Here’s a Friday morning outing you’ve probably never considered: A trip to the dump. But not just any dump. The Hiria dump – an 80-meter high blight on the landscape that no commuter traveling on the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway could miss.

Now Hiria is being transformed from its formerly stinky state into the Ariel Sharon National Park (alternatively known as the Ayalon Park). A group of 20 of us recently trekked out to Hiria on an organized excursion. What we learned was a fascinating insight into Israeli history and ecological renewal.

Opened in 1952, the Hiria dump represents over 50 years of Israeli garbage, everything from plastic bottles and organic refuse to the leftovers from countless home renovations – tables, chairs, chunks of walls – plus bicycle tires, electrical cables, old baby carriages, and  much more, all of which have been tastefully fashioned into artistic “found object” mobiles dangling from the roof of Hiria’s funky yet functional visitor’s center (which itself was once a huge compost shed).

The trash kept on piling up until Hiria was finally closed in 1998, after birds flying overhead in search of choice tidbits threatened planes at nearby Ben Gurion Airport. The garbage still flows through Hiria, but now it’s just a transit station. Small trucks dump their contents into a vast sea of refuge where it’s sorted and loaded into larger trucks which ship it all to a new dump located near the southern Israeli city of Beersheva.

Hiria, nevertheless, remains an imposing site. At 2000 acres, the dump is three times the size of New York’s Central Park. The garbage that created the Hiria hill now sports green grass and low shrubs, hiding its more tawdry past. Our tour took us to the top of that hill which no longer stinks but does sink. Years of decomposing organic waste have created methane gas which makes the entire grounds unstable. That gas is now being pumped out and sold to a nearby textile factory.

We drove in our mini-bus to the top of Hiria from where our group was treated to what must be the best view in town: a 360-degree panorama of the entire Gush Dan region. That lookout point is at the center of Hiria’s ambitious reclamation plans which envisions a network of bike trails (10 kilometers of which already exist), shaded picnic areas, a small zoo and recreational pond, and a country club with a swimming pool and theater situated at the peak of the soon to be former dump.

Hiria’s planners call the Sharon Park “Israel’s green future” and boast with pride that the site will “prove that an environmental hazard can be turned into a national treasure – one that will radiate to the world Israel’s new green face.”

The park will include recycling plants for tires and building materials and an environmental education center, in addition to the meandering Ayalon and Shapirim streams which wind their way around the outskirts of Hiria before flushing out into the Mediterranean Sea. The new Tel Aviv light rail, currently in the planning stages, will reach the western edge of the park.

Even the carefully tended flower garden near the visitor’s center is part of the reclamation process: a self-sustaining system that treats sewage with the help of bacteria from the roots of the plants and breaks down toxins so that the resulting water can be used for irrigation.

The park is named after former prime minister Ariel Sharon who approved creation of the park in 2003. Thousands of students have already toured the facility; a hike through the park in 2005 attracted 8,000 participants. Hiria’s planners hope that 50,000 visitors a year will visit the park for educational and leisure purposes.

Despite the positive plans, Israel still lags behind the U.S. and Europe in terms of recycling options. Except for bottles, paper and batteries, everything else gets collected into the same bins and is ultimately dumped together.

Construction of Park Sharon is expected to be completed in 2020 although portions are already open.

For more details visit: http://www.tourism.gov.il/Tourism_Euk/Articles/Attractions/The+Hiria+Recycling+Park.htm

To organize your own guided tour of the Hiria dump, visit: http://www.ayalon-park.org.il/Eng/ or call +972-3-739-6633

Jody and I will be married 20 years this summer. We decided to take an early anniversary trip last week. Originally we thought of going to a spa hotel, but all the spas we liked were booked. We opted instead of a day in Tel Aviv. It turned out to be both eye opening and fabulous.

For Jerusalemites, Tel Aviv is truly another world. It is laid back, sophisticated and most of all fun, unlike Jerusalem with its claustrophobic architecture, bubbling religious tensions and pot holed streets.

That’s not to say that I don’t love Jerusalem. Israel’s capital retains a small town feel, it’s filled with archaeological gems, and there is an international sense of pluralism with spiritual and educational opportunities that are unique among the world’s great cities. Still, a trip to Tel Aviv is like a breath of fresh sea air. Maybe it’s the beach or maybe it’s proximity to culture in the most surprising places.

We started our day at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, a modern structure with stark architectural lines and a world-class collection of modern art. The impressionist and post impressionist selection contains numerous works from Matisse, Renoir, Cezanne, Pissaro and Chagall. Other departments focus on everything from German Expressionism, Russian Constructivism, Fauvism and Cubism. There is a healthy sprinkling of Picasso and Van Gogh. We particularly enjoyed a retrospective of portraits from Jan Rauchwerger.

The Museum is in a complex that also includes the Tel Aviv Opera and The Cameri Theater, both of which we explored briefly before moving on to our next stop: the old Tel Aviv Port.

What once was a working seaport has been transformed into an engaging shopping and entertainment complex. A large wooden boardwalk affords stunning views of the waves below; all along its expanse are restaurants and bars, many with comfy sofas facing the water to chill out and have a late afternoon drink. The effect is very European – right in the heart of the Middle East. The port has everything from chi-chi designer shops, major chain outlets and even a high-end sex shop for women called "Sisters.”

At night, the Port comes alive with nightclubs and dance facilities. When I went to the Sean Lennon concert, it was at Hanger 11 here at the port.

In the middle of the port is a temporary structure – a unique dance theater built and sponsored by the Batsheva dance troupe. The idea was to bring dance to the masses at a reasonable price. A single piece, called Furo, runs in a continuous loop with the actors swapping in and out every 45 minutes. The audience is free to come and go throughout the evening.

Furo (which means “bathhouse” in Japanese) combines modern dance with Japanese animation by the artist Tabaimo which is projected on three giant screens. The music ranges from electronic blips and beeps to raucous punk rock. Seating is on bleachers rather than formal chairs. The dancers have a relatively limited area to dance, positioned on top of two large speakers on the sides of the hall so as not to interfere with the animation.

We found the dance intriguing but the animation a bit repetitive. But at only NIS 60 ($18) a ticket, it was well worth the cultural diversion. Furo is only playing until mid July (daily 6:00 PM – 11:00 PM), so if you’re interested in attending and you’re in town, act fast.

People dress up to see and be seen at the Tel Aviv Port. I felt a little out of place in my Jerusalem jeans and t-shirt. Not so at our next stop: the Ta’am Ha’Ir food extravaganza.  Billed as the second largest outdoor food festival in the world (after the Windy City’s “Taste of Chicago”), Ta’am Ha’Ir (“Taste of the City”) – now in its 13th year at Ganei Yehoshua near the Tel Aviv Exhibition Grounds - features hundreds of booths from some of Tel Aviv’s trendiest eateries offering small samplings of their wares for low prices - NIS 20-25 ($6-7) for most dishes.

We expected a genteel environment similar to the Jerusalem Wine Festival at the Israel Museum which also features food booths. But with 800,000 visitors projected over 4 days, the festival is more like a circus sideshow. Each booth has its own barkers who scream out increasingly insistent entreaties on megaphones, like at the shuk on a Friday afternoon. Pulsating trance music from several large stages (dairy manufacturer Tnuva, pop radio station Galgalatz and the state lottery system were all represented) plus crowds jostling elbow to elbow give the surroundings the feel of a mega dance club. This is a high energy event.

This being Tel Aviv, the vast majority of the stands were not kosher. We saw lots of shrimp, pork and cheeseburgers being consumed.

Participating restaurants include Manta Ray, Minna Tomei, The Red Chinese, Pasta Mia, Papagaio, Odeon, White Hall, Poyke, Brewhouse, La Goffre, Andre Ice-cream, Yogo, Dim Sum, Maya Taco Bar, Sheinkin Juices and Binyamina Winery.

