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

My wife Jody and I try to go out for a date night once a week. Sometimes we slip to once every two or three weeks. So when we do get out, we want to make sure it’s good.

Regular readers will know we’re big fans of sushi. So when we heard that our favorite sushi bar had opened a new branch just a few minutes drive from our home, we hastened to give it a try.

We knew something was wrong when we arrived. There were no tables and chairs in the restaurant. Was this a new twist on trendy – the standing room only establishment? We asked at the counter.

“Sorry, we’re only open for take out this week,” the friendly proprietress told us. It was a few days before the Passover holiday, and they were cleaning out their hametz – the leavened bread forbidden during the seven days of Pesach.

Now, a sushi bar doesn’t serve bread per se, but rice is one of the grains classified as kitniyot, “legumes” that appear similar enough to the main prohibited foods that the Rabbis forbade them on Pesach as well.

I was sorely disappointed. I had my heart set on a satisfying sushi meal and it seemed a shame to leave empty handed. Jody had an alternative proposal. “Why don’t we do take out and eat it in a park?” she suggested.

I was hesitant. I had imagined a sumptuous sit down meal with sake and miso soup for an opening course. After some back and forth discussion, I eventually acceded and we ordered some tuna sashimi, sea bass maki and a unique sushi sandwich with sesame seed peppered rice arranged on three sides and a special sauce doused liberally on top.

We took our sushi and headed for nearby San Simon Park. We parked ourselves under a tree, took out our chopsticks and dug in.

Little did we know we were doing exactly what scientists say a long married couple ought to in order to rekindle the romantic love that brought them together in the first place.

In an article by Tara Parker-Pope entitled “Reinventing Date Night for Long-Married Couples” appearing in the New York Times on February 12, 2008, Parker-Pope argues that “simply spending quality time together is probably not enough to prevent a relationship from getting stale.”

“Rather than visiting the same familiar haunts,” Parker-Pope writes, “couples need to tailor their date nights around new and different activities that they both enjoy.” Parker-Pope cites Arthur Agron, a professor of social psychology at the State University of New York: “The goal is to find ways to keep injecting novelty in the relationship. The activity can be as simple as trying a new restaurant or something a little more thrilling, like taking an art class or going to an amusement park.”

Or having sushi on a sunset picnic dinner in a local park.

Reinventing date night is not just new age pseudo-psychology. It’s based on serious brain science. New experiences activate the brain’s reward system, flooding it with dopamine and norepinephrine. “These are the same brain circuits that are ignited in early romantic love, a time of exhilaration and obsessive thoughts about a new partner,” Parker-Pope writes.

“We don’t really know what’s going on in the brain,” comments anthropologist Helen E. Fisher of Rutgers University. “It seems that as you trigger and amp up this reward system in the brain that is associated with romantic love, it’s reasonable to suggest that it’s enabling you to feel more romantic love.”

Experiments prove out the theory. In one study, researchers recruited 53 middle-aged couples. Using standard questionnaires, the researchers measured the couples’ relationship quality and then randomly assigned them to one of three groups.

The first group was instructed to spend 90 minutes a week doing familiar and pleasant activities like dining out or going to a movie. Couples in the second group were told to spend their 90 minutes on “exciting” activities that that the couple didn’t usually do, like attending a concert, hiking or dancing. The third group was not assigned any particular activity.

After 10 weeks, the couples again took tests to gauge the quality of their relationships. Those who had undertaken the “exciting” date, Parker-Pope writes, showed a significantly greater increase in marital satisfaction over the “pleasant” date night group.

Our own experience was similar. As we sat under that tree in the park, thoroughly enjoying our elegant take out meal as a warm Jerusalem breeze fluttered around us and the sun slowly sank between the almond trees, both Jody and I commented on how romantic our evening had become. “Much better than sitting in a loud, crowded restaurant,” Jody said to me as we held hands and watched mothers pushing strollers around the park and dogs romping with their owners.

“You don’t have to swing from the chandeliers,” Dr. Fisher told Parker-Pope. “Just go to a new part of town, take a drive in the country or better yet, don’t make plans at all and see what happens to you.”

Which, however inadvertently our night started out, is exactly what we did.

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.

A new documentary titled Eyes Wide Open premiered last week at the Jerusalem Cinematheque. Directed by veteran filmmaker and Jerusalemite Paula Weiman-Kelman, the film explores the complex relationship of North American Jews with Israel by following several groups from the US as they visit Israel, many for the first time.

