hen you think of Jerusalem, you think of the Western Wall. You build a mental picture of the majestic Dome of the Rock in your head. You might, having seen Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ, think of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Via Dolorosa, or if you are so inclined, think of the eponymous poem by William Blake.

The Old City and what is present within its hallowed walls is what defines Jerusalem for most people that have more than a mere passing interest in that place. What we end up oblivious to, as a result, is that the city is a living entity, embracing modernity and keeping pace with the times, just like every major city in the world.

After the state of Israel came into existence in 1948, the city's landscape has changed significantly, expanding westward towards the Judean hills, to house the (then) new, immigrant Jewish population while the Arab population built up and developed the eastern side of the city.

Newer landmarks that define modern Jerusalem include Yad Vashem, the Knesset, the Israel Museum and the recently inaugurated Jerusalem Chords Bridge that has given the city a skyline of sorts, at its western entrance. The city also has a recently inaugurated light rail system in place to spruce up its public transport system.

However, one of the less famous, yet highly interesting places that one must visit when in Jerusalem is the Museum on the Seam (http://www.mots.il.org/en). The Museum on the Seam is a socio-political contemporary art museum that divests itself from the underlying religious themes that connect and define most other prominent landmarks in the city.

The museum is in the ultra-Orthodox neighbourhood of Mea Shearim, where most secular Jews fear to tread, especially during the Sabbath. Guidelines prescribing dress codes and behaviour can be seen on signboards as one enters the neighbourhood. My naïve tourist hat firmly on, I was blissfully ignorant of this fact as I sauntered through the neighbourhood, occasionally consulting my map without a care in the world.

The museum is located on the former armistice line that comprised the border between Israel and Jordan from 1948 to 1967 and has withstood gunfire and shelling from the Jordanians during that period. The façade of the museum is ridden with bullet-holes and has been left looking intentionally dilapidated and war-ravaged, to serve as a reminder of the troubled times that it has withstood.

An illuminated sign in Hebrew, Arabic and English proudly proclaims, 'Olive Trees Will Be Our Borders', although this continues to remain nothing more than the mission statement for the Utopian ideal that peaceniks on both sides have aspired for. The museum has no religious or political affiliation, and in a land plagued with political conflict, aims to use artistic expression to raise uncomfortable and poignant questions about sensitive issues.

In contrast to its faded exterior, the interiors are modern and squeaky clean. It has three levels of exhibits and has a cosy rooftop cafeteria where people are encouraged to sit around and have healthy, free-wheeling discussions on what they've just experienced. The rooftop also houses the remnants of a military bunker, which once overlooked the neighbourhood of Bab-al-Zahra in East Jerusalem.

The exhibition on display when I visited the museum was titled 'The Right to Protest' and showcased art that was deeply moving and disturbing. While each piece of art highlighted some aspect of protest that made one pause, wonder, and ruminate, thanks mainly to a diverse set of exhibits put together by the curator Raphie Etgar, there were three that stood out in particular.

Jenny Holzer's exhibit on declassified US government documents, which subtly highlights some of the wrongs that took place in Abu Ghraib, makes one cringe. There is nothing in her work of art that is graphic, but the impact that viewing interrogation transcripts of American soldiers who committed human rights violations has is as devastating as viewing pictures of prisoner torture, without the accompanying onslaught on one's sensibilities.

The works of Spencer Tunick are less disturbing, featuring the naked bodies of volunteers that he uses to cover up the landscapes that he chooses to highlight. Having been associated with Greenpeace, LGBT rights and other causes, his works displayed at the Museum on the Seam contain photographs that resulted in his arrest. He filed suit and won; his First Amendment rights were subsequently upheld by the US Supreme Court and these exhibits serve as a reminder of how our right to protest and express ourselves can never be suppressed.

Liu Bolin is a Chinese artist who paints himself to match his background and his art capture him blending in seamlessly into China's urban landscapes. His methods of protest are pacifist at best, and through camouflage, Bolin aims to highlight how China has sacrificed the cause of the individual on the altar of utilitarianism.

The best thing that art can do to naïve connoisseurs is to make us think and make us understand how beautiful and how messed up the world can be at the same time. Mutually hostile ideologies have fragmented the Holy Land, but they have also helped bring together people who believe that no matter how bleak or how distant, hope springs eternal. The Museum on the Seam upholds the voices of those who feel that what we have in common can override what keeps us apart.