Well, here comes Tuesday again, and it finds me, again, facing a blank computer screen. That probably sounds a bit weary and edging on despair, but the truth is considerably more uplifting. I was reading a piece by the journalist Max Hastings yesterday, in which he described his feelings on rereading, at the age of 80, the letter that his father, the author Macdonald Hastings, wrote to the three-day-old Max at the end of 1945, and gave to him when he turned twenty-one. In the article, Hastings recalled his father giving him a piece of advice when Max was a teenager: “Embrace the challenge of a blank piece of paper”.

Hastings continues: “I could not then understand his meaning, but I do now. Every time I open a screen, I feel a thrill at filling it with words that somebody may want to read.” I’ll drink to that; or, rather, I would, if I were not slightly apprehensive that this war is driving me to the bottle a little more than can be justified medicinally. In a normal week, Bernice and I open a bottle of wine for Shabbat. If we are hosting for one meal, we open two bottles. Depending on which of our friends we are hosting, we may finish the two bottles over Shabbat. (You know who you are.) If we are dining à deux, we will enjoy a moderate glass each with each of our two main Shabbat meals, usually leaving enough for dinner on Sunday, and sometimes even a half-glass each on Monday, evening.

Apart from that, and a generous whisky for me and a small shisky (loquat liqueur) for Bernice for Kiddush on Shabbat morning, Bernice has a dry week, and I might have a small bottle of home-brewed beer with a plate of humous, techina and a pitta for lunch one day.

Last week, we certainly indulged at the Purim seuda (festive meal), if only, so we claim, to the extent required by Jewish law. A fellow guest, who, in our circles, qualifies as what Adam Montefiore (wine critic of the Jerusalem Post and scion of the famous family) describes as a feinshmecker, brought two excellent wines. He also brought two of the renowned cocktails mixed by his own fair hand, both rum-based, and simple politeness required that we taste both.

The week before, we had actually felt obliged, faced with an excellent sea bream fried to perfection by Bernice on the Monday evening, to open a midweek bottle of wine, which saw us nicely through until Shabbat, when we could open another.

When I suggested, last night, that we might consider doing the same again, Bernice issued a stern veto. So, I can state categorically that this war is not driving us to drink.

All of which, I realise with a shock, was a huge detour from the subject at hand, which was the thrill Max Hastings feels every time he faces a blank screen. I do identify with that, even if the thrill is occasionally accompanied by a certain sinking in the pit of my stomach as I realise I have no idea what to write about.

Which is almost the position I was in 535 words ago, and look how well I’ve done without actually having to decide on a subject for this week. Of course, we all know what I ‘ought’ to write about is the situation, or, rather, ‘The Situation’. If you are one of my more astute readers (and, of course, all of my readers are, by self-selection, more astute), you will recognise the above 600 words as nothing more than avoidance behaviour masquerading as bonhomie. The time has come for me to beard the lion in his den.

Now, there’s an interesting idiom. I thought you might like to know the origin. When David, the shepherd boy, appears before King Saul in Samuel 1, Chapter 17, and volunteers to fight Goliath, Saul rejects David, saying: “You are a lad and he is a man of war from his youth.” David then tells Saul: “When the lion…would carry off a sheep,…I would…strike him down and rescue it. And if he would rise against me, I would seize his beard and strike him and kill him.”

So, here, finally, is me, bearding the lion (having managed to waffle for 725 words). However, I am not going to talk geopolitics. Instead, let me just tell you about our war. From now on, this is much more for my readers outside Israel, than for those of my readers in Israel, who have probably had similar experiences over the last nine days to myself.

With an extraordinary sense of timing, halfway through that last paragraph, the heads-up alert from the Home Front sounded, preparing us for a potential full-blown siren in the next few minutes, after which we will have 90 seconds to reach our shelter. I will pause here, to put my shoes on.

That turned out to be a false alarm, as most of them, thankfully, are. In fact, checking on the handy widget that is available on one of the news sites, I see that Maale Adumim has slid (thankfully) from 181^st to 303^rd in the national ranking for time spent in the air-raid shelter since the war began, at 6 hours and 51 minutes, spread over 25 separate sessions in the shelter.

Yes: this being Israel, we have an app for that. You type in the name of your town and your record is displayed. You can try the app out here, provided you can type the name of a town or city in Israel in Hebrew.

This is, however, not the app that captures most accurately the spirit of the nation. That would be the one for which I have captured a screen (below) in English, which gives you a statistically calculated answer to the burning question: If I go for a shower now, what are the chances that I will be interrupted by an alert?

You can try this app out here. You simply set your location and the desired duration of your shower, and the app displays the probability that you will not be disturbed if you shower now, and also displays, in graph form, the calculated safety of any given time of day today.

The app also shows you the parameters used to determine the probability that you will get through your shower uninterrupted, and allows you to adjust the default settings that determine to what degree each parameter will influence the calculation.

The parameters include:

• Alert gap proximity (how long since the last alert).
• 24-hour activity today vs typical activity;
• Muslim prayer-time bias;
• Darkness and operational cover;
• Time-of-day vs history.

We take our flippancy very seriously in Israel, as you can see, and our seriousness very flippantly.

On a more personal note, the timing of the war was unfortunate for us. Before I explain why, let me emphasise that we, particularly in comparison with others, have nothing, literally nothing, to complain about. While others face the tragic loss of life from missile attack, the trauma of injury or a near miss, the disruption, financial loss and upheaval of property damage, the hardship of having a parent, spouse or child called up yet again for another tour of reserve duty in the North, the loss of earnings in a disrupted economy, the disruption of education for children who have only briefly known normality since before COVID, our not being able to go to Zichron last week was a mere annoyance.

Thankfully, we felt, and Esther agreed, that we should go up this week, and on Monday we drove up. The weather was glorious, the road was significantly less crowded than usual, and we reached Zichron in good time, with no hiccoughs. We had a great few hours with Esther, Maayan, Raphael and Adam. Raphael was full of three-year-old’s energy; Adam managed to throw up twice over Bernice and twice over me; and we wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world.

Our journey home was slightly more eventful; at one point we had an alert, but no siren. The instruction, in the event of a siren, is to park the car, distance yourself from it, lie down and cover your head with your arms. Since we grew up in an era when American children were drilled in sheltering against a nuclear attack by crouching under their school desks, this seems like a perfectly adequate defence against a half-tonne ballistic missile. We were also advised yesterday that, if you can’t escape your vehicle, you should wind down the windows and lie down on the floor. None of the reviews I read before we bought our car mentioned this as a design flaw of the Kia Picanto, but the fact is that an adult can lie down in a Kia Picanto only by parking right next to another Kia Picanto and removing the two touching doors, although, technically, that is lying down in two Kia Picantos.