From the spiritual excitement of visiting the Old City of Safed, to participating in a Palestinian demonstration against the West Bank security barrier, Eyes Wide Open documents a wide variety of experiences.

The interviewees express their confusion at the complexities of life in Israel, where daily reality ping-pongs between extremes. At one point, a participant sighs, "I would love to be non-conflicted."

During the panel discussion that followed the screening, the film's screenwriter, Stuart Schoffman, addressed the issue of feeling conflicted.

"Israelis live with selective denial," he said. "In order to live with so many contradictions, some things get pushed to the background while other things get moved to the foreground. People who live here do that all the time. They learn how to juggle the contradictions."

That's not so easy for the casual or brief visitor to Israel, Schoffman went on. "These are people who went to Sunday school and learned all about the Jews wandering for 2,000 years and then they get here and suddenly realize there are complications," he said. "For some, even thinking about this is so overwhelming, they don't come at all. They change the channel."

The problem is that Israel exists on an adrenalin rush of conflicting narratives: We have a peace-loving narrative and a narrative that says we must be strong and protect ourselves at all costs; we have the people who brought about the flowering of the desert, who danced the hora every night while picking watermelons in the kibbutz field by day coexisting with fundamental questions of human rights and civil inequality.

What does Israel do, for example, with the some 7,000 illegal immigrants from Africa who have crossed the border in the last two years? Deport them? Give them shelter and citizenship? What about the trafficking of women? Pornography and sex crimes? How can the Zionist dream narrative and the one where Israel is portrayed as a blemished nation both be true?

Another panel member, Eliezer Yaari, executive director of the Israel office of the New Israel Fund, put it this way: "I feel a strong sense that there's no way for Israel to succeed in the eyes of America. For many US Jews, we're too leftist. For others we're too Right. We're too socialist and not socialist enough. Too religious or not Jewish enough. We can't win."

MK Colette Avital, a former ambassador to the US, repeated the oft-cited statistic that only 20 percent of American Jews have ever visited Israel.

Even if that number might be up in recent years with the tens of thousands who have taken part in birthright trips, Avital lamented that "after 60 years, Israel and the Diaspora haven't grown any closer. Americans don't understand Israelis, but Israelis don't understand America either."

What will help bridge the gap between the two largest Jewish communities in the world? The traditional Israeli hasbara pitch of "just make aliya" has clearly worn out its welcome. Instead, Israel has to export its culture, panel members agreed.

"We need to share what we're about through literature, movies and music," exhorted Avital. We have no choice but to move beyond the headlines and TV sound bytes that constitute the average American Jew's Israel experience.

Israelis need to pay more than lip service to the issues that engage Americans, added Yossi Klein Halevi, another panelist and a senior fellow at the Shalem Center. "That means more respect for minority rights, for Arabs, for women and Ethiopians. We need to show sensitivity to religious pluralism. We can't alienate liberal American Jews."

That may not be so easy. At one point in the film, a synagogue mission begins to pray at the Haas Promenade in Talpiot. The camera pans to two Israelis.

"They can't do that," says one. "They don't have 10 men."

"They count women too," the other explains.

"That's not right. It's not allowed," the first counters.

The scene elicited nervous laughter from the audience as they caught a glimpse of just how big the gap in understanding truly is.

Ultimately, Israel needs to be spun not just as a physical place but as the "ultimate Jewish text," explained Schoffman. "The real argument today is not over a page of Talmud, but over Israel the nation. This is the new beit midrash [Jewish study hall]."

Like the rabbinical arguments over nuances in the pages of a Jewish text, we need to "celebrate the conflicts, to make them a virtue," Schoffman said. "The complexities themselves are the source of engagement."

Eyes Wide Open is just over an hour long, but it can serve as a trigger point for salient, honest and open discussion in both Israeli and American Jewish communities. Watch for it at a theater near you.

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To book the film, contact Ruth Diskin the distributor. Her website is www.ruthfilms.com

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This article originally appeared in the In Jerusalem section of The Jerusalem Post.

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.

A Japanese company contacted me by email a couple of weeks ago expressing interest in the new startup I’m in the process of launching. The company, which was representing a large Internet Service Provider based in Osaka, wanted to explore possibilities for collaboration.

I was needless to say quite excited. This was the first time a potential partner had contacted me about my new company, a fact made even more significant given that we’ve done no publicity whatsoever. The Japanese company apparently had learned about me from a conference to which I’d applied (and was turned down from).

