STREET PHOTOGRAPHY FROM A PERSONAL ANGLE

Seven years have elapsed since the moment I realized that the photographs I had been posting on the net were Street Photographs.  No doubt I would have missed this wonderful genre, had it not been for my late exposure to the internet. So I decided to adopt it whole-heartedly. Picture by picture it has revealed to me how amazing the street is: full of thrilling human experiences in every corner, alleyway, and neighborhood, all places where people are to be found.

Seven years have elapsed and I still hurry to the street like a little boy to his playground. The desire to pass every free moment in this playground has not faded with the passage of time. The street is my playground, and people in it are my playthings. The street has its own rules and the passers-by are my unconscious partners in the game. In my game I strive to capture the people and arrange them in various compositions, some more or some less sophisticated that will fit in with my ideas, with the pictures I see in my imagination. It is my imagination that insists on a personal style, the fingerprint unique to each photographer.

The workspace of the street photographer consists of constantly changing population groups. They are continuously on the move, changing day by day, each one having its own purpose and target. Coping constantly with this human flux, and mastery of the language of each group (at times even of a single individual) are necessary if you want to understand people's behavior and the rules that shape it. A lot of time, patience, and a great deal of contact with different, strange, people are necessary until one acquires the ability to maneuver successfully in the street, inside people's private territory. Unique ways of seeing, the ability to analyze a situation and react quickly to it, are the tools the street photographer carries with him. His or her personality, experience, intelligence and approach to life are the main weapons in the street. The game here is not a competition between two teams: it is you against the rest of the world, alone but not lonely. You are equipped with that small box, containing the most outstanding collection of playthings in the world. 

It is twenty-seven years since I got my first magic box, and it is only now that I have come to realize that all those years have been a long preparation for what still lays ahead, what I have not yet done. Each kilometer I have travelled, each shoe I have worn out, each person I have gotten to know, each picture I have taken, everything I looked for, found, thought, understood, all these and more are the corner-stones on which my street photographer's personality is built. This personality is what we street photographers bring with us to the playground of street photography. It is with this personality, and only with it, that we confront the rest of the world, with only a little box equipped with an eye of polished glass separating us from the world. Through this magical eye we look at the world, trying to understand it, analyze it, react to it with the intuition unique to each of us, according to our particular view of the world, expressing ourselves through and by it. And she, the camera, is doing her best to capture for us those wonderful magical moments, brought in front of us by our personal traits and imaginations, and that the street in its generosity brings forward and presents to us. No matter what we call this dream catcher, admit that you too have been captured by its magic, and the sweet music of the shutter.

BEHIND THE SCENES OF STREET PHOTOGRAPHY/ PART B

THE CAMERA : THE HIDDEN PARTNER IN STREET PHOTOGRAPHY. 

In the last chapter I spoke about the first steps in street photography. I said:"At the end of the process a skilled street photographer will know how to cope with any situation, and in any location, with one camera and one lens. Any camera, whatever its "rank" will do the job. Any additional piece of equipment will only handicap him. Those who possess a wide choice of equipment will do best to take with them only the most essential equipment, and the most fitting for the location where they are going to work. Bear in mind that the photographer's personal abilities are more important than those of the camera. The best choice will be one (prime) lens with the focal length depending on consideration of the possible measure of approach to the subject, and the nature of photography one wants to project to the viewers."

SHOW ME YOUR CAMERA, AND I WILL TELL YOU WHO YOU ARE…

Beyond our basic need to capture moments that set our imagination on fire, there is apparently a constant (and incontrollable) impulse to get results "of high quality" by this or that item of equipment. This is a wide-spread mistake among photography aficionados!  This "high quality" they aspire to achieve seems to them only "a matter of price". Unfortunately for them real quality is born in our imaginations, it cannot be wrapped up like a gift package. Good art has never been a matter of a casual click, nor dependent on sophisticated equipment. The brush used by great painters 500 years ago is the same as the one we use today; the artist's greatness is not in his tools, but in his ability in using them.

SO HOW COME THE CAMERA PLAYS AN IMPORTANT ROLE IN THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S WORKS?

There is nothing more important for the serious photographer than being the owner of a camera that will go with him/ her "in water and fire", a camera that will fulfill all his wishes and dreams, but one which will not require any special attention whenever he wants to be left alone in the face of a situation, when he needs to delve into his own intimate creation, when, that is, any occupation with the camera's technical side will constitute a brutal intrusion into his creative process.

The choice of the right camera is, therefore, an act that will stay with its owner for years to come. There should be a strong bond, a telepathic bond almost, between photographer and his camera. But this is almost impossible in our times, because of the current world "upgrading epidemic".

Basically there is no such a thing as a bad camera: each type of camera has been produced, in its time, for a certain target-public, with characteristics endowing the camera with certain advantages and disadvantages in relation to other cameras. The creation of a "telepathic relation" with one's camera develops in years of work and its results are more important to the photographer than this or that new technical device.

When choosing a camera great stress should be put on fitting the camera to the kind of work the photographer is about to do. One should bear in mind that the most expensive camera is not necessarily the most suitable camera for the work one wants to do.

