I learned a great deal in those tension-filled minutes waiting for the train to depart

MY recent trip to Eretz Yisrael was memorable, but most dramatically so in its waning hours. I was scheduled to leave on Sunday night, July 23, just in time to send my daughter off to camp on Monday morning. I planned to get to the airport by train, and I figured that if I checked in ahead of time, I could leave Yerushalayim two and a half hours before my scheduled 11:25 p.m. departure. Ambitious, perhaps, but I wanted to daven Maariv with a minyan, and I had managed to catch flights on this timetable before.

I hadn’t counted on the “Day of Disruption” — mass protests against the judicial reform that brought thousands of Tel Avivians to Jerusalem… and sent them back home in the evening, just as I was attempting to reach the airport, on the same train line.

Entering Jerusalem’s Yitzchak Navon Train Station, I immediately heard the thundering roar of “De-mo-krat-ya.” The escalators swarmed with flag-bearing demonstrators, their shirts adorned with slogans and their voices hoarse from hours of chanting.

I tried my best to navigate the crowds as I was directed from one platform to another, dragging a massive, lopsided duffle along with many other bags. Finally, I made my way into a jam-packed car… and waited. The train showed no indication of moving anytime soon, and as the only black-kippah-clad individual, I soon sensed the other passengers looking at me.

Although I’ve been following the judicial reform debate from afar — I even gave a series to my college students about its putative and deeper causes — I learned a great deal in those tension-filled minutes waiting for the train to depart.