We split a delicious gnocchi soaked in oil and pesto sauce from a dairy pasta restaurant and a vegetarian samosa from an Indian establishment. We finished our meal with a Belgian waffle covered in whip cream, maple sauce and – to our horror – Nutella chocolate sauce. Israelis do love their chocolate sauce. We were stuffed and not a little bit queasy as we stumbled back to the car.

As we drove back up the hill to Jerusalem after a satisfying anniversary date, we felt a tinge of sadness to be leaving the buzz of Israel’s lively metropolis. We still prefer Jerusalem – it’s a great place to raise a family and the sense of community can’t be beat. The good news: Tel Aviv is only an hour away. We can visit as often as we like. And we plan to do so.

From its humble beginnings 32 years ago as a modest folk music festival geared primarily to the English speaking community in Israel, Jacob’s Ladder has evolved into a 3 day bluegrass, country, blues and world music extravaganza that appeals to thousands of both Anglos and Israelis, from teenagers to 60+ old timers.

The latest edition of Jacob’s Ladder was held two weeks ago at its permanent home of Kibbutz Nof Ginosar along the Sea of Galilee just north of Tiberias. The musical line up featured a number of international acts including last year’s headliners The Abrams Brothers, one of the country music scene’s preeminent banjo and fiddle-playing bluegrass acts. The Canadian-born Abrams Brothers – consisting of dad, two brothers, a cousin and two world-class banjo players from the U.S. – had the younger set swooning. As my 14-year-old daughter put it, they were all “hot.”

Other star performers who came from overseas to perform at this year’s festival included Pete Morton, an British ex-punk rocker who turned to raucous guitar driven folk after hearing a Buffy Sainte-Marie record some 30 years ago; North Carolina-based “quirky folk singer and poet” Utah Greene; singer songwriter Sonia Rutstein, who goes by the stage name of SONiA (yes, correct spelling) and blends world music, folk, pop and Middle Eastern rhythms in English, Spanish, Arabic and Hebrew; and TRiAD (what’s with these lower case i’s?), a rather weak three piece who performed oddly arranged interpretations of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Locally grown talent at Jacob’s Ladder included Avital Raz who studied Indian classical music in Varanasi for 5 years and performs an eclectic mix of folk pop with Indian undertones; Sandy Cash, whose humorous ditties always make us smile (the song about a truck that accidentally dumps a load of Viagra in the local water supply is an all-time classic); Tal Korenberg’s Bodhran band, perhaps Israel’s only double bagpipe jammers playing Irish, Celtic and Scottish folk tunes; and my personal favorite, Iyam who got the crowd dancing to a mix of Hebrew and English reggae and rap.

Jacob’s Ladder is more than just music. There are tai chi sessions, a clown workshop for the kids, a chai zula for the cool set to chill out; and lots of country, line and square dancing. My wife Jody has been going to a monthly “contra” dancing in Jerusalem to which I’ve steadfastly refused to attend, on the grounds that I “don’t like anything with steps.” Jody dragged me into the first session at Jacob’s Ladder and before long I was hooked. What fun!

Despite a crowd in the thousands, Jacob’s Ladder never feels oppressive. There are 3 main stages and, other than Friday night when everyone spreads a sheet on the grass and grooves to the main acts, activities are pretty loose. Some people take a dip in the pool. Others browse the arts and crafts area. The lobby of the hotel is always happening with impromptu jam sessions into the wee hours of the night.

Politeness and honesty are an unspoken rule of thumb. You can leave your stuff anywhere and no one will take it. If someone sits in your chair, there are no arguments when you return. Smoking is the exception rather than the rule. There is a laid back, free flowing feeling to the whole event that serves as an antidote, however brief, to the stresses of day to day living in Israel. In short, we love it.

Over the years, Jacob’s Ladder has become less Anglo and more Israeli. That’s in part due to the Israeli-born children of the original attendees who have grown up at Jacob’s Ladder and seem to know all the Israeli and Irish dances by heart (the mosh pit to the side of the main stage was grooving big time Friday night – even I plunged into the midst of the “scene”). There is also a fair representation of Israeli adults who enjoy the music and casual scene.

For Anglos, it’s a chance to catch up with old friends from around the country. It is also a testament to the strong presence of non-religious English-speakers in Israel, a phenomenon you’d be hard pressed to see from the demographics of Jerusalem’s southern neighborhoods where we live.

The overwhelming secular nature of Jacob’s Ladder has also changed in recent years. An increasing number of Orthodox families now attend the festival. The kippa-wearing crowd has its own minyan by the lake Friday night and seems to find no contradiction between Shabbat observance and listening to great music.

Attendees can buy “scrip” in advance so that food purchases can be made without spending real shekels over the weekend. We ate a “proper” Shabbat dinner in the Nof Ginosar dining hall which has one of the better buffets I’ve eaten at a kibbutz hotel.

Our friends call us a bit spoiled. While nearly everyone camps – the grounds of the kibbutz guest house are covered by a sea of tents – we booked a simple but functional room in the pundak, a country style inn with nice pinewood furniture, where we could sleep on a real bed and take a real shower. Despite several derisive comments on our refusal to rough it, that didn’t stop our friends from using our bathroom and fridge.

At the end of the weekend, as the music died down and the afternoon sun began to wane, we wandered down to the Kinneret, pulled a couple of plastic chairs down to the rocky beach and dangled our feet in the cool water. It was a perfect end to a fabulous weekend.

Will we be back? Undoubtedly. We’ve already booked our room for 2009…

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Interested in attending Jacob’s Ladder? Check out the website at www.jlfestival.com where you can buy discount tickets online. Next year’s festival will be held May 7-9. A smaller and more intimate winter version will be December 5-6. Tickets for just the two days we attended were NIS 230 ($66) for adults, NIS 140 ($40) for kids up to age 12 if ordered on the Internet in advance.

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This article originally appeared on Israel21c.

I’ve been eating out a lot lately. For some reason, I wound up ordering ravioli at both restaurants I visited recently. Here, then, are two reviews of landmark Jerusalem restaurants which include elegant pasta on their menus.

Caffit

Jerusalem’s Caffit is the quintessential Israeli café. The oldest establishment on Jerusalem’s trendy Emek Refaim Street – now packed with close to 50 restaurants from elegant dining to “entrecote on a roll” – the vegetarian Caffit serves up fresh pasta, fish and veggie burgers in an upscale urban environment.

The glassed in city street café is hip and modern with lots of dark wood, a large plasma TV playing the latest sports, and a full bar. An outdoor patio is perfect for enjoying a warm summer evening (and a smoke, as the indoor area is, as is now the law in Israel, smoke-free). When we visited, the café was already packed (we got the last table); by the time we left around 9:00 PM, there was a long line waiting to get in.

I ordered a sweet potato ravioli which was generously dusted with pine nuts – it was delicious, the ravioli was just the right tenderness for home made pasta and the sweet potato was offset nicely by the light cream sauce.

My companion ordered the baked salmon with chopped peanuts on a bed of spinach and a cream sauce. The salmon was a little dry, but the creamy sauce and spinach worked well together and the result was mostly delightful.

The portions at Caffit are generous and we weren’t sure if we had room for dessert but when the waiter brought over the dessert tray, it was hard to resist. Various home made chocolate confections were on display; we chose to split an artistic creation called the Gaya which consisted of a layer of sponge cake, chocolate mouse and white chocolate with a dark chocolate crust. It melted in our mouths.

The wait staff at Caffit is attentive but seemed a little overwhelmed by the throng of patrons. Unlike in some restaurants where diners are often handed the check too early and pushed out the door, at Caffit you can linger as long as you want; indeed, getting our bill took a bit of aggressive hand waving.

The bill for two, including a couple of glasses of wine, came to 197 shekels ($56). If you’re looking for an authentic Israeli café with a modern décor and rich menu, you can’t go wrong at this long-standing establishment.

1868 Dairy Café

1868 is the name of one of Jerusalem’s top (and most expensive) eating establishments.  There are actually two restaurants – a meat restaurant located at 10 King David Street (opposite the David Citadel hotel), and a newer dairy restaurant at 34 Bet Lechem Road, opposite the Paz Gas Station. We ate at the latter.

