For the last seven years before our aliya, Bernice and I lived in Nantymoel, a mining (now an ex-mining) village almost at the head of the Ogwr valley, which is the next valley to the west of the more famous Rhondda valley. Our house (Bethel Cottage, opposite Bethel chapel: we lived in Bet El before coming on aliya – much the safer option) perched on one side of the valley, with a magnificent view of the forested other side of the valley.

Of course, this being a South Wales valley, ‘view’ was an accurate description only a small percentage of the time. As we used to say: ‘If you can’t see the other side of the valley, it’s raining; if you can, it’s about to rain.’ The first mountain that the Atlantic rainclouds rolling in from Newfoundland encountered was the Bwlch, just north of Nantymoel, so we could expect about 300 days of rain a year. When the sun shone, of course, the scenery was beautiful.

Both Bernice and I worked down the valley, she in the market town of Bridgend, and I in a village a little further west. When we first moved up the valley from Bridgend, where we had lived for the first seven years of our married life, it took us a long time to realise that ‘up the valley’ and ‘down the valley’ were two different climate zones. Spring reached Bridgend several weeks before it crept up the valley to Nantymoel, and for much of the year Bridgend was significantly warmer and drier. We would set off in the morning wrapped up against the cold, and spend the journey shedding layers of clothing.

I mention all this because it was a phenomenon that I had not encountered again anywhere else, until last week, when we took the kids and grandkids away for 3 days in an Airbnb in the Golan: more specifically, the Northern Golan, which I had not realised made a difference. Bernice and I drove up alone last Monday , leaving Maale Adumim around noon, and enjoyed a very warm and sunny drive up the Jordan Valley road, which has, thankfully, signficantly improved since last time we took it.

Looping round the east coast of the Kinneret, we continued north and noticed that the weather was getting chillier and less sunny as we climbed. When we arrived in cold and windy Alonei Habashan, 15 kilometres west of Katzrin, we were very glad that we had brought our winter woolies, coats and hats. Our hostess advised us that, if the weather was bad, and we wanted to tour around, we should head south, into what would undoubtedly be better weather.

In the event, we did not venture terribly far. With two babies and a three-year-old, it seemed more sensible to be a little less ambitious in our plans. We had hoped that we would be able to eat out or order in, but it had become clear over the week before our trip, when we (or, more accurately, Esther) did more intensive research and spoke in detail to our hostess, that there were few kosher options, and none that delivered to Alonei Habashan. We therefore brought supplies with us for all our meals, and everyone pitched in over the course of the couple of days of pizza and pasta.

Those of us who drink agreed that, if you bring sufficient supplies of decent wine and home-made beer, home catering is always delicious; those who are more abstemious enjoyed the fresh fruit and orange juice; Tao’s Nana found supplies of chocolate biscuits, and the two babies enjoyed business as usual. Esther and Maayan brought a delicious soup and their excellent blend of coffee. When Bernice and Esther discussed quantities, a few days before we went, Esther erred on the side of caution (by which I mean over-catering). When Bernice and I went shopping, we both added to that error.

The result was, of course, that at the end of our stay, we had enough food left over to be able to set Esther and Maayan up for hosting Micha’el, Tslil and the boys (I do like the sound of that: ‘the boys’) for a couple of days, while Bernice and I were able to travel home considerably less weighed down that we had been on the journey up.

The property we rented was a fairly large house, with more than enough bedrooms, three bathrooms, a large, covered porch area that the kids used a lot and gardens that we didn’t use. The best feature of the house was the downstairs living area, which was open-plan and large, enabling us all to be together with Tao playing at one end with the tiny pieces of Playmobil that were among the many toys and games available, while the two babies could be safely on the floor well away from the chokables. At the same time, all six adults could sit confortably on the slightly shabby but confortable sofas, beanbag and easy chair.

On our last day, we woke to a very thick mist. Two-thirds of us ventured out in this in two cars, to visit Aniam, a moshav with a small ‘artists’ village’ featuring a parade of art and craft workshp-showrooms. This was only 17 kilometres from where we were staying, but, as we drove down the mountain, the mist thinned until we eventually dropped below it. Having left on a cold, dark, dank winter’s day, we arrived at Aniam to be greeted by warm sunshine. A couple of the showrooms had some very attractive ceramics, and Bernice and I were even able to find a souvenir of our time away.

As is always the case, we needed to ignore the fact that the shop boasted dozens of similar items, and imagine the piece we were thinking about in isolation. On our honeymoon in Majorca, we bought wooden figures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. In this case, the shop boasted serried ranks of identical figures, stretching to the horizon like the terracota army: literally hundreds of cloned Men of La Mancha. Fortunately, we managed to persuade ourselves that, taken in isolation, one pair of figures would look attractive, rather than cheap and touristy. 50 years later, we are still very fond of them.

In all, our Golan mini-break was very enjoyable. It was lovely being away with the kids, and especially seeing the three boys interacting with each other. Raphael and Ollie, in particular, seem to get along really well, and are both more interested in each other than is often the case at their ages. Sadly, we have few opportunities to be all together, so it was a wonderful couple of days.

From Zichron, Micha’el and family went to Tslil’s parents for Shabbat, so Bernice and I had three days at home by ourselves, before they returned on motzei shabbat, and we moved into their last three full days before they set off for the airport. The COVID-laden start to their stay here has meant that this trip has been in a sense shorter than hoped.

However, we know how lucky we are that we can all be together for a whole month and still, at the end, be on speaking terms with each other. Some members of the family find this a lot easier than others, but I promise that I do try my best. Meanwhile, a few holiday snaps, including the long awaited formal family portrait of all nine of us – three households, three generations.