My Eishes Chaver and I took the progeny up North for the end of Chanukah. On Thursday we went skiing in the Hermon and then we spent Shabbos shtiebel-hopping in Tzfat. I like to hedge my bets.

Breslov on Friday night was fine -- the davening was (unsurprisingly) not very different from that of Breslov in Katamon but about twenty times the size. Shabbos morning we went to Kossov, which several people had recommended, but it seems to have fallen on hard times. The baal shachris was appropriately attired and coiffed but had nisht ka shtimmer, nisht ka nisach, nisht ka ivra (no voice, no style, no Hebrew). I've got nothing but admiration for people who trade Burger King for Melech HaMashiach or the New School for New Square, but I sometimes wish they'd hold off on the frock and payos until they've mastered the patach genuvah. After Hallel, we escaped to the happy (Carlebach) minyan in the Beirav Shul, which was crowded with American fellas learning in the Mir. The chosson bochurim wore scarves.

Just to prove that I'm unteachable, we went back to Kossov for mincha. The guy with the key to the aron koidesh was late so they lained after chazaras hashatz. They also do hagbah before laining and not after so that if only they'd have saved Ashrei for the end, we'd have had a perfectly backwards davening.

On Sunday we davened shachris in Sanz. Here's a tip: never go to the last shachris in a minyan factory. These people have absolutely nothing to do next and davening in such a minyan is like riding the slow train to nowhere.

On the way home, we stopped off at at Kever Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. It's a full-service stop: Rashbi presides over picnic tables, souvenir stands (I couldn't find a model of the site in a glass bubble with snow) and Hare Kr, um, Na Nach Nachman guys jumping and chanting. My People.