Empathetic Evictee

As I glanced out the front window of our office yesterday, I was surprised to see several men carrying what appeared to be an entire household's worth of belongings outside and setting them in the busy street. It only took a few moments to gather that I was witnessing an eviction, though in my lifetime I had not seen one before. I don't live in the city.

My boss was sort of amused by my curiosity and astonishment, he having worked years with tenants to prevent them from losing their homes. Amused in a dark way, his shrug saying "there's nothing we can do, it happens all the time" but his eyes filled with the sorrow of the perpetual tragedy of homelessness. Then the human crows and vultures arrived, with their instinct to take that which can be taken, to feed their own need. Crowds gathered around the carcass of a family, the material things that sustained their life. Like ants they carried off the treasures that seemed too large for transport, leaving only the skeletal remains of the furnishings.

I wonder what happened when the family came 'home' to their empty locked apartment, to their possessions strewn across York Road.

Driving home past the free-for-all, I recalled the experience I had just weeks ago standing on the rubble of a home in the West Bank, another family destroyed by official decree. When I stepped into my comfortable suburbian residence, I was not prepared for the storm of emotional trauma that awaited me. Apparently my father was upset about something and I had once again triggered his wrath to be released on myself in a fit of fury. I could not do another thing until I had removed all signs of my existence from the lower half of the house, at my father's oh-so-gracious request. He wasn't the only one who had had a long day! I wept as I carried everything I owned to a "safe spot" in my room, now so full I can't walk in it.

This I coined "emotional eviction" because I was profoundly impacted with the realization that my dad wanted nothing to do with me anymore, that I have always been, in his eyes, a waste of good space. My naivety that suggested I could blithely carry on living with my parents as though all was well was shattered last evening, when I discovered that I am merely an annoyance to my family, and that our relationships have dissolved to nothing more than my parasitic use of their space. My mom was blessedly distraught and on my side, but also helpless to my plight of being removed from the premise, figuratively, and from the living area, physically.

So seven o' clock rolled around as I thankfully escaped the oppressive environment of my parents' house for a lecture by Arik Ascherman, founder/director of Rabbis for Human Rights in Jerusalem. He was speaking a lot about Palestinian home demolitions as a human rights violation, in which I concurred fully. I can easily see how anger, sorrow, and humiliation well up inside as you are evicted from your safe place and forced to watch your years of hard work turn to dust, until all you want is to destroy someone. It is dreadful and violent and I feel guilty for feeling angry and hateful, but it seems only natural sometimes. I empathize.

So many people in the world have no home or have had theirs taken from them by force. So many people who have roofs over their heads do not feel secure and safe where they live. It is a crime. I had a friend who took me in for the night, many are not so fortunate to have such connections. It seems so hopeless, how can humans do this to one another?