So there I was at an ultra-cool North Tel Aviv hair salon, sitting in front of the mirror and watching as Liraz used a brush to spread a new colour over my prematurely gray roots. Gorgeous blonde television startlets who'd come in to have their long tresses done before proceeding to the recording studios strutted around with bits of their hair wrapped in silver foil, mobile phones pressed to one ear and a cigarette in one hand, carefully angled away from their faces. Banks of televisions were tuned to Fashion Television and pop music floated out of the recessed stereo speakers.

"Don't make the red highlights too light," I reminded the tall and handsome 27 year-old colourist, who sported a tattoo of a Sanskrit word on one of his biceps.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he answered soothingly. "You'll be more beautiful than ever when I'm finished."

"Yalla," I said jokingly, "Enough with the sticky flattery."

"Nah, I never lie," he said earnestly. "Especially since I started to get in touch with religion again."

"You've become religious?" I asked, looking pointedly at his uncovered head. "What does that mean? Are you praying every day, putting on tefillin in the morning, keeping the sabbath and going to synagogue?"

"Well, some of that," he answered, as he mixed a new colour. "But I'm really focusing on the most important stuff."

"Like what?" I asked

"Like not gossiping and being kind to my neighbours," he answered, as he draped a fresh towel over my shoulders.