I wrote back immediately asking for more information. The Japanese company thanked me for my prompt response and suggested that we set up a meeting for the following week. Two representatives from the company would fly to Israel specifically to meet with me. Wow! My head was swelling with thoughts of where this lucky break could lead.

In order to impress my new suitors I scrambled to build a sample website for the company demonstrating our technology. It ought to be in Japanese, I thought, to demonstrate that our software supports Kanji characters.

The only problem was that I don’t speak Japanese. No worries. A few years ago, I tried to start a company called Onago which was to build web and mobile services for “on the go” travelers, hence the oh-so-clever name. I had assembled a technology dream team, but alas, the timing for the company couldn’t be worse – it was mid-2000 and the dot.com bubble had just burst and no one could raise money. We quietly shelved our plans and I took another job.

When we were doing an Internet name search for Onago, we came across a Japanese site of the same name (but without the .com suffix). I also knew that Onago was a kind of sushi. So, needing Japanese text for my current business, I paid a visit to Onago.jp.

The site was a little strange, such that I could tell given that I didn’t understand a word that was written. It appeared to be a teenager’s blog. There were strands of what looked like poetry, lots of little hearts, and a recipe for preparing fish (complete with pictures).

That seemed innocuous enough for me. Throwing caution to the wind, and with still no idea of what I was reading, I copied several lines of Japanese characters from the site and pasted them into mine. In a few minutes I’d finished creating a web page for the Japanese company that had contacted me. I then sent them the URL of this new demo site and waited for their delighted response.

Unlike the previous day, I didn’t hear back immediately this time. Another day passed and then another. I became concerned. Had I done something wrong? Was the seemingly harmless text I’d blindly copied in fact been offensive? Had I unwittingly expropriated content from a pornography site and caused my suitors to lose face such that they were now assiduously avoiding me?

I should have known better. How many times have I castigated Israelis attempting (and I use the term loosely) to translate ads from Hebrew into what can best be described as pidgin English.

I typed “translate Japanese to English” into Google. A number of translation services came up on the list, including “Google Translate.” Duh…how could I have been so obtuse? I hurriedly pasted the text I’d used into the translation engine. The result was baffling. It read:

Garden of the holy. Also use the last!
We are introduced.
The same fixture
Garden dish made of the holy

I have been told that Japanese is a language based on metaphors. What did “Garden of the holy” mean? Could “We are introduced” be a code name for a dating site? What would be the implications of two things having “the same fixture?” My mind raced.

In desperation, I sent the text to my brother who lived in Japan for 5 years and speaks a decent Japanese (he had been traveling when I first needed the Japanese text). I also asked him to look at the Onago.jp website.

“I can’t figure this site out at all,” he wrote back. “Lord it’s strange. It looks kind of like a Facebook type of thing, but it could also be porn or maybe wife swapping. It’s pretty cheesy and a bit risky. Myself, I’d probably stay away.”

Oh boy…My fears heightened, I went back to Onago.jp myself and started digging deeper. I clicked some of the links. They all went to another site called Special Ribbon which had pages of pictures of women. I clicked one. Oh no…it was a very fat woman wearing a thong. Another click and there was an obese woman in her underwear. Another click. No underwear at all.

Did “Onago” have undesirable connotations going beyond fish?

After a week, I finally broke down and wrote to the Japanese again. Were we still meeting, I asked? The response came immediately. “Of course. See you on Friday.”

We had a very productive meeting. My presentation was flawless and the Japanese seemed impressed. At one point, the Japanese characters I’d copied appeared on the screen. The Japanese moved closer. “Ah,” said one of the Japanese, gazing intently at my site. “That means ‘Hi everyone!’” Everyone laughed, though mine was more a sigh of relief than a guffaw.

Nevertheless, the whole incident reminded me of a famous example from the automotive industry (which has since been proven to be an urban legend but is instructive nonetheless). Chevrolet had done what they thought was a comprehensive name search when they came up with the Nova. It apparently wasn’t enough. The name translated into Spanish as “no go,” about the worse appellation you could think of for a new car.

In the story, Chevy learned its lesson the hard way. I got off more easily. Now I’m working on a follow up site, also in Japanese. But this time, I’m getting a translator!

Despite the controversial subtitle “A True Story of Sex, Drugs and Orthodoxy,” Reva Mann’s new autobiography “The Rabbi’s Daughter” is neither as shocking or inflammatory as its name would suggest. Rather, Mann’s powerful memoir will seem familiar to many Jews who grew up in secular homes, crossed over to a more extreme practice of religion and ended up in a relatively moderate middle ground.

