Rather than sitting at home and doom scrolling, we decided to go to a rally. For community. For hope. For… something.

I met my music loving friend at a cafe named Trend. It was surprisingly crowded for a Sunday mid-afternoon. There was a jazz band playing in the back room. The place was filled with middle aged spectators. I immediately recognized them as fellow band parents. I realized that the young musicians were from Jazz House Kids, a phenomenal non-profit program in Montclair, in which my oldest kid had participated years ago.

We could hear but not see the amazing stylings of talented performers, while we caught up on life, in the front room. We talked about our holidays. Our kids. The musical productions our kids are involved with right now. The musicals we have recently seen, and will soon see.

We got quiet for a moment and the saxophone solo pulled my ear into the back room. I closed my eyes for just a second as I inhaled the sweet sound. Then I looked through the window to the day outside, then I looked at my musical friend.

I said ‘Isn’t this just like… (sigh) we’re in here enjoying the live jazz music that’s playing,’ and she finished my sentence, ‘while people are getting kidnapped out there’. ‘Life is a cabaret, old friend.’ I said.

A short time later we bundled up and headed up the street armed with a sign that said Justice for Good. We found a spot near a corner on the sunny side of the street.

As luck/fortune/fate would have it, a few musicians set up right next to us, and a sing-a-long began. We sang some old standards: For What it’s Worth, This Little Light of Mine, We Shall Overcome.

But I soon realized that this was not my gramma’s protest rally. We sang songs by Tom Petty, Four Non-Blondes, The Ramones, and The Beastie Boys!

We were loud. We were angry. We were hopeful. Dare I say, there were moments when we were joyful! I was so grateful for the musicians. For the rest of the congregants. For the shared experience. For the ‘churchness’ of it all.

As we were walking back to our cars we were talking about how we had felt so hopeless and helpless all week, and how this was just the medicine that we needed to restore our faith in humanity.

A woman was walking toward us on the sidewalk. She was Latina. And she was crying. She looked at us, with tears streaming down her face, she saw my sign in my hand as she approached, and she said ‘Thank you,’ with such sincerity. We both said ‘You’re welcome.’

Then I turned towards her and opened up my arms. And I- so uncharacteristically- embraced a stranger. My friend immediately stepped alongside and joined in the group hug. ‘Thank you’ the woman said again and again. ‘You’re welcome’ and ‘De nada’ I said, again and again.

When we all finally let go of eachother, we held eye contact, just long enough for all of the unspoken words to pass between us. It was a most amazing moment of pure human connection.

That’s what it’s all about, and that is precisely why we have to keep doing this, we agreed as we continued on. Teary eyes. Sniffly noses.

Full of deep sadness. Full of deep joy. And so glad we decided not to stay home sitting alone in our rooms.