At 1868, there are two seating options – an elegant chef restaurant inside which features white cloth tablecloths, fine cutlery and lovely large wine glasses, and the outside café which is much plainer but has prices about half those of the restaurant. We chose to save a few shekels and eat outside which turned out to be an excellent choice – the food is still exquisitely prepared and the imaginative placement of translucent screens shuts out the somewhat shabby surroundings and noise from the busy street and adjacent petrol station.

Before we’d even ordered, our waitress brought us a basked of home baked bread with a garlic butter and a smoked eggplant sauce. We’re big fans of bread – especially when it’s fresh and hot – and we ultimately had to ask for a second basket – it was that yummy.

We started with an appetizer of baked Camembert with caramelized endive. The Camembert was a whole wedge, not just a few slices. The sweet endive nicely contrasted with the soft salty cheese, all of which was eaten on a triangle of crusty toast (yes, more bread!)

For our main courses, my companion ordered a drum fish in a mustard sauce with pureed potatoes. She was in heaven. It was even better than the fish we ate at Dag al Ha Dan (see my mention here during our recent trip to the North).

As I mentioned before, I went with my favorite pasta – ravioli. At 1868, the dish was stuffed with pesto and enveloped by a butternut squash sauce. My first reaction was that it wasn’t as flavorful than the (less expensive) ravioli I had at Caffit, nor was it cooked quite as al dente, but it slowly grew on me, turning spicier with each bite. A dollop of sour cream on the top added to the variety of tastes.

Unlike Caffit, the portions at 1868 are much smaller and this time we didn’t have to fight back the urge to order dessert. We were rewarded with two hot brownies with a peanut butter mousse and homemade vanilla ice cream. It was the elegant restaurant version of a Reese’s peanut butter cup, albeit with a swirl of raspberry sauce on the side. Now we were satisfied.

The bill came to NIS 220 ($63), slightly more than at Caffit which also included two glasses of wine. Was it worth the extra amount? The pasta was equivalent, but the fish excelled. Next time, maybe I’ll opt for something other than ravioli!

1868, by the way, gets its name from the building where the meat restaurant is located – it was built in 1868.

Ever since I started going out for my falafel with my friend Bob, there’s been one unspoken rule: neither of us will patronize Falafel Oved without the other. It’s OK to go to another falafel stand, just not the one where we have our weekly date.

That hasn’t been hard to follow. In general, I’m not in the mood for more than one filling falafel a week anyway, despite my abiding appreciation of Falafel Oved’s compelling concoction of fresh onions, garlic sauce and spicy schug all wrapped up in a warm fresh laffa and served with fresh balls of deep fried humous (I’m getting hungry just writing this).

But when my wife Jody recently needed a night off from cooking, we started to look at our options. We could go out to eat, but that was expensive. For a family of five, it’s hard to get away for under 300 shekels even if we forego the soft drinks and appetizers.

Take out food can get pricy too. Our favorite, the Chinese noodles with beef and chicken from Soya, tops out at over 100 shekels. Even pizza comes in at 75 shekels depending on the topping.

The cheapest alternative by far is falafel. At 11 shekels for a pita sandwich, we can feed our whole family for 55 shekels. That’s how Thursday evening got to be Falafel Night in the Blum household.

But where to go? Falafel Oved was off limits. We tried Falafel Bis which I wrote about before. Despite the multi-colored flavored falafel balls and fried garlic sticks, the overall experience is still mostly muddled and not on the same level as Falafel Oved.

Next we tried Melech Ha Falafel (the Falafel King) – the balls were pretty tasty but the establishment was a car schlep away and the pita sandwiches topped out at an expensive 17 shekels each.

After trying the competition and assiduously avoiding Oved, we finally gave in. Why not go for the best? Jody sent me up the street to break with tradition.

It was after 6:00 PM when I got to Falafel Oved. There were several people already ahead of me in the line. A solitary worker was trying to man several stations – making up sandwiches, refilling the salad and pickle bins, and boiling up fresh falafel balls, all the while cradling an endlessly ringing cell phone under his ear. He also didn’t seem in much of a rush to serve.

The line behind me grew. The man at the front of the counter had ordered 5 pitas for his work. The next man did the same. A woman who I hadn’t noticed suddenly appeared and announced that she was “after him,” a typical Israeli behavior that still drives me nuts. How is it fair that I have to wait in line while the other person simply saves her place and then is free to run errands, confident that the system will not exile her to the end of the line when she returns?

Another woman tried to cut in front of me. “There’s a line,” I hissed at her. Nevertheless, when I had nearly reached the front, the falafel man served her before me. Was that another unspoken Israeli rule? Ladies first? If so, I never heard of it.

The falafel man continued to move at a snail’s pace. By this time I had been standing in the line nearly 45 minutes.

“I’ve never waited so long for falafel,” a man behind me complained. I nodded in silent agreement. This falafel had better be good.

Finally it was my turn. I looked down at the counter. The pita bag was empty. “More’s on the way,” the falafel man assured me. “I just don’t know when.”

My frustration reaching a crescendo, I turned and stormed away, falafel-less and miserable. As I began the short walk home, I called Jody and told her of my experience.

“Maybe you can buy bagels?” she suggested.

“No,” I practically yelled into the phone. “I’m done standing in lines. I’m coming home.”

And then I hung up on her. I truly didn’t know what to expect when I arrived at our apartment. A room full of grumpy children? A quick omelet cooked up in the microwave? Fortunately, 17-year-old Amir was more resourceful than I’d given my family credit for. What do you want on your pizza, he asked in a cheery voice.

The pizza was fine, good even. I had onions and Bulgarian cheese. No one went hungry. But I couldn’t help feeling that I had just been subjected to the Curse of Bob. We had agreed never to eat at Falafel Oved without the other. The one time I try, they run out of pitas before I can fill up for my family. Never again, I vowed.

The next week, Bob and I went out for our weekly pilgrimage to the god of fried humous. The falafel was great as always. On the following Thursday, we bought fried chicken from the nearby “Shnitzi.”

I haven’t gone back to Falafel Oved without Bob. I doubt that I ever will. When it comes to falafel and friends, loyalty comes first.

The one drawback to traveling in Israel during hol ha moed – the intermediary days of the Pesach holiday that ended two weeks ago – is the traffic. Everyone is on the roads and you have to anticipate long delays. Trying to figure out the fastest, least congested route is a national sport in which we dutifully engaged during our recent trip to the north of the country. The same is true of Yom Ha'atzmaut - Israel Independence Day (today).

Getting out of Jerusalem was our first challenge. We headed out of Baka where we live past Liberty Bell Park to take King David Street. But when we got there, the road was closed. Police were directing travelers through the center of town which is jammed even on a good day. Some dignitary was staying at the King David Hotel – was it Jimmy Carter or Condoleezza Rice? We never found out.

Half an hour later we finally made it out of the city and headed towards the Dead Sea to high tail it up the Jordan Valley road where we knew traffic would be sparse. On the way up, we stopped at Gan Garoo, a lovely little zoo featuring kangaroos and koala bears. We somehow hoped that by delaying our travels by an hour we’d beat some of the mid-day throngs on the road.

When we got to the Zemach junction just past the city of Bet Shean, we had a decision to make – should we go left toward Tiberius or right along the eastern side of the Sea of Galilee? We’d already heard on the news that there were 45 minute delays getting into Tiberius so we decided to try what we hoped was the lesser traveled way.

And for a while we were right.

The traffic flowed normally for the first 30 minutes and we congratulated ourselves on a decision well made. And then, around Kibbutz Ein Gev, traffic slowed to a crawl. The 45 minutes we had avoided had been transferred to the other side of the lake.

Finally we cleared the jam and continued on our unimpeded way until – bam – we were stuck for another 45 minutes trying to make a left turn towards the Golan Heights at the T-Junction at the north end of the lake.

