#7 - Mimsie in Israel

March 12, 2026

I was sitting on Jen’s balcony just before lunch, iced-coffee in hand, when a familiar sound drifted across the valley — one that makes me stop and listen.

The Muslim call to prayer.

[The view behind Jen's apartment building. The call to prayer drifts up from this valley.]

If you’ve never heard it in Jerusalem, it’s hard to describe. It rises from nearby mosques and rolls across the hills like an ancient echo calling people to stop what they’re doing and pray.

But interestingly… everything doesn’t stop.

Life keeps moving. Cars keep driving. But for practicing Muslims, it’s a signal to pause and turn their attention toward prayer.

Others simply carry on with their day.

And as I sat there listening, one thought kept coming to mind.

Israel is currently at war with a radical Islamic regime in Iran — missiles flying toward this tiny nation — yet that call still rings out across the city.

No one turned it off.

Which struck me as remarkable.

Sitting here on this balcony, I’m reminded again that I’m living in a country where freedom — even complicated freedom — still exists.

Hearing that sound drift up the valley this morning brought back a memory from about ten years ago. I became curious about Islam and started writing down questions and looking for answers. One rule guided the whole process: any question I asked about Islam, I also had to ask of my own faith — Christianity.

When my little “study” was finished, I invited a group of special mom friends — women I had studied the Bible with for years — to walk through it with me. I’ve always believed the best way to really learn something is to commit to teach it… which basically meant they graciously agreed to listen and help me talk it through. If they happen to read this, they know exactly who they are :-)

One thing we learned was about the Five Pillars of Islam. One of those pillars is prayer. Practicing Muslims pause five times a day — wherever they are — turning their attention toward God. Near a mosque, the call is broadcast so people know when it is time.

As we talked about that, I challenged my friends with a small experiment.

What if we tried something similar?

I asked them to set five alarms on their phones throughout the day. Each time the alarm sounded, we would simply pause wherever we were and pray the prayer Jesus taught His followers: “The Lord’s Prayer.” Matthew 6:9–13

Stop and pray five times a day.

My girlfriends were gracious enough to go along with my slightly crazy challenge — which, if you know us, probably wasn’t the craziest thing we’ve done together. So we committed to try it for one week.

That little experiment came back to mind as I sat there listening again.

Muslims don’t pray just once a day — the call to prayer sounds throughout the city five times daily, beginning early in the morning and continuing until night. Hearing it now reminds me of that rhythm of turning attention back to God again and again.

And sitting here today, hearing the call to prayer drifting across the valley, I’m struck by something else.

That sound is happening in a country currently under missile attack from a radical Islamic regime.

Israel could have silenced that broadcast the moment missiles started flying toward its cities.

But it didn’t.

This nation is tiny compared to Iran — about nine million people facing nearly ninety million. Iran is vast. Israel is small.

And yet here I sit on a balcony in Jerusalem hearing that call continue — a call that lasts three to five minutes as it echoes across the city.

The call itself isn’t a call to war. It’s a call for Muslims to acknowledge Allah and bow in prayer — very different from the God I pray to, but still a call to worship.

People outside of Israel often talk about how much of an apartheid state it is. But when a country allows the call to prayer of the same religion that is attacking it right now… that says something about the kind of freedom that exists here.

Israel is complicated.

The population here is incredibly diverse — Jewish, Muslim, Christian, secular, religious — people from dozens of nations who now call this land home.

Living together isn’t always simple.

But last night I saw a small picture of that diversity in Jen’s apartment. We invited a family over for dinner and a night of games — six adults and five little kids gathered into a space that Jerusalem would simply call a normal apartment.

The place is small, but that doesn’t seem to slow anyone down. People just keep adding chairs, pulling kids onto laps, and making room.

This was our version of fellowship last night.

The family we invited over is currently staying in a small ministry apartment here in Jerusalem. They’re sharing it with another family and visiting parents because the place where they normally live doesn’t have a good protected shelter. With sirens and alerts still happening, they could use a little different scenery — and honestly, a little breathing room.

As I looked around the table, I was struck by the diversity in that little room.

A Hungarian.
A German.
A Romanian.
And an American… plus me — the American grandma who just happened to arrive before this war started.

Most of our conversation happened in English, but the kids moved easily between Hebrew, German, and English — sometimes all within the same sentence.

As the evening went on, the apartment filled with the simple things that make life feel normal again.

Kids playing together.
Adults playing games after a good meal around the table.

Outside the apartment, the world is tense. Missiles cross borders. Sirens interrupt sleep — and one interrupted our evening, the siren sending all of us to the mamad ... our protected space. 

But inside that small apartment in Jerusalem, people from different nations were simply sharing an evening together.

Life continuing.

And sometime during the evening, the final call to prayer sounded again across the valley. 

I didn’t hear it this time — dinner, kids, and games filled the apartment — but I know it came just the same.

Sirens may interrupt the evening…
but prayer still fills the air.

And in this small, complicated country, that sound is a reminder that freedom still has a voice.