I suppose this story is my plea to the world: Don’t let this happen. To anyone. Anywhere. Anytime T here were homeless people on my walk home from school. A drunk man, thin, with a red shirt. A man who I’d see on my way to the local library. He had a full white beard and a carefully reinforced cardboard box to sleep in. The red-shirt man was scary and I’d say Tehillim as I walked past. The white-haired man was sweet but sad. And I’d wonder: If I were homeless, where would I find shelter? What’s it like to have no home? What’s it like to be displaced in spirit, pushed this way and that, never quite knowing who you are or to whom you belong?