But the bus rides were hard for me. ’Cause you need energy to ride every day to some kibbutz in the Golan Heights or some settlement near Nablus, and at my age I can barely handle a bus ride inside Tel Aviv, you know? Luckily, about two years ago the protests near my house began. Against all those people from Africa who sleep in Levinsky Park. One day I saw a flyer for a protest near the central bus station, and a few hours later I was already standing next to all these people I know from the neighborhood. I was so happy I almost thought someone had organized the protest just for me. Everyone was standing there trying to shout, but to tell you the truth, it looked like they didn’t really know how to do it. Before I could even think it through I took someone’s megaphone and started shouting Bibi, go home! And, No to a police state! You know, the usual stuff, nothing special. But right away everyone was looking at me as if I were Édith Piaf, no less. Some even clapped their hands, said they stood a real chance with me by their side, and to be honest, I felt the same way. So we started to protest every week, just us, from the neighborhood. But it wasn’t enough for me, you know? I need a protest at least every two days, I just can’t make it without one. I suggested we do something every day, even just something symbolic, that I’d even provide refreshments, but they said they didn’t have time for it, ’cause they have work and families and kids. I was getting really angry at them, but then the protests in support of the Africans started, thank God. All these people I didn’t know started protesting along with the Africans, saying we have to let those poor souls stay. At first I hesitated whether to join in, I admit. Protesting one day for and the next against seemed a bit much, but I told myself I had to. Not only for the soul, but also ’cause who am I to say which side is right?