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In my last blog post, I addressed the silent witness of the stones at Masada. But the Holy Land is alive with sound, reflecting the contrasts to be found there.

In the Jerusalem area, the Muslim call to prayer (the Adhan) drifts over the city five times a day. I think it’s recorded. Then it’s broadcast from loudspeakers on the minarets of the mosques. That doesn’t allow for the best tone quality, but I was fascinated by the chant-like melody. As we were heading to the Church of Reformation, a Palestinian Lutheran Church in Bethlehem, we heard the Adhan. Before the last notes faded, we arrived at our destination and the bells in the church tower rang out, as if in greeting.  As the one sound faded into the other, the effect was lovely. In this land of tensions, if only people of different faiths could live together so seamlessly…

One morning, our bus entered Jerusalem at rush hour.  A member of our group joked, “Are we in L.A.?” All the car horns honking reminded me of New York City. Then a large truck entered an intersection. The driver leaned on the horn.  It was so deep and loud that suddenly all the car horns sounded like toys. We all laughed. Jerusalem may be an ancient city, but it sure sounded like the 21^stCentury.  Later, in the wilderness up at Tel Arad, we could look down at the age-old scene of sheep and camels in the fields below us, while we heard sonic booms from military jets in the sky above. The contrast of old and new was striking.

For me, a much-anticipated part of the trip was visiting the Western Wall.  This is the remaining part of the retaining wall that surrounded the temple in Jerusalem and is very close to where the most sacred space, the Holy of Holies, was. Due to the destruction of the Temple by the Romans, it is also known as the Wailing Wall. While a few people did shed quiet tears, the sound I heard there was joyful. A group of men were singing and clapping, possibly celebrating a Bar Mitzvah.

After experiencing the arid and barren wilderness, the sound of the rushing water at Dan Springs was the embodiment of refreshment. 

One sunny afternoon, we stopped for lunch in Tiberius, by the Sea of Galilee.  Just outside the restaurant, a musician sang and playing a stringed instrument. The sound was similar to a guitar, but it didn’t quite look like one. It was a Greek bouzouki.  (If you’re curious, you can find bouzouki music on YouTube.) As we were seated at tables on a shaded patio nearby, we realized the speaker above us was playing different music simultaneously. Hearing both at once was grating, and I breathed a sigh of relief when a waiter turned off the recorded music and we could enjoy the wonderful live music.

I can’t write about the sounds of our trip without mentioning what we heard every time we stepped onto the elevator at one of our hotels. Try to imagine Israeli singers crooning the cheesiest of 1970’s American pop music, with a Middle Eastern beat! I can overlook typical American “elevator music.” I would have loved hearing traditional Israeli or Arabic melodies. But this combination left my roommate and I sharing a smirk and trying not to make snarky comments. 

Everywhere we went, there were groups of travelers from all over the world. Our host commented that regardless of the language spoken, we could always recognize the Lord’s Prayer by its cadence. On the grounds surrounding the church at the Mount of Beatitudes, diverse groups, representing a variety of faith communities, were holding worship services. At one point I was aware of two groups singing.  They were singing different songs in different languages at the same time. And yet, unlike the clash of music we experienced at the restaurant a few days before, or the awkward mix of styles in the elevator, this random combination was beautiful. I wondered if I was getting a little taste of what heaven sounds like—or what heaven on earth could sound like—as people of different nations and traditions praise God together.