by Jason Hare
The Spectrum
April 27, 1998

The cold, damp air cut at my cheeks and forehead as my sinuses loudly protested being outside on such a December night in New York City. I wrapped my piano-style scarf around my face and pulled the collar of my black overcoat up around my cheeks.

You would have thought I was heading to Times Square or maybe to see a late-night concert. However, my motive for subjecting myself to such conditions was quite different. I was standing on the corner of 1st Avenue and 32nd Street, one block from the East River, participating in a modified version of what many know as the "Midnight Run."

I say "modified" because, although I was not on the official "Midnight Run," the purpose was the same. I was with a group of friends and colleagues from my local temple, distributing badly needed clothing and food to homeless people.

This was my second time doing the run and I was just as nervous as the first time. There were about 15 volunteers, all from different backgrounds and fields of employment. At first, I found it amazing such a diverse group could commune for such an event.

My father often told me that Muhammed Ali, the great heavyweight champ, said it best when questioned as to why he, an African-American Muslim, chose to donate a large sum of money to help save a white, mostly Jewish senior citizens' center. Ali humbly said: "It's the rent I pay to live on this earth." As for my father, he calls it "laundry for the soul" and leaves it at that.

I started to question why I was the one with the warm house, loving parents and a college education. What ever happened to these people? Did they have families? Were they bankrupt? Whatever the reason, I realized that I should be grateful for what I had. My concerns that the alignment was a bit off in my car quickly vanished from my mind.

Talking to street people is not that easy. Not because they won't respond, but because we have always been instructed "don't talk to strangers," especially "these" people. Perhaps some of "these" people had this advice given to them by their parents many years ago.

I can vividly remember keeping close by my father's side during my first encounter last year at Tompkins Square Park. After a while, I drifted farther away, helping all kinds of people. I became oblivious to various odors and grimy faces as I started to size people up and "fit" them with what clothes we had.

Yes, there were some people that you could call "unstable;" one so frightening that I still shake thinking of his violent verbal threats and posture, menacing to assault. My rabbi was always there to try to understand why these people were like this. With a caring heart, she did her best to help the people who didn't want help or were too proud to request assistance of any kind. Being white, small and cute didn't cut it with people whose world consisted of trying to find daily work, keep clean and obtain a warm meal.

Yet I was quickly aware of how many of the other street people surrounded me to protect me just in case someone became threatening. As time passed, I talked to them and listened to those who felt I was worthy of their history. In fact, I became friends with one man named Kevin during my first year.

Kevin was a guitarist who had mild success in the 60's but now was left traveling from state to state in hopes of being in a band again. I sat down with him on a cold park bench and he told me of all his "adventures" with different bands and people. We talked about how rock music was fading out and electronic was moving in. As I said goodbye to Kevin, I had a funny feeling that I would see him again. Maybe not on the streets, but perhaps somewhere else. I was extremely glad when I found that he wasn't one of the homeless that we helped this year.

Common myths that I once held and shared regarding street people faded away -- myths that said that all these people were "all" drug addicts, alcoholics, stupid, lazy, or illiterate. People should learn to open their eyes a little bit more (like I have) and realize that some of these people are very much like the rest of us and perhaps were even successful at one time in their past.

I remember pouring coffee for one man and he asked my colleagues and myself what church we were from. The adults behind me explained that we were from a temple. Almost at the same time, the man and I replied, "Same thing."

It was at that moment that I realized that it didn't matter if I was Jewish, Catholic or any other religion. To help out with the "Midnight Run," all one needs is a common concern for their fellow human beings without passing judgment on their condition. That's what life is all about. It's the rent that we pay to live on this earth.