By now we had been delayed for an hour and a half and my patience was wearing thin. We had decided to take some back roads to our destination, hoping to avoid even more jams on the main road from Tiberius to Kyriat Shemona. But when we came to our turn off, a large sign proclaimed that the “bridge was out” on the road we wanted.

I finally lost it. Complaints spewed out of me like a water balloon unleashed on an unwitting bystander.

“Why did we take this way?” And: “This is a nightmare!” There were other choice expressions I won’t print in this family-oriented column.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” my wife Jody asked, attempting to temper my temper.

“We’re already there,” I sputtered in reply.

It was at that moment that Jody, with the impromptu wherewithal of a true tzadik, turned it all around.

“What would be the worst thing that could happen?” she asked the captive audience in our car. The kids immediately jumped in with responses.

Aviv: “that we would run out of gas.”

Merav: “that someone would have puked”

Me: “that I would have hit that car when I was trying to pass the truck.”

We all laughed. That’s all it took, a little reality check, and the heavy mood lifted as quickly as it had come crashing down

It took us 5 and a half hours for what should have been a 3.5 hour drive. But we got there, minutes before dinner. We settled into our rooms and hung out on the grass as the hot day faded. You can read about our next days in my previous post. All in all it turned out to be a fabulous vacation.

But the next time…I’m staying put at home until after hol ha moed.

During the recent hol ha moed post-Pesach vacation period, we had the opportunity to join our friends Debbie and Eliot for five days in the upper Galilee and Golan Heights. 8 families stayed at a field school just outside Kibbutz Snir, a 10-minute drive from Kyriat Shemona on Highway 99.  The nights were cool, perfect for sitting out on a lawn chair with friends.

The days, however, were anything but comfortable. A sharav hit Israel this hol ha moed, driving temperatures up to over 100 degrees during the day. So it was off to the water for us on our first day of the tiyul.

We started at Ein Tina, off Highway 918 in the Golan. Ein Tina comprises a 15-minute walk through water up to your belly in spots, then a short climb to what is known as a “waterfall” but actually consists of several draining pipes spewing water. Nevertheless, we all got soaked to cool down from the heat before returning the way we came. The only down side – and this was something we encountered throughout the trip – was that the place was packed with hundreds of hol ha moed merrymakers with the same idea.

After Ein Tina, we went kayaking. Along Highway 99, there are a number of kibbutzim offering kayaking; all of the go down the Hatzbani river. The starting point at Kibbutz HaGoshrim has the longest route, lasting about an hour and a half. We had bought discount tickets at the field school, which brought down the per person fee from NIS 75 to NIS 60 ($17.50).

There are two types of kayaks, neither of which are actually kayaks in the traditional sense. Both are made of inflated rubber. 14-year-old Merav went in a two-seater with her friend Adi while Jody, 10-year-old Aviv and I took the family kayak that can seat up to six. The rafting can be leisurely but during hol ha moed it’s more like bumper cars with kayaks constantly crashing into each other. There is a “challenge” route and a “family” – we chose the latter which included a few mild rapids. It was enormous fun with enough splashing to keep us cool.

For dinner our first night, we went to Dag al ha Dan, an iconic outdoor restaurant that is situated next to the Dan stream. Nearly everyone had the house specialty – Forel (a type of trout) – in different combinations – fried, grilled, filleted. The appetizers included smoked whitefish, pickled herring and creamy cucumber salad. The bill for 4 of us, including soft drinks and dessert, came to just over NIS 300 ($87).

The next day was still hot, so we started off by visiting the Breshit apple packing factory at the Marom HaGolan kibbutz, also in the Golan Heights. The factory (which is mostly indoors, shaded from the hot sun) demonstrates how the apples make their way via conveyor belts through a sudsy cleansing bath, are sorted by size and eventually are placed into the packages and palettes that end up in the local grocery store. The price for the tour is very reasonable – NIS 20 ($6) an adult, NIS 15 ($4) for kids.

From there, we ascended to one of the highest (and coolest) points in the Golan –the Ben Tal mountain where we picnicked and explored the Israeli bunkers that were used to repel the Syrian attack on the Heights in the 1973 Yom Kippur war. Ben Tal also sports a restaurant with the amusing name of Kofee Anan which means “coffee house in the clouds” in Hebrew but is also a play on words referring to the former head of the U.N.

After lunch, we drove down off the mountain to the Hula Lake (Agamon Hula in Hebrew) which is just off Highway 90. The Hula is famous as one of the main swamps drained by the pioneers, many of whom died from malaria. The valley has since been re-flooded to create a more ecologically appropriate environment and is known as Israel’s premiere bird sanctuary. We intended to rent bicycles tot circle the lake (a 2-hour ride) but because of the continuing heat, we opted instead to putter about in a 4 person motorized (and shaded) golf cart (the price at NIS 175 was less than renting 4 bikes).

That turned out to be great fun for the whole family as we let the kids each have their turn driving the cart (word of warning: Merav is going to be a terror when she gets her real driver’s license!) The Hula is a major stop on the migration path of great storks, though we didn’t see any on our journey.

On our final day we went for a morning hike to Nachal Iyun, also known as the Tanur (the oven), a nature reserve just outside of Metulla, an 8 minute drive north from Kiryat Shemona. Metulla is at the tip of a peninsula surrounded on three sides by Lebanon. Both Metulla and Kyriat Shemona have been repeatedly shelled by Hezbollah over the years.

The Tanur is reputedly the most beautiful walk in Israel. In order to do the hour and a half hike, you need two cars, one parked at either end. The walk itself goes through gorgeous canyons and wooded forests. There are three waterfalls along the way but depending on the rainfall that winter, in the late spring and summer the waterfalls may be “turned off.” In this case, farmers in Lebanon divert the water to use for irrigation. The walk is nevertheless quite lovely.

Our hike to the Tanur was on a Friday morning and for most of it, we were alone on the trail, a welcome respite from the crowds of earlier in the week (perhaps everyone was on the road home already or preparing for Shabbat?)

After our hike, we picnicked in the wooded area next to the parking lot (which conveniently sports an ice cream stand and lots of picnic tables). We then drove south about 15 minutes to reach the final destination of our 3 days in the north: The Manara Cliffs.

This popular tourist attraction includes a 10-minute cable car ride to the top of a towering mountain with stunning views of the entire area and a lovely little forest with a 400-meter circular trail. During hol ha moed there’s a jumping  playground set up for kids and regular musical performances.

Our kids opted not to take the cable car ride to the top with Jody and me. Instead they spent their time at the small enclosed bungee jumping area and on a fun toboggan ride that zips down the side of the mountain at breakneck speeds. The kids did that twice for NIS 25 ($7) each ride. The ride up to the top was NIS 90 ($26) per person. Like the Tanur, on a Friday afternoon, the Menara Cliffs attraction was mostly deserted which was truly fortunate; we had heard that during the week, the line for the cable car was over an hour!

Getting away from Jerusalem and up to the nature of the north was a well-deserved vacation. The scenery is spectacular. It’s not cheap nor close but worth the schlep and the expense. Don’t miss it on your next trip to Israel,

Contact info:

HaGoshrim Kayaking
http://www.zimmer.co.il/galil_lang.asp?Site_ID=338&lang=4&addstat=0
+972-4=681-6034

Hula Valley Bike and Golf Carts
http://www.parks.org.il/ParksENG/company_card.php3?CNumber=422020
+972-4-693-7069

Nachal Iyun - The Tanur
0+972-4-695-1519

Manara Cliffs
www.cliff.co.il
+972-4-690-5830

Our 16-year-old year old son Amir received his Tsav Rishon last week. That’s the letter the Israeli army sends out with the date a young man or woman must appear at the army's induction center for physical and mental testing. This visceral coming of age notice reminded me of the tenuousness of our existence here, along with the meaning and necessity of the Israel Defense Forces.