More significantly, Micha’el and the family were due to arrive in Israel this Thursday, for a two-and-a-half week visit. Yesterday, Micha’el finally cancelled that trip, which we are all hoping will be rescheduled for later in the year.

At the same time, my brother and sister-in-law were due to come to Israel for a six-week visit, spanning Pesach. We planned to join them, and their sons and families (from Israel and England) for the first three days of Pesach. Now they have had to accept that they won’t be here for Pesach. This would have been only the second seder that Martin and I have shared in the last 53 years, and it is a real shame that it is not going to happen. Everyone else may, I suspect, be secretly relieved – two old men reminiscing about childhood Seder nights is probably as unforgettable an experience for others as it is for us, but in a subtly different way.

Not being able to be together with Micha’el and family, and, even more importantly, Micha’el and Tslil not seeing their siblings and their children, our grandchildren not getting to know their cousins, Tslil not seeing her parents and grandmother, and at the same time not getting to be with Martin and his family, are real disappointments. However, we are trying to keep it in perspective. We already have our next trip to Portugal booked for mid-June to mid-July, and maybe Martin and Adèle will come later.

Meanwhile, we just had another alert, and this one, for the first time here in Maale Adumim since Shabbat, was followed by a siren, and, once we were safely in the shelter, one of those explosions that sounds considerably closer than it probably is. You see us here in good spirits, waiting for the all-clear. Just before that, I remembered that I had not saved this post to the cloud before going to the shelter. As I remarked to Bernice: “If the house gets bombed, I’ll have to write the entire post again.” Thankfully it didn’t, so I didn’t. Round here, that qualifies as a good day.

Welcome to this week’s post Mark II.

For the first time in a very long time, I actually had a really good idea for this week’s post, andI even wrote it. This is how it started:

Dateline: Friday, 27 February, 2026

As the gardener left yesterday, Bernice remarked: “Well, when Iran retaliates, at least the garden will be looking tidy.” No, don’t ask me; I have no idea. However, I am fairly sure that Iran will indeed retaliate, because I am fairly confident that the US (and, possibly, Israel) will attack this weekend, or, at the latest, and with historic irony, on Tuesday, which happens to be Purim, when we celebrate our last unequivocal victory over a Persian extremist who wanted to annihilate us.

Where, you may be wondering, does my confidence come from. From my remarks last week, you would infer, correctly, that it does not stem from an in-depth analysis of Trump’s public statements. It comes, rather, from my feeling that I am just starting to wash the car. Let me explain. If ever the country is in the grip of a drought, I always like to wash the car as a public service, quietly confident that, if I do wash the car, it will rain the next day. Unfortunately, living as we do in Maale Adumim, sometimes what arrives overnight is not rain but a sandstorm, which just goes to prove that man proposes and so on.

In the present case, the car I am about to wash is in fact the blog post I am about to write. Having really struggled the last couple of weeks before finally coming up with a topic at the eleventh hour, this week, indeed a couple of days ago, something happened which prompted me to say to Bernice, once we had both stopped laughing: “Well, at least I now have a topic for next week’s blog.” Shortly afterwards, it occurred to me that, rather than running the risk of forgetting the planned topic by the time I sat down to write the post, I would write it early, and enjoy a stress-free Shabbat, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. This was beginning to look like a win-win situation, until it suddenly struck me that something might happen between now and Tuesday of such significance that I would be forced to scrap the planned post and write a new one.

Of course, the only obvious candidate for ‘something of such significance that I would be forced…’ is war with Iran. So, if it happens, you can blame me. Or, possibly, thank me. We’ll have to see how it pans out.

…..

Dateline: Monday, 2 March, 2026

Well, we all know how that panned out, don’t we?

And, if we are talking about irony, that line above about me enjoying “a stress-free Shabbat, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday” has certainly come back to bite me, hasn’t it? Indeed, Shabbat, Sunday and the start of Monday have all proven so much the opposite of stress-free that I turned to Bernice this morning and said: “I really can’t run with that blog post, can I?”, and, much as she would have liked not to have to, Bernice agreed with me.

Which is why Monday morning finds me writing a new post, this time about ‘the situation’, and filing the other one away for a rainy day. It is a good enough story that it will keep for that other, rainy, but simultaneously sunnier, day.

Meanwhile, let me tell you about my week so far. For the second week running, I woke early enough on Shabbat to get to shul for the start of the service, which meant that at 8:15, when the first siren sounded, I was already deep in the first part of the service. A friend who had kept his phone on, and on him, for just such an eventuality, informed me that the siren was ‘merely’ a signal that Israel had launched an attack on Iran and was anticipating retaliation, rather than a warning of incoming missiles. Nevertheless, our service moved from the upstairs sanctuary to the downstairs hall. I don’t personally feel this is any safer, since our shul is built on a hill and both the upstairs, with its entrance to the west, and the downstairs, with its entrance to the east, are actually on street level, and both spaces have a lot of windows.

Bernice and I, and a couple of close friends, stayed to hear the Torah reading and, specifically, this week’s special reading of Zachor, the passage in which we are commanded to remember Amalek and what the Amalekites did to the Children of Israel, attacking them from the rear after they had crossed the Reed Sea after the Exodus. It is a cliché that every year, every week’s Torah reading has a particular relevance to the current events of that week. Never has the truism been truer than this week, since Haman, the villain of the Purim story, is both identified as a descendant of Amalek and recognised as the political leader of the Persian empire who sought the total destruction of the Jews. Not for the first time it strikes me that not believing in God must require a tremendous act of blind faith in the face of all the evidence, but we won’t get into that.

We all left hastily immediately afterwards, and our friends, who live towards the fashionable end of our street, invited us to join them for refreshments. As we finished our drinks, a ‘proper’ siren sounded, and we made our way to their communal shelter, shared, as ours is, between their ‘terrace’ of five houses. After ten minutes, following what were the rules of engagement the last time we faced missile bombardment from Iran, we all dispersed, and Bernice and I made our way home.

