We spent Pesach week in a peaceful little village in the Galilee. Perfect weather, beautiful views, good food, good company – who could ask for more?

Thursday afternoon and I was enjoying a post-prandial nap when I was awakened abruptly by a burst of ethnic music at maximum volume, seemingly emanating from the next room. Thinking that my wife had made a sudden and totally inconsiderate decision to seek out her cultural roots, I leapt from my bed and charged out of the bedroom prepared to do her serious verbal injury. I realized immediately that my murderous intentions had to be redirected. The source of the disturbance was at least 200 meters away; some neighbors were holding a party on an open terrace outside a house just down the hill.

I have no objection to music of any kind, in moderation, but this was unbearable. It was no longer possible to notice the view, converse with our friends, read a book or even enjoy the glass of wine. The noise was absolutely pervasive, dominating, obtrusive in the extreme and, without exaggerating, earsplitting.

I decided that the only way to handle this was to appeal to good-neighborly instincts, so I made my way down the hill. A young man was sitting outside the house from which the offense was being committed, but when I tried to speak to him, neither of us could hear a word the other was saying; if the noise had been unbearable from 200 meters away, it was pure torture up close. He indicated that I should come inside and speak to the householder, which I did.

Inside, some two dozen thirty-somethings were dancing up a storm, mid-afternoon, to the clamor of two live musicians using amplifying equipment and speakers that would have been adequate had the party been held in the Mann Auditorium rather than on a terrace some 4 by 6 meters. The lady of the house spotted the intruder and came outside with me so that we could parley. I explained very politely that I had risen from my bed with a serious headache on account of their indulgence, that I too had guests with whom I wished to talk rather than shout at, and that while I have no objection to their choice of music, I would appreciate it if they could just reduce the volume.

The response was immediate and aggressive.

"It's a holiday, enjoy our music" she said nastily. With difficulty, I retained my composure and asked that they just be a little considerate, and the reaction was "YOU should be considerate of our wish to have a good time, it is our right, the hour is reasonable, go away and don't bother us."

On the verge of dropping all vestiges of my British reserve and giving her ‘what for’ in true Shuk Ha'Carmel slang, I asked again for a modest reduction in volume. I got the feeling that she may have been about to make this minor concession, when her husband appeared and said, quite flatly "No."

It’s called the davka syndrome. If someone has the nerve to complain, the reaction is to dig in the heels and maintain status at all costs. Inconsideration gives way to stubborn defense. Hopeless. I retreated, but in the knowledge that we would probably have to put up with this for a few hours at worst, since it was a party that would presumably be finite, and not just a family who enjoyed a permanent state of non-communication in an environment resonating with a zillion decibels.

And indeed, after a while the style of music changed, the volume came down a bit, and an hour or so later it was all over.

Every society has its rules of civilized behavior to ensure that personal freedoms are not allowed to impinge on the freedoms of others. When insensitivity gives way to blatant aggression, the line has been crossed even if there has been no breach of the law. One has to decide to live with the nuisance, walk away from it, or react in kind. Maybe I should have focused my own loudspeakers in their direction and blasted them that same evening with Mahler’s 1^st Symphony while they were glued to ‘Big Brother’ or ‘Survivor’. I can only hope that it was just my misfortune to encounter a group of rather unpleasant individuals, and that this wasn’t a micro-expression of a growing national psyche.