When our kids were just born, we hoped that by the time they reached army age, peace would have swept over our region and there’d be no need for a standing army. We knew that probably wouldn’t be the case, but we prayed for it nevertheless. Now, as we move towards the closing years of the first decade of the 21st century, peace seems more elusive than ever.

A few weeks ago, I watched the movie Saving Private Ryan for the first time. The film, directed by Steven Spielberg, is not the most recent depiction of the horrors of combat, but it is well known to be one of the most realistic. Saving Private Ryan depicts World War II, with brave U.S. GI’s fighting evil Nazis. I’d like to imagine that the battle scenes are antiquated and that today’s wars are more hi-tech and less gruesome. But the truth is, running up hills, hiding out behind bombed out buildings, sniping the bad guys and tossing grenades sounds exactly like our soldiers’ experience in the Second Lebanon War. Times change, but war remains at some basic level more or less the same.

The world we live in now, of course, is no longer confronted by a single super power enemy. Terror is today’s primarily scourge and it is more random and loosely organized than anything we have experienced in the past. But as Amir prepares to enter the army, who’s to say he won’t be on the front lines fighting the Hamas army in Gaza or going house to house rooting out terrorists in the West Bank where, Condoleezza Rice’s shuttle diplomacy notwithstanding, protection by the IDF is more needed than ever.

At one point Amir said he was ready to join a combat unit to defend his country. He wouldn’t take one of those “cushy” non-fighting jobs, that was a cop-out, he declared. Who would have thought that our brainy son would have such patriotism?

More recently, though, he’s been inclined to try out for one of the computer units – maybe he could get into Talpiot or 8200 whose recruits sit behind monitors all day developing new hi-tech programs for the army. Or perhaps he could join Modi’in, the intelligence unit, which translates messages into Hebrew. His English is excellent and he took a few years of Arabic to boot.

Despite my fears, though, our imminent status change to becoming soldier parents fills me with a certain sense of pride. Isn’t that why we moved to Israel? To be in control of our own destiny as Jews and to not be at the whims of any other nation? The soldiers who defend those rights militarily allow the rest of us to benefit. Who am I to say otherwise?

And truth be told, most soldiers survive the army just fine. More people in Israel today are killed in traffic accidents than specific military action. Logic says that I shouldn’t worry…too much.

Still, I can’t imagine that the three years Amir is in active duty will be a piece of cake. I’ll be thankful every time he comes home for the weekend and anxiously wait for the next phone call home. Then, when his initial military service is over, there will only be ongoing reserve duty for the next 20 years to worry about!

These are not easy days for the State of Israel. Existential threats abound. Hamas has massed a well-trained army with hundreds of tons of smuggled explosives just around the corner, and the deceptively moderate Palestinian leadership in Ramallah seems to be perpetually teetering on the edge from this scandal or that. In Saving Private Ryan, director Spielberg may have thought he was depicting history. But reality has a way of catching up – and even surpassing – the big screen.

Let us pray that in the next year and a half until Amir is inducted, peace may still blossom and the dangers all around us will miraculously be lessened. And if not, our brave soldiers will fight to keep us safe. Including my son.

Last week, we ran out of hot water. Well, we didn’t actually run out. But through a convergence of bad luck, all our hot water heating devices broke down simultaneously, leaving us hot waterless with Shabbat coming and five Blums needing to take their pre-sundown showers.

Now, I’m sure a “real” Israeli family would just suck it up and plunge feet first into the icy water. But we’re more weenies than sabras. Maybe if we’d served in the army we’d be tougher. But 16-year-old Amir’s still a year and a half away from that and his father was never called up.

We had to figure out a solution…and fast.

First some history. What happened is this: We generally use our gas heater which gives us instantaneous hot water for as long as we want.

The gas heater wasn’t broken but it was getting temperamental. So we called the gas heater repair people. A mild mannered repairperson named Alon arrived on Wednesday and began taking our unit apart. He quickly found the problem. The gas jets were old and needed to be replaced. He wanted to take the troublesome part with him.

But how will we take showers on Thursday? I asked. Don’t worry, Alon replied. I’ll have it back to you tomorrow morning.

Trusting immigrant that I am, I let him walk off with our ailing jets. On Thursday morning, a secretary from gas company called. The man who fixes the jets wasn’t in today. They could only have it back to us on Friday.

While inconvenient, we always had Plan B. Now, nearly every apartment in Israel has a dud shemesh – a solar water heater. In a country where unleaded gasoline was only mandated a few years ago, it’s one of the few environmentally friendly innovations Israel has implemented, and one that makes sense in a country which has sunny cloudless days 9 months out of the year.

The only problem was that it was winter and cloudy. The sun peeked through enough to give us one shower’s worth of warm, not hot, water.

Off we went to Plan C: we have an electric heater which boils the water on exactly these kinds of cloudy days. We flipped the switch and waited an hour. Nothing. We waited another hour. Still no hot water. We called the electrician. He came and said we needed to call a plumber. The plumber was booked.

The last time I took a cold shower was when I was traveling in Thailand 11 years ago. The days were 105 degrees with 200% humidity. This was not one of those times.

So to summarize our story so far: we had no gas, no solar and no electric heat. It was precisely at this moment of bleak realization that the gas people called back. The jet fixer wasn’t coming in today either. And since they don’t work on Shabbat, Sunday was the earliest they could repair our unit. And, the secretary added, it might not work at all in which case they’d be glad to sell us a brand new unit for the low price of $1500.

I started to scream into the phone. “This is unacceptable,” I wailed. “You’re leaving us without hot water for 4 days. What kind of customer service is this?”

For some reason I thought raising my voice was the proper Israeli response. After all, it works in the supermarket and at the falafel stand.

The secretary didn’t blink (well I don’t think she did, it was over the phone). “You have no choice,” she said in a calm monotone. “Sunday, that’s the best I can do.”

It was a long cold Shabbat, but when Sunday finally arrived, the gas guy came with the fixed part. We weren’t so lucky with the plumber. It took him a week to figure out that the wires weren’t connected properly on our dud.

I’d like to say that our frustrating experience was typically Israeli. But I’ve heard from friends overseas that dealing with plumbers and electricians and gas repairmen can be trying no matter where you are in the world.

In any case, hot water finally flows freely in our house. It may take a little longer to cool down from our heated tempers. Next time all the hot water heating options break down simultaneously, though…I’m flying to Thailand.

Several years ago in this column I bemoaned the paucity of sushi bars in holy city. In 10 Reasons I Still Love Jerusalem, I wrote that the only thing lacking in Israel’s capital was good sushi.

No more. Jerusalem has been overrun by sushi establishments in recent months. And unlike Tel Aviv (and the rest of the world), they’re nearly all kosher. There’s Gong, Domo, Yoja, the Sushi Bar on Rehov Aza,  the venerable  Sakura (which years ago used to be kosher but isn’t anymore),  Yakimonotoo at the David Citadel Hotel and the sushi take out at Soya.

And now to add to the plethora, here comes Tamago, a new minimalist kosher sushi restaurant set in a classic Templar building that was formerly an architectural firm on Emek Refaim Street.

I say minimalist because Tamago’s menu contains only two kinds of sushi: salmon and tuna. There are plenty of different combinations: rolls, maki, nigiri, inside out, but no yellowtail, halibut or snapper.

Tamago’s décor is similarly sparse – glossy red tables and black matte chairs with a few plain Japanese mats decorating the walls. It is not a space that encourages boisterous conversation though by the time we ordered our food, the place was filling up with sushi-loving families and contemplative young couples.  

My companion and I started with two bowls of soup – a miso and a bowl of ramen noodles with salmon. Both tasted pretty much the same which is to say fairly bland, though the chunks of salmon in the ramen soup were a surprising addition to a traditional Japanese staple. The miso was fairly standard with chunks of tofu and little scallions.

For the main course, we ordered a variety of sushi: salmon nigiri, inside out tuna teriyaki, and a caterpillar salmon roll which was the most interesting: alternating salmon and avocado wrapped around rice with more salmon and avocado inside.