Through the rest of the day, and the night, we suffered several more raids, in each case preceded by a ‘heads-up’ from the Home Guard, warning us to stay close to, and prepare to enter, our shelters. We also gradually realised that the rules had changed, and this time we were required to stay in our shelters until the Home Guard sent a clear message that we could come out.

Bernice and I decided that this time round we would take our chances at home, rather than having to dress and put on shoes during the night and go outside to the public shelter accessed from our neighbours’ garden. Tragically, a man of 105 died of a heart attack yesterday while making his way to a public shelter, and many others have suffered more and less serious injuries on their way to the shelter.

It is not easy to explain this decision. We rationalise it as follows. Our home includes an extension added by the previous owners. This enables us to sit in our upstairs hall, under the original external wall, which is now an internal wall (a strong structural point), by the stairwell (a strong, structural point), in a space with no windows and closed doors between us and all external walls. Our step-count is also enhanced by having to climb our stairs. Listen, you take what you can!

If our house takes a direct hit from a half-tonne ballistic missile, the effect, as we saw yesterday in the tragic attack on Bet Shemesh, would be no worse than if our public shelter takes a direct hit. If (the far likelier event) debris from a hit falls near the house and we suffer a shock and shrapnel, then I am confident it will not penetrate to our inner sanctum. Anyway, what are the chances that anything will fall in Maale Adumim – he writes after two large fragments fell a kilometre away and a humongous missile casing fell about as close, causing a boom which slightly dented even our joshing bonhomie for a moment or two. We had by then grown used to the sound and window- explosions, which we are hearing far more of in Maale Adumim than we did last June.

The Home Front app on my phone allows me to monitor in real time the alerts and attacks in Zichron Yaakov as well. Esther and family have the luxury of an integral safe room that doubles as a spare room in their flat, and they are sensibly sleeping there during this period, which means they get a considerably less disturbed night. The degree to which Raphael has, reportedly, adjusted to the situation is wonderful, and simultaneously slightly depressing, depending on how you look at it.

I went to the Health clinic yesterday morning to fill my prescriptions. I didn’t bother to make an appointment, fondly assuming that nobody else would be venturing out. As I walked up to the clinic, the sirens sounded, and I spent my first 15 minutes there in the fairly large shelter, which was packed out. When we received the message that we could leave the shelter, I found I was 18^th in line for the pharmacy, and it was taking the pharmacists a ridiculously long time to open up, so I gave my number to an older man who had arrived after me, and went home to make an appointment for later. When I returned for my 4:40 appointment, the pharmacy was empty. I had obviously caught the panic-buying morning rush earlier.

My regular bridge competition yesterday morning was cancelled, but I did play yesterday evening at the home of a friend, locally. She has a safe room in her apartment, but, when the early-warning siren sounded as we were about to leave after an enjoyable couple of hours, we all agreed we would drive home rather than staying. In the event, the early warning did not lead to a siren instructing us to take shelter. (This often happens, since the early warning frequently comes before our defences have been able to determine what exact part of the country the missile is heading for.) I got home safe and sound.

Meanwhile, in Tel Aviv, where many people in older neighbourhoods do not have safe rooms or even communal shelters close to their homes, many people have apparently been sheltering in the recently opened Tel Aviv and suburbs light rail, which runs underground for much of its route. While I am not old enough to remember it, footage of people flocking down the escalators on Saturday night’s television news put me in mind of the Blitz, when London Underground stations were pressed into identical service.

Until now, touchwood, tu-tu-tu, spit twice and turn round three times, we have not had a meal or a shower interrupted by a siren. Just sleep. As the above doubtless shows, living in Israel means taking all this sort of thing in your stride as part of daily life. Some might argue that that has to be a very unhealthy way to live. I think I would argue the opposite….but ask me again in a week.

Meanwhile, stay safe, Purim Sameach (we’ll be hearing the megila in a neighbourhood shelter – that’s a first) and may we all, by next week, have good news to share.

While we were video-chatting this morning, my brother asked me what the sense was in Israel of when, what and whether America (and Israel(?)) would attack Iran. I replied that no opinion was worth the ether it was written on. Political commentators are only going through the motions of analysing Trump’s comments and actions because they are afraid that, if they admitted that they have no better idea than anyone else what he will do next, they would be talking themselves out of a job.

There is a sense in which we are all waiting for something to happen, and kind of wishing it would happen already, so that we could drink all the bottled water we have bought, stop wondering whether we should be sleeping fully clothed, and get on with our lives. There is certainly no atmosphere of panic buying or changing plans. Bernice’s brother and his wife even came for a short visit from England, recognising that if they wait until it is ‘safe’ to come they may never make it. Their only concession to the situation was to fly El Al rather than their usual BA. We had a lovely couple of days with them, and by the time you read this, they should be safely on their way back home.

Speaking personally, I must confess to not feeling particularly, and probably not sufficiently, worried about the external threat from Iran, or, indeed, anywhere else. I am convinced that Israel’s real existential threats are internal. I don’t pretend that this is an original thought. Indeed, I would say that it is now part of the national mood.

In 2025, for the first time since Israel’s founding in 1948, the rate of population growth fell below 1%. There are several reasons for this. First, it is a consequence of Israel’s age structure: large age cohorts of Jews and Arabs have begun entering their 70s and 80s, and life expectancy in Israel is about 83.

Secondly, fertility rates are declining in all sectors: most steeply in the Arab sector, but even in the Haredi (ultra-orthodox Jewish) sector.

Finally, there has been a sharp shift in Israel’s migration patterns since 2023. In 2024, the number of immigrants entering Israel minus the number leaving turned negative, reaching -26,000. This trend continued in 2025, and is continuing in 2026, and has no precedent in the country’s history. While this mainly reflects the remigration of non-native Israelis (including many who are culturally but not halachically Jewish), it also includes increasing numbers of native Israelis.

Many of those choosing to leave wish to escape, and to take their children away from, a war zone. Months after the announcement of the ceasefire, there is no sense that the country is at peace, and parents of young children particularly are disturbed by the fact that their families are only too familiar with the drill for getting to a safe room or public shelter within the allotted time.

Others wish to escape the other stresses of life in Israel: the sectarian political squabbles; the refusal of the Haredi world to see itself as part of Israeli society in terms of military or civil service or the economy, and the clashes this refusal generates; the violence in the Arab sector and the unwillingness or inability of the Israeli civil authorities to deal with it; the burden of military reserve duty, the rise in the cost of living, the shortage of affordable housing, and so on and so on.

