Jacob’s Ladder is my favorite weekend of the year.

Indie rock discovery: Jenny & Gilad

Located at the picturesque Kibbutz Nof Ginosar, on the banks of the Sea of Galilee, the festival is billed as “a unique bluegrass, folk, country, blues, Irish and world music extravaganza.” It is in equal parts a chance to catch up with old friends in a laid back atmosphere that encourages camping and potlucks, and an opportunity to hear music by both world class performers and emerging bands who may just be the next big thing.

Jacob’s Ladder began as an “Anglo Festival,” started by Menachem and Yehudit Vinegrad who made aliyah in 1967 and missed the folk scene from back home. The festival has evolved considerably, growing from 700 attendees at the first gathering to well over 3,000 today.

The demographics have grown too. The once Anglo majority has been displaced by Israelis – I heard far more Hebrew than English – including a large contingent of teenagers and twenty-somethings (many the children and even grandchildren of Anglos) who grew up at Jacob’s Ladder over the years.

I may be reading into it, but the younger population also seems to have influenced the music – high energy rock and roll and world music is much more prevalent than in years past; even the Irish/Scottish Bodhran Band rocks out…with bagpipes. The presence of Shmemel, an Israeli ensemble combining wailing electric guitars, a full brass section (saxophone, trombone and trumpet – think Blood Sweat and Tears or early Chicago) with rap, funk and the occasional klezmer, had the outdoor dance floor packed.

All that is good news for me: I love the festival but have never been a big bluegrass or country music fan. So my personal music discoveries included a number of unsung indie rockers who I’d like to see gain more exposure.

My top pick: a singer-songwriting duo who go by the simple name of Jenny & Gilad. write their own music in English and Hebrew and perform with lovely harmonies. The overflow audience went wild like hardcore fans, especially impressive given that the two don’t even have a CD out (“we’re working on it,” they pleaded).

Also on my list of show favorites were Omri Vitis – an Israeli with a voice reminiscent of Gordon Lightfoot who has spent the last 12 years in the U.K. and belts out folk-tinged rock influenced by Native American tribal beats; the bespectacled Erez Singer whose happy clappy upbeat pop songs sound like another Israeli who croons in English, Shy Nobleman; and The Love Birds whose lead singer Efrat Kolberg occasionally channels the Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde.

Here’s a clip of Erez Singer:

Another element to the evolution of Jacob’s Ladder is the number of religious people who spend Shabbat listening to electrified music. A minyan set up overlooking the water was attended by more than 50 people. You could hear the sounds of the Friday evening kiddush being said all over the campgrounds.

Pulling off a festival of this size and complexity takes the full time attention of the Vinegrads – I’ve written about the “business” of Jacob’s Ladder previously – but it pays off and attendees respond in kind: you can leave your chairs and blankets on the main lawn and no one will steal them, smoking is now prohibited at the concerts; and after the show, everyone pitches in to clean up, leaving the kibbutz nearly as clean as it was beforehand.

But maybe the best part: after the final performance Saturday afternoon, our friends have a tradition – we all head to the beach, pull our plastic chairs into the shallow part of the lake, and dip our toes as the coolness of the water mitigates a hot and sometimes muggy day.

I can’t wait until next year.

Poster advertising Laizy's appearance in Jerusalem

For its three season run, I was hooked on the Israeli TV drama Srugim. The program told the tale of four religious (and one formerly religious) young Israelis living in Jerusalem’s singles-centric Old Katamon neighborhood, affectionately known as the “swamp.”

The show won praise from both religious and secular society – the latter were captivated by its realistic portrayals of a “hidden” slice of an Israeli demographic they knew little about, while the former cringed but stayed glued to the tube for the way Srugim touched subjects often painfully close to home, much like thirtysomething did for Yuppie Americans in the late 1980s.

So it was quite a treat to hear the show’s co-creator Laizy Shapira speak about the show this week as part of a lecture series sponsored by the Ginot Ha’ir Community Council in Jerusalem. The lecture also coincided with the release of the third and final season of the show on DVD including English subtitles.

Shapira is a charmer – personable, energetic and transparent in the best Israeli way (i.e., open but not too aggressive). It’s not hard to understand how he sold an initially skeptical television network on a show that defied stereotypes and embraced modesty (there’s sex but it’s mostly off screen). Srugim went on to win the top awards for a television drama at Israel’s version of the Emmy’s.

