FEATURED JOBS
For this year’s observance of the festival of Shavuot, I would like to offer a real-life parable of sorts, one that hopefully evokes thoughts about love, compassion, the power of music, empathy for society’s disenfranchised, human connections and mutual respect. I know, it’s a tall order.
A few months ago, I was driving home from work, about to get on I-83, at a stoplight on North Avenue. A gentleman wearing tattered jeans and a homemade sign around his neck proclaiming himself a homeless war veteran stood on an island, asking motorists for spare change.
Now this might sound horrible but I don’t usually give money to these folks, because I really prefer not encouraging panhandling. Plus, I never seem to have any spare change in my car. But I was in a good mood on this particular afternoon, and maybe he saw a welcoming glint in my eye, so he came over to my vehicle.
After I gave him a couple of quarters and he blessed and thanked me profusely, he stopped suddenly and seemed to stare right through me for a few suspended moments. Nervously, I asked him what was wrong, and he pointed at my passenger seat. I turned my head, and there on the passenger seat were a couple of harmonicas.
Now look, anyone who knows me knows that I love the humble Mississippi Sax, and even play it occasionally while driving to and from work. It keeps me sane; I call it my “tin shrink.”
Anyway, I was a bit embarrassed, but I said to the man, “Yeah, I like to play in the car sometimes, to the radio or to myself. Just for fun, and to practice.” He gave me a look of pure and utter joy, and said, “OK, well, come on, son, play it! Let’s hear ya, brother!”
Sheepishly and hesitantly, I picked up one of my harps and vamped a few blues riffs, with my fellow motorists watching intently (they must’ve thought I was nuts). At this point, the homeless man started dancing up a firestorm – right there in the middle of the street – and yelling, “Hey, buddy, you’re good! You’re good! Keep playin’!”
Naturally, I was a bit uncomfortable (after all, it was a rush-hour street scene, not a jam session at a Fells Point tavern), but I kept blowing harp and he kept dancing, singing and screaming the whole time. Finally – thankfully! – the light turned green and I stopped playing and wished him a good evening and drove off.
When I looked in my rearview mirror, about to get on the expressway ramp and en route to my home and family, the man was still dancing in the street as cars sped by, a great, big smile on his face. He no longer seemed to care about the couple of coins I gave him. We’d had an encounter that even my lousy harmonica playing could diminish. It reminded me that even with all of the pain and suffering going on in this world, especially these days, we still have the power to touch and move each other.
Such is the stuff of life. He made my day, and hopefully I made his day. For a fleeting instant, we developed a fellowship of the soul. And isn’t that what Shavuot is all about?
Chag Samayach.
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