More and more Israelis are finding the strain of day-to-day living at this level of intensity unbearable, and are looking to escape to a simpler, quieter life abroad. Fewer than usual are looking to the US and the West, and more are looking to more remote locations in Europe and the Far East.

At the same time, other Israelis are looking at the stresses and faultlines in Israeli society and asking how the threats these pose can be met. I have only recently learnt in detail about one such group, and I thought today I would share with you the vision they are currently refining. The group is called The Fourth Quarter, reflecting the theory that young countries typically face existential challenges in the fourth quarter of their first century. This is certainly proving true of Israel, which turned 75 last May.

The Fourth Quarter is honing an Israeli Contract, designed to reflect a broad consensus on the most important challenges facing Israel. Let me present those challenges, and the proposed method for achieving common purpose to meet them.

Education

One education system with different streams.

There should be one common national education council, and a council for each stream. 50% of studies should be core curriculum, common to all streams. There should be a set budget for each child, and not differential budgets for different streams. In addition, preference needs to be given to fully national-Haredi schools, which will put an end to discrimination against Haredi pupils: every pupil is entitled to a state education. Local authorities will be compelled to set up such schools, and budgets and buildings will be made available for these schools.

Security and a Strong Army

We need a strong army and compulsory service. Currently 50% of the cohort do not enlist. The army is lacking 12,000 troops.

There should be no automatic exemption. Everyone should be required to report to the recruiting office, where priority will be given to the needs of the army. Civilian national service will be compulsory for Arabs. All those who serve will receive benefits, commensurate with their service: reductions in fees, help with childcare and housing. Exemption (at a rate of 5% of the total cohort) will be granted to the elite (in sport, music, Torah study, etc.)

The Torah World

The state should take responsibility for the Torah world. Yeshiva high schools should offer tailor-made tracks for military service. Decisions on exemption from military service should be made by the state and not by the yeshivas.

The Economy

Torah alongside work. An end to subsidising those who choose not to work. Maximising one’s earning capability should be a condition for receiving allowances and discounts. The status of ‘Yeshiva student’ should be time-limited (just like the status of ‘Student’). There should be a limited number of positions for Torah students (as there are for academics). The allocation of coalition funds (awarded to Government parties) should be restricted; it should be forbidden to award them to a particular sector only.

Law Enforcement and Governance

Governance: An end to Autonomy Outside the Law.

An emergency unit should be set up in the Prime Minister’s office to fight organized crime. An authority should be set up to oversee NGOs. The powers of private Haredi courts should be reduced.

The Keys to Lifelong Citizenship

Everyone should be aware, from a young age, that everyone serves: that is the default. A flag in every school should be a condition for state funding. Studies in Israeli history and civics should be a condition for schools receiving state funding. Everyone should receive their ID card in an official state ceremony. A high IDF enlistment rate should be a condition for a yeshiva receiving state funding. Citizens should apply directly to state institutions to receive services, not through agents.

I have presented the Fourth Quarter’s proposal in such detail both because I believe it identifies accurately so many of the pain points in Israeli society and also because I find it impossible to disagree with its proposed solutions.

Of course, the key question is: How do we get from here to there? It seems to me that the only answer is: By electing to the Knesset a new generation of politicians that are committed to effecting this kind of social change. In order to do that, we need to have leaders of that new generation who are willing to stand for election. The last two-and-a-half years have shown that suitable candidates exist. The aftermath of October 7 threw up an amazing number of social activists who displayed, and continue to display, the vision, the organisational skills, the empathy and the sheer energy we look for in a politician. What is less clear is how many of these leaders are prepared to enter the cesspit of Israeli politics.

What seems clear is that, until we eradicate the no-longer-sustainable mass exemption of Haredim from service and subsidisation of their exemption from the workforce, and until we address the inequalities and sense of abandonment by or dissociation from mainstream Israeli society felt by many in the Haredi, Arab and other sectors of Israeli society, the country will be unable to move forward from its current crises. Until political parties free themselves from the perceived need to buy Haredi parties’ support in a coalition, there is no way to move forward. However, if a political party emerges from the endeavours of The Fourth Quarter, then, at some point in the future, Israel may be able to start reshaping its social fabric to move towards its 100^th anniversary with renewed strength and confidence and a more united vision. The alternative may chillingly but realistically be that Israel will not reach its 100^th anniversary, and that is a prospect that I don’t want to contemplate.

You can learn more about The Fourth Quarter (in English) here, and you can respond to the survey they are conducting to help refine the Israeli contract (in Hebrew only, as far as I can see) here.

I inherited far too few of my parents’ many admirable traits, but one thing I am very grateful to my father for passing on to me is the Brownstein sleeping gene. If I wanted to add up the number of times in my life I have had to count sheep after failing to fall asleep within a few minutes of laying my head on the pillow, I could count them on the lambs of one litter. (Actually, on the rare occasions when I can’t drift off, I don’t count sheep. Instead, I play through an imaginary England Test cricket innings, which is usually more entertaining, and always more successful, than the real thing.)

However, I seem recently to have encountered a number of stories that threaten to disrupt even my sleep pattern. Since misery loves company, I thought I would, this week, share some of them with you, on the off chance that you’ve been looking around for something to make you feel really depressed.

First, a podcast referred me this week to a Substack article offering an insider’s view of the future of AI that, while being far from sugar-coated, does actually offer some guidelines on how to avoid being totally crushed under the wheels of the AI juggernaut. Rather than borrowing from the article (as I like to think of it) or plagiarising it (to be more accurate), and thereby failing to do it anywhere near justice, let me just give you a link to it. The article is very readable, and while, as I say, it pulls no punches, it does also offer what seems like very sound advice for those who are still (if, conceivably, not for as long as they think) in the workforce. So, pour yourself a stiff drink, and, if you haven’t already encountered it, settle down to read: “Something Big Is Happening”.

Next, the Sports pages of the Times of London. No, this is not going to be a bewailing of the inadequacies of England’s performance in the T20 World Cup. First, I realise this is a niche topic; furthermore, T20 isn’t real cricket anyway. In addition, any disappointment I feel is tempered by the knowledge that Australia, England’s arch rivals in all things cricket, haven’t even qualified for the next round of the competition, the Super 8 stage. This is a huge comfort.