For a die-hard fan like me, some of the best moments of the talk were the insights into character development that only one of the show’s creators could share (warning: if you haven’t finished the show yet, spoilers ahead).

Q: Why did Amir and Yifat have such a tough first year of marriage? A: If you want to see a good marriage, watch your own wedding videos (“hopefully,” Shapira added).

Q: Why did Hodaya and Avri have to get back together, break up, and then only acknowledge their true love in the last scene of show? A: The dramatic tension between the two was all about the religious-secular divide which vanished once Hodaya left religion herself. But the fans (and ultimately the writers) demanded a happy ending.

Q: Why did Ro’i, who struggled with his sexual identity all through season two, have to turnharedi (ultra-Orthodox)? A: That subplot was too tragic to sustain itself indefinitely. The show’s writers decided they needed to resolve it. He either could have come out of the closet entirely or repressed himself by going frum. The latter seemed to give him more peace.

And the most important question: Why is Shapira voluntarily calling it quits, seemingly at the height of the show’s popularity? A: Srugim was all about the journey. Now that many of the characters have found closure, Shapira says “there’s nothing interesting left to tell.”

I’m not so sure about that. When I spoke with him after the presentation, Shapira noted that the writers scrutinized every word in the scripts, to make sure nothing came across as too far out. He then related a personal story.

Just before his own wedding a couple of years back, Shapira got hit in the eye by a hard candy hurled at him in synagogue, resulting in a huge shiner. He covered it up with make up (after all, he is in the business) but was concerned what people would say the next morning when he exited the bridal chamber with his face all black and blue!

That was a plot line that no one would have believed if it was in the show, Shapira joked; the kind of thing he was worried might creep into the scripts if the show edged past its proper expiration date. Maybe. But for 1,000+ members of the Srugim Facebook fan page, it would have been worth another season even full of bloopers like that.

But, hey, how about a spin off show? Look how well it worked for Joey from Friends…

I first spilled all the inside Srugim dirt on Israelity.

Fortunately we don't have to file taxes as in this picture from 1920 in the U.S.

For the 17 years that we have lived in Israel, we have been boy scouts when it comes to paying our U.S. taxes. We file our 1040s dutifully, even though there is rarely any tax to pay (we pay our 45% pound of flesh to the Israeli authorities and then the double taxation treaty with the U.S. keeps us in the clear).

That doesn’t mean it’s easy: this last year we became aware that we’d never filed two forms – one for foreign owned businesses (I have one) and the other a declaration of most of our personal assets. Neither have any tax implications – they’re for information only – but failure to file carries a $10,000/year penalty. It cost a small fortune to get into compliance – and even that wasn’t a sure thing.

So when I received a thick envelope from the IRS (the U.S. Internal Revenue Service) yesterday, my heart started to pound. If it was just a statement of acceptance – or even a refund! – that would have been a one-pager.

We were being audited.

The letter tried to reassure us that it was probably just a random selection and in all likelihood we’d be fine. There was no mention of the two forms I’d filed late, which was a relief. But it summoned us to an examination by telephone, which would probably take “two hours,” it said. We would also have to send in advance a vast number of documents – bank statements, checks, proof that our children were dependents during the period for which we were being audited – all in English.

Our bank statements, invoices and receipts are in Hebrew of course. The letter said these would all need to be re-written by a “certified” translator, one with an Internet site to verify his or her credentials (and prices). No Hebrew speaking buddy would be accepted. Thankfully, there was no requirement for notification, which can run a good $100 per page.

I was audited a couple of years back by the Israeli tax office. They sent two women to my home office and grilled me over my business expenses. I had to call my accountant several times during the examination in order not to make a costly gaffe with my spotty Hebrew. In that case, my file was closed and I was off the hook. Hopefully it will be the same way this time.

Have you ever been audited by the IRS? I would love to hear about your experience. Please leave your comments in the section below.

I first kvetched about being audited  yesterday on Israelity.

The beginning point of Emek Tzurim

File this one in the “who knew?” department.