Despite the spartan offerings, the sushi was quite tasty; the nigiri was particularly fresh and nearly melted in our mouths. There are two cooked fish dishes on the menu – yes, one salmon and one tuna. Vegetable tempura is also available.

Tamago is on the inexpensive side: with plates ranging between NIS 19 ($5.50) and NIS 42 ($12). Our meal for two (not including sake) came to NIS 127 ($37). While not fabulous, the restaurant is certainly convenient to southern Jerusalemites and is the best on the block (beating out Yoja’s sorry sushi and Soya’s straight-from-the-fridge take out).

One more point to note that gives Tamago its own uniqueness: the staff is entirely religious. That’s not so unusual in a city like Jerusalem, but sushi bars have generally been run by secular Israelis with imported Japanese chefs. At Tamago, everyone behind the counters – including the Japanese sushi chef – were wearing kippot.

Tamago Sushi is at 48 Emek Refaim Street. Open from noon until midnight except Fridays. 077-515-0140.

Motorists in Jerusalem have for several months now been stuck in severe traffic jams while traveling near or through the city center. That’s unfortunate, though not entirely unintentional, explains Marc Render, partner and co-founder of AmAv, a transportation planning consultancy that has been actively involved in designing traffic pattern changes in the Jerusalem area.

The problem, says Render, is that the timing for modifications to the city’s traffic flow and the new mass transit system aren’t in synch. Traffic lanes once dedicated to cars are now reserved for buses and the light rail system, but the trolleys and high density buses aren’t running yet. When they are, it will still be difficult for cars to reach the center of town, but there will be attractive mass transit alternatives.

Why was the timing so poor? We asked Amnon Elian, Community Relations Officer for the Jerusalem Transport Master Plan Team, who basically shrugged his shoulders. “We have to start somewhere,” he told In Jerusalem. “Otherwise it’s just talking. We admit that it’s not ideal the way we’re doing it now. It’s frustrating for us as well. But there’s no way we can do it all in one go. We are initiating a transportation revolution. This is a mega project that will take years.”

When the new transit design eventually comes online, Jerusalem is set to see some major changes in its bus system, affecting nearly every line in the city. The current system, in place for decades now, of local bus lines feeding into Jaffa Road downtown and ultimately passing by the Central Bus Station will effectively end.

Jerusalemites will instead be required to transfer between feeder routes in the outlying neighborhoods and the main high speed trunk lines – the red line light rail system that travels from Pisgat Ze’ev to Kyriat HaYovel via the center of town, and the blue line “busway” which is already mostly in place and bisects the city, running from Gilo in the south to Ramot in the north by way of the Har Hotzvim industrial zone. North south running buses in the busway won’t turn onto Jaffa Road either. A major transfer point at the corner of King George and Jaffa will enable travelers to continue their journey.

This is the first time such a hierarchical system has been tried in Israel, though it’s commonplace in other parts of the world, Render says, particularly in Europe. And the results are faster travel times. Render gives Pisgat Ze’ev as an example. “Would you rather take a local bus that slowly winds in and out of neighborhoods on its way downtown, or transfer from a feeder route to a high speed line that has travels in its own lane and gets you to the city center 15-20 minutes quicker?”

Not all local buses will be transformed into feeder lines. In Talpiot, for example, the 7 line will travel through the neighborhood as it does now, then join the busway on Derech Hebron for the rest of its journey into town – though not turning to head towards the Central Bus Station as it does today.

Render says he already avoids taking his personal car downtown from his office in Talpiot. Instead, he drives to the free Liberty Bell Park parking lot and jumps on one of the frequent buses that travel via the busway, thus shaving off traffic time and parking costs.

The first of the changes to Jerusalem’s bus system were set to begin on February 24. A new 74 express line will travel from Har Homa up the busway to the center of town. Another new line, the 66, will act as a feeder in Pisgat Ze’ev. The old number 5 bus has been reestablished and will run from the Central Bus Station through the Talpiot Industrial Zone ending in Har Homa. The 21 line will now run from Ramat Sharett to Givat HaMatos by way of Emek Refaim, replacing the number 14 bus. Finally, the venerable 6 line has been rerouted to connect Pisgat Ze’ev and the Malcha shopping mall by way of the Begin highway.

In addition, buses will be rerouted downtown to give work crews room to lay tracks on Jaffa Road, currently scheduled to begin on April 27. Buses traveling from the Central Bus Station will now head east past the Mahane Yehuda marketplace, then turn left at Strauss and right on Nevi’im. Buses heading the other way, will turn right on Strauss and left on Nevi’im. Riders from the periphery – Ma’aleh Adumim, Givat Ze’ev, Bet Shemesh, Mevesseret Zion and Betar Illit – will now either end their trips in the center of town or at the Central Bus Station, requiring a transfer to continue on.

“It’s going to be a big mess,” Render says, “because almost every bus route in the city goes on Jaffa Road.”

Once in place, the new system will include a transfer ticket mechanism so that riders don’t have to pay twice. Currently 39 percent of all trips are made by Egged’s unlimited ride monthly pass. 40 percent use the multi trip punch card (“cartisia” in Hebrew) while only 12 percent pay cash. Daily tickets will also be offered when the new system is in place.

Jerusalem has been quite bold in its transportation planning policy, Render says. It wasn’t always this way. Render was involved in the original Jerusalem Area Master Plan. Back then, budgets were tight and vision was short. Render points out that the Begin Highway was originally conceived as one lane in each direction with traffic lights along the way, rather than how it turned out – a four-lane expressway with onramps and offramps and state of the art interchanges.

The light rail system is ultimately intended to comprise 8 different lines. Only one has been built so far with another two in the planning stages. “We have a planning budget but the routes have not been decided yet,” Community Relations Officer Elian told us.

But it’s the busway that’s gotten a lot of the flack. Lanes for cars have been redirected to buses only from Derech Hebron up through Keren Hayesod Street and King George, across Jaffa Road and through Geula and Mea Shearim to the Har Hotzvim industrial zone. Monumental traffic jams now exist along all these routes at peak times of the day.

High density buses will run in the busways. In practice this means the current articulated double buses, though some three part buses may be added in the future. Bus stops along the busway will also be hi-tech, indicating how long until the next bus arrives. Busway buses will be tracked by satellite GPS. The goal is to make public transit a viable alternative.

If taking your car downtown becomes less comfortable, where will riders park to take the new transit lines? Three “park and ride” lots are planned. The first, at Mount Herzl with 530 spaces, is ready to go. “In Israel, the fact that we have even one parking lot waiting for the public is a dream come true,” muses Elian. A second, intended for drivers coming from out of town, will be built by the new Road 9 near Ramat Shlomo. The third is planned for the Ramat Eshkol area.

The existing parking lot at Binyamei HaUma will also be doubled, providing drivers from Tel Aviv with a convenient transfer point to the light rail. All of these lots are intended to be open when the light rail is done in 2010.

Even when the new system is in place, though, some buses will still run direct from the neighborhoods to downtown. For example, the 31 and 32 routes from Gilo and Ramot will be rerouted to travel on Agrippas Street, affording better access to the shuk.

Was there any consideration given to the desirability of bus travel in an age of suicide bombers? Render turns philosophical for a moment. “Our whole existence in this country is not logical. My attitude is that you have to assume that life here could be normal and that problems will be temporary. The light rail will have all kinds of security systems including camera.”

Elian is less prosaic. “We are working actively with the police and the army to deal with security. A lot of thought has been invested. This is part of our work.”

Render points out that in the U.S., passengers also avoided public transportation for security reasons – in that case crime. Authorities responded and now “public transit use in the U.S. has been going up every year for the last five years.”

With bus fares steadily rising, is there a point when the price will simply be too high? Render says that studies show “the least sensitive factor affecting ridership is price. People are much more concerned with reliability, comfort and speed of travel. That’s important data, because if there’s more money coming into the system, it’s better to use that money to provide more frequent service than to reduce the price. Conversely, if you have a budget problem, it’s better to raise fares than cut back on frequency.”