What I really find depressing about the paper’s sports pages is that they are full of not-sport stories. One day it will be Sturla Holm Laegreid, the Norwegian biathlete, exploiting his live television interview shortly after winning a bronze medal at the Winter Olympics to confess that he has been unfaithful to his girlfriend. He had already confessed to the girlfriend, in private, and she had left him. By what journalistic criterion does this qualify as a news story? And even if we are currently living in a universe where the Winter Olympics biathlon bronze medallist’s lovelife is deemed newsworthy, then the story certainly does not belong on the sports pages.

Perhaps even more incomprehensible, because it is not even prurient, was today’s story about Coco Gauff, a black American tennis player ranked fourth in the world, who in a set of less than fluent answers, presumably in a press conference, stated her opposition to Trump’s recent deployment of ICE in Minneapolis. Is this a sports story? No. Is it a news story? Only if you believe that Coco Gauff has something insightful to contribute to the debate. If she has, she appears to be keeping it close to her chest. Her grandmother is apparently a civil rights figure who, in 1961, became the first black student to integrate her Florida high school. However, pedigree alone is not a sufficient qualification for Gauff.

This story followed on the heels of British-American skier Gus Kenworthy who posted an image purporting to show a urine script of ‘f*** ice’ in the Milan snow. I have to say that the neatness of the calligraphy (consider, for example, the perfect flow control required to render the dot above the ‘i’ in the picture below) leads me to suspect that the image was the equivalent of ‘airbrushed’, even before I added my censorship. So, this was not a sports story, not a news story, and almost certainly not a true story.

However, my prize for the week’s most depressing story was the publication of a report in Britain highlighting how increasing numbers of children are entering the education system in a state of unreadiness. Among the areas of unreadiness highlighted were personal hygiene, with one primary school reporting that 50% of children of the pupils in reception and nursery (ages 3–5) are not toilet-trained, and some are unable to state their own full names. An increasing percentage are also unable to interact socially at an appropriate level for their age.

The immediate consequences of these statistics for Britain are dire. Countless thousands of class-contact hours a year have to be devoted by teachers and teaching assistants to toileting, cleaning and dressing children, rather than to the curriculum’s age-appropriate education. These hours are disproportionately lost in schools whose pupils come from disadvantaged homes. Any hope of levelling up is destroyed in such an environment.

Above all, I can’t stop thinking about the home lives these children have been living for the years before they first come into the state system. The opportunities that have been lost to help them develop their innate intellectual, emotional and social abilities; the passivity of their early childhood; the stultifying lack of stimulation they have experienced.

I have been reminded in the last six years in my own family what an amazing time early childhood can be. To see how readily children respond to stimulation and how rich their potential is; to watch the joy in their discovery of the world; to see them explore and test the boundaries of humour, storytelling, music, painting. All of this is to have something of one’s faith in human nature restored, and to manage, somehow, and against all the odds, to sleep easy at night.

Sweet dreams,

I’ve spent the last four days trying to think of a topic for today’s post, and failing completely. Only just now, as I sat facing that blank white rectangle in the centre of the laptop screen, did I realise the reason for the blank white rectangle in the centre of my brain. There is an obvious topic for me to write about; it is one that I have been thinking about a lot in the last few days. However, it’s a bit contentious, and a lot serious, and I don’t quite have the necessary moral courage today to accept the challenge it represents. However, at some point in the near future it will probably loom so large that I will no longer be able to avoid it. Watch this space!

Well, if that doesn’t guarantee decent reading stats for the next week or two, I don’t know what will. Meanwhile, I’m forced to dredge up and recycle something I first mentioned in a blog post four weeks ago. You will doubtless remember that, when writing about our new lounge suite, I said:

“We confirmed the choice of fabric from the swatch book (Note to self: research the etymology of ‘swatch’ – such a wonderful-sounding word)”

I did, indeed, the very same week, research the etymology of ‘swatch’, and now, as a public service, I’m going to save you the trouble of doing the same.

Our journey begins in 16^th Century Northumberland (not an obvious tourist destination), where ‘swatch’ was a dialect word meaning: ‘a countercheck of a tally’. Now, if only we knew what a tally is, and what, indeed, a countercheck is, in this context, we’d be sitting pretty. As it is, we have traded one obscure word for two, in what doesn’t convincingly feel like progress.

So, let’s tackle ‘tally’ first. We all know, from our mastery of medieval Latin, that ‘’talea’ means: ‘a cutting from a plant, a, rod, stick or twig’. (Interestingly, in Greek. ‘talis’ means ‘a marriageable girl’, with, perhaps, the same associations as ‘Twiggy’ in English.)

In medieval times, it was common practice to record debts by a system of notches cut into a stick (the size and spacing of the notches indicating the size of the debt). This stick was known as the tally. In time, the sum indicated by the notches also came to be known as the ‘tally’. After the notches were cut, the tally would then be split lengthwise in two, so that each half retained the notch marks. One half, the master, would be kept by the creditor and the other half, the countercheck, would be given to the debtor, as a record of the debt. At any time, and particularly when the debt was to be settled, the debtor and creditor could lay their sticks side by side, to check that the two halves matched, thus avoiding any argument about the size of the debt. If one of the two parties tampered with his stick, in an attempt to cheat the other, then, obviously, the two halves would not match, or, as we say, they wouldn’t tally.

By the 1610s, in Yorkshire, the word ‘swatch’ had been borrowed and applied to ‘a tally attached to cloth sent to be dyed’. Presumably, this tally was simply a copy, on paper, of the original retained by the customer ordering the dyeing. This adaptation is an indication of the advance of literacy.

By the mid-1600s, a further meaning had developed: ‘sample piece or strip of cloth cut off for a pattern or sample’, which is, of course, more or less the normal modern meaning.

In a later development, the size and shape of swatches led to the term being borrowed by knitters, with a rather different meaning. In knitting, a swatch is a sample piece of knitted fabric used to determine the gauge of a project. It helps ensure that the finished garment fits correctly and is of the desired size. To create a swatch, you typically knit a small square (often 4×4 inches) using the same yarn and needle size as your project. This allows you to compare the gauge of your swatch with the pattern gauge, ensuring that your finished piece will match the designer’s specifications.  

One of the sources I looked up online including a graphical representation of the frequency of usage of the word ‘swatch’ over time. When I first looked at this graph, I was puzzled as to the astonishing increase in use of the term starting around 1988.

