From Israel with love

I don&rsquot 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&rsquore allowed to sulk. Big time. Even if you&rsquore plied with bathtubfulls of Dead Sea clay to gussy up, a year&rsquos 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