Homeless Love

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I had an interesting experience last week. I was walking along listening to music, going about my daily life, when I noticed a homeless man in a wheelchair waving at me. “You need some help?” I asked.

“Up! Up!” he kept repeating. I looked at the sharp incline behind me and back at the stump of the man’s leg. “Well I guess G-d blessed me with two legs, so I should help out those who are less fortunate,” I said to myself. I pushed him up the steep hill in the hot sun, sweat pouring down. At the top he offered to buy me an ice cream, but I politely declined. “Where do you need to go?” I asked him.

“To the number four bus stop,” he replied. I thought of how far that was, how hot it was, and how heavy the man was. But I figured he wasn’t going to get there on his own, so why not help him. I pushed him down Jaffa Street, the busiest street in central Jerusalem. It is under heavy construction, supposedly for a new railway system. Currently there is only a narrow passageway fenced off on the side of the road for pedestrians. I pushed him along this corridor and he asked every person we passed for a shekel. Whoever didn’t give him, which was the vast majority of passersby, he shouted uncomplimentary remarks about their mother in Arabic. About halfway down the passage, he started shouting again. “Up! Up!” he shouted.

“But I am taking you up!” I answered.

“Help the man, can’t you see he’s falling?” a shopkeeper usefully suggested to me.

“Why don’t you help me?” I asked the man. Together we were able to lift the fragrant man up onto his seat and we continued on our way. We began approaching the end of the passageway, right before Zion square, where it was most congested. Suddenly, he saw a woman beggar sitting on the street and her face lit up in recognition. “Stop. Stop!” he shouted, “This is the nicest woman in Jerusalem.” He rummaged through his bag to find some money to give his friend, and the crowd began gathering behind us. A woman pushing a stroller started speaking to me in fast-pace French. After about a minute of this, I turned to her and said, “Lady, I don’t speak French.”

By this point, the one-legged man had found a decent amount of change to give his homeless ladyfriend. A smile spread across her lined face. I immediately thought of the Jewish law that if a person is too poor to give charity on Purim, then two paupers must exchange charity to one another. Now I understood why. I started pushing him again. “Stop! Stop!” he cried.

“What?” I asked.

“I want a kiss from her,” he said. I rolled my eyes, but waited for him to get on with it. A man behind me pointed out the obvious, “Excuse me, there are other people who want to get by here.”

“I don’t know this man,” I replied, “so you can either help me or quit complaining.” Meanwhile the homeless courtship was continuing.  The crippled man reached out his filthy hand and the beggar woman took it and kissed it. It was almost beautiful if it wasn’t so tragic. Finally, we were able to move and the angry mob behind us stormed off, grumbling. I no longer cared what they said, I was on the homeless guy’s side. All these people just walk by him and make comments, but no one stops to help. After another ten minutes of pushing him uphill, refusing more ice cream, lifting his sweaty body again and listening to a slew of Arab curse words, I got him to his stop and went on my way.

After I left I got to thinking. For twenty-five minutes I experienced what it’s like to live in this man’s world. What it’s like to be ridiculed, ignored, and even worse, to be invisible. It was absolute hell. But I also learned what it’s like to see a smiling face after seeing a hundred unfriendly ones. I left him with my body drenched in sweat and my hands reeking to the high heavens. But I knew there was a reason I had run into him, and I was even glad I did. I appreciate my relatively comfortable life and the use of both legs much more now. I will try not to be so judgemental next time I see a homeless person. But most importantly, I saw that you can never know what it’s like to be another person until you walk a mile in their shoes…or at least push them around for half an hour.

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