Choosing a camera nowadays is not simple in the light of the wide choice the market offers. Nor does the current trend of going over to digital photography makes the choice any easier. In the past the difference between camera bodies of the major producers was much smaller; most of the important attributes were more or less the same, and differences were marginal. The day the digital sensor entered the game, however, big gaps were born between cameras, and with them more parameters which influence the photographer's choice of his camera. Considerations such as the size of the sensor, the number of pixels, noise, crop factor etc, certainly make the choice more difficult, especially in the light of the fast pace of technological changes.

BEFORE YOU CHECK THE CAMERA'S ATTRIBUTES CHECK YOUR OWN…

A "perfect camera" exists only in legends, maybe also in science fiction movies. It is therefore advisable to choose a camera that will fit our specific needs like a glove to our hand. Once in a while I come across people who chose to buy as their first camera the most expensive, sophisticated type. When I look at their carrying on in the street they remind me of a four-year- old child trying to fly an F-16 fighter plane. What did the poor guy want? All he wanted was to fly a nice kite. Unfortunately for him, a friend he consulted advised him to read first a kite review on the net…

The endless review sites manage to spin our heads, and confuse us more and more as we strive to reach a sensible decision. In the end one forgets that behind that state-of–the- art camera which looks like a little NASA spaceship full of buttons, like a three-storied organ, with an operation book which indeed resembles that of a real spaceship, there is only a man (no astrophysicist piano player). And this man is not able to enjoy even 10% of the functions offered by his "beloved chosen".  After he checked with a scientific microscope, so to speak, every photograph taken with that camera and published he decided to buy it, feeling sure that he would get the same "quality" he perceived in the pictures. But as soon as he has taken the pictures, there comes the disappointment: he cannot understand why he fails where photographers with much simpler equipment succeed. Some time later he falls again into the same pit having been convinced by marketing agents that the next camera will certainly, but certainly, do for him the job he so desires.

POSSIBLE CHOICES OF CAMERA FOR THE STREET PHOTOGRAPHER

 

SLR cameras

 

 

These are the most popular cameras, preferred by photographers who want cameras that contain most functions offered by current technology. The main characteristics favored by the majority of photographers are: the size of the sensor, the number of pixels, maximum sensitivity with minimum noise, the number of focus points and the number of shots per second the camera is able to deliver.

This camera type is considered a work-horse that is able to produce an enormous number of photos in a very short time. It is equipped with advanced and precise systems of light measurement and focusing. With this goes also an impressive assortment of exchangeable lenses of all angles and qualities. And to top it all we also get quite a number of possible attachable accessories. This is indeed an impressive machine. But, alas, those who are impressed by it are mainly beautiful girls and beginning amateurs. The main disadvantages of this type of camera are easily felt after several hours of hard work: the camera is rather heavy, its click is noisy, and its shutter and mirror mechanisms cause vibrations which badly effect sharpness, mainly while working in low-light conditions. Out in the street this type of large and heavy camera stands out and is difficult to camouflage. People, consequently, tend to feel threatened by it. And last, but not least a complete system of camera body, several lenses and some additional accessories tend to be rather expensive comparing to other types of camera.

 A photographer who will not learn to take advantage of its pros will meet mainly with its cons and eventually will give up. The great challenge here is to turn a disadvantage into an advantage: it is well known that street photography is mainly about penetrating a subject's private space in a quiet, quick and furtive way i.e. without being seen, heard or noticed. Well, it is almost impossible to hide such a heavy, noisy camera from a subject's eye. He/she will probably notice you from a distance and regard you as a threatening, unwelcomed quest. From that moment their eyes will follow you with nervous suspicion. No doubt that such a bulky camera puts a limit on the street photographer's freedom of movement and exposes him/her to the danger of suspicious and nervous, may be even hostile, subjects. This may render his artistic efforts futile before he even got started.

The best solution for street photographers who choose to work with SLR digital camera is adapting their approach to their prospective subjects. Work with this type of camera will obliges them to work directly with the people they are interested in, meaning that they will have to look for direct contact, even friction, with their subjects, using all their senses in the sharpest, most intelligent way. Personal charm and character have a key function in this approach. A prompt analysis of situations and the ability to respond suitably are highly important. Familiarity with the area and its people are equally important. The thing is not just to know how to het yourself out of a bad situation, but rather to know how to get into it successfully.

Conclusion: Not all that is good for the press, nature, or sports photographer is necessarily good for the street photographer. One advantage of working with an LSR camera, despite all its disadvantages is that in the course of time it will make you a better person and photographer.

