Between Passover and Easter

It was only a 30 block walk, perhaps in Los Angeles, a city where mass transit consist of one person per car times thousands of cars, it was a great distance; but for me it was just another day to place one foot in front of the other. It was my annual physical exam and all I had to do was walk from West Hollywood to the Mid Wilshire District. For those not familiar with LA/WEHO it was walking from one supposed middle class neighborhood  to another. Along the way were the amazing museums of LA, tons of boutiques, too many transplanted tall palm trees, and oh yeah average citizens from the city of angels. It was Good Friday, the almost last day of Passover and the beginning of the Easter weekend. I assumed (and you know what hey say about ass-u-me-ed) that the streets would be empty, the road one less traveled and my journey with my iPod tucked soundly in my ear easy, breezy.

Along this path to my doctors I noticed that LA does provide some metal lined benches for their  transit riders. Of course the benches are anything but comfortable but none the less the few scattered on every third bus stop were enthroned by people who apparently were preparing for the night ahead. Older men with bags of plastic, some paper, a nap sack or two with clothing popping out of the broken zippers lined the first few benches I had passed. There were some females scattered among the men and they clutched very tightly their CVS shopping carts rusted and some with three usable wheels instead of the usual four. The CVS carts held blankets used as suitcases, I assume,to hold the belongings that these women were lucky enough to still hold on to. One man was lying to the side of his seat holding a 16 oz Taco Bell cup, half awake, but alert enough to ask for some change. The entire Fairfax Boulevard promenade from Melrose to Olympic was filled with a combination of elderly men and women disheveled with expressionless eyes/ some young kids sitting on the few grassy patches with torn shirts and or pants/ a few people talking to someone invisible, a few very angry men at the ready to walk into the traffic. Perhaps because it was the last day of Passover, Good Friday or the Easter weekend, but all I saw was a population of Angelino’s who seemed lost, confused, hungry, empty, alone.

I had my share of dollars to pass out thinking that one dollar would or even could make a difference. But then I wondered when and how should I try to help? I did not want to assume the folks I saw along the way wanted something from me. (Who was I to even think the people along the way wanted something from me, anyway) But here I was feeling as if I needed to make a difference. My mind raced on to Paul Ryan and his budget cuts to the poor the elderly. It moved to the callousness of the T-Republicans in Congress who have such disdain for the unemployed the mentally ill.It then raced to this particular week that found me walking to my doctors you know the week between Passover and Easter. My heart and brain were at war with each other. Isn’t Passover supposed be a celebration of renewal of courage of hope? Isn’t Easter a time of resurrection when the travesty of the past become the ideal for the future? Both holidays speak of the glory of God and yet on my journey from WEHO to Mid Wilshire all I could see was the delusion of Man. I am sad today, perhaps frustrated; maybe discouraged. As I face the Jewish Sabbath I want to ask why it is so difficult for all people to start on an even basis seeking hope and happy. Why is fair so damn difficult? On this day during this week surrounded by supposed peace and prosperity, how come I saw none?