Vibe designing can't bridge the gap (yet)

August 2025

Every Friday, same ritual: my mom googles "זמני שבת תל אביב," lands on Ynet, closes three popup ads, scrolls past political news, finally finds Shabbat times buried between more ads. Millions of Jews, same weekly frustration.
This is a design problem hiding in plain sight.

The AI Mirage

Started where every designer starts in 2024: AI tools. Lovable, Cursor, v0, Figma Make. "Build a Shabbat times website," I prompted.
The results? Template soup. No soul. No understanding that Israeli society is fractured along religious lines—that Chabad aesthetics scream "not for you" to secular Jews.

Even with my carefully curated mood boards, AI couldn't navigate cultural nuance. It can code, but it can't feel.
Back to Figma. Back to craft.

Walking the fine line between “religious” and “Israeli” design

The challenge wasn't just aesthetic—it was political. Religious sites alienate secular Jews. Secular sites feel apologetic. I needed to build a bridge.
I found my inspiration in 1960s Israeli posters: bold, typographic, confidently Israeli without being religious or secular. Dosto from RAG Studio was perfect for conveying my intention, but in lighter weights. Heavy felt like proclamation, light felt like invitation.

Icons became philosophical: religious objects as iPhone language. Kiddush cup simple as notification bell. Challah minimal as wifi symbol. Religion isn't separate from life—it punctuates it.

Purple, not expected blue. The actual color of twilight Shabbat skies.  No scrolling. Everything visible at once. A poster that happens to be digital.

The Developer's Edge

Here's where the story turns. Once I had the design, I returned to AI—but now as a conductor, not a passenger. Claude became my engineering partner, helping me implement what I'd envisioned. And because I controlled both design and code, I could add invisible UX magic:

Location memory: Visit once from Tel Aviv, and it remembers. No more clicking through cities every Friday.
Browser geolocation: The site asks where you are and suggests the right city immediately. Zero friction.
Aggressive caching: Shabbat times don't change mid-week. Cache everything. Load instantly.

These aren't features a designer typically gets to implement. They require negotiating with developers, product managers, sprint planning. But with AI as my engineering partner, I just... built them.

A new tool, utilized

AI couldn't design. Couldn't navigate Israeli religious-secular tensions. But once I'd done the human work—the cultural navigation, the testing with real humans—AI became a superpower. It let me manifest my complete vision without compromise.

This is the designer's new reality: AI doesn't replace taste. It amplifies it. It needs meticulous supervision, but now I can act on my imagination, invent solutions to the small, irritating gaps of my day-to-day. And on top of all? it's fun!
The highest compliment came from my grandmother: "Finally, someone made it normal."

Vibe designing can't bridge the gap (yet)

August 2025

Every Friday, same ritual: my mom googles "זמני שבת תל אביב," lands on Ynet, closes three popup ads, scrolls past political news, finally finds Shabbat times buried between more ads. Millions of Jews, same weekly frustration.
This is a design problem hiding in plain sight.

The AI Mirage

Started where every designer starts in 2024: AI tools. Lovable, Cursor, v0, Figma Make. "Build a Shabbat times website," I prompted.
The results? Template soup. No soul. No understanding that Israeli society is fractured along religious lines—that Chabad aesthetics scream "not for you" to secular Jews.

Even with my carefully curated mood boards, AI couldn't navigate cultural nuance. It can code, but it can't feel.
Back to Figma. Back to craft.

Walking the fine line between “religious” and “Israeli” design

The challenge wasn't just aesthetic—it was political. Religious sites alienate secular Jews. Secular sites feel apologetic. I needed to build a bridge.
I found my inspiration in 1960s Israeli posters: bold, typographic, confidently Israeli without being religious or secular. Dosto from RAG Studio was perfect for conveying my intention, but in lighter weights. Heavy felt like proclamation, light felt like invitation.

Icons became philosophical: religious objects as iPhone language. Kiddush cup simple as notification bell. Challah minimal as wifi symbol. Religion isn't separate from life—it punctuates it.

Purple, not expected blue. The actual color of twilight Shabbat skies.  No scrolling. Everything visible at once. A poster that happens to be digital.

The Developer's Edge

Here's where the story turns. Once I had the design, I returned to AI—but now as a conductor, not a passenger. Claude became my engineering partner, helping me implement what I'd envisioned. And because I controlled both design and code, I could add invisible UX magic:

Location memory: Visit once from Tel Aviv, and it remembers. No more clicking through cities every Friday.
Browser geolocation: The site asks where you are and suggests the right city immediately. Zero friction.
Aggressive caching: Shabbat times don't change mid-week. Cache everything. Load instantly.