 

RANGEFINDER CAMERAS

 

 

This is one of the veteran cameras which is most highly regarded among well known street photographers, as well as aficionados. This was true in the past; it is so in the present and is probably going to remain true in the future. The moment you hold a rangefinder in the palm of your hand you will realize that somebody truly thought seriously of designing a camera that will fit your hand like a glove. All advanced digital technologies notwithstanding, most types of rangefinder cameras are still being produced and marketed for film photography. A photographer who has gone over from SLR, digital, to rangefinder photography will soon experience some difficulties working with his/her new camera. This is a different school altogether, entailing different work habits, and it takes getting used to. As a matter of fact this is apparently the most difficult system of all the 35 mm cameras available on the current market. However, having learnt to use this camera and gotten used to it, it is easier to use than all the others. Its operation is, in most cases, mechanical, and manual: diaphragm, shutter speed and focus are adjusted by hand, and separately from one another. Certainly a camera that will teach you to think in a different manner!!

The camera's design and, the method of working with it is quite different from that of the digital SLR camera. I shall not go into technical detail here; I will mainly dwell on its qualities as compared to other cameras.

The rangefinder's main advantages in comparison to SLR digital cameras are: It is small, easy to hold and to hide, and thus it does not attract attention. Its operation is quiet and its shutter mechanism does not cause vibrations (there is no moving mirror). Its operation is simple and efficient, it is intuitive, there are no superfluous buttons, only those necessary. This type of camera also prides itself on a wide range of small, light, exchangeable lenses of the highest optical quality. Its mechanism is of the highest durability and it is protected within a strong, resistant casing.

The main ( and few) disadvantages of the rangefinder are mainly in its focusing system: it is not done through the lens as is the case in the SLR, and as a result there is always a slight deviation that should be corrected.  In cameras of this type each lens of a certain focal length has a specific frame suitable for it inside the eye piece. However the number of these frames is limited (and different in the different makes). If you want to use a lens for which there is no special frame-lines you have to buy and use an outside eye-piece (or viewer) which will show you the outside boundaries of the picture you are taking. For instance, if the maximum frame-lines you have in your camera are for a 28mm wide-angle lens, and you want to use a lens of a wider angle you will have to use an external eye-piece suitable for that lens's angle. It is inserted in the camera's hot shoe.

Another point relating to rangefinder cameras is that all of them use prime lenses only, i.e. each lens has a fixed focal-length, the maximum being usually 135mm. There are no zooms in this type of camera.

Conclusion: choosing to go over from digital to rangefinder cameras is a serious challenge to any photographer of whatever rank. The greatest advantage of this type of camera is in that it is concerned only with what is necessary. It thus leaves the photographer free with more time and space for the essential creation process.

 

P&S CAMERAS

 

 

Until recently compact cameras were not taken seriously by professional photographers. Today, however, almost any self respecting photographer will take care to include in his arsenal a little camera of quality which may be able to put to shame with its abilities not a few of its larger sisters. Usually they are still used as backup cameras, but technological trends indicate that the gap between reflex and compact cameras are rapidly narrowing, and that it is quite likely that soon behind any small camera in the street we will find a great photographer hiding.

To what does a street photographer aspire to more than to enter discreetly another person's private space, take photographs and go out without being noticed? How easy it is to wander around in the street without that feeling that, with your bulky camera, you are regarded as a threatening presence by the street's people. Even if you are caught taking a photograph (with a little compact camera) you will easily be forgiven, as no more than "just a casual tourist".

There is no need to dwell on the advantages of the compact camera; and the list of its disadvantages is shrinking by the minute. What remains to us is to give a huge credit to the producers of this little princess which is fast developing the abilities of a big queen, and who seems to be going to take over the photography market soon and in a  big way.

DWELLERS OF THE MAGIC CAR

I came across her, the magic car, one afternoon, on the fringe of Nahalat Binyamin, during the last days of the great cold. She was hidden in a small side street; amidst old dilapidated houses with decrepit, peeling walls…an old wreck of a car, rusty, dirty, her windows shattered, covered with old sheets and blankets to keep the cold out. She was standing in a small parking lot in the back yard of an old, abandoned apartment house, surrounded by waste- collection containers, old food cans with rotting food remains, plastic bottles and human and animal excretions. There, inside that car, I saw the three of them: Boris (the blind), elderly Ghenadi and Sasha….

 

 

Days later I learnt that Ghenadi was the owner of that car, and that it was his home. He paid 500. – Shekels to the previous owner for this ownership right. Apparently, there are no free gifts even for the homeless. In this global world everything is a business and has to comply with the rules of supply and demand…

Since then I have been going back there almost daily - to talk with them, document their lives with my camera, add one word to another, one fact to the next in order to reconstruct the story of these men and their "magical palace".

This is a harsh story, complex and not easy to stomach. But it deserves our attention: this is how people live on the fringes of our society, educated, intelligent people, not criminal, not bad, just unfortunate people, survivors of bad fortunes, of modern life. They deserve our attention, and even a measure of respect: the distance between them and us is not as big as we tend to think.

 

 

Boris is blind. Now he is completely helpless. He can do nothing without help, but he was not always like this. He spent ten years of his life working here. Only his bad fortune brought him to where he is now. Ghenadi, about 70, formerly an engineer and a high ranking industrial manager in Russia, is now homeless. He takes care of Boris with devotion. Sasha lives with them, but during my association with them he disappeared. This is how they are: if they can, they come and go. There are others who come to visit this strange "palace", homeless men and women. They come to talk, beg for a cigarette, to sleep in the car for a couple of hours. Some are

welcomed, others are turned firmly away by Ghenadi. He probably knows why. Boris is treated with infinite devotion by Ghenadi; he goes out every day to work (mostly to beg), and brings food, drinks and cigarettes. Every now and then he comes with a change of clothes for Boris, and he helps him in everything; he guides him, keeps him company, and protects him from others to the best of his ability.

