I was walking when I saw them. A group of teenagers, seventeen or eighteen, clad in black hats and white shirts, untucked after hours of Friday drinking.
How many times do we as women push ourselves to go to sleep “just an hour later”, skip that meal, run out to do a chore that “can’t wait until tomorrow” because we hear our families singing Eishet Chayil in our heads and wish we felt like we deserved it?
What, if anything, would I march for?
