ABSTRACT
As you approach Jerusalem from the valley, the road ascends to a crest overlooking the western hills of the city. Down the slopes, a deserted Arab village hugs the hill, small and larger cubes made of the stone of the mountain: domes, arches, vaults, the mosque's tower, shaded passages, all in harmony with the landscape and the sun. At the summit of the hill is a series of long four-story apartment structures built in the late fifties. They do violence to the mountain. They are foreign, as if imported from some rainy, cool European suburb.