During the intermediary days of Passover, my wife and I had the opportunity to join a guided tour through the Tzurim Valley that begins at the Mount Scopus campus of Hebrew University and ends at the Dung Gate entrance to the Old City, opposite the Western Wall. The route – more an easy walk than a hike – includes so many surprises, that it’s a wonder it isn’t on everyone’s Israeli traveling agenda (we’d never even heard of it).

Surprise number one: there is a blue and white marked trail that leads through a mostly untouched, Judean valley full of olive, oak and “Judas” trees and, at this time of year, red poppies and lots of greenery – not what you’d expect in the heart of East Jerusalem with its ever-present view of the glinting gold Dome of the Rock.

The trail leads past a “sifting tent” where rubble from the excavation of the Solomon’s Stables area of the Temple Mount has been transported to allow visitors to try their hand at archaeology-made-simple. Work by the Islamic Wakf to build a mosque where the Biblical-era Stables once stood caused an outcry in the archaeology community when the remains – full of Second Temple treasures – was found dumped outside the Old City walls.

In the sifting tent, the dirt is placed into raised containers to make it easier for families (there were many children) to poke through. We didn’t try our hand…there was much more to see.

Surprise number two: there is a gorgeous park situated midway along the path named after early Mormon leader, Orson Hyde, and built as part of the mid-1980’s deal that allowed for the creation of the Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies. A perfect place for picnicking, the park is large, lush and mostly deserted. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that.

Descending out of Tzurim Valley (a National Park since 1988) and into the Kidron Valley, we reached the Gethsemane Church and its adjacent gardens. The gardens are open free of charge from 9:00 AM – noon and then again from 2:00 PM until the sun sets.

Zechariah's Tomb

The concluding segment of the journey overlooks the Mount of Olives – not a surprise – but also a number of Jewish tombs – one for Absalom (the rebellious son of King David) and another for the prophet Zechariah, who in all likelihood is not actually buried there: Zechariah preached during the First Temple-era, but graves from that time are located on the western side of the Old City. The tomb itself is carved out of solid rock, much like Petra, although not as colorful or on as grand a scale.

Our tour – led by a Naomi Ehrlich, a charming, competent and occasionally outspoken Israeli tour guide – lasted about three hours, which included many stops for explanation and snacking. You can easily walk it in half the time and the path is well marked. Naomi offers the tours during the Passover and Sukkot holidays through the Jerusalem AACI (Association of Americans and Canadians in Israel).

Of course, if your politics prevent you from walking through East Jerusalem, you’ll have to forgo this extraordinarily beautiful and fascinating adventure. The Tzurim Valley Park itself is controversial (note the ongoing tensions over the creation of the nearby Mount Scopus Slopes National Park) and the sifting tent is run by El’ad, which also backs the City of David archaeological site.

I’d recommend putting such proclivities aside – at least for a couple of hours – to enjoy one of the region’s as yet mostly undiscovered delights.

I wrote about our tiyul last week on Israelity.

Chabad Kathmandu

As an early icebreaker just before we began to read from the Passover Haggadah Friday night, my wife Jody asked the assembled family and guests to name their most memorable Seder. For me, there was no question.

Exactly one year ago, our family was sitting in a luxurious ballroom at the Yak and Yeti Hotel in Kathmandu for what is billed as “the largest Seder in the world.” Organized by the local Chabad, this massive Seder hosts over 1,000 guests, nearly all of them Israeli, young, and pierced. My wife and I, young at heart but decidedly non-pierced, were clearly the odd folks out.

The ballroom was laid out with about 100 round ten-person tables. Perhaps wanting to seem less conspicuous, we sat next to another older Israeli couple: Claude and Ilan, who had hiked not only the eleven-day half Annapurna circuit that we did but the full three week loop that climbs as high as the 5,400 meter Thorong-la Pass.

What was remarkable about the pair was that Claude is completely blind. His partner literally led him through the route, up and down 5oo meter-at-a-time climbs on rough steps, past water buffalo and into the deep snow at the top of the world. They slept in the same hard beds we did and used the squatter toilets and bucket showers that are the norm in the Himalayas.

The two North Tel Avivi’s were quite enjoyable company; I wish I could say the same about the Chabad rabbi and his cadre of ten or so yeshiva bochers who had flown in from as far away as Israel and Thailand to lead the Seder.