Render’s firm AmAv was founded in 1992 and has worked on hundreds of projects in Israel from Haifa to Eilat as well as in Eastern Europe and Africa. Render has a master’s degree in urban planning and made aliyah from Chicago in 1978. Elian also has a background in urban planning and has been the official spokesperson for the Jerusalem Mass Transit system for 7 years.

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This article originally appeared in The Jerusalem Post's In Jerusalem section. The link is here.

When I woke up on the second morning of the biggest snowstorm Jerusalem’s seen for 20 years this week, nine-year-old Aviv was sitting on the couch in his pajamas watching cartoons on the TV. Outside in the courtyard of our apartment complex I could hear the happy squeals of children throwing snowballs, building snowmen and generally frolicking in the white blanket that had temporarily obliterated the comforting Jerusalem stone that gives the city its unique character.

“Aviv,” I said cheerily. He looked up from his TV show. “Don’t you want to get dressed and go play in the snow like the other kids?”

Aviv shrugged a shoulder, that classic Israeli kid body language meaning go away.

“The snow is melting, Aviv,” I continued, noting that the sky was a brilliant blue. “It won’t last all day. You should go out now, take advantage of it while you can.”

Aviv continued to stare at the television, barely registering my entreaties. Which led me to wonder: How did I raise such a snowper-pooper?

Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the beauty of snow, I do. It’s very pleasant to look at…from a distance. But up close, it’s just so darn inconvenient. Especially in Jerusalem where everything shuts down. Completely.

In other locations around the world, a little snow means you might have to drive a little slower or put chains on your car tires. In Jerusalem, the city is paralyzed. Schools are closed. Supermarkets don’t receive deliveries. Bus service is canceled. Even the trendy new Waffle Bar in our neighborhood was shut tight. I mean, what more could you want than a hot caramel and whip cream covered waffle on a cold snowy night, but no…

For me, the effect of the snow was more immediate. I had been scheduled to participate in a 3 day seminar this week. I had been looking forward to it for some time, but when the news predicted snow, I began to get anxious. How would I get to the seminar if the roads were closed? If I could, where would I park? And would there be heat in the seminar room if the temperature outside dropped to sub-zero?

The seminar, needless to say, was postponed until the following week.

People don’t expect snow in Jerusalem. With its baking hot summers and close proximity to stunning desert moonscapes, it’s easy to forget the city is perched on the top of a mountain, at an elevation of 2500 feet. The weather can be bitterly cold in winter; this most recent snowstorm dumped 12 cm of the white stuff on the holy city.

My worst snow experience in Israel by far was several years ago. It was during the time I was working in Tel Aviv. I needed to get back home but as I set out from my office, the news was reporting that the main highway to Jerusalem was closed. The only alternative was Highway 443 which runs through the West Bank – it’s a road we tend to avoid at night as there have been a few well publicized terrorist shootings. But it was the only way home.

As I approached the summit near Givat Ze’ev, the snow became thicker and visibility dropped to just a few inches. Cars were skidding off the road (particularly dangerous because that stretch of 443 is essentially on the edge of a cliff). The sides of the road were lined with people who’d gotten out of their non-functional vehicles and were actually walking in the meter high snow drifts, where to I don’t know. There was a bus turned over on its side.

I got on the cell phone with Jody and she talked me through three hours of the most treacherous driving I’ve ever experienced. There were times when other drivers whose vehicles had already skidded into oblivion physically guided my car when I could neither see nor steer. I was so traumatized I didn’t go back to work for the rest of the week.

So if Aviv wants to spend the day vegetating in front of the boob tube rather than joining the snow patrol outside, how could I fault him? He’s only got his father to blame.

When is a chair not just a chair? When it becomes a metaphor for a personal obsession with seeking perfection.

It started innocently enough. I bought an expensive new office chair to soothe my aching back. I sit in front of my computer up to 10 hours a day so I figured I’d be well served by sitting in something more suitable than the $50 chair I’ve been using for the past 10 years.

I’d had my eye on the Herman Miller Aeron chair for years, since they were a status symbol in hip dot.coms. The Aeron is an eye-catcher, made of a knitted plastic material called Pellicle that allows air to flow through the seat and back. There are various adjustments to support the lower back and the chair rocks back and forth in natural motion. On the Internet, the chair receives nothing but accolades from customers who have bought one. So when we visited a Dr. Gav store recently and they had a floor model for sale at a discount, Jody and I made an impulse decision. We purchased it.

Now, when I tried it in the store it wasn’t as comfortable as I’d imagined after everything I’d heard and read calling the Aeron “the most comfortable ergonomic chair ever designed.” But I figured I just had to get used to it. The Aeron arrived a few days later and I started to use it.

The discomfort continued. The lower back support pressed in too hard. The seat depth was too great, causing it to jut into my knees.

I debated what to do. I made up my mind that the Aeron, despite all my expectations, was just not the chair for me. I went back to the Dr. Gav store. As is typical in Israel, they wouldn’t give me my money back but they would exchange it. I tried another chair called the Controller. It was made of soft leather, had a high back and felt much more comfortable than the Aeron. Despite all the positive feedback on Herman Miller’s signature office chair, I decided to swap it for the Controller.

I got it home. Half a day later, my back was killing me. The Controller angled me in such a way as to hurt not my lower back but my mid-range back. The arm rests were too stiff. The rocker put pressure on my thighs.

I looked online again. No one had anything but positives to say about the Controller. I started second guessing myself: maybe I shouldn’t have gotten rid of the Aeron after all. Maybe I should swap it again for something else – a massage chair, a mattress - and give up on the whole office chair idea completely.

Or maybe it wasn’t the chair but was me? How could I be so miserable over two of the highest rated chairs in the industry? I went to my therapist to discuss my chair trauma.

My therapist listened patiently to my complaints then shared her view. I was looking for the perfect chair, she said. The problem was, no such thing exists. Indeed, there is no perfect anything. Life is made up of a series of trade offs. The back might be softer on one chair, the tilt better on another. The happiest people, she suggested, are those who can actually revel in ambivalence.

What my therapist was saying resonated. It was more than the chair I realized. My obsession with perfection is deeply ingrained. I get easily disappointed. When I go out for a meal and order a dish that isn’t the best there can be, I get depressed. On our recent trip to New York, when we went to the theater, I kept wondering if the show we had chosen not to see would have been more enjoyable. I even get upset if I didn’t get a perfect night of sleep.

How did I get this way? My therapist said it’s not uncommon for someone who suffered during childhood to develop this kind of reaction as an adult. And I certainly suffered: I grew up fat and lonely. I had few friends; kids at school taunted me, they kicked and hit me. A coping mechanism children like me develop, my therapist explained, is a view that when they grow up, everything will finally be perfect. It’s a way of staving off the void of depression that would otherwise overwhelm a difficult childhood.

I eventually grew out of it, slimming down by my teens. But now, as an adult, that need for perfection I developed as a kid has kicked in big time, just like my therapist said. And it’s not serving me well.

My therapist suggested I try to transform my chair experience into a corrective activity that could help turn around this negative obsessive way of thinking. In Hebrew, it’s called a tikkun – fixing something that’s broken. If I could accept the chair as a real, naturally flawed object, with all the trade offs that entails, and stop my perfection-seeking script, I might be able to break the cycle in other areas as well.

I resolved to work with the chair. No more thinking about returning it or second-guessing or regrets. I had to learn to live with it. Only by making peace with the chair and the metaphor that it represented in my twisted psyche could I hope for some sort of peace.

It’s been several weeks since I decided to keep the chair. Is it perfect? Not by any means. My back still hurts, but less so, as I’ve given in and allowed myself to get used to it. I can see its benefits, and it’s certainly better than the $50 chair I was using before. I haven’t broken my obsession with perfection yet. But I’m hopeful that the longer I sit, there may be something for which, eventually, I can stand up and cheer.