However, a few moments’ reflection were all that was needed for me to realise the explanation. In the 1970s and 1980s, Japanese companies such as Seiko and Citizen used quartz technology to threaten Swiss dominance of the watchmaking industry. In response, in 1983, Ernst Thomke, Elmar Mock, and Jacques Müller established a new company to produce trendy, Swiss, quartz watches to appeal to the younger market, and called the company Swatch. It is this company’s success that is responsible for the uptick in the graph above.

It is amusing that a name that was doubtless intended to sound modern and trendy should also be a word with such a long pedigree. The moneylenders of early-16^th-Century Northumberland could have no idea that their neologism would enjoy a new lease of life 475 years later. Such are the vagaries of vocabulary.

It takes the moon approximately 29.531 days to orbit the earth once. It takes the earth approximately 365.256 days to orbit the sun once. This means that it takes the moon 6,939.7703125 days to orbit the earth 235 times. And it takes the earth 6,939.864 days to orbit the sun 19 times.

If you could devise a calendar that measured time in lunar months, then adjusted the calendar to allow 235 months in 19 solar years, then, every 19 years, that calendar would be synchronised with the solar calendar.

The Hebrew calendar is just such a solar-lunar calendar. The length of the month is determined by the orbit of the moon. Some months are always 29 days long, some are always 30 days long, and some are sometimes 29 and sometimes 30 days. In addition, every so often (in 7 years of every 19-year cycle) an extra month is added to the year. In this way, the calendar ensures that the festivals fall at the same approximate time of year every year, and, using the fine-tuning described in the last sentences, the Hebrew calendar and the Gregorian solar calendar are synchronised.

Last week I celebrated my 76^th birthday, and, since 76 is 4×19, last Thursday was both my English and my Hebrew birthday. Sometimes the synchronicity is a day out, because of the effect of the irregular Gregorian solar leap-years (every 4 years, but not when the year is divisible by 100, unless it is divisible by 400). However, this year the synchronicity was exact: 29 January fell on 11 Shevat, just as it did in 1950. (For the purpose of this argument, I am assuming that I was born before sunset on January 29. There’s nobody left alive to ask and my brother only remembers that he was playing toy soldiers with his big cousin on the landing of our aunt’s home at the time. He can’t remember whether it was light out.)

To cut a long (76 years and 5 days, at the time of writing) story short, this year I completed four cycles, and that feels like some kind of milestone. I can already almost glimpse 2045, and my 95^th birthday, through the haze on the horizon of the next 19 years.

As if this were not enough to lead to some reflection on the transience of life, these last few weeks have brought a heavy burden of loss.

First, we heard of the death, in a freak work accident, of someone who was a couple of years older than Bernice and myself when we were all teenagers in Hanoar Hatzioni. Even though we had not seen him for many decades, the news of his tragic death came as something of a shock.

Far more painful were the next two deaths, in our closer circle. The first was that of the husband in a couple we became friendly with when they arrived in Maale Adumim from America about a decade ago. Although we had not been in close touch since they moved to Ramat Bet Shemesh a couple of years ago, we, in common with almost all their friends, felt close to them, mainly because of the incredible warmth in which they both bathed everyone they met. The husband suffered painfully with ill health for decades, but you never heard him complaining. Indeed, you never saw him without a smile on his face, and, typically, a joke on his lips. He died far too young, defeated eventually by the disease that he had refused to let define him for so long.

Also last week, my cousin’s wife was taken by a cruel cancer that made her last months a constant struggle to maintain her wonderful spirit. ‘My cousin’s wife’ fails to convey how much a part of the Brownstein family she became almost immediately and remained, over the 52 years since she ‘married in’. Her humour, her warmth, her generosity were always her signature, and she leaves a great emptiness.

Between these two deaths, I learnt that someone I was in Israel with on a year programme 58 years ago had died. We had met again at our programme’s 50^th reunion, and, in fact, Bernice and I shared breakfast with him on the day after the reunion ended, when almost everyone else had already left for home. He was a gentle, quiet-spoken and delightful man.

The sequence of these four deaths, one seemingly leading to another, and all leading up to my birthday, perhaps inevitably led me to reflect on my mortality. It is difficult to escape the sobering fact that, going forward, I can only expect to hear more and more of the same sad news, until the moment when I become the news item. The trick of fooling myself that I am still 18 years old is proving more and more difficult to accomplish.

And yet, at the same time…

I sat in shul a week and a half ago, watching the rows in front of me fill with the sons, sons-in-law and grandchildren of our dear neighbours, marking the Shabbat Chatan of their middle son. To see four generations of the family praying together, to wonder at how tall some of those grandsons are, while remembering their mother as a 9-year-old; to see a granddaughter whose father’s brit I can clearly remember; to remind myself that this family was celebrating not only a wedding, but also the birth of three new grandchildren in the preceding couple of weeks; all of this was to be reminded that just as there are always some stepping off the escalator, there are always, always, others stepping on at the bottom and beginning the long ascent.

And, if I need a reminder even closer to home, I only need to travel up to Zichron, as we did yesterday, and to hold in my arms a stirring, snuffling, warm, smiling (I swear he was, honestly) bundle of vibrantly actual and infinitely potential life. Still feeling his heft in my arms, I am today anchoring myself to the knowledge that, while mortality is individual, immortality is familial, communal, and thereby the stronger force. I can sense the haze lifting just a little on the horizon. I’m feeling ready to take on this fifth cycle!

844 days and no longer counting. And, as if that were not enough of a fact to wrap your head around, 4209 days and no longer counting. Yesterday, the last of the 250 hostages snatched by Hamas on October 7 was returned to the bosom of his family. Today is the first day since July 20, 2014 that there has not been an Israeli hostage in Gaza.

On July 20, 2014, during the Battle of Shuja’iyya, Hamas fired an anti-tank missile at an armoured personnel carrier, killing all seven Israeli soldiers inside. Hamas then abducted the body of one of them, Staff Sergeant Oron Shaul z”l. He was returned to Israel on 19 January last year.

On January 25, 2026, Israeli forces located, identified and brought home the body of Staff Sergeant Ran Gvili z”l of the Special Patrol Unit Yasam.

For the 4208 days between those two dates, and especially for the 843 days between October 7, 2023 and yesterday, Israel has held its breath. A fundamental tenet in the morality of the IDF is that it leaves nobody behind. It sees itself as having a sacred obligation (secular, but no less sacred for that) to return to their parents every single child entrusted to it by those parents.