It feels unfair to complain about Rabbi Lifshitz: putting on a Seder that size is an logistical nightmare – from taking payments over the Internet to securing a location where the gas generators are large enough that there’s sufficient electricity for the whole evening. They even put signs in Hebrew all over Kathmandu directing Seder-goers from the Chabad House in touristy Thamel to the Yak and Yeti, located on the road out of town.

The problem was that the way the Seder was run seemed (to me at least) like such a wasted opportunity. Rabbi Lifshitz essentially speed-read the Haggadah as if it was a “greatest hits” album; we finished the entire story and were washing for matzah in under 50 minutes, including “breaks” for the most popular songs such as Ma Nishtanah.

Why couldn’t the Chabadniks have engendered some discussion? “Who is the evil son today?” would have been a good question to ask. Or “What is the nature of freedom when we have our own state?” After all, they had 1,000 captive Israelis and, other than the crowd in the lobby smoking its way through the magid while waiting for the matzah-ball soup, we all know how Israelis like to argue. This was a chance to bring the Seder alive for these certainly secular Sabras who might otherwise have been camping out in the mountains on the holiday.

Instead, to keep the attendees’ attention, the rabbi kept things interesting by running a raffle right in the middle of the dinner. First prize was a bungee jump off a 160 meter high suspension bridge over the Bhoti Kosi River near the Nepalese-Tibetan border. And unbelievably, Jody held the winning ticket! We never win anything, but unfortunately, we weren’t able to take advantage of our unlikely luck, as we were leaving back for Israel the day after the holiday. So we let another intrepid Israeli enjoy the plunge.

Perhaps the prize should come with a few strings attached, so to speak: as the jumper is plummeting towards the water, he or she would be required to sing dayeinu. That just might be enough to redeem the Seder.

Orange has a nifty iPhone app that shows you exactly where they're ripping you off

Last week I wrote about my new iPhone 4S on the Israelity blog. I took a rather crafty approach in obtaining the phone. The local cell phone operators – Orange, Pelephone and Cellcom being the largest – are more than happy to give you a phone for “free” along with a plan with a minimum price of NIS 200 – NIS 250 (about $50-$65) a month. That fee, of course, includes a “hidden” charge where you pay for the phone over a period of 36 months; so the actual price of the phone comes to more than $1,000.

But that same phone is available from Apple in the U.S. for $700-$800, depending on how many gigabytes of memory you want. If you’ll be in the States or have a way to get a phone brought over from the old country, you can save several hundred dollars.

That was especially the case for me. I’m not a big phone talker. I needed a new phone (my ancient decidedly-not-smart Ericsson would unexpectedly just shut off, so I frequently missed calls) and I liked the idea of not having to carry a separate iPod and paper calendar.

My average talk and SMS bills have averaged about NIS 75 ($20) per month (true, now stop laughing already). All I needed was a cheap data package so, for example, I could use Waze to monitor traffic conditions or check email when I was away from a WiFi connection. That could result in a savings of at least NIS 100 – NIS 150 a month. Do the math and you’ll see that, in addition to getting the phone cheaper, I’d be doing pretty well over the three-year period.

With great optimism, I entered the Orange store in Jerusalem’s Talpiot neighborhood and asked for their minimum data plan. I was delighted to learn that I could get 250 MB/month for just NIS 24 ($6.50) above my regular plan. If it turned out I needed more data, a full gigabyte was just NIS 42 ($11). Sign me up, Scotty.

Imagine then my surprise when I received my first bill and the price for the data plan was not NIS 24 but NIS 38. What gives?

We called Orange. The polite customer service agent checked and assured us that there was no such thing as a NIS 24/month plan, that the NIS 38 was correct, and there was nothing we could do about it, short of going into Orange and confronting them in person. Nothing I like more than a round of verbal fisticuffs in Hebrew

Now, we had asked the salesperson at the Orange store for the deal in writing, but she refused. “It’s all in the computer.” This is a common tactic (friends at other cellular providers report the same thing). I don’t know if it’s even legal. Silly us for being trusting in the first place.

Now, without the great optimism of the first trip, we headed back to Orange. By some great luck, we got the very same salesperson. She appeared as startled as us by our bill. “Yes, it’s NIS 24/month,” she said. But the computer didn’t agree. Apparently, there had been a glitch and the first time around the computer was offering an old price that had already been discontinued. When she tried to fix our bill now, the NIS 24 option simply didn’t appear.

