Pursuing this idea, I conducted a two-year video experiment near Jerusalem’s Old City. I frequently visited the area by the New Gate—one of the entrances to the historic Old City—and invited residents and visitors from diverse cultural and religious backgrounds to participate in my short art project.

 

When approaching passers-by in the streets of Jerusalem, I told them they would be filmed while listening to an audio track, without revealing its content. Those who agreed to join the experiment were taken to a nearby studio for individual sessions. Each person sat alone in a dark space facing the camera. The single instruction—echoing the project’s title—was simply: “You Don’t Have to Do a Thing.” For a few minutes, they listened to an audio track composed of traditional Christian, Muslim, and Jewish prayers, while I refrained from any interference. Afterwards, I conducted a brief interview and obtained their informed consent.

 

Although many participants believed they remained perfectly still, their bodies responded spontaneously to the emotions evoked by the prayers. Rejection, smiles, boredom, tension, and sudden grins surfaced as involuntary gestures, revealing deep and uncontrollable layers of feeling.

The resulting work comprises distinct vertical video portraits displayed on multiple synchronized screens, all sharing a single, synchronized soundtrack. Viewers can take in the ensemble or focus on each participant’s unique micro-movements and expressions.

 

No biographical information is given. The sitters might be Muslims, Christians, Jews, or people with mixed or complex backgrounds; most are secular, so their reactions speak more to cultural or national associations than to doctrine. Similar physical appearance, the absence of names or origins, and the inclusion of participants from mixed households or cross-cultural educations together render any precise affiliation impossible to discern. Consequently, responses to the soundtrack grow more intricate, with some participants reacting similarly to multiple prayers or in unexpectedly nuanced ways.

 

By blurring these identifiers, the artwork prevents viewers from assigning each participant to a single community. It strips away markers of religion, nationality, and ethnicity, foregrounding shared humanity and exposing the fragile, reactive substrata of emotion and belief. The parallels among the three sets of prayers simultaneously challenge and highlight the political tensions, divisions, and hostilities that dominate daily life—while pointing toward a more integrated, imaginable reality.