Before sunrise this morning, my thoroughly dysfunctional body clock announced it was time for someone, somewhere in the world, to get up. You can imagine my surprise when I figured out it meant me. It was early enough that the hotel restaurant hadn't opened -- just coffee in the lobby for insomniacs and jet lag addled tourists. Short on options, and long on time (my day wasn't scheduled to start until 7:30), I put on my coat, and went for a walk. Jerusalem is a city for walking. The weaving of the streets make Boston seem organized, and buildings built before Mr. Otis figured out the elevator (or Sir Thomas Crapper figured out indoor plumbing --that's true, I swear) are of a pretty human scale. It's a pretty short walk from here to the Built Before Year Zero walls of the old city of Jerusalem. There are a lot of politics with this, and I'm not going to address any of them here (except to declare unequivocally, like every other person in the Middle East, that I am right, and everybody else is wrong). But the walk from here to the old city is probably something my great grandparents dreamed about doing, and ...