Back Again

I'm sitting in French Hill, also known as Givat Sarfateet and Givat Shapiro, where I call home for the time being. It is in a neighborhood north of Jerusalem and across the green line, but not far enough to be considered a "dangerous" area. From the porch of my friend's home I can look into the West Bank, the Jordanian Mountains, and the valley between French Hill and Mount Scopus where the nearby Arab town of Isawiyya lies.
My class begins tomorrow for my masters in musicology, four hours of music analysis in Hebrew and then Sunday, a class in Bach, also in Hebrew. Tomorrow is basically the assurance that I am attempting the ridiculous, but hey if not now, when?
No really, I'm quite fired up for this degree. I looked over the description today in English and it is the path I want. I will be able to return to my studies of Middle Eastern culture through music while exploring other musics of the world.
I am enjoying Jerusalem. Regardless of all the crap that can make this country a terrible place, she never ceases to amaze me. Her winding corriders and cobblestone paths shape her. In her voice, the prayers of Muslims, Jews, and Christians sound from their houses of prayer as well the occasional Dixieland Band playing on Ben Yehuda Street. Just last night, I caught a brass band playing, Marsh Dondurma (www.marshdondurma.com) playing on Ben Yehuda, highly recommended! The whole city is a spiritual and material meeting of continental plates carrying servings of wonderfully, slightly unbalanced in the healthiest of ways with the more often than not, eccentric and quite absurd _________ (fill in the blank . . . it could be anyone) that just won't stop irritating and contributing to the balagan (mess) of the city.

It feels good to be here.


peace