My daughter Laurie and I arrived at the designated meeting point and found a crowd of at least several hundred strong. About 30 members of my synagogue—Beth David in Gladwyne, PA—were there too. The mood was calm and friendly.
The march began and we fell into the sea of humanity walking as one: young and old, skin color of all hues, men in kippot walking alongside men in clerical collars, children on scooters, several people in wheelchairs. White people and black people holding signs with the same message.
“This is awesome,” I breathed to my daughter as we stepped along.
“It sure is,” said a voice next to me. The voice belonged to an African American woman walking with a friend.
I reached out my hand and she clasped it.
“My name is Helene, and this is my daughter Laurie,” I said.