Election day is a national holiday. Jews and Arabs, left and right, secular and religious, pessimists and optimists — people were doing the same things.

They fought for deckchairs on the same beaches, went in droves to fill the same malls to capacity and got equally excited about the prospect of free trains all day.

So noisy and chaotic were the railways that to get any writing done, this travelling journalist buried himself under headphones and transported himself to the serenity of Ambridge, with the same Archers omnibus playing on loop.

But in voting, that 30-second act that determines the future of Israel, the sunbathers were at loggerheads. I was not at all surprised when polling stations closed and we began to see just how divided the country is — because it is the message I was getting on the streets, north to south, all day.

Division was everywhere. I put my foot in it with a young, seemingly in-love couple when I asked them about voting.

As they both answered, saying they voted to secure what is best for the country, it transpired that she was dead against Benjamin Netanyahu and wanted to see the back of him, while he voted for another dose of Bibi. No pollster can predict the state of that relationship now.

What was striking as I toured the country, loitering at intersections and drinking with locals — mostly coffee, though one 11am interviewee was keener on whisky poured into a plastic cup from a hidden bottle — was how the disagreement between Israelis explains how they view the reality that surrounds them.

In Sderot, by the Gaza border, all of my interviewees were running not long ago to bomb shelters as the rockets fell.

But right-wing Tal Bitan, 29, concluded on his way to voting that the fire was minimal and limited to a “day here and a day there”. He decided he would like another Bibi term.

By contrast, 30-year-old Nofar Edrei and Tair Zaltman, 36, are both furious about rocket fire from Gaza and the way the government handles it.

Ms Edrei voted more hawkish than Bibi, choosing New Right in the hope it would “erase” Gaza, while Ms Zaltman voted left, believing Labour with its moderate path had the best chance of solving her woes.

This deep clash on how to interpret reality echoed on virtually every topic. In the north of the country, near the border with Lebanon, some people were worried about security and keen to entrust the country to Blue & White, with its trio of former military chiefs.

But if you met tough-minded Vladimir and assumed that a team of hard-nosed army men would reassure him, you would be wrong.

He has only mistrust for former military leaders, because they brought about the Oslo Peace Process and withdrawals from southern Lebanon in 2000 and Gaza in 2005. “Because of this I don’t want generals,” he said.

Nearby, a woman told me that Mr Netanyahu is isolating Israel, while a man said that the country has never had it so good, with both Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin in the prime minister’s pocket.

Some secular voters complained that Charedi parties have become too extreme, fighting hard to keep yeshiva students out of the army and against the state exerting control over what is taught in Charedi schools.

But among Charedim, complaints were heard that frum politicians have gone soft.

Michael Stern, a 40-year-old from Bnei Brak, did not vote, and told me that Charedi politicians had become too open to compromise with secular authorities on matters like education and the military draft.

They “have lost the Charedi way,” he said.

It was apt that, at the end of a day that showcased just how differently Israelis interpret all matters political, two rival leaders were both claiming victory based on the very same statistics.

Election day was not just the means to an end of populating the Knesset.

It was an opportunity for politicians to remind themselves, from voting patterns and from the mood on the streets, just how fractured the nation is on big issues — before they hopefully dedicate themselves to finding common ground that brings some unity.