From Israel with love

I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. But when your sibling coasts into Israel first class, gets whisked away in a limousine before he can spell i-m-m-i-g-r-a-t-i-o-n, traipses around the country like Hollywood royalty and yadayadas on national television about the generosity of his hosts, you’re allowed to sulk. Big time. Even if you’re plied with bathtubfulls of Dead Sea clay to gussy up, a year’s supply of T-shirts and this utterly delightful blue ceramic plate with penny-sized illustrations of sights that not you, but your silly, miserly brother has set foot on! That he parted with it, even though a pretty salesgirl in a pretty little shop next to the dreamy Masada mountains helped him pick the darn thing, is cold comfort. Hmph!