I'm sitting on a sun-blushed patio, sipping a mug of hot camomile tea and gazing out at mile upon mile of rolling, sun-scorched hills. The herby scent of fresh mountain air fills the lungs and does much to soothe the soul.

In short, I feel like I've arrived in paradise. Especially since the only sound to ripple the silence is soft, sibilant bird-song.

So, have I paid hundreds of pounds to pitch up at one of those faraway spas, much beloved of freebie-grabbing celebrities in glossy magazines? Er, not quite. Though judging by the way this place makes me feel, it's clearly having the same effect.

Yet, ironically, this heavenly half-term destination has become a byword for violence, hostility and fear. There's more chance of a turkey asking for an invitation to Bernard Matthews's Christmas party than spotting sun-loving luvvies here.

For, in short, I'm in what's described by irritated television commentators as the West Bank: the area of which Israel gained control after the 1967 war. However, whenever I visit Gush Etzion, the block of settlements located in the Judean Hills, directly south of Jerusalem and within this hotly disputed area, I feel nothing but an overwhelming sense of peace. To me - without wishing to overstate the case - Gush Etzion is Prozac for the soul.

But, as Israel endures the latest cycle of inflammatory and provocative terrorist attacks, friends remain aghast that not only do I continue to visit but that I deliberately choose to travel the area in search of unspoilt destinations. Places which are about as far away from the £3-a-Pepsi Tel Aviv beach prices as you can get.

So am I being stupid, single-minded or, as they say in Hebrew dafka, to seek out this place?

First, I must declare my hand. This hasn't been some arbitrary decision. When my brother moved to the area over a decade ago - doing so not out of political solidarity but because, here in the mountains, 950m above sea level, the climate is so much better - it was simply a matter of visiting family.

But soon the quietness of the yishuv - bereft of thunderous traffic - and the breathtaking views quickly wove their spell.

What's more, and hearby hangs the irony, I loved the fact that my children could enjoy so much freedom within the settlement where my brother lived.

Surrounded by a security fence and with little traffic on the roads, they could wander off to play parks with their cousins, enjoying a freedom which would have been unthinkable back in the UK. Even now, after a long, hot day, I think nothing of taking a midnight walk there - hardly something I can do in north Manchester.

That's not to say that one can remain blind to the tensions associated with this gorgeous area of Israel. There's the army check-point at the ''tunnel'' into the Gush. The signs near some Arab villages that warn Israelis not to venture down these roads as it may ''endanger life''. (Though rather bizarrely, these are in Arabic, as well as English and Hebrew).

Meanwhile, I often pass the now infamous bus stop, a five-minute drive from my brother's home, where, back in June 2014, three teenage boys were kidnapped and murdered. It's hard not to stop and freeze in horror at the small, memorial statue which recalls this savage event. Or the fact that, a young woman was attacked and murdered at the same spot only five months later

But this is Israel, where every bitter experience is sweetened by hope, creativity, life. On a recent trip at Succot, we visited a little settlement within the Gush that scratches a living making its own cheeses. On another day, we called into an art gallery in the basement of a house in Tekoa. Enterprise and activity which articulate Jewish defiance.

Even though I have relatives living in Gush I really don't need to go as often or for as long as I do. Friends who have family in a nearby settlements literally rush in and rush out for Shabbat. Others, too nervous to make the trip, insist on meeting in Jerusalem

There have been times when, as a family, we have made concessions to travelling there. After a spate of shooting on the main road to Gush Etzion, rather than pick up a hire care at the airport, my husband secured the services of a bullet proof taxi van. Inside, there were benches and no seat belts. The combination of kamikaze driving and no safety restraints was a far greater threat to our lives.

I always leave Gush with a heavy heart - the quiet, the beauty, the cool air. As soon as I hit Netanya or Tel Aviv I feel like I have arrived in another world. One of noise, bustle and heat.

Will I ever stop going there? This is not a settler's defiance. This is simply the testimony of someone who has found a beautiful place to visit and simply wants to go back. Again and again.

Where is the madness in that?