 

 

Boris is 54 or 55. His story sounds like a modern version of Job, almost. About ten years ago he arrived in Israel from Kirghizstan; he wanted to work, save some money and return to his country. Until he lost his sight he worked hard, diligently, and honestly, saving one penny to another, sending some money to his family whenever he could. The list of jobs he undertook is long and varied. He did not bother about questions of honour or hardness of the jobs he undertook. He just wanted to work, persistent, determined and humble. How did he end up in that shelter of the homeless?

 

 

Here is a summary of his "occupational life" as he told me:

During his first three years here he worked for a car-wash company. He earned well, enough to rent a small room to live in. But good things, so it seems, don't persist forever: the company closed down, and Boris found himself without work. After a month or so he found work in a Tel Aviv restaurant, and some time later his fortune smiled on him: one of the regulars of the restaurant suggested that he come to work for him. So Boris found himself working at a fruit and vegetable shop in the open market of Petah Tikva. At first he worked as a simple hand, carrying merchandise and arranging it, but later he was promoted to the role of cashier. But here  again, some time later, his boss left on a leave, and the relative who took charge of the business did not like the status Boris had earned for himself and started picking on him and making his life miserable. In the end he could not stand it anymore and left back to Tel Aviv. There he worked for several months for an independent contractor as a street sweeper, and later on he was sent by a manpower company to work for a Yeshiva in Jerusalem, where he did kitchen and cleaning jobs. From there he was sent to do similar work in another yeshiva, this time in Modi'in. He did not stay there for long, because of wage problems.

By then seven or eight years had gone by, and Boris decided to go back home. He made all the arrangements, put his papers in order, bought a ticket for a flight to Kirghizstan, and took out all his savings (6000.-$) out of the bank. He believed that in a few days he would be back in his country and all his plans for which he had worked so hard would be realized. But alas, at that moment his luck failed him again. Perhaps the goddesses of fortune thought that the life of that innocent and hard working man had been too easy...On the last day of his stay in Israel- or so he thought-he went for the last time to visit the sea-shore carrying all his possessions with him. While there his bag, with all his papers, passport, flight ticket and savings, 6000.-$ in cash, were stolen!!!...the fruit of eight years of hard labour was lost!!! All his dreams evaporated in the flame of a harsh, unexpected new reality…

 

 

Boris remained with, literally, no penny to his name, no documents and no way to contact his family. Three of his sisters and a 28 year old son live and work in Germany. But his address and telephone book was gone and he could not remember their addresses or telephone numbers. He was thus cut off from his family.

At loss Boris turned to the immigration police, hoping they might assist him in getting back to his country. He was held in jail for about two months and then was freed. He was given a form which he was instructed to fill, and advised to contact members of his family as well as his country's authorities in order to obtain the documentation required to verify his nationality. Having completed all this, he was to return to jail to present the required documentation and arrange for his exit from the country. He was given a one way ticket to Tel Aviv and this was all.

Now what was he to do? He could not turn to his country's authority: Kirghizstan has no diplomatic representation in Israel. How was he to complete all these assignments having neither money nor any connections here?

He thus reached Tel Aviv penniless, workless and without a place to pass the night in. He had to find some work as soon as possible and save some money. Otherwise how could he proceed to sort out his affairs?

 

 

Wandering helpless, hungry and penniless Boris met an acquaintance from a previous job and that person introduced him to an elderly lady who needed general repairs and renovation works in her apartment.  When he completed the job and the woman wanted to pay him, Boris suggested that instead she could let him stay temporarily in her house in return for odd jobs. She agreed, and Boris stayed with her for two years doing all cleaning, laundering, ironing, cooking and repair jobs for her.

Why he failed to write to his family in Kirghizstan? Why he did not make an effort to locate his sisters and son in Germany? Why he did not make an effort to find a way to get travel papers as he was instructed by the migration authorities? To all these questions I have no answer. Some of the answers are obvious, about others I can only speculate. He lost The addresses of his family members in Germany with the rest of his documents. He did remember the address of his sister in Kirghizstan, but what could she do for him?  He had been sending money to her, how could she now help him? Perhaps he was ashamed to tell her that now he had become helpless and in need of help? He forgot in his pocket the form he was given to fill when he laundered his cloths. Anyway, how could he complete these forms with his very limited Hebrew? Contacts with the authorities intimidate him; he is not used to dealing with them. Boris is a gentle and timid man. His country has no delegation here, where could he turn for advice and help? At a loss as to what to do he probably just drifted, staying on with his land-lady, until the next blow fell.

