This article has also been published at The Newton Beacon.

Much has been going on in my life these past few weeks – mostly good things from which I harvest joy and connection. Some are small and personal, like hosting a get-together of neighbors, or attending a huge, fun event where one of my daughters-in-law performed with her luminous pop-band. 

Then there are large and impactful happenings like those in response to the sinister time in which, unbelievably, we are living each day. On March 28, I went to the No Kings rally in Newton Centre. An estimated 2,500 people showed up with scores of signs boldly expressing resistance to our national regime. I use the word ‘regime’ purposefully, because we are scared about autocracy. Terrified may be a better word. 

Home-made signs shouted against cruel anti-immigration practices, brutal ICE actions, assaults on the US Constitution, degradation of the environment, and inhumanity. Fervent speakers urged action to resist tyranny.  

There were lots of us bundled up there on that cold (but sunny) March day to express our beliefs and values. We carried signs and listened to orators. I brought my own sign. It read “LOLAT (Little Old Ladies Against Trump). Attendees of all ages, genders, and ethnicities chuckled when they saw my sign, and some took pictures. Some said emphatically, “that’s who I am – a LOLAT!” 

I first brought my LOLAT sign to the Newton No Kings rally in the fall of 2025 and I got the same encouraging reactions. On that day, I was the only one with a LOLAT sign, which I made from an old pillow case. This time, I was joined by a friend who had also made a LOLAT poster. On the South Shore, another friend went to a rally in Plymouth with her own LOLAT sign. 

Now there were three of us. A couple of individuals at the No Kings rallies have balked at the name, telling me they felt that ‘little old lady’ was a derogatory term for older adults (formerly called “seniors,” “elders,” or “senior citizens”). I see the LOL designation as a feisty, fearless way to recognize the incredible knowledge, experience, and, yes, power that we older people have. We exemplify and demonstrate these qualities when we turn up and stand up for sanity, and liberty.

I looked around at both the fall and spring events, and took note of who was there. There were many different groups – kids, teens, young adults, and middle-agers. But the vast majority were elders – call us whatever you like. Demographics affirm that in the United States, each elder is a tiny segment in a huge cohort that is over the age of 65. 

That cohort numbered an estimated 61 million to 64 million nationally in 2024 to 2025. In suburban Newton, we’re roughly 18 percent of the population, 16,000 to 17,000 residents. Urban Boston is somewhat younger, with residents over 65 numbering more than 82,000, about 13 percent of the population. Boston’s No Kings rally drew an estimated 180,000 participants, and an estimated 8 million protested at thousands of sites nationally, an historic record. 

Tucked into these busy times was our family Passover seder. We were a small group of celebrants of young, old, various genders, different ethnicities, and diverse religious and spiritual traditions. We sat together to re-tell and reimagine the story of the Exodus from Egypt. 

Each year I find new ways to think about the messages embedded in this ancient recounting of cruelty, oppression, and ultimate escape. This compelling, time-resistant story comes from more than three thousand years ago. It is poignantly relevant today. We use a contemporized Haggadah (a text that means ‘the telling’). 

In the passage describing what happened when the fleeing Israelites reached the shore of the Red (or Reed) Sea) there was no way to escape. Then, one courageous person stepped into the shallows. That one step triggered the waters to part, revealing a path into freedom. 

This passage made me understand that taking one step into a fraught, frightening unknown was the critical factor in creating a future full of dignity, safety, and hope. I continue to determine the steps I must take to pursue those fragile goals. They reflect who I am as a caring member of humankind.