Groups within Israel cantankerously disagree about almost everything, but if there is one thing that they agree on, it is that Jerusalem is Israel's eternal capital. And what a capital it is - bubbling over and bursting at the seams with an exuberant religiosity that could only have evolved in one of the most ethnically and religiously diverse cities on earth.

I left you last month at the entrance to the Jewish Quarter watching an ebullient Karaite bar-mitzvah celebration dance past. From here we descend, locating our accommodations in a private residence one level below the street - our vaulted room built by the Crusaders a thousand years ago. Immediately, we head for our walking tour at the Jaffa Gate, climbing the narrow, cobblestone-stepped alleys of the Muslim Quarter. As we walk along on the tour, I'll interpolate how people answered my question: 'What do you think about the upcoming peace talks?'

We set out in an animated crush of pilgrims noisily streaming into the Christian Quarter. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher awaits, an amazing warren of Christian landmarks (including Golgotha and Jesus' tomb) divided somewhat contentiously among the Greek, Armenian, Syrian, Coptic, Ethiopian and Roman Catholic orthodox. After an hour, outside to the courtyard where a Japanese tourist has fainted in the heat and been revived by Israeli paramedics now monitoring his recovery.

Ilan (paramedic): 'I work together with Palestinians all the time taking critically ill children from Ramallah (the de facto Palestinian capital) to hospitals in Israel. We need a permanent peace, but not at any price.'

Down the Via Dolorosa hearing fascinating commentary at various stations of the cross, into the Muslim Quarter, past young boys carrying huge flat rectangular boxes of pitas on their heads, and endless vendors selling everything from household goods to T-shirts (I buy a UCD T-shirt in Hebrew!).

Mohammed (T-shirt store owner): 'Most of my customers are Israelis. Everybody wants peace, and the situation is getting better.'

To Abu Shukri's for lunch, a restaurant where my wife and I last lunched 28 years ago on our first trip to Jerusalem together. Ahmed, the manager, serves us some fantastic falafels, pita, hummus, tehina and a refreshing kiwi/nana (mint) drink.

Ahmed: 'You really want to know what I think? They're a waste of time. Obama and Clinton don't know what they're doing. Abu Mazen (Mahmoud Abbas) doesn't speak for me.'

We continue walking down endless steps until we reach the security checkpoint that marks the entrance to the Jewish Quarter. Then across the Wall Plaza to another security checkpoint at the ramp leading up the Temple Mount.

It's now 1:30 and 41 degrees C in the searing sun; our guide tells us the Islamic Wakf allows access to the Mount only from 1:30 to 2:30 Sunday through Thursday and permits no Christian Bibles or Jewish Torahs. An Israeli policeman suddenly appears to inform us that we cannot enter because of a 'suspicious object' on the Mount; the bomb disposal unit is on the way. We wait, chatting with the other folks in line.

Nadia, curator at an Arabic museum in the United States: 'Before I came on this trip I didn't think it was possible to have peace with Israelis. But I have to say this trip has really opened my eyes - and now I think that maybe it is.'

At 2:05 we are startled by the ear-splitting detonations of the suspicious object overhead on the Mount. Ten minutes later, blistered and dehydrated, we climb the ramp.

Rushing (we only have 10 minutes) to the Al-Aksa mosque, across the tree grove in the courtyard under which the First and Second Jewish Temples stood, to the Dome of the Rock for pictures. The last time we were here (1985), non-Muslims could enter the mosques, but we are not allowed to enter today. Hurriedly, we leave but must immediately stop when a woman in our group collapses from heat exhaustion. As we wait for the paramedics, I talk to Michal from Ashkelon.

Michal: 'Like all Israelis, I'm desperate for peace. I've lost a father and brother in wars. I'm sure most Palestinians feel the same way - they've lost family members, too. But I wonder if either side will make concessions.'

Over five hours of arduous up and down, our last stop is just outside the Zion Gate where David is believed buried in a room under which the Last Supper was supposed to have taken place.

A few final thoughts

We opt for a quiet evening. Just before sunset, we go to the Wall where the color of the Jerusalem stones changes from bright white to a glowing pinkish red in the fading light. Surreptitiously snagging two plastic chairs from the praying area, we settle down for three hours to watch the wonderful human parade, a parade dominated by knickered Belzers with full beards, peyes (long, curled sideburns), wide fur hats and black silk coats, and Chabad Lubavitchers with simple black coats and black felt hats.

Every family has numerous children, and most of the mothers are pregnant - the birth rate among orthodox Jews in communities in and around Jerusalem has risen to 8.2.

In Jerusalem, a journalist hears about an old Jewish man who has been going to the Wall to pray, twice a day for 60 years. She goes to the Wall, watches him pray, and when he turns to leave, she approaches him.

'Sir, how long have you been coming to the Wall and praying?'

'For about 60 years.'

'Sixty years! That's amazing! What do you pray for?'

'I pray for peace between Christians, Jews and Muslims. I pray for all the hatred to stop and for all our children to grow up in safety and friendship.'

'How do you feel after doing this for 60 years?'

'Like I'm talking to a wall.'

Just like the old man who keeps praying, Israelis remain optimistic about peace - though few are willing to hope for too much. It's the same optimism expressed in the rousing final toast of every Passover meal: 'Next year, in Jerusalem.'

Shana Tovah and shalom from Israel!