There’s a weensy little problem we’ve been having that I haven’t written about until now. I told myself it would go away if I didn’t give it too much attention, but unfortunately, like many issues, I could not make this one magically disappear just by ignoring it. It has become enough of a subplot that I figure it’s worth telling you all about now.

As many of you know, our backyard overlooks a gorgeous nature reserve which affords us a spectacular view and a sense of serenity, away from the bustle of the city. Many people enjoy visiting the reserve for its nature trails and small campgrounds scattered throughout. Others appreciate it as the perfect place to practice hitbodedut (secluded prayer), as promoted by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov. Throughout the day, we hear people out there yelling up to Gd in prayer. Inspiring, no?

Not at three-freakin’-thirty in the morning, it isn’t.

It’s true: We have Breslover Chassidim screaming to Gd right outside our window every night. This is just fine for insomniacs but not so much for those of us who get up with a one-year-old at 5:30 every day. When it first started happening, I tried to access my compassionate side and reminded myself that these people were going to amazing lengths to improve their relationship with Gd. Within a few days, though, I was ready to draw up blueprints for a giant slingshot that would shoot the rotten pomegranates in our backyard right at their holy, Chassidishe heads.

Last night was the last straw. Around 3 a.m. one of them was at it again and he was so loud I could have sworn he was in the room with me. Needless to say, I was a world-class witch this morning and actually yelled at my son when he knocked over the bowl with my breakfast in it. I’ve decided that if I hear any of them again I will be calling the police.

In the States, public disturbances are usually the result of wild parties or abusive spouses. Only in Israel do you need to call the cops because someone is out praying too late.