There is an old adage that goes “Don’t judge someone until you have walked a mile in his shoes.”
I have a simpler litmus test that does not require finding an individual who does not wear high heels or have extremely small feet.
You can learn a lot about people by being different. In a sense you become like an anthropologist and a test study in one.
A few months back I received a ride back to Jerusalem from a closed wine event with an Israeli radio talk-show host, who happened to be in a wheelchair. He regaled me with stories of how people around the world would always help him out. He even once went to a football (i.e. soccer) match in Amsterdam, where fans carried him up many flights of stairs, as the elevator was out of order.
I am actually writing this post somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, after conducting a whirlwind tour of the United States.
I am currently “different” because of a simple reason: I have a gluten-sensitivity. I do not eat products made from wheat, barley, rye, spelt, and oats. And, perhaps more direly, I do not drink beer. The initial response I receive from most people is “So you can’t have [fill in delicious gluten-laden delicacy]!”. Unless you have had the pleasure of eating with me, you would have no clue. I bear no sign of Cain on my forehead.
Last week, after I attended to the BlogWorld Expo in Vegas, my cousin drove up from LA to hang out with me for a couple days. It would not be an understatement to say that my cousin is a connoisseur of good grub. He suggested that we have dinner in this new Kosher restaurant located about eight miles off the strip. The place was beautiful, elegant and dark. It lightened up a bit when I removed my sunglasses.
The waiter, a friendly South African ex-pat, brought us menus, and pointed out the option of a 5- or 7- course tasting menu, replete with the option of adding on specifically chosen drinks to compliment the menu. After his lengthy intro, slightly embarrassed, I explained my predicament. He allayed my fears and assured me that the chef would whip something up for us that would work within my guidelines.
I can only say two things about the restaurant: they got the portions messed up, and gave us full size (not tasting) servings, which was great for course 5 (braised short ribs), and they aided me in my quest to commit the seven deadly sins in Sin City. Gluttony was simple. (Yet, interestingly enough, course 7 (the chocolate mousse) was reminiscent of heaven…) In short, 3 hours after we arrived, I requested to meet (and thank) the chef. A young guy came out, and upon my inquisition, informed me that cooking gluten-free is simple. “It’s just like cooking Kosher. You just have to know what to substitute.” My cousin, the foodie, was satiated as well. [I did not finish all 7 sins: I lacked wrath.]
Fast forward a week. My favorite sister is studying for her MA in Nutrition in NYU. Additionally, she is an amazing cook. She assembled a menu for Rosh Hashana that was simply to kill for. Her stuffed cabbage was divine, garnering accolades from all the guests in attendance. The entire menu for all 4 meals, excluding the Challot that smelled that they fell straight from God’s table, was completely gluten-free. She explained to us that as part of the Master’s program, the class participants had to experiment a bit. One time, they had to live a week off lactose, another time a week off gluten.
The next experiment floored me. The class would have to spend a week spending the equivalent of what people receive for food stamps. For those who don’t know, that is roughly 37 dollars for a week of food. Try attempting that and staying healthy. It was much more difficult to do, especially for her, with the whole Kosher thing as well.
I am extremely grateful to my ex-roomates and close friends who have mastered the art of cooking “Ezra-Friendly” food, even carrying out a elaborate scheme (which included thievery, passing of certain white powdery substances, and extremely long emails written in a highly developed code) to bake EF Hamantaschen on Purim.
Most people focus on the “can’t”. They dwell in the world of the accepted and of the normal. A man who is wheelchair-ridden can’t see a football match because the elevator is broken. A man who is celiac can’t eat like everyone else.
Special people think creatively. How can we make this happen? What can you eat? Where can we find three hundred clowns to fill the car? The word “can’t” becomes a veritable curse in their lexicon, forever banished to the realm of “ugly”, “stupid”, and “irrelevant”.
I am not a proponent of judging people. As Metallica said, “Judge not, lest ye be judged yourself.”
Emanuel Levinas wrote about the responsibility that we all have for the Other. I would submit that this charge is more than mere sympathy or even empathy, it is realizing the potential and possibilities of the Other. It is impossible to achieve that by using the word “can’t”.