She seemed genuinely apologetic, but we were determined to get something out of the inconvenience (waiting for the Orange representative on the phone, driving back to the Orange store, waiting in line, etc – that had to be worth something). She offered us a refund for the first month. I demanded six.

“It’s impossible,” our salesperson said, not looking so apologetic anymore. “The computer won’t let me.” Sure, I thought to myself. Then the computer “suddenly” obliged and we settled at three.

The salesperson then suggested that we upgrade our plan. “You’ll save money,” she said, doing her best to coo us into compliance. We spent the next 20 minutes running calculations – cell phone plans are so convoluted they’re nearly impossible to decipher.

Let’s see: the new plan cost 38 agorot a minute for calls with 50 minutes free between Orange subscribers. We were paying a very high 89 agorot a minute but with 100 minutes free between family members and another 90 minutes free to other Orange users. One plan had the data package built in to the price; in the other it was extra.

And what’s to guarantee that, if we switched, once we got home we wouldn’t discover the same bait and switch?

Ah, but here’s where that new iPhone came in very handy. Before we started the conversation, I surreptitiously opened the voice recorder on the phone. The entire exchange was now preserved for posterity…or battle.

In the end we decided to stick with the plan we already had. And I have no idea if making a recording like this is even legal or admissible in court. But I don’t imagine it would ever come to that. After all, you can just switch to another carrier. I’m sure that would work out much better…right?

Peter Buck and Robyn Hitchcock on the left

In 1995, I got fired from a job. It was the first job I’d had in Israel and the first time I’d ever been fired from anything. Suffice it to say I was pretty despondent on that day.

REM saved me.

The night after I was laid off, my favorite rock band REM was playing in Tel Aviv. I had decided not to go – the tickets were too expensive – but after getting canned, I decided I needed something to cheer me up and take my mind off of the fact I was newly in Israel with two kids, a wife in ulpan and no foreseeable income. I went with my good friend Eliot who was also a massive REM fan.

REM has since broken up (a real shame because, after 10 years of producing mediocre records, they finally roared back into relevance with Collapse Into Now). But the band was back in Israel, in a way, this past weekend in the form of Robyn Hitchcock. I got a chance to catch them with my still good friend Eliot, and made possible by Israelity colleague and buddy David Brinn.

Robyn Hitchcock has been around for ages – in the late 1970s he headed up a proto-punk band called The Soft Boys. He had a number of college radio hits in the early 1980s with a band he called The Egyptians.

Now here’s the REM connection: in the last few years, he’s put together an occasional recording and touring band with REM guitarist Peter Buck. Calling themselves The Venus 3, they more often than not sound scarily similar to REM.

Buck is the master behind REM’s jangly pop bright guitar sound that was the band’s staple coda in its early years. That was ever present in The Venus 3’s original songs, and it happily bled into versions the band performed of early Hitchcock material too.

Hitchcock is no Michael Stipe – I’ve never liked the former’s voice that much – but his lyrics are keen, the music catchy and he has a quirky troubadour-like stage presence.

I wasn’t commiserating over any particular setback Saturday night when we went to see The Venus 3 Tel Aviv’s Barby Club. That  made the show pure pleasure rather than the compulsory catharsis of 17 years ago.

This was Hitchcock’s second time in Israel in less than six months. He played an acoustic set late last year at Tel Aviv’s Ozen Bar. This time out he was fully electric.

Hitchcock has a pre-rock star connection to Israel too: he spent time on a kibbutz in 1971.  Come back and visit soon, Mr. Hitchcock – and don’t wait another 40 years.

Eliot wrote a great review of the show for The Jerusalem Post.

Here’s a short video clip I made of the show.

Here’s a link to a full-length 1985 REM concert that showcases Peter Buck’s jangly guitar at its creative heights.

I first waxed on about Robyn here on Israelity.

Avraham Terifa

Avraham Terifa is in the eighth grade but he looks like he’s only nine-years-old. A tiny dynamo of a boy, he stands before an audience of several hundred at Jerusalem’s Mishkenot She’ananim concert hall and begins to play his violin. All around the room you can hear jaws start to drop as the music that emerges from his diminutive frame suggests someone twice as big and three times as old.