These aren't features a designer typically gets to implement. They require negotiating with developers, product managers, sprint planning. But with AI as my engineering partner, I just... built them.

A new tool, utilized

AI couldn't design. Couldn't navigate Israeli religious-secular tensions. But once I'd done the human work—the cultural navigation, the testing with real humans—AI became a superpower. It let me manifest my complete vision without compromise.

This is the designer's new reality: AI doesn't replace taste. It amplifies it. It needs meticulous supervision, but now I can act on my imagination, invent solutions to the small, irritating gaps of my day-to-day. And on top of all? it's fun!
The highest compliment came from my grandmother: "Finally, someone made it normal."

Vibe designing can't bridge the gap (yet)

August 2025

Every Friday, same ritual: my mom googles "זמני שבת תל אביב," lands on Ynet, closes three popup ads, scrolls past political news, finally finds Shabbat times buried between more ads. Millions of Jews, same weekly frustration.
This is a design problem hiding in plain sight.

The AI Mirage

Started where every designer starts in 2024: AI tools. Lovable, Cursor, v0, Figma Make. "Build a Shabbat times website," I prompted.
The results? Template soup. No soul. No understanding that Israeli society is fractured along religious lines—that Chabad aesthetics scream "not for you" to secular Jews.

Even with my carefully curated mood boards, AI couldn't navigate cultural nuance. It can code, but it can't feel.
Back to Figma. Back to craft.

Walking the fine line between “religious” and “Israeli” design

The challenge wasn't just aesthetic—it was political. Religious sites alienate secular Jews. Secular sites feel apologetic. I needed to build a bridge.
I found my inspiration in 1960s Israeli posters: bold, typographic, confidently Israeli without being religious or secular. Dosto from RAG Studio was perfect for conveying my intention, but in lighter weights. Heavy felt like proclamation, light felt like invitation.

Icons became philosophical: religious objects as iPhone language. Kiddush cup simple as notification bell. Challah minimal as wifi symbol. Religion isn't separate from life—it punctuates it.

Purple, not expected blue. The actual color of twilight Shabbat skies.  No scrolling. Everything visible at once. A poster that happens to be digital.

The Developer's Edge

Here's where the story turns. Once I had the design, I returned to AI—but now as a conductor, not a passenger. Claude became my engineering partner, helping me implement what I'd envisioned. And because I controlled both design and code, I could add invisible UX magic:

Location memory: Visit once from Tel Aviv, and it remembers. No more clicking through cities every Friday.
Browser geolocation: The site asks where you are and suggests the right city immediately. Zero friction.
Aggressive caching: Shabbat times don't change mid-week. Cache everything. Load instantly.

These aren't features a designer typically gets to implement. They require negotiating with developers, product managers, sprint planning. But with AI as my engineering partner, I just... built them.

A new tool, utilized

AI couldn't design. Couldn't navigate Israeli religious-secular tensions. But once I'd done the human work—the cultural navigation, the testing with real humans—AI became a superpower. It let me manifest my complete vision without compromise.

This is the designer's new reality: AI doesn't replace taste. It amplifies it. It needs meticulous supervision, but now I can act on my imagination, invent solutions to the small, irritating gaps of my day-to-day. And on top of all? it's fun!
The highest compliment came from my grandmother: "Finally, someone made it normal."

Vibe designing can't bridge the gap (yet)

August 2025

Every Friday, same ritual: my mom googles "זמני שבת תל אביב," lands on Ynet, closes three popup ads, scrolls past political news, finally finds Shabbat times buried between more ads. Millions of Jews, same weekly frustration.
This is a design problem hiding in plain sight.

The AI Mirage

Started where every designer starts in 2024: AI tools. Lovable, Cursor, v0, Figma Make. "Build a Shabbat times website," I prompted.
The results? Template soup. No soul. No understanding that Israeli society is fractured along religious lines—that Chabad aesthetics scream "not for you" to secular Jews.

Even with my carefully curated mood boards, AI couldn't navigate cultural nuance. It can code, but it can't feel.
Back to Figma. Back to craft.

