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Last night, which was my last night in Jerusalem, I was walking towards Ben Yehuda, on a mission to get one last fruit shake from the little stand at the top of the street. I walked down Yaffo street and turned onto Ben Yehuda, where I encountered a huge wave of protesters swarming down. One woman beckoned to me with her arm, yelling, “Come join! Come join!” I politely declined, and stood a while at the side of the street, watching the mob. I quickly learned that the protest was related to the tent protests that have been going on here, in response to the rising cost of life in Israel. The demonstrators were marching towards the Prime Minister’s house, shouting and holding large signs. The crowd was so dense that when I did finally decide to venture up Ben Yehuda for the fruit smoothie, against the current, I found myself standing more often than walking, unable to push my way through. I did finally get to the top of the street, only to find the place closed. By that point, however, I was too distracted by the scene to care much, and just stood at the corner watching this hopeful and invigorated community marching past. What a way to end this trip. In a way, it seems fitting. And while my chapter here comes to a close, life here continues.


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