 

 

About two month before I met him, and after he had stayed some two years with the lady Boris's eyes started to fail; he was losing his sight rapidly. Within a month, or a month and a half, he became almost completely blind. Now he had become a burden to his land lady, and she turned him out. Apparently, she did not offer help in examining and treating his eyes. Perhaps she could not, being elderly and of rather modest means. Boris did not say anything. When helped he thanks you in a quiet voice, his blind eyes shining, but he makes no recriminations; about hardships, insults, injustices and humiliations he tends to keep silent.

Thus wandering, blind, on the street Boris met Ghenadi. He had never met him before. Homeless, penniless, but not merciless, Ghenadi invited Boris to share with him all the little he had, and ever since they had been together in the old car, Ghenadi's "palace".

 

 

Boris shut himself in the car. He now hardly goes out. He relieves himself a few steps from the car, and even to do this he needs Ghenadi to guide him. The stench is terrible, but what can he do? Ghenadi begs in the streets and takes odd jobs in the market and thus he is able to bring food, drinks and cigarettes. Good people, some of them homeless themselves, also bring food sometimes. The municipality's authority for street dwellers knows of the case. Now and then somebody from the authority pops up bringing blankets, sometimes food. Once a doctor came- Boris does not know who called him- and said that only a simple operation is required to restore his sight. But the doctor went and Boris stayed where he was. He has no money, and, being blind, no way of earning it. Nor does he have medical insurance. Apart from Ghenadi he knows nobody who may be able to advise and help him.

Here I tried to step in and help. I increased the frequency of my visits to them in an effort to ease their life, even if for little, in the car that never goes anywhere. I spoke on the phone with the municipal authority for street dwellers. They know of the "case". But as Boris is not an Israeli citizen, the authority cannot open a file for him and assign him a social worker.

 

 

I brought them a small transistor radio, and this greatly cheered them up. Now they never stop listening. For Boris the radio is his only pipeline to life outside.

I obtained a simple blind- man stick so that he may get out of the car and walk a little. He comes out of the car with my or Ghenadi's help and tries to take a few steps, but  his legs are heavy and he moves with difficulty as he stays all the time in the car in the same cramped position. He walks all hunched up as if afraid of a sudden blow to strike unexpectedly. He condition is deteriorating.

 ophthalmologic private clinics) in an attempt to obtain an eye specialist who would be willing to examine Boris's eyes, pro bono, and give us a reliable diagnosis as well as an estimate of the cost of an operation.

(He promised to look into the matter and return to me, but I have not heard from him ever since then).

I brought Boris a pen and paper so he could write to his family. I could not help him write. I had to look for somebody who could. Later, Tatiana (a homeless acquaintance) came and wrote the letter for Boris, and I posted it. Who knows how long it will take it to make this long distance to Kirghizstan? Will the people there reply? Will they be able to help?

 

 

Yesterday when Ghenadi was away, and Boris on his won, somebody came and snatched the transistor. Boris heard laughter, but, obviously, he could not see who it was. How low can people stoop?!

The greatest fear of homeless people like Boris and Ghenadi are the drug addicts. With these, although they too are homeless, they don't want to have anything to do. Drug addicts will stop at nothing. They fear them and do their best to avoid them.

 

 

But now came at last a bit of good fortune; I have discovered the "Organization of Doctors for Human Rights", a voluntary organization which attempts to furnish medical care to all those who do not qualify for it in the eyes of the authorities, Palestinians, people without documents, work migrants, homeless people. We called them and they are ready to arrange for an examination by a specialist who does voluntary work for the organization.

A date has been set for the examination in "the Doctors' House" in Tel Aviv.

 

 

I gave Ghenadi some money so that he can take Boris to a homeless shelter in Jaffa, where they can wash and have a change of cloth in preparation for the visit to the doctor.

I came to visit them at noontime and found Boris alone, half naked, shivering and frightened. At night they had "visitors" again; they forcibly undressed Boris and Ghenadi, searched them and the car and robbed them of the little money I had given them.. These were probably drug addicts.

 

 

That same evening we went to the doctor's clinic, and this time there was some good news to be happy about. Dr Rosenblatt said that the reason for Boris's blindness is a "mature cataract". She said he would have to have another examination, and then an operation to remove the cataract. If there are no other problems with his eyes he will be able to regain full function of his eyes and be return to normal life. She was prepared to approach the management of the hospital and discuss with them the possibility of a pro bono operation for Boris. At the Organization of Doctors for Human Rights they are also trying to look for other possibilities, just in case.

Now another blow: The shop owners of the neighborhood –so one of them told me-got together and decided to remove the "shelter car" from the backyard where it stood. This is not the first time; it is they who had shattered the car's windows. Where would they take the car? To the street and from there it would be taken to the municipal garbage dump, he said. And what about the people who live there? This is their problem; the filth and stench are intolerable, he said, and it drives their customers away. This is not completely true; the car is in a back yard, customers are never disturbed by that shelter. It is only the shop owners who are inconvenienced by these conditions when they park their cars and take them out. It is a fact that the power is in their hands…but what will happen now? What will happen to Boris and Ghenadi...?

