The call

Hebrew University is geographically located in East Jerusalem, though it’s considered West Jerusalem. The French Hill is ambiguous; not considered a Jewish settlement, but not considered West Jerusalem, either. All of this geography is a prelude to a very simple point: from campus and my apartment, I can hear the Muslim call to prayer five times a day (or rather, whenever I’m awake and in a place with an open window). And oddly, it’s a very comforting sound. I have no idea what the words mean, but the very sound is a comfort. Even knowing the politics, even knowing that many of the religious people who heed this call wish I wasn’t sitting where I’m sitting, in this land—their land—the sound is a comfort. It’s a reminder that this country is home to devout people of many religions, and that Jews don’t have a monopoly on religion here. It’s like a wish, like it’s saying respect us, too! A constant coming out, perhaps. A five-times-daily Pride, a reminder to everyone that we’re here, respect us, too! It’s an odd comparison, but maybe it explains things a bit.