Avraham is just one of 30 children from the Ethiopian community in Jerusalem who is studying at the Jerusalem Conservatory Hassadna, a unique institution whose mission is to provide music instruction to children between the ages of 3 and 18, “regardless of physical or mental ability, socio-economic level, ethnicity or religious affiliation.”

Avraham is part of a program called “From Risk to Opportunity” which grants full scholarships to children of Ethiopian descent who, more often than not, come from very difficult home environments, rife with poverty and sometimes even abuse. Many of the children are referred to the program by social workers at Jerusalem’s Municipal Welfare Department.

The program was founded by Ruth Mason and Bob Trachtenberg, who have been active in supporting the Ethiopian immigrant community and were disturbed when they realized that, at a friend’s daughter’s dance recital, there were no Ethiopian children represented. Ruth says she thought “what if there are Ethiopian kids with musical talent? Can they develop it? The vast majority of their parents don’t have money for that.”

They established the “From Risk to Opportunity” in 2005 which, in addition to the scholarship, covers rental of a musical instrument, transportation costs and home tutoring.

Ronit Taklo

Avraham wasn’t the only Ethiopian-Israeli musician to perform at the concert held last week to celebrate the program’s success. Ronit Taklo was equally impressive. Even smaller than Avraham, one might expect this 10-year-old girl to be intimidated by the grand piano in front of her, but her confidence was stirring and the audience was once again riveted. The same for Meron Moola who belted out (in English) the lyrics to “When You Believe” from the animated film “The Prince of Egypt.”

Meron Moola

While the music performed was primarily Western classics (Brahms, Mozart and the like) along with that Steven Schwartz movie pop tune, there were also two traditional Ethiopian numbers sung (and danced) by Molokon Patego, a guest performer.

The evening had two celebrities in attendance. Former Supreme Court president Dorit Beinisch’s husband is on the Conservatory’s board and some of the program’s participants played at the swearing in ceremony of the new chief justice. Beinisch presented the children with certificates of appreciation. Belaynesh Zevadia, the Israeli ambassador designate to Ethiopia (and the first Ethiopian-Israeli to become an ambassador) was also in the audience.

The “From Risk to Opportunity” program is exemplary in another way: It does not segregate the children into a separate track for disadvantaged youth as too frequently happens with the Ethiopian community elsewhere in Israel. Rather, the young musicians are fully integrated into the Conservatory’s mainstream program, which provides instructions for 550 talented young people.

The results show: three students have been accepted to the Jerusalem Music Academy High School – the first Ethiopian-Israeli students to be accepted to the prestigious school’s music track.

As for Avraham, he is one of them. His fiddling days, it seems, are just beginning.

Avraham and the other students fiddled first on the Israelity blog.

Admiring the view...before the sun went down

I got the SMS around 3:00 PM on Friday. “Abba, I’m OK. But we’re kind of stuck on top of a mountain.”

It was our 14-year-old son Aviv who was out with five students from his school, plus one of his teachers, on a “preparation hike.” The idea was to scout the route before the entire school set out on their tiyul shnati – the annual hiking and camping trip that is de rigueur for Israeli students.

Participating in a tiyul shnati starts from a young age: grade schoolers spend the day outdoors; by junior high, there’s an overnight day or two. And in high school, the annual hike can last up to an entire week. Depending on the school, you may camp outdoors and cook your own food (barbequed tuna is a favorite), or you may stay in a local youth hostel (not sure the food there is any better).

Aviv and his comrades had set out to map Nahal Tze’elim, a challenging but beautiful hike in the Dead Sea area. They started at 5:30 AM and should have been back home by mid-afternoon.

But to paraphrase the opening lines of the new J.J. Abrams’ TV series Alcatraz, “That’s not what happened. Not at all” (watch the show and you’ll appreciate this somewhat obscure pop culture reference).

The problem was that, halfway through the hike, the kids’ teacher became ill during the trip. Nothing life threatening, but his hiking speed was significantly reduced as he coughed his way up and down the rugged Judean Hills.

And that was how the intrepid hikers found themselves at the top of a mountain as the sun went down. Not expecting to still be in the desert at that hour, no one had thought to bring a flashlight. They were also all out of food. There was a full moon, but it wasn’t due out until later in the evening.