That the country sees this as a sacred obligation regarding any living child (or spouse, or parent, or sibling) probably seems natural to any civilized person. That this is equally true regarding a soldier who has been killed is, perhaps, less obviously natural. It seems to me a reflection of what is perceived as a compelling need to offer the bereaved family their best opportunity of achieving closure.

The Jewish way, which has become the Israeli way, is to embrace life and reject death. The period of mourning for a first-degree relative is carefully calibrated: the period of limbo before the funeral; the funeral; the first week after the burial; the remainder of the first year after the burial; the rest of the bereaved’s life. Each period has its rules, its traditions, its strictures; its requirements to mourn or to turn from mourning. The effect (and, I suspect, the purpose) of this calibration is to ease the mourner back into the world of the living.

Many, many families commemorate their departed loved one not by mourning but by acting: often by setting up a charity in the name, the memory and the spirit of their loved one. This act has undoubtedly played a major part in restoring meaning to the lives of thousands of bereaved Israelis. However, for such a process to start, letting go of the all-consuming grief is a pre-requisite. Few people can achieve this if they have no body to bury, no ceremony of parting, no gradation of moving on. The IDF’s sacred obligation pledges to afford them that opportunity.

I also think the IDF, and the country as a whole, feels an equal obligation to the one who has been killed. To be forever separated from the country for which they gave their life is a terrible injustice. The nation feels the need to do everything in its power to repay the debt of gratitude it owes to its citizens who sacrifice their lives for the nation.

One of the most remarkable features of the weekly Torah portion is that every year, every week, the portion resonates with current events. This week is no exception.

In the very first verses of Beshalach, this week’s portion, we are told that Moshe took the bones of Yosef with him as he left Egypt, because Yosef had made his brothers swear that, when God remembers them and brings them up out of Egypt, they will take his bones with them. This, we understand, is a vow that his brothers passed to their children and, ultimately, Levi’s great-grandson Moshe fulfilled his ancestor’s vow. Rashi infers from the phrasing of the Hebrew that the remains of all of the brothers were brought up from Egypt in the Exodus. This would mean that all of the founders of the nation, from Avraham and Sarah to Yosef and his brothers, were buried in Eretz Yisrael. We leave nobody behind.

It is hard to convey the extent to which yesterday’s return to Israel of Ran Gvili is seen and felt, throughout the country, as a huge release, as a final fulfilment of the IDF’s, and the nation’s, pledge. As people throughout Israel take off their yellow ribbon lapel pins and bracelets, as the clock in Hostages Square in Tel Aviv is stopped (as seen in the photo above), as shuls stop saying psalms for the return of all hostages, Israel faces a new and a better dawn.

Over the last two years, and especially over the last few weeks, I have heard Ran Gvili’s name more than I have read it, and I have read it in English far more frequently than in Hebrew. It was only today that I noticed the spelling of his name in Hebrew. In my ignorance, I would have expected his surname to be spelt גוילי, but I realise now it is actually spelt גואילי with a silent aleph between the vav and the first yud. It is easy to overlook that aleph, as I had done; it is not immediately obvious to a non-native Hebrew speaker, or to someone who is not an expert in the origins of family names, what the purpose of the aleph is. However, if you forget to include the aleph, you end up with a word that is no longer Ran’s name. An essential part of what made him what he was is that aleph. Omit the aleph and you change the essence.

Every single Israeli is like that aleph. Leave one of them out, leave one of them behind, and you diminish the meaning of the entire nation.

Our children have returned to within their borders. Today is the first day of the rest of our national life. Today is Day 844 and not counting. Today’s date is, finally, no longer October 7.

My weekly schedule changed a few weeks ago. and now not only has our day in Zichron moved from Tuesday to Monday, but, in addition, Sunday has become a bridge day (as in the card game, not the day off school or work between two existing days off).

Consequent attempts to wind myself up to write a post on the previous Friday, or the Saturday evening, have failed; I feel none of the inspiration only deadline panic can induce. Likewise, attempts to dash off a post in the journey home on Monday evening (with Bernice driving) have failed; there is not enough light and the road surface often leaves too much to be desired. As a result, I have written my last couple of posts on Monday late evening, after we return home.

I’m not sure for how long my (soon-to-be-no-longer-75-year-old) constitution – physical or mental – can take that regimen, and so I have decided to post, from now on, on Wednesday mornings rather than Tuesdays.

I can hear your sharp intake of breath from here, but, believe me, together we can handle this.

Bottom line: please look for another message linking to a post in a little under 24 hours.

Until then, have a good Monday Tuesday.

Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said. ‘One can’t believe impossible things.’

‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’

If Lewis Carroll’s Alice were alive today, she could get lots of practice. The subtle difference, however, is that many of today’s impossible things are real. Here, for example, are four, all originating in Gaza and Britain. I drew them from the headlines of the last few days; I am sure they are real, but I’m still struggling to believe them, because they are still, in a sane world, impossible.

By the way, if you, like me, are finding it increasingly difficult to distinguish between Gaza and Britain these days, here’s a handy tip. Gaza is the place where they are apparently trying to replace the government of Islamist extremists, whereas Britain is the place where they are apparently trying to replace the government with Islamist extremists,

Impossible Thing Number One: The Make-up of the Executive Board

The White House announced two days ago the make-up of the bodies that will be responsible for overseeing the transition period in Gaza and Phase 2 of the Peace agreement. One of the major bodies is the Executive Board supporting governance and services. If its brief includes overseeing the disarming and demilitarisation of Hamas, then it will certainly be able to draw on the expertise of some of its members.

Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan;

Turkey hosts senior Hamas figures, some of whom have received Turkish citizenship, and provides political, diplomatic and propaganda support, as well as economic and humanitarian assistance. Hamas has established one of its most important overseas centres in Turkey, primarily operated by prisoners released in the Gilad Shalit exchange deal of 2011. It uses Turkey to plan terrorist attacks and transfer funds to finance terrorist activities inside Israel, in Judea, Samaria and the Gaza Strip, and to raise and launder money in support of its terrorist operations, including the October 7, 2023, attack and massacre.

