Cart Pushers

On Saturday while sitting on the sofa, still sick and exhausted, gazing out the window, I took note when the downpour began. Lured by the drama, I opened the front door to pay it tribute and found a man standing there. His cart full of junk was parked down near the curb, its contents drenched. At least the man had found a dry spot under our awning to wait out the torrent.

When he saw me he expected that I would flush him from his roost and was very apologetic. I encouraged him to stay as long as he needed to, and after I went back in thought to get him a glass of juice, but when I returned with it the rain had slowed and he had gone.

I've been thinking about the pushcart people I see freely wheeling down the streets, sometimes in the middle of the road, wondering about their habits and the sense of freedom they seem to have. Their carlessness seems anomalous these days, it is easy to