They had no choice to hike down, on the edge of a cliff, in the pitch black. What should have taken 20-30 minutes took over two hours.

In the meantime, the ill teacher’s daughter had driven down to meet the students at the end of the hike.

When the hikers hadn’t returned an hour into the pitch black, the daughter thought about calling the emergency services. Would they have to send a helicopter to rescue the presumably stranded hikers? No one knew: There was no cell phone reception in that part of the wilderness.

Fortunately, it wasn’t much longer until the weary crew emerged from the nahal and returned to the cars. It was 8:00 PM – five long hours after Aviv’s first call, and well into Shabbat.

Aviv was back in Jerusalem at 10:00 PM to tell the tale while devouring his mother’s world-famous chicken soup. No, he never felt in any danger. Yes, he was scared. Mostly he was tired. We were relieved, but mostly kept it to ourselves.

Two days after his unexpected adventure, there was a second “preparatory hike.” Aviv decided to pass. We didn’t complain.

Aviv was rescued – in print – yesterday on Israelity.

Toronto's Pearson Airport

The woman at the rental car agency desk at Toronto’s Pearson Airport eyed my Israeli driver’s license suspiciously. She looked at the laminated card, then up at me, then back and forth several times.

“You’re going to have a problem if a policeman pulls you over,” she finally said, explaining her hesitation. “There’s no English on this.”

I pointed to my name and birthday in clear English. “I don’t see it,” she assured me with confidence.

“I’ll take my chances,” I replied and, a few minutes later, we were walking to our rented minivan for the week. “Anyway, since when have I ever been stopped by a cop,” I sniggered to myself.

Imagine, then, my surprise when I was flagged down by an officer just a day later while returning to the very same airport to pick up some late arriving family members who were attending the wedding that had brought us to the Great White North.

“What’s your hurry?” the policeman asked. His tone was less aggressive than conversational, in that agreeably polite Canadian way.

“We’re picking up my wife’s 93-year-old grandmother,” I replied, which was true. She was waiting inside the terminal.

“You know you were going 60 in a 30 kilometer zone,” he said. Courteous, just a simple statement of fact, right? Nevertheless, he took my license. As he held it in his hand, I saw him trying to make out the writing. “This isn’t in English,” he said. Wouldn’t you know – the rental car clerk’s premonition had come to fruition. Without fully thinking through the consequences, I pointed out my name and birthday. “Thanks,” he said, almost jovially.

But rather than giving me my license back and graciously wishing me a good day, he sauntered back to his car. For the first time, I started to worry (while trying not to curse). Would the fine I now imagined as a viable possibility be more than the rental cost of the vehicle? Would I have to appear in Canadian traffic court? Should we have taken the bus?

Now, if this were in Israel, my polite policeman would have been replaced by a 20-something snarly Israeli girl cop who would have ignored any attempts at charm. She would then sit in her vehicle for a good 30 minutes with no explanation.

It’s happened to me before, just for a random check, and I’ve never understood what takes so long. Do they have to run my name by the Interpol database using the same sporadic Internet connectivity that plagues my home computer? Are they just sitting and drinking coffee for fun? Are they actually ordering coffee?

The Canadian cop still kept us waiting, but for only half the time (it probably was even less, but time slows down when you’re watching your bank account virtually drain). When he walked back to my car, the long rectangular paper in his hand did not bode well.

Fortunately, my nerves were for naught: the paper was just a warning. Wow – either Canadians really are nicer, or issuing a ticket to a foreigner with a driver’s license in a language with squiggly lines, with the added high chance I would skip town without depositing a check (which would undoubtedly have been written with even more squiggles) was simply too much complication.

As it turns out, I had to circle the airport while Grandma made her way to the curb. As I returned, I drove at the proscribed 30 km/hour. Do you have any idea how slow 30 km/hour really is? And yet, all the other cars I saw were following the rules and crawling along. My thoughts returned to Israel again: no way an Israeli driver would go that slow – even a ticket would be better than being a freier.

For the rest of the trip, I stuck to the speed limit. I probably would have gotten another free pass if I were stopped again, but I wasn’t taking any chances – squiggly Israeli driver’s license or not.

The cop was first copped on Israelity.