Veteran Qatari diplomat Ali Al-Thawadi,

Qatar has, over two decades, been Hamas’s primary external enabler, providing political sanctuary, legitimacy, funding channels, and diplomatic cover, hosting its leadership and enabling strategic planning. Qatar-hosted and Qatar-supported clerical networks linked to the Muslim Brotherhood framed jihad against Israel as a religious obligation, endorsed mass violence against Jewish civilians, and later issued charters justifying October 7 and calling for global mobilization. Qatari-funded charities, cash assistance, and support for UNRWA in Gaza simultaneously providing humanitarian aid while reinforcing Hamas’s governance, military infrastructure, and control over civilian institutions. Intelligence claims Hamas leadership based in Qatar directed or facilitated terrorist infrastructure beyond Gaza, including in Europe, underscoring Qatar’s role in enabling Hamas’s regional and international reach rather than acting as a neutral mediator.

Dutch politician Sigrid Kaag.

For six years until 2004, Kaag was Senior Programme Manager with the External Relations Office of UNRWA in Jerusalem. (Israel recently outlawed UNRWA for its complicity in terrorism.) In June 2025, Kaag resigned from her position as U.N. envoy to Gaza and Israeli-Palestinian peace process point person, complaining that Israelis have too little empathy for Gazans after Oct. 7, 2023. She had earlier defended the U.N.’s refusal to offer aid to Palestinians through the Gaza Humanitarian Fund—an aid operation sanctioned by Israel and the United States to help the civilian population in a manner that removed Hamas from the process.

With these individuals among its members, how can the Executive Board possibly fail to disarm and demilitarise Hamas in Gaza?

Impossible Thing Number Two: The Retirement of Craig Guildford

I’m not sure to what extent the scandal surrounding Britain’s third-largest police force has filtered down to non-Brits, so let me attempt a brief summary.

In early November, 2024, Maccabi Tel Aviv football (soccer) club played Dutch team Ajax in a major European competition match in Amsterdam. There were considerable clashes between rival fans before and after the match, which Dutch police investigation revealed to be largely a result of a coordinated and carefully planned assault on Maccabi fans.

Exactly a year later, Maccabi Tel Aviv were scheduled to play another major European competition match. this time against Aston Villa, a leading English soccer club based in Birmingham, a city over 30% of whose population is Muslim. There were, understandably, concerns about the possibility of crowd violence and the police force responsible eventually advised Birmingham Safety Advisory Group that Maccabi fans were too dangerous to be allowed to attend the game.

Subsequent investigation has revealed that, in documenting and defending this decision, the police force relied on ‘evidence’ ostensibly extracted from the internet by AI Copilot, including a report of Maccabi fan violence at a match that never even took place. They further cited Amsterdam police accounts of Maccabi fan violence: Amsterdam police have disputed this claim, stating that they reported that the cause of the trouble in Holland was much more mixed, with Israeli fans and pro-Palestinians provoking each other. The West Midlands police also claimed their decision was taken after consultation with Jewish bodies in Birmingham, who deny that any such consultation took place. The police also uncovered evidence of apparent plans by Muslim militants to attack Maccabi fans, and failed to further investigate that evidence, or present it to the Safety Advisory Group.

There’s more, but the above is probably enough to make the point.

Amid calls for the sacking of Craig Guildford, West Midlands Chief Constable (the head of the force), the Police Commissioner, who is the only official legally empowered to fire him, insisted that he would wait for the publication of a further report. Meanwhile, Guildford chose to hastily retire, thereby safeguarding his substantial pension and quite possibly forestalling any further investigation.

Impossible Thing Number Three: NHS Guidance to Midwives about Cousin Marriage

In certain Muslim communities in Britain, as elsewhere, marriage between first cousins is very common. The statistical likelihood of the child of such a couple having a congenital disease or birth defect is 10-15%, compared to the British national average rate of 2%.

Despite these stark figures, official midwifery guidance, used for teaching midwives in Britain’s National Health Service, branded concerns about the risks of congenital diseases, or birth defects, “exaggerated” and “unwarranted” The guidance did admit there were some “risks to child health associated with close relative marriage” but claimed they should be “balanced against the potential benefits”, advising that marrying a relative can offer “economic benefits” as well as “emotional and social connections” and “social capital”,

It added that staff should not stigmatise predominantly south Asian or Muslim patients who have a baby with their cousin, because the practice is “perfectly normal” in some cultures.

Britain’s shadow health secretary has pointed out that Britain’s midwives “should be focused on protecting women and babies, not normalising practices that carry well-documented risks. Cousin marriage is not safe and healthcare professionals should never be encouraged to downplay or normalise it.”

Impossible Thing Number Four: Holocaust Memorial Day in Britain’s Schools

The number of schools commemorating the Holocaust has more than halved since the October 7 attacks on Israel. As a direct consequence of the worst attack on Jews since the Holocaust, the number of secondary schools around the UK that signed up to events commemorating Holocaust Memorial Day fell from 2000 in 2023 to fewer than 1,200 in 2024 and 854 in 2025 — a reduction of nearly 60 per cent.

Commenting on the figures, Sir Ephraim Mirvis, the Chief Rabbi, said he feared for the country’s education system as teachers were following “the path of least resistance” by choosing to not mark Holocaust Memorial Day in the face of opposition from parents and pupils.

Bernice read this far and pointed out that I needed to provide a conclusion. I’m confident that my readership will be able to provide their own.

As I sit at the keyboard wondering what patterns to weave today (Sunday), I immediately recognise that the world’s stories and Israel’s stories are forming two fairly orderly, but long, queues outside my office door, impatiently waiting to be tackled. I just checked outside the door, and recognised, on the one side, Venezuela, Iran, Greenland, and, on the other, the Arab sector, the Haredim, the Government.

However, it’s Sunday, and you won’t be reading this until Tuesday, and even Trump (or, conceivably, especially Trump) has no idea where the world will be by then, so I embrace the coward’s way out.

Which I feel justified in doing, since, for us, the main event of last week was none of the above, but, rather, the brit of our latest grandson, Adam. The immediate family in Israel – Esther and Maayan’s parents and Maayan’s siblings – gathered for what was a very meaningful ceremony. As many of you know, Maayan was present at the Nova festival on October 7, 2023, and her pregnancy, and the beautiful son she is now blessed with, represent her very conscious decision to embrace life.

Maayan and Esther have chosen to pronounce the name in Hebrew with the stress, unusually, on the first syllable. This emphasis plays on the name’s connections to adama – earth, ground – and avoids overly close aural association with dam – -blood.

Every new life is special. Indeed, every new life is special in its unique way. Adam is certainly no exception. His name reflects a beginning that certainly feels very special indeed.

This is, I know, an unusually short post, but I can’t top the last couple of paragraphs, so I will just wish you all a good week and leave it there.