Jerusalem wears a deserted look when the majority of the city’s residents retreat into their homes for the weekend. With the bus and light rail (tram) services shut and operating vehicles forbidden during shabbat, roads are safe for children to play a game of football or jay walking. In fact, the light rail route in Jerusalem becomes the de facto walking route for people heading to or back from the Western Wall in the Old City. And if one wishes to hail a taxi in Jerusalem now, 30 minutes might pass before a taxi rolls down the street and if one is lucky, it will be available to hire.

When the sun has set, men in black coats and hats, women dressed conservatively in long back skirts emerge from their homes to head to the Western Wall. Friday evening in Jerusalem is best spent following these observant, religious, orthodox, and ultra-orthodox Jews to the Western Wall plaza where they gather to offer prayers.

The streets of the Old City which were bustling with tourists and shoppers until the afternoon are dark and deserted in the evening. The already maze-like layout of the Old City becomes harder to navigate as all the narrow, dimly lit streets look alike with all the shop shutters drawn shut. To navigate the Old City and reach the Western Wall without getting lost, I pick a tall, brimmed, black hat and follow it all the way to the Western Wall. At the Wall, worshipers come together and collectively sing verses from the Torah. I slink away quietly to a corner of the Western Wall plaza and watch the crowd sway harmoniously to the prayer recital.

A calm descends on Jerusalem for shabbat, this calm will not be broken until Sunday morning when businesses will reopen, people will head out to work and the city will spring back. In Tel Aviv it is time to rejoice and come out and play because come Sunday, it will be time to fall into a routine.

Note: An edited version of this article originally appeared in The New Sunday Express Magazine on July 9, 2016 under the headline Yin and Yang of Semitic Metros.