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Jewish Community News
Column: May 2004
The invisible man: The conflict is ours
By
Rabbi Allan Berkowitz
His name is Richard, but most people call him “that homeless guy” — or simply “him.” A few even call him “the Messiah” because of the Jewish tradition that says even the tattered beggar might be the Messiah. But mostly he’s “that homeless guy”.
Richard comes to synagogue services every Saturday morning religiously. He sits with a prayer book or other sacred text, which he has plucked from the bookcase. And he reads. He reads to himself. He reads out loud. Sometimes — often — he reads out loud and disturbs everyone else. When he does vocalize loudly, someone asks Richard to read quietly, and he always politely apologizes and promises he will. And then two minutes later he’s reading loudly again.
It is fascinating for me to watch how the nicely dressed, neatly groomed congregants react. I discovered that many of my assumptions about how people react to a visibly disheveled, unkempt, smelly individual in synagogue were incorrect while other assumptions are on the mark. I’ve observed false bits of compassion among those who sought to remove Richard (“It’s better for him to leave before someone overreacts.”). Some seek emotional compromise by offering to fix him a plate of food in the synagogue kitchen and to escort him to a comfortable place — outside. And there are moments of intolerance even among those who preach compassion — he was kicked out of one synagogue because of his appearance — but has since “joined” a new one. So I’ve learned that we all have our limits and that one person’s moment of compassion is another’s straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Along the way, I also discovered a few things about my own very human prejudices. Once, I told a friend about the “homeless guy” in synagogue. She asked me a simple question that stunned me: “What’s his name?” I sat in silence knowing that her question told me more about myself than I cared to accept at that moment. After years of seeing him on a weekly basis, I never once asked him his name. He was merely “that homeless guy.”
The next Sabbath I had a rather enlightening experience. I asked him his name. And he answered me. (The enlightenment was in the simplicity and ease of the question as compared to the many years it never even occurred to me to ask). I now understand just how invisible the homeless become.
But Richard isn’t invisible. He is very visible, very real, and yes, very smelly and very unpleasant to look at. The homeless exist whether we want to see them or not. The conflict is ours. We actually cease seeing the problem (“that homeless guy”) and then magically, there is no problem to which we must attend. At least there is no problem that our minds perceive. Their hunger remains. Their social marginality remains. Their poor quality of life remains.
The simple act of asking someone’s name can restore tremendous dignity. However, the dignity that is restored is our own. By seeing through the social condition, we allow ourselves to see that a human being stands before us. It is that simple step which casts us in a whole new light.
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