Thrown Away & Forgotten

I'm talking about people. In our society we often prefer to stay within our "club," that circle of people we identify with of the same socio-economic class we belong. We find it difficult to reach beyond that circle, and if we do, it is in some benevolent way as an act of charity from our lofty position . . .those poor people need help.

Last night my husband and I went out to dinner engrossing ourselves in conversation, when we were interuppted by a scruffy, dirty man with a ragged kippa on his head shaking a styrofoam cup ringing with brass change at the bottom, the international sign for drop-in-some-spare-coins,-please. He was gone before we had a chance to respond, and disappeared into the restaurant crowd. We resumed our conversation. Shortly thereafter, he emerged again several tables from us. Now he had the attention of all of us in the restaurant as he took each discarded plate of food on the table left behind by the party who just left, dumping all the contents into a yellow nylon bag, adding the near-empty coke bottles too. My husband and I were transfixed on this, shocked at his desperation and considered where this little nylon bag of discarded food would be going later that evening. He was coming our way once again, and this time, we had money ready for him, purposely leaving behind full bottles of coke. We made sure to look him in the eyes, pat him on the shoulders, and he returned his thanks with words of God's blessings.

My son worked for the Municipality of Jerusalem for several years. His job was to go out and seek the poor and needy of Jerusalem. When my children where little, their Dad used to give them money and sometimes sandwiches to carry with them so they could give them to people on the streets who were hungry and begging for help. I think it created a natural response in them to look for those in need.

My son, born and raised here now married to an Israeli, has a real compassion for people who are down and out. He would start his job at night and work into the wee hours of the morning on his search for the poor, needy, alcoholics and drug addicts. Everyone in the center of town knows my son. My son has a reputation of one who protects those who cannot help themselves and often comes to their rescue when he is needed. He commands a respect among his peers, has a firm boldness with the unruly that prey on the weak, but is also known for his infectious friendliness. He is really a people person and is perfect for this kind of work. In his job on the streets, he has become acquainted with every abandoned building and dilapidated structure of this city. There he would find those who had reached their end with no place to go. Those he rescued ranged in ages from young teens and runaways to senior citizens, each with their own unique story as to why they lived on the streets.

(Picture: an article in the Israeli newspaper Yediot Ahranot about Michael's street work with the Jerusalem Municipality last winter.)

My son's delight was to be able to find them a warm bed for them the evening, a good cooked meal, and he worked tirelessly to aid their desperate situation with a more permanent solution to their present conditions. My son often would point out a bridge or a building to me saying, "A group of senior citizens lives in cardboard structures there." I have been amazed that Jerusalem was the only city in this nation that has instituted such a program to seek out their needy and forgotten and bring them the help they need.

There is a group of people among us that are what I call the "throw aways," the "forgotten," ones we do not see often times, and when we are confronted with them, we often avoid eye contact. At dinner last night, when my husband and I first sat down, the table was less than clean. I called over the man who was cleaning tables and he was nice enough to wipe it down. It was quickly evident to me that he had a mental disability and moved quite slow, but took his job seriously. I made sure to look him in the eye to show my appreciation for his work. He was so shocked at a kind gesture that he ran to get a clean rag and the table cleaner! Soon he was back to our table, and this time, did a more thorough job of cleaning. I was amazed that an act of simple kindness would initiate such a response from one who no doubt is not used to being noticed in a crowd of people.

In my neighborhood of south Jerusalem there is a home for older mentally disabled Israelis. They are a lonely group with few visitors. I have made friends with one of the residents. She loves me, and always has a huge toothless smile for me and a bear hug. My friend wears no bra, has ragged, wrinkled clothes, no teeth in the front and scraggily gray and dyed-black hair, her breathe reaks of stale cigarettes matched with a horrid smoker's cough, she walks with a forward drunken gait, and accosts every car that passes by her begging for money with a whiny voice. I love her. She's the friendliest person I know. I look for her on the streets . . . she makes my day and cheers me up. She has nothing, and is completely content with that.

In our society today, we are often conditioned to be repelled by those who are "dirty," those who are considered societies throwaways, preferring even not to associate with them lest we ourselves may become contaminated in some way, as they differ from our societal and spiritual sensibilities. Years ago I determined to go against the flow of the norm. My dinner guests are often those who fit the category of those who been thrown away and forgotten: prostitutes, drug addicts, alcoholics, societal runaways, misfits, those with mental and psychological problems, etc -- the forgotten. They come with tatoos and piercings, purple hair, chain smoke, their mouths are foul, but, at my house, they are extremely polite and respectful for some reason. My greatest satisfaction is putting out the best china I own, crystal glasses, silver and linen, and preparing for them a prime rib roast feast for them, just as I would do for any guest who comes to my home.

(photo: me preparing the feast for my guests!)

As a Christian living in this ancient city, I've often considered the popular phrase "What would Jesus do?" if He were still walking the streets I walk here in Jerusalem. I think we all know Yeshua would turn down the Erev Shabbat dinner invitation at the table laden with china, linen, Roast Chicken and Challah. He'd be having Shabbat dinner down in the city square alleyways and abandoned buildings, where the smell of urine and Vodka is overwhelming, preferring to get to know some of the foul-mouthed "dirty" people no one associates with.