There is a restaurant called Felefal Base on Rechov (Street) Yahanan Ben Zakai, in the Catamon neighbourhood in Jerusalem.
Never, ever, ever, eat there, unless you desire to enter another world - a world where you do not have the control you may be accustomed to over your bodily fucntions.
This world also comes with cut-price delirium, hot and cold flushes and a temperature of 110 degrees.
On the up-side, whilst languishing in my hospital bed and being told all kinds of rubbish by my various tormentors (who were cunningly disguised as medical professionals), I conversed with various heavenly entities who channeled their divine light into my weakened body.
The upshot of these inter-dimensional communications was that I awakened from my feverous wrestlings on Saturday morning with a gentle certainty that I should set a date for my transition to the Holy Land.
So, I did - and it's not for at least 18 months, but it feels great to have a framework for all my other decisions...
In the mean time, I arrived back home on Tuesday night to the warmest Moishe-welcome in London history, and was have since enjoyed a a couple of lovely gatherings in the homestead.
And tonight, we're gonna go party as a house-crew for the 1st time.
Rock, rock on.
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