Travel Notes: We joined the protest and the moon didn’t care

First night in Tel Aviv, and the moon gave herself to us like this, all poured out over the scrubby trees and the rooftop water coolers. Our hotel room had this big set of wide windows that slid out soundlessly, and no one else was up, no human noises or anything, and so we spent a long while just looking out over all of it, the city that was all ours.

Then: shouting. When we went downstairs, the woman at the desk told us about the protest, and pointed around the corner.

I asked TR if it was safe, and he said, Yes, yes, of course it was, so we found the parade and the banging drums and blood-hued banners. We watched for a while. We refused the brightly lettered Hebrew signs that someone tried to push into our hands. And then we marched and marched (because what the hell) until we found a place that served shakshuka at midnight.

And when we walked out of the restaurant, the street was scraped clean and the night had settled down, and there we were, hoarse and exhausted and happy, staring up at the moon who still there, blinking her one cloudy eye.

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