Last Thursday, my wife Jody and I roused ourselves out of bed at the ungodly hour of 4:50 AM in order to arrive at Ben Gurion Airport, not for a trip to some exotic destination, but in time to greet an El Al flight of 191 new immigrants making aliyah to Israel. The process was inspirational and exhilarating. We were among more than 500 similarly minded Israelis who came to cheer, applaud and otherwise show their support for the new arrivals.

It made me think back to our own family’s aliyah. My, how times have changed.

When we arrived in Israel almost 13 years ago in October, 1994, we were the only new immigrants on the plane. We told our flight attendant about our exciting new status and she merely shrugged her shoulders in a typically Israeli way (shades of things to come) while muttering a muted mazel tov. There was no one at the airport to greet us. No flag waving. No enthusiastic hordes.

Instead we scrambled like everyone else to be first through passport control, then made our way upstairs to a cavernous hall that had been built to handle a plane load or two of Russians all arriving together. We had, in fact, been worried that we might come at the same time as a Russian aliyah flight and get stuck for hours in immigrant processing. Instead, we were shown into a small room where a perfunctory clerk stamped our papers and gave us our teuda oleh and temporary immigrant passports.

Flash forward 13 years. New immigrants from North America now fly together on a plane designated just for them where Ministry of the Interior officials walk up and down the aisles completing all of the paperwork from tablet computers.

Upon arrival, the new immigrants walk between two lines of cheering crowds waving flags, holding up hand decorated signs and otherwise keeping up a remarkable amount of energy for so early in the morning. It reminded me of the “Shalom Kita Aleph” ceremony for first graders entering elementary school…only this time with adults.

The front rows of the two lines were reserved for a cadre of army soldiers; behind them were a gaggle of religious seminary girls wearing blue and white who’d painted their faces with Israeli flags and “I love Israel” in little hearts. A big bearded man blew a shofar as each busload of immigrants disembarked. A live band (well, a guy with a keyboard) played “Heveinu Shalom Aleichem” over and over. The arriving immigrants looked overwhelmed by all the attention after a 12-hour mostly sleepless flight.

Among the new immigrants on this flight was our cousin David Gilbert, a radio news reporter who, after nearly 8 years living in Israel as a tourist, finally took the plunge to become a full-fledged Israeli citizen.

Once inside the arrivals hall, there was a large stage set up in front of the baggage claim conveyer belts for speeches. Dignitaries included representatives from various government ministries; Elazar Stern, the head of the army’s manpower unit; Danny Ayalon, former Israeli ambassador to the U.S.; and Tal Brody, who years ago was a star basketball player for the Maccabi Tel Aviv basketball team and remains one of the best known North American immigrants to Israel.

The hoopla was choreographed by Nefesh b’Nefesh, an aliyah organization that has had a remarkable track record in boosting immigration from North America and the U.K. This was Nefesh b’Nefesh’s 31st chartered flight, the 18th of 2007. All together, Nefesh b’Nefesh has brought over 13,000 immigrants to Israel since its establishment in 2002, nearly 3,000 alone this year, and an 80 percent increase in the past five years.

Last Thursday’s flight included 82 singles, 32 families with 25 children, 30 future IDF soldiers and a former ballerina for the Zurich Ballet who made aliyah from New York with her husband and two children. The youngest oleh in the group was 3 months old, the oldest was 96. The flight also included 6 dogs and 2 cats. Pictures taken by long time aliyah advocate Jacob Richman can be seen at http://www.jr.co.il/pictures/israel/history/2007/a260.htm.

Nefesh b’Nefesh, which was started by Rabbi Yehoshua Fass and businessman Tony Gelbart, has been instrumental in the dramatic increase of immigrants from the West. The Jewish Agency, however, disputes Nefesh b’Nefesh’s numbers, saying that immigration from North America actually dropped 7 percent this year and that aliyah from the U.K. is down 20 percent. The Agency claims that Nefesh b’Nefesh has deliberately inflated its immigration numbers to justify the group’s request for more funds from the state and from Jewish philanthropists. Nefesh b’Nefesh says it needs the money and claims to have a waiting list of some 20,000 Jews.

While North American aliyah may or may not be up, both sides agree with the Absorption Ministry which reports that the overall figures are down. In 2007, 19,700 immigrants arrived in the country, a decline of 6 percent from the previous year and the lowest number since 1989 after the wave of immigration following the fall of the Iron Curtain. The largest number of immigrants in 2007 still came from the former Soviet Union at 6,445. In second place was Ethiopia at 3,607. North America had 2,957 and France held strong at 2,659.

Israel’s total population is about 7 million. Approximately 118,000 people have moved to Israel from North America since the founding of the state, and over 1 million have come from the FSU.

Nefesh b’Nefesh certainly puts on a good show and makes for a comfortable and supportive landing. But new arrivals eventually have to move past immigration and deal with the “absorption” part of the process where, I’m afraid, no cheering crowds or speeches by well dressed dignitaries can properly prepare a new arrival for Israel’s plethora of crazy drivers, surly store clerks and questionable customer service.

But the fact that 191 new immigrants nevertheless chose this week to throw their lot in with the rest of us was good enough news for me – and reason to get out of bed in the wee hours of the morning.

We were driving home from a trip to attend a game of the new Israel Baseball League at Kibbutz Gezer near Ramle when we saw the flashing lights on the side of the highway. A policewoman was waving a lit flashlight/wand beckoning us to pull over. I knew it was just a spot check; from a distance they couldn’t possibly have seen me doing something wrong. I wasn’t speeding, my headlights were working fine. I half contemplated ignoring the policewoman.

My wife Jody didn’t think much of that idea. “You’ve got to pull over,” she said. “Now!”

I slowed down and made my way to the side of the road. By the time the car finally stopped, we were a fair distance from the police car and policewoman who slowly sauntered over to our 13-year-old Toyota Corolla.

“License and registration please,” the policewoman demanded curtly.

“Just play it cool,” Jody told me.

After a few minutes of examining my documents, the policewoman returned. “Please step out of the car, sir,” she said. This didn’t sound good. “Step back here,” she said, beckoning me to the rear of my vehicle. “A little further. Good, right there. Now, please, tell me your license place number.”

I read it out loud for my interrogator.

“No, I want you to read it,” she repeated.

I read the number again.

“I asked you if you can read the number?” she said again.

What, did she think I was illiterate? Was she checking up on the prescription of my glasses?

“Because I can’t read it,” the policewoman said, finally coming clean on her intentions. “You see, it’s covered.”

Now I was beginning to understand what she was getting at. A few days before, my friend Bob had been out riding his bike in the outskirts of Jerusalem and had gotten a flat tire. He asked me to bring his bike rack and come pick him up. I hadn’t bothered to remove the bike rack from the rear of the car. It was blocking the license plate from full view. So when the policewoman asked, I wasn’t actually reading the number but was reciting it from memory.

“Please wait here,” the policewoman said as she returned to her car, leaving me to wonder whether I was going to get hauled into jail for this infarction. Were they short on their quota of American freiers (the Hebrew for suckers) who stop for the police when they wave lit wands on the side of the road?

I stood by my car for what must have been 20 minutes while the policewoman and her cohort in the car diddled with whatever wireless machinery they have to communicate with the database at headquarters. Finally she returned.

“I’m going to have to give you a ticket,” she said.

“But, but…it’s not even my bike rack. I was borrowing it from a friend,” I sputtered.

“What, you want I should give the ticket to your friend?” she replied, for the first time cracking a wan smile.

No, that wouldn’t be very neighborly.

“Anyway, it’s just a warning. No points or fine,” she said, lessening the blow.

She asked me to sign the ticket and then I was allowed to get back in my car.

“You handled that very well,” Jody said to me, taking my hand as I prepared to pull out.

At that point, the policewoman returned and knocked on my window. I rolled it down. What was it going to be this time?

“You might want to take the bike rack off and put it in the trunk,” she offered, adding with a wink “Maybe another cop will pull you over and they won’t be as nice as me.”