“The Rabbi’s Daughter” reads like a good blog – personal, confessional and addictive. When the book opens, Mann is studying at a religious girls seminary for the newly repentant in Jerusalem, striving to live the life of a good Jew while frequently flashing back to a more tawdry past.

That past includes doing lines of coke in her hometown of London, losing her virginity on the bima of her father (the Rabbi’s) synagogue, anonymous sex in a public restroom, getting busted for trafficking 10 kilos of hashish in Jerusalem, and becoming hospitalized after contracting hepatitis B from a junkie who shot wine into his veins. “I wasn’t addicted to a particular drug,” Mann writes. “I was addicted to the false sense of intimacy that I reached when I was stoned out of my mind.”

But worst of all, in her parent’s opinion at least, was her relationship with a non-Jewish man, a photographer who worked for a rock music magazine, that got her kicked out of her observant household as a teenager and led to even further debauchery.

Mann describes her tumultuous formative years with candor and honesty, all the while framing it from her new lifestyle as an ultra-Orthodox yeshiva student. Indeed, the opening half of “The Rabbi’s Daughter” seems almost like an apologetic for her youth, presenting religious life as lovingly bathed in the warm light of enlightenment.

“The Rabbi’s Daughter” is written for a broad audience. Mann carefully explains the details of keeping kosher or her monthly immersion in the mikveh prior to having sex with her husband. But it is insiders who will ultimately get the most out of the book.

That’s because Mann’s journey mirrors the religious evolution of many modern observantly struggling Jews (albeit without the extreme use of drugs and promiscuity). My own history is telling: I grew up in a devoutly non-religious home where I nevertheless (and some will say miraculously) decided, during a spontaneous trip to Israel in 1984, to pursue a more religious lifestyle.

At first that meant taking on as much of Jewish law as I thought I understood, though never to the extent of Mann who describes in great detail a loveless haredi marriage to a husband whose true lover, Mann writes, was always God and never his attention starved wife. He was “horny only for heaven,” says Mann, adding that she ignored an early warning sign: when he asked her to marry him, he gave her a prayer book instead of an engagement ring.

3 children and a divorce later, Mann abandons her faith, slaps on a pair of skin tight jeans and returns to wanton ways, taking up first with the local handyman and eventually settling into a destructive relationship with a vulgar yet passionate man she meets in a bar. Mann’s fall from grace is as rapid as the writing is breathless.

My own subsequent descent from more stringent spiritual seeking to a place of relative moderation was certainly less flamboyant than Mann’s, but I can still relate. I know what it’s like to go to an extreme and come back down.

Mann never lets us forget that hers is a true tale, even if the names have been changed. Mann’s father was Rabbi Morris Unterman, the late spiritual leader of London’s posh modern Orthodox West End Marble Arch synagogue. Her grandfather was Rabbi Isser Yehuda Unterman, who served for 26 years as the second Ashkenazi chief rabbi of Israel.

As I was reading “The Rabbi’s Daughter,” I at times wondered whether it would be easier to take in if it were fiction, like Naomi Ragen’s novel “Jephte’s Daughter” with which it must be compared. In Ragen’s book, as in “The Rabbi’s Daughter,” an ultra-Orthodox woman finds herself in a loveless marriage in Israel, flees, takes up with a non-observant (or non-Jewish) man and eventually returns to a more moderate path.

But the voyeuristic quality of Mann’s book is part of what provides the story its power, even more so because Mann is a neighbor (she lives in Jerusalem’s German Colony) and, though we’ve never met, I fully expect to bump into her one day sipping a Chai Latte at Aroma Café or buying bagels around the corner. At which point I’ll be privy to more intimate details than most people ever know about strangers. Will that make the meeting uncomfortable or titillating?

The Rabbi’s Daughter received a flattering six page spread in The London Sunday Times which called it “hard to put down” and a “publisher’s dream, a gripping tale of a woman searching in all the wrong places and ultimately finding herself.”

Comments on the London Times’ website were more mixed. One poster wrote “Great book, but I can’t believe it’s true.” Another commented “What an obscenity! What some people will do for a dollar!”

Mann, now 50, is more introspective. She began penning the book while recovering from breast cancer. “Writing everything down was about my beginning to be a new person. I wasn’t just getting it off my chest,” she explained in an interview with Haaretz.

