And grow they have. Modi'in Ilit is not the only significant Israeli urban centre on the West Bank: Ma'aleh Adumim and Beitar Ilit each house 35,000-45,000 people. "When the media talk about evacuating settlements, they are thinking of caravans. Look at what we've built!" Ephraim is incredulous. "You want to remove this?"

He suggests we visit Nili, a tiny settlement nearby, before we leave. We have to pass the security barrier built during Ariel Sharon's premiership which did more to reduce suicide bombings in Israel than probably any other factor. Interestingly, the barrier was constructed so that Modi'in Ilit lies on the Israeli side, even though it is beyond the Green Line. More interestingly, the point at which we pass through the barrier is framed by a structure which I'm told will become a passport terminal. The Palestinian Authority is planning to declare statehood unilaterally in September at the meeting of the UN General Assembly, and Ephraim suspects that a decision between the Israeli, Palestinian Arab and American leaders has already been reached, but that we have not yet been informed. On the face of it, Israeli policy is opposed to this unilateral declaration, insisting that progress can only be made at the negotiating table. And yet, seeing these terminals here does indeed raise questions, not least because they have allegedly been built with Israeli money. 

"Bruchim Ha-ba'im Le'Nili" ("Welcome to Nili"), the sign reads. Situated atop a hill, its few houses crowned with red roofs, a couple of soldiers napping in a jeep, and the Palestinian Arab city of Ramallah in the distance, this place better conforms to my impressions of what a settlement is. But the electric gate is manned by a secular resident, not the skullcap-wearing, Uzi-carrying religious man I expected.  

Ephraim explains that the residents have a rota for these sorts of community jobs, and that this is a small commuter village: cheap living, a green and well-maintained environment, a beautiful vista of Samarian hills, wonderful air, and a short journey to the commercial areas of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. It is remarkably small, though: there are only a few sizeable houses of varying colours and a school, which perhaps serves some of the neighbouring communities too, like Naaleh, which sits atop the next hill. A sign points to a synagogue. Ephraim jokes that the residents enjoy the exclusivity; there is indeed something of a Los Angeles private estate about it. Nili has a paradisiacal quality; Ephraim picks a plant to use in a salad for dinner.

On our way to Tel Aviv, we return through the passport terminal. Unlike the uninterrupted journey inwards, we must slow down on our way out, though, like most of the vehicles in front of us, we are waved through since our car has an Israeli licence plate.

We stop to do some shopping at a Rami Levi hypermarket on the way. Recently, the country mourned the murders of Udi and Ruth Fogel, along with three of their children, aged 11, four and three months, at the hands of Palestinian Arabs, while they were sleeping at home in the settlement of Ithamar. An independent poll found that almost half of surveyed Palestinian Arabs supported the murders. Three other children survived, and Rami Levi, I'm told, has pledged to provide them with groceries until they each reach the age of 18.

Apparent lulls in violence here are constantly punctured by tragic atrocities. And there is always a story. A recent bombing in Jerusalem killed a Scottish Christian missionary who was studying Hebrew for six months in order to return to Togo and translate the Old Testament into the local language. One of the innumerable rockets Hamas fired from Gaza hit a school bus, and though only one teenager was on board at the time, he died of his wounds.