Walking the fine line between “religious” and “Israeli” design

The challenge wasn't just aesthetic—it was political. Religious sites alienate secular Jews. Secular sites feel apologetic. I needed to build a bridge.
I found my inspiration in 1960s Israeli posters: bold, typographic, confidently Israeli without being religious or secular. Dosto from RAG Studio was perfect for conveying my intention, but in lighter weights. Heavy felt like proclamation, light felt like invitation.

Icons became philosophical: religious objects as iPhone language. Kiddush cup simple as notification bell. Challah minimal as wifi symbol. Religion isn't separate from life—it punctuates it.

Purple, not expected blue. The actual color of twilight Shabbat skies.  No scrolling. Everything visible at once. A poster that happens to be digital.

The Developer's Edge

Here's where the story turns. Once I had the design, I returned to AI—but now as a conductor, not a passenger. Claude became my engineering partner, helping me implement what I'd envisioned. And because I controlled both design and code, I could add invisible UX magic:

Location memory: Visit once from Tel Aviv, and it remembers. No more clicking through cities every Friday.
Browser geolocation: The site asks where you are and suggests the right city immediately. Zero friction.
Aggressive caching: Shabbat times don't change mid-week. Cache everything. Load instantly.

These aren't features a designer typically gets to implement. They require negotiating with developers, product managers, sprint planning. But with AI as my engineering partner, I just... built them.

A new tool, utilized

AI couldn't design. Couldn't navigate Israeli religious-secular tensions. But once I'd done the human work—the cultural navigation, the testing with real humans—AI became a superpower. It let me manifest my complete vision without compromise.

This is the designer's new reality: AI doesn't replace taste. It amplifies it. It needs meticulous supervision, but now I can act on my imagination, invent solutions to the small, irritating gaps of my day-to-day. And on top of all? it's fun!
The highest compliment came from my grandmother: "Finally, someone made it normal."

Vibe designing can't bridge the gap (yet)

August 2025

Every Friday, same ritual: my mom googles "זמני שבת תל אביב," lands on Ynet, closes three popup ads, scrolls past political news, finally finds Shabbat times buried between more ads. Millions of Jews, same weekly frustration.
This is a design problem hiding in plain sight.

The AI Mirage

Started where every designer starts in 2024: AI tools. Lovable, Cursor, v0, Figma Make. "Build a Shabbat times website," I prompted.
The results? Template soup. No soul. No understanding that Israeli society is fractured along religious lines—that Chabad aesthetics scream "not for you" to secular Jews.

Even with my carefully curated mood boards, AI couldn't navigate cultural nuance. It can code, but it can't feel.
Back to Figma. Back to craft.

Walking the fine line between “religious” and “Israeli” design

The challenge wasn't just aesthetic—it was political. Religious sites alienate secular Jews. Secular sites feel apologetic. I needed to build a bridge.
I found my inspiration in 1960s Israeli posters: bold, typographic, confidently Israeli without being religious or secular. Dosto from RAG Studio was perfect for conveying my intention, but in lighter weights. Heavy felt like proclamation, light felt like invitation.

Icons became philosophical: religious objects as iPhone language. Kiddush cup simple as notification bell. Challah minimal as wifi symbol. Religion isn't separate from life—it punctuates it.

Purple, not expected blue. The actual color of twilight Shabbat skies.  No scrolling. Everything visible at once. A poster that happens to be digital.

The Developer's Edge

Here's where the story turns. Once I had the design, I returned to AI—but now as a conductor, not a passenger. Claude became my engineering partner, helping me implement what I'd envisioned. And because I controlled both design and code, I could add invisible UX magic:

Location memory: Visit once from Tel Aviv, and it remembers. No more clicking through cities every Friday.
Browser geolocation: The site asks where you are and suggests the right city immediately. Zero friction.
Aggressive caching: Shabbat times don't change mid-week. Cache everything. Load instantly.

These aren't features a designer typically gets to implement. They require negotiating with developers, product managers, sprint planning. But with AI as my engineering partner, I just... built them.

A new tool, utilized

AI couldn't design. Couldn't navigate Israeli religious-secular tensions. But once I'd done the human work—the cultural navigation, the testing with real humans—AI became a superpower. It let me manifest my complete vision without compromise.

This is the designer's new reality: AI doesn't replace taste. It amplifies it. It needs meticulous supervision, but now I can act on my imagination, invent solutions to the small, irritating gaps of my day-to-day. And on top of all? it's fun!
The highest compliment came from my grandmother: "Finally, someone made it normal."