Mann closes her book, surprisingly, away from Israel on a trip to India with her now teenage children where she reflects back on her life. She is no longer the outcast; her rebellious nature has been tempered. She broke off her abusive relationship with Sam six years ago, and now laments that she lives “the life of a nun and worry I am once again going to an extreme, this time of sexual abstention.” She knows that “Jewish souls can only find true closeness to God through the Torah” even while she admits having difficulties keeping the laws herself.

“The Rabbi’s Daughter” is a riveting drama of sex, drugs and Orthodoxy to be sure, but also one of acceptance and healing. For those of us who have been on Mann’s path, it’s even an affirmation. I’m happy with the middle way I’ve chosen. I’m not entirely sure by the end of Mann’s book that she is. Still, “The Rabbi’s Daughter” is a sort of comfort; a reminder that the road many of us take is not quite so lonely.

"The Rabbi’s Daughter: A True Story of Sex, Drugs and Orthodoxy," by Reva Mann, is published by Hodder & Stoughton in the U.K. and The Dial Press in the U.S. It’s available at local bookstores and online at Amazon.com. Her website is www.revamann.com.

It’s been a year and a half since I reported on our family’s using a “chart” system, described in the column “Charting a New Course.” So, you might be wondering right, how did it go?

The short answer: well, there’s good news and bad news.

We had two goals when we set up our chart system. The first was practical: we wanted to get the kids to help out more with chores around the house and at the same time reduce the level of stress that resulted from never knowing who was “on” for a particular chore on any given day.

The second goal was more behavioral: we hoped that by instituting a clear system of rewards and consequences, over time we could create new patterns of interaction where the kids would pitch in without needing to be asked.

So far, we’ve succeeded nicely on the first…and failed miserably on the second.

The most important take-away lesson? If you’re going to try to enforce a chart, you’ve got to be willing to play the part of policeperson, at least when you’re getting going.

If it was up to my wife Jody, we’d probably be doing great. She loves laying down the law and handing out tickets for infractions. But it’s exactly someone like Jody you need to make this system work.

As I wrote in that previous column, for the first few days we had a lot of self-directed enthusiasm from the kids. Our youngest son, Aviv, was raring to do anything and everything asked of him for the simple pleasure of being able to check off the tasks on his personal worksheet. The two older kids were more motivated by the prospect of the reward at (it’s amazing what a little Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey can bring out in a child).

By the end of the second week, though, beds were no longer being made consistently nor were the dishes being cleared with the same gush of gusto we had in the initial rush of compliance.

Jody and I debated what to do next.

“They should lose their reward,” Jody said. “And receive a consequence.”

“So which is it,” I asked, “lose the reward or receive a consequence?”

“Both,” Jody replied.

“That’s not fair,” I sputtered, sounding more like my sixteen-year-old son Amir than a stern but loving father seeking to instill positive values in his children.

Before long, it was clear that the parents who had painstakingly set up the chart system didn’t see eye to eye themselves. And this was just one of a number of nuances that neither of us had quite thought through yet.

Such as: what do we do if the reward is a family activity? Do we not rent a movie for Saturday night? That punishes everyone. But how can we exclude one child from the evening’s fun just for failing to pick up a sock?

And: should we be checking the kids’ charts each day or use some sort of honor system? What happens if a kid does the tasks on his or her chart but doesn’t actually check them off?

And: should we hang the charts on the refrigerator for easy access and review? (“No way,” said fourteen-year-old Merav, fearing the public humiliation should any of her friends come to visit).

But the most critical question came down to this: should we give the kids a warning or grace period before coming down hard?

Jody took the maximalist approach. “They need to have something taken away if they’re going to learn,” she posited.

I went the opposite way. “What do we really want to accomplish here? We want the kids to do their chores, right? Does it matter so much how we get there?”

Jody wanted to say yes, but I could see she wasn’t entirely sure. That was enough for the old softie and dysfunctional disciplinarian that I am to win this round.

“Why don’t we try it my way,” I suggested. “If it doesn’t work, we can always get tough later.”

As if that was ever going to happen. Once we started down the slippery path of non-enforcement, there was no turning back to the purity of chart heaven. Rather than consulting their charts and proactively stepping up to the job, the kids waited for a parent to tell them who was on for clearing the dish rack tonight, or who was supposed to take the trash out.

