I remember my first protest.
We went as a group, on a bus. We got snacks on the drive - and kazoos. We prepped with signage, water, and hopes we would catch sleep on the way home. It was going to be a long drive, a long walk, and a long day.
I don't remember much detail. Exhaustion, elation at being part of something so much bigger than me, a sense of generally helping out humans, even though they lived a different reality than me.
I think back to that day when I was 8, and my parents felt it was worth it to drag me out and let me march in support of the refusniks. It inspired a lifelong awareness of the plight of others, and our ability to show up and make change.
That day we marched. And I was tired. Someone gave me Bazooka gum on the way home, and I slept, a child heading home from her first protest.