The Wingate Man

      It had been dark for too long, and there was an unknown number of survivors after the whirlwind of horrific weather that Herzeliya Pituach had just endured. Trees had fallen and windows smashed, nothing was left intact. Yet, that little old man at the corner of 82 Wingate Street still sat, untouched, at the same spot. How could this man, with nothing but a few belongings covered with makeshift plastic, have survived?

      The high-class residents of Pituach sat comfortably in front of their televisions, with their feet on the heated floors, sipping red wine. They were left undisturbed by the occasional interruptions of the weather report. All the while, the storm was getting stronger and stronger when suddenly our lives were turned upside-down. Trees hit power-lines, they smashed through windows, and waves of water gushed through the streets. I sped out of the house, the wind so strong I fought for my life. I grabbed the nearest streetlamp and used all my strength to hold on, while the water rushed by me. The earth began to shake as I watched as our house fell into pieces of cement and marble. All the houses on our street tore from their foundation; Pituach was no longer what it once used to be.

      I knew I was alone. All we had ever known was comfort, and now only loneliness prevailed. I just wanted to be like the birds above me, with wings to fly. How I yearned to be in the sky. Tears streamed down my face. I couldn't stop crying, I just couldn't stop crying, I just couldn't. Like the electricity, I was powerless. I had lost everything: my home, my family, and my life. I began to remember the days I used to pass that man on the corner of Wingate. I used to contemplate how a person so rotten and sickly looking could continue living for so long? But he would also sit there smiling happily. I would ask myself how this could be possible. What is happiness? Is happiness not bought? I judged him by his looks and his possessions. If I had lost everything, what was left of him?

      As the sun began to break through the rough looking skies, a stream of sunlight lead me to somewhere. I'm not quite sure where I was heading. I took myself to that very spot in hopes of finding someone familiar. In complete shock, there he was. That man I had wondered so much about. He didn't look like he had a care in the world. He just sat there, whistling and smiling. It looked as if his life was still intact. I had never approached this man for fear of his smell and appearance. Yet now I needed him. Hesitantly, I walked up to him. Before I could say hello, he reached out his hand, and said in a very sarcastic manner, “Please join me for lunch. Would you prefer Yankele or Pizza Domino?”

I'm bewildered by what he said to me. I asked him, “Excuse me sir, but how can you find humor at such a dark time?”

      “It is not humor, sir. It is reality. I have not lost anything as I have always had everything I need. Come and sit with me here and listen to the birds, watch as the animals come out of hiding. All those who did not have much are all survivors. Where are those who thought they had everything? They are gone. He who is rich in heart sees life in a more beautiful and simplistic way. Can't you see that you are free now? You are unchained.”

      “But how can we have lived on the same street for so long, and only now I am speaking to you?”

      “You are all defined by things. I may not have looked the same as you, or had what you had, but since you have nothing left, you can appreciate that we are both the same now. We are immortal.”

      “Of all the places you could have stayed, why here?

      “It is all in the name, sir. Wingate. I chose this place to protest materialism. Wingate street surrounds Herzeliya Pituach, the richest neighborhood in Israel. You might have been the richest, but you were locked up in all of your possessions. You were rich in your pockets, but I was rich in my heart.”

      I sat down on the muddy floor trying to make sense of all that he has said to me.
      He continued, “Now that you have lost everything, you are rich.”

      I finally have wings, too.

 "My Homeless Project." STEVE HUFF PHOTOS. Ed. Steve Huff. Steve Huff, 2 Feb. 2008. Web. 21 Jan. 2015.