The first music I heard in the holy city of Jerusalem was not a chorus of angels from on high, but the very familiar tones of our favorite earth angel, Amerie. “1 Thing” was pumping out of the radio in my room at the Mount Zion Hotel. (And Hashim, I thought of you).

This bit of culture shock continued throughout my visit. Hearing Beyonce’s bootylicious voice ringing out in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. Listening to Nas coming out the car of a passing Israeli kid. Driving along the coast of the Dead Sea under the ancient cliffs of Qumran and hearing 50 Cent, Usher and Li’l Jon coming from Radio Amman, of all places. Yyyyyeyah u akbar.

And I began to wonder, could it really be happening? Could hip-hop, this global youth culture, have kids on both sides of the Jordan River speaking the same language? I wondered what that boded for the future of the regional peace process, and the world in general.

I had a chance to find out a bit more from the students of the Arava Institute, the charity for which I was raising money in a 300-mile bike ride from Jerusalem to the Red Sea. Arava is one of the only institutions in the Middle East that brings together young Jews and Arabs to live and work together for an extended period, in this case for the environment. But the upshot is that these young people – in their mid to late 20s, mostly – end up forming some remarkable friendships that seem to endure despite tremendous political and religious differences.

So I asked them, as a group, whether the music mattered. I didn’t get the answer I was expecting, but it was still an good answer. Shared music and culture were dwarfed by politics and pain, they seemed to say. “The thing that has made the difference here,” said one young woman from Jordan, “is personal connection.”

To anyone who’s been reading this blog over the past few months, you’ll know how that comment hit home.

The thought occurred to me that I might be speaking to the wrong generation (what about the teenagers?), but the schedule of the ride didn’t allow me to find out.

But, through my own experiences, I know shared culture does create connections, albeit bizarre ones.

Like riding down a stretch of desert road outside of Gaza with a new Palestinian friend, all the while joking with each other about Sasha Cohen’s “Ali G,” and singing an anthem by his character, the anti-Semite-baiter Borat, “Throw The Jew Down The Well.” All this as we pass a caravan of cars draped in orange, bound for a huge settler protest, in anticipation of Ariel Sharon kicking Jews out of the very settlements he once sanctioned. On Israeli Independence Day, no less.

Either he and I are forging some kind of postmodern understanding, or we’re both going straight to hell.