A Soundscape of Jerusalem

At 6 a.m., I rise to morning birds’ calls and the easy moan of distant traffic.  Yes, Jerusalem has changed, both for us and the critters it hosts. As buildings multiply, as clouds of dust rise from above and below, Jerusalem still sings out as a modern city built on ancient soil.  The birdies exchange greetings as neighbors also do. I imagine Sachmo’s “Beautiful World” and the sound clouds of “Chag Sameachs” that multiply and collect, perhaps proving that head nods and gentle whispers have the power to change the day. On Pessach mornings some travel north or south, while we the “lazy”  stay at home. Jerusalem soon reveals a rare silence that wraps us in a soft ether; we finally can hear our own breath as we pause to relish the holiday.

Such quiet retreats are not only features of our balconies but also Jerusalem’s “quiet places” such as the Israel Museum’s Billy Rose Garden designed by the late visionary artist Isamu Noguchi…Isamu once said to me “I wanted to create an Acropolis for the Middle East, a place that can be a quiet escape from all the tension and woes that people experience here”.  For sure, if one walks the winding garden’s paths, the sound of footsteps on endless fields of gravel transport us to ancient lands, perhaps even the sound of ancient slaves marching to freedom…or perhaps the huge waves of Jerusalem winds that slowly embrace us, delivering gentle choirs of faint voices that remind us we are still alive.

There are other quiet places less advertised, like the overlook adjacent to Kibbutz Ramat Rachel where I often hear echoes of murmuring voices rising from the caves used to protect Jerusalem during the War of Independence.  These bunkers, albeit deserted, provide still another mysterious sonal adventure.

We are so lucky on holidays when most of the building stops.  For many of us naturalists the grinding, banging and screeching are modern Jerusalem’s curse.  We are lucky that the cacophony has now paused, allowing the ancient choirs and murmurs of the past to reveal themselves.  These delicate sounds (sometimes real or imagined) echo ouds plucking and reedy fields hissing.  The “imagined” and the “real” become one.

Oh that silence could grace us not only on holidays! Oh that the corners of our mind could be soothed by the pregnant silences found throughout our dear city where ancient hospitality and quietude would be balanced with modernized crash and boom!  Yes we need to keep things rolling as our modernized high-rises feed Jerusalem’s new vision. But alas, they also trigger our neighborhood dogs to answer with constant cacophonous cries.  Yes, the dogs now multiply and though they protect us, their growls grow in high decibels leaving only tiny slivers of pause. The brief threads of silence uncover our breathing and occasional greetings on this holiday of freedom.

Yes, our soundscape has shifted from the quiet 1980s to the raucous 2020s. Yes we are “modernized.” We are busy, often too busy to listen. We have less time to hear the beauty around us.  I pray that quietude and kindness returns.  It is an essential part of  Jerusalem whether ancient or modern or both together in harmony.

“The Sadness of Our Times” (from Part I, “Quick Shift Messenger”) composed and performed by Stephen Horenstein; (video by Elkana Levi)