If I saw that clothes hadn’t been picked up, I’d gently remind the culprit to make sure his or her room was straightened up by morning…or when school was out…or before bed the next night at the absolute latest, I’d warn, finger wagging unconvincingly.

Sounds like a great big flame out, doesn’t it? But you know what? It wasn’t. That’s the crazy thing. After a few weeks of our modified system, the floor was being swept and the kitchen counters were getting wiped down. Maybe not right away or without prompting. But they got done. And there were no disagreements over who was supposed to do a task – it was all written in the chart in black and white (Arial 12 point actually).

Sure, it wasn’t where we thought we’d end up when we started charting this new course. But it was as ship shore a start as this family’s likely to make, and reducing our family stress level is nothing to throw the whole system overboard for.

Stay tuned for more…when we finally drop anchor, I’ll be sure to let you know.

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.

Aviv had been anxiously awaiting the big day for months now. On his eighth birthday, he knew, he would get to go out with his Imma and Abba for a private dinner where he’d hear about “the most wonderful, beautiful, miraculous thing in the world.”

“But what is it?” Aviv would ask my wife Jody or me at regular occasions in the months leading up to his birthday. His big brother and sister just smiled knowingly. They’d already been let in on the secret.

You see, in the Blum household, age eight is when we first talk to the kids about sex.

Many of you probably think eight is too young, but in our experience it is about the time when the other kids in school start talking about “it.”  In fact, it was just a few weeks after The Talk with Merav, then 12, that her friends started up with their own stories.

We wanted our kids to hear about sex from us first, in a positive loving context, not from some boy or girl in school who would inevitably spin the subject as “dirty” or “gross,” employing only partial and most probably incorrect information.

We also hoped that this approach would establish open communication about a subject that can so often be cloaked in discomfort and embarrassment.  So far, that has been the result with our older kids.

Picking where to take Aviv out to eat was perhaps the hardest part of the whole process. We wanted it to be nice – this was a special evening, after all -- but it also needed to allow us some privacy.  Aviv's choice, the now defunct Pizza Meter - a South American-style restaurant in our neighborhood that was painted entirely in burnt orange and played loud and lively Brazilian salsa music - wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for a quiet, serious discussion. But it was Aviv’s birthday. So Pizza Meter it was.

We started off by talking about how much we love Aviv and how proud we are of all his accomplishments – pretty generic stuff, but it set the tone. A 10 percent a week bump in his allowance helped put him in a good mood.

Then we turned to the juicy stuff.

“Now, you know that your parents love each other very much, right Aviv,” Jody began.

Aviv smiled innocently. He had absolutely no idea where this was leading.

“And also that we’re very attracted to each other.”

“What does ‘attracted’ mean?” he asked.

“It means I think your mother is very beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world, and I like to be with her. I like to kiss her and stuff,” I said.

“And I think your father is the most handsome man in the world,” Jody said.

At this point, our pizza arrived and we took a short break to chow down. We had ordered a dish that sounded appropriate for the evening: the “Cha-Cha-Cha” pizza.

After we had filled our tummies a bit, we launched into what happens after kissing.  We then proceeded to tell him exactly how babies are made.

Aviv's face registered a priceless mix of shock and subtle satisfaction at suddenly being admitted to such an exclusive club of knowledge; at discovering that there was something new about his body that he had been clueless about just moments before.

I felt a similar mash-up of emotions: at once proud of our proactive stance, and at the same time more than a little bit sad that, however well thought out our intentions were, his precious innocence necessarily had to end here and now between slices of Cha-Cha- Cha.

As we continued our discussion, we talked about how sex should only be between two people who care deeply about and are committed to each other. We emphasized that sex is an expression of love and that, by the way, it feels really good.

“How good?” Aviv asked.

“Well, it’s like getting the best massage in the world," I ventured a stab.

Aviv looked skeptical. “You know I don’t like massages,” he said.

Now, if you’re expecting me to kiss and tell you all the technical details of how we explained the mechanics of sex, I’m sorry I’ll have to disappoint you. We’re still PG-rated around here.

Suffice it to say that Aviv’s ears perked up a few times more when he was presented with various new pieces of information that seemed illogical to his eight-year-old mind. We checked in with him regularly on whether he had any questions. In general, it looked like he’d absorbed it all. How well he’d gotten the message, only time would tell.

As we paid the bill and headed home, I was satisfied that things had gone well. But I also realized that we had gotten one thing wrong. There’s something else that’s really the most wonderful, beautiful, miraculous thing in the world.

Being a parent.

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.