 

 

Yesterday at noontime I went to see them: the car was gone. Boris, Ghenadi and some friends were sitting on the pavement. The shop owners had called for a municipal inspector, a small crane was brought and the magical car, the "palace" of the homeless was no more. Their wretched shelter, home, life-centre was destroyed in one brief thrust. The dwellers were able to take one old blanket each and this was the end.

 

It was not however the end of the story of Boris and Ghenadi.

As Boris and Ghenadi were sitting in the street I was busy all afternoon and far into the evening making phone calls, trying to find some solution for them. The Doctors for Human rights could not help this time. They have no lodging arrangements. I tried the municipal authority, but the only solution they offered were "the shelters for the homeless", "gagonim" (small roofs). Many of those who stay in those shelters, however, are drug addicts, and Boris and Ghenadi would not hear of staying there. They would rather sleep in the street. To stay in one of those shelters is dangerous-they say- especially if you are old and weak, or blind. All other calls turned out equally futile.

 

 

 

But maybe, after all, God helps the poor and the meek. As a last resort I called a Christian organization which operates a one-weekly "soup kitchen". They offer quite decent free lunches, as well as medical examination by a G.P. and some basic medical help. I asked for their help and after a couple of hours of tense waiting the man in charge of the place, Marilyn, came back with a solution…. They found an apartment in Jaffa the inhabitants of which are all street dwellers who were undergoing rehabilitation processes and who were ready to receive Boris and Ghenadi and take care of them without a time limit and for free.

 

 

It was already dark when Merlin, the man in charge of the poor-kitchen came, called a cab and took Boris, Ghenadi and me to that apartment.  It was already around 9.00 when we arrived there. Yuri opened the door and invited us in. The apartment was spacey, rather modest, but at least a place with the smell of home. It was well lit, in the corner was television set with a Russian film on. One by on the dwellers entered and exchanged greetings and warm hugs with Merlin. They seemed to know him well and like him. Everybody was smiling. I looked for a reaction from Boris and Ghenadi. It seemed they were still in a state of choc. They needed time to digest what had happened; just a few hours ago they had been thrown out of their "home". They were, apparently, still confused. They looked a bit shy, perhaps intimidated…

 

 

Yuri, the man in charge of the apartment, welcomed Boris and Ghenadi and announced," This evening you will have a hot shower, a change of cloth and an evening meal. You will sleep here on clean sheets.

"I will take my shower in the morning" said Ghenadi "I always shower in the morning". Immediately he got a lecture from Yuri. Obviously the urge to enjoy a good hot shower fades after living on the street for a while. One cannot be bothered anymore; to scrub off a kilo of sticky dirt is rather tiring work. But Yuri would not hear of it, and as always good old Ghenadi got up and led Boris to the bathroom, he helped him undress and washed him like a good nurse.

When they returned clean and relaxed and sat down Ghenadi asked for a cigarette, but, there again Yuri made it clear to the newcomers that here there were some house rules: "Here nobody smokes, drinks alcohol or uses obscene language. You are now joining a rehabilitation programme, he asserted. All the others here have come to this apartment in a similar state; maybe even worse, all of them are in some stage of weaning from one bad habit or another. All the people you see here have reached an advanced stage: they lead independent life, they work, participate in social activities and they study. This apartment serves as an anchor for them, a base where they could always return, without a time limit. "At first" He added "Ghenadi and Boris will be taken to a private house in the North, there to begin the first stage of rehabilitation. It takes about 9 months. The house is located in a quiet secluded countryside area, and this is what you need now "he concluded.

When I explained to Yuri that Boris needed to be available on a short notice for the examination at the hospital, he reassured me: "There will be no problem; we will bring him to Tel Aviv whenever he is needed".

It was around eleven when I left. "Today a chapter in their lives has closed" I thought. I left feeling comfortable. They are in good hands. May they never go back to live in the street. It was the end of a chapter for me too. But the story has not ended; there are still two tasks ahead: getting somehow financing for Boris's operation and putting his papers in order so that he will be able to go back to his country.

Tomorrow I will get in touch with Dr. Rosenblatt and see whether there is any news, I thought.

 

 

"We have an operation" announced Dr.Rosenblatt" on the phone." I have taken it up with the hospital's Director and he authorized a pro bono operation". Blessed be those who still have a heart and conscience in their chests. Not all is bad after all.

Boris will have to be at the hospital on Sunday for preparatory tests. A date had already been set for the operation, Wednesday 19.3. 

On Saturday Boris was brought to the apartment in Jaffa. I went to visit him. He was clean and well dressed. His beard had been shaved. He seemed to be feeling well, but worried; he did not smile and seemed absentminded. "Everything is well" he said in a quiet voice in reply to my question "Ghenadi is well too". But Boris never complains. "Only living without cigarettes is tough" he said smiling weakly. "I will be O.K.". The apartment's inhabitants were friendly and seemed to be taking good care of him.

On Sunday we went to the hospital for the examination. We were accompanied by Leonid; he is one of the men living in the apartment. In the past he used to work as old and handicapped peoples' help. He came with us to help and translate from and to Russian. The reception at the hospital was heart-warming. The entire staff was full of good will, willing and able to overcome all bureaucratic hurdles. Boris was greeted with warmth and good intentions. Blessed be all of them.

