Somehow he manages not to be needy even though he can’t do the simplest of things: to cross the street
E
very morning, he stands at the busy intersection just across the street — directly visible from our living room window. He’s a tall man dressed in standard dark suit, with a long beard and tinted glasses and a white cane in hand. Amid the noise and hubbub of the morning rush, there’s something about this imposing figure that makes you want to look twice. Maybe it’s the sense of stillness he exudes in contrast to the frantic activity surrounding him.
On this narrow Jerusalem street that was never meant to accommodate the modern-day rush hour, the cars honk, the double accordion buses laboriously navigate the tricky turn. Minivans filled with little boys stop and start impatiently. Taxi drivers yell.
Hurry hurry hurry move move move hurry hurry honk honk beep beep—
And he stands there serenely. Waiting calmly, waiting patiently, waiting for someone to steer him through this sea of impatient humanity, metal, and rubber, all speeding off to their day. Because he can’t see the way himself.
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