A Braid of Voices

Standing on the rim of the basin at the hour of the muezzins' call, one hardly believes one's ears; those voices, electronically amplified as we know, rise and reach out from every mosque - clearly visible thanks to the green lights signaling their presence - then congregate in the high air to create a braid of voices that sounds nothing like the packed sum of its parts. Whoever walks in Abu Tor or on the slopes of the hill of the High Commissioner's Palace at twilight, especially on those heavy hot days when the air stands still and slender columns of smoke rise from the rural houses, drawing slow and upright lines on the horizon, will clearly hear this great voice, sounding like a powerful lament bursting out of the entire city, as if supplicating to the sky, forcefully springing forth out of the great city spread across the hills.