 

 

The good news is that the blindness is caused by a cataract. There seems to be no internal damage. Boris is going to be able to see. Tomorrow is the operation!!! Maybe the story of the "shelter car" will have a happy ending…

 

 

Wednesday early morning, the sky is still grey; the road is almost completely empty, only a few early risers walk, bent against the cold, half asleep are to be seen .Boris should be at the hospital by 7.30. He will be the first to be operated on. I reached the apartment in Jaffa by 6.45. The apartment was dark. Most of the men were still asleep. We looked for Boris, but he was not there, disappeared. Nobody knew were he was. "Has something happened? Did he go out on his own and got lost? Worried, I woke up Yuri and we questioned all the men in the apartment. Then we were relieved. It transpired that Leonide and the driver had taken Boris in the car and gone to the hospital in order to make sure they are on time. They did not know that they were supposed to wait for me. I hurried after them.

The hospital was dark, a bit gloomy. At the entrance I noticed several colourful figures: an old ugly witch, a beautiful girl, a snow-white, a little Red Riding Hood; some of the staff and some of the children hospitalized for treatment had put on masks for the Purim Holiday, a holiday of joy. Will Boris have a reason to feel joyful today? I hurry to the eye department. Boris is already in the operation room. Leonid had taken care of all the arrangements. Dr. Rosenblatt smiles "Sit down, relax, in about 45 minutes Boris will be out" she says encouragingly.

The corridor near the operation room is gloomy. It is bare and functional. No ornaments here to relieve the eye. "Entrance for Staff Only" says the sign on the door. What is happening behind these walls? Is everything going to be alright? Is Boris going to be able to see as before? Will he be able to see right away, or only after a few days? weeks? Questions and apprehensions crowd my mind. I get up and go to the cafeteria to have a glass of coffee.

 

 

Half an hour dragged by. We got back to wait near the operation room. And then, suddenly the door opened, and there was Boris in a wheelchair. He was dressed in hospital green, a cap covering his hair, a transparent plastic protection cover over his right eye and a big smile on his face. Beside him stood Dr.Rosenbaltt, her face glowing. The miracles she brings about have not become a matter of course for her; her happiness is making her face glow." Is he able to see?" I ask." of course! "She says smiling." "Do you recognize him" she asked Boris "Yes, this is Felix". It is more than two months that he had known me, but this was the first time he saw me. He knew my voice, though. The atmosphere in the room was reminiscent of that of a delivery room after a baby is born. In fact a new man has been born today. There is no profession better than this" Says Dr. Rosenblatt with a big smile "there is no greater happiness than restoring sight to a blind person" "Perhaps the happiness of the person who got back his sight is even greater" I think to myself.

"Boris had only his right eye operated on" the Doctor explained " This is always the practice. After a time, when the eye has healed and is fully operational, the other will be operated." "When? We will have to wait and see".

 

 

Boris was happy, but he seemed bit overwhelmed, confused. "Do you want to eat", we asked "No I am O.K" he said, and then changed his mind. We went with him to the department's dining hall. He walked without help but he was a bit shaky. He tended to bump into things and we need to watch over him a little. Asked how well he saw he answered "narmalna", normally. But as usual he played down his difficulties. Later on it was explained to us that at the moment his sight is not yet completely restored. His brain requires a certain period of time to get used to the new situation. Everyday his sight will improve a little until it is fully restored. But even now Boris was eating without help. Every now and then he looked around studying his new environment. Two elderly Yemenite ladies were sitting not far from us. One of them had her second cataract operation not a long ago. Her good looking daughter was with her. They talked and laughed merrily, looked at us and start up a conversation. Boris was interested and smiled quietly.

Later he asked to go back and lie down. He was tired. He needed to wait in the hospital till noontime before he could be sent home. When he passes near a mirror he looked at his image and remarked jokingly "I am looking like and cosmonaut". Sitting on the bed he described to us the experience of starting to see again "It was like an explosion" he said waving his hands to demonstrate.

 

 

At noontime I went again to the Jaffa apartment. Boris came back from the hospital with Leonid. I found him sitting, surrounded by his new friends, watching the television. He had bee instructed not to strain his eye. But the temptation was too great. Tomorrow will go again to the clinic at the hospital to have a check. His friends at the apartment will see that he gets there on time. I will visit him again. In a few days he will return to the house in the North, where he will rejoin the rehabilitation programme. Ghenadi is waiting for him there. I wonder about his meeting with Ghenadi. I wish I could be present there!!!  He will see Ghenadi for the first time in his life, Ghenadi who took him into his "magic car", who cared for him, watched over him, was a friend whose generosity had no bounds. He was for him father, mother and brother, his only family. But all he knew of him was his voice, a voice to light his way in the darkness. What will he think when he sees him? What will pass in his mind?

 

 

Here ends the story. I will keep in touch with Boris and Ghenadi.  Boris will have to undergo another operation on his left eye. Let us hope the hospital authorities are able and willing to see the wonderful and generous deed they have begun through to it completion. I will do my best to keep in touch with Boris and Ghenadi and help them until Boris is able to go back home well and whole, and Ghenadi is perhaps able to go back to a better life than life on the street.

Before we conclude here is one further piece of information that I have heard from Boris accidentally. Boris is a Jew, a fact that he failed to mention to me, and that neither I nor the hospital's authorities ever bothered to inquire about. During a conversation after the operation he mentioned casually to me that his mother was a piano teacher, and a Jew. Why he had not registered as a Jew with the immigration authorities I have no idea. Maybe he will tell me sometime later on. There are a lot of things I do not know about him, and even more to learn about Ghenadi and his life's story. How many stories hide behind the dirty and tattered appearances of people like them whom we pass lying in the streets, seeing and not seeing them, trying to avoid them, being intimidated by their strangeness and their dirt…

 

 

What can we learn from all that? Maybe that there are good people among us...Maybe that among those who have lost all, their homes, their livelihood, their families, generosity and the will to help still exist? And maybe, as we wrote in the beginning, that they are just people like us. Many of them have interesting, may be even fascinating life stories, and the difference between us," normal" people and them is smaller than we would like to think. Maybe that helping them is possible, and that they are worth the effort? 

THE LIFE OF THE HOMELESS – THE DARK SIDE OF SOCIETY

This story has no beginning nor can its end be seen.  They come to the street for a variety of reasons. Most of us can cope with the hurdles they initially encounter. With a little help we get over the difficulty and go on. But for them help just had not come, and their lives took a turn into that road full, of pits, which often leads to the abyss.

 

 

A whole population lives in the street, a small "people" seek a country: lone wolves, couples, childhood friends, fathers and sons, mothers whose children were taken away by the social authorities and given to be adopted, alcoholics, drug addicts, schizophrenics, refugees from mental institutes, work migrants, refugees from normative society, and people who just prefer to live in the street in order to avoid child and wife payments, or heavy debts they are not able to pay.

 

 

Numerous groups roam the streets from one place to anther, drop anchor for a while and go on to another place. Their numbers are constantly on the increase, and friction is inevitable, sometimes the result is strong friendship, more often- hard violence, sometimes ending with death.
This is the story of simple individuals who have wrapped their past in layers of lies, fables and anecdotes so thick that often they themselves are unable to  tell truth from fiction. The truth they keep buried deep inside in a corner of their heart- a burning memory which cannot be shared with anybody, be it for shame, or for pain too strong to bear. A well made cover story is probably the best shield for those who strive to survive in the street.

 

 

Life rushes at them, hits them wave after wave, and they try to hold onto anything with a semblance of stability ,be it for a brief moment; one moment they make a step forward and  next they go back two. "Every ship struggling in a raging sea wants to cast anchor one in a while" said once to me one of them.
We know much to little about these population of street dwellers who live among us. Saying that nobody is insured against falling into the dark side of society is no mere fable; this is the reality of a growing number of people coming true much too often.

 

 

But what we know of this reality is just the top of the iceberg. A whole form of life exists far from the public eye and from its comprehension: A small people fight for their daily survival, for their right to live…
The relations of these homeless people with the social authorities, on whom they depend for help, are a prolonged and complicated story, often lasting for years. Despite all the love and good will, it too often transpires that there are limits to love and giving, and that there are limits, conditions and rules making progress towards normative life slower and more difficult. The "romance" is then full of repeated painful separations, and seldom, leads towards an unproductive end. This may easily bring in its wake deep disappointment, and steep physical and mental decline. Seeking another alternative it is all too easy to fall into the open, waiting arms of alcohol, drugs, crime and prostitution.

 

 

The fall into the swamp of drug and alcohol is like a life sentence, and often a death sentence. Only few survive it and manage to clime out whole. Those who find themselves alone, with no help, in this battle will find themselves sinking deeper and deeper despite all their attempts to resist. Is this the essence of the homeless life?

 

 

In my attempt to understand I befriended many homeless, individual and groups. This story is the story of a group of homeless alcoholics of a Russian (or "soviet") origin, who lived for several months in a kind of commune in an abandoned house in the center of Tel Aviv. I studied and documented their life, and got familiar with their relationship to each other and to the "outside world". I got familiar with their methods of obtaining food, smoke and alcohol, I got to know the agencies municipal and charitable where they turn for help and (some) shelter. I heard of their preferences, dreams and their fears. I heard of their considerations regarding drink, and other commodities and learnt their daily schedules and various practices. They taught me their rules and regulations, and we argued about their pro and cons. I witnessed many moments of happiness, and alcohol driven elation, and many moments of pain, sorrow and even mourning when they lost a friend, a parent and even a son. I witnessed them bestowing on each other tender friendship, and their willingness to help each other, and also moments of extreme egotism and estrangement. I saw their group expand with new members they wanted to help, and shrink, when they quarreled or felt fed up. I saw how outsiders disrupted their lives, and finally, how, in the end they were turned by the authority out of their shelter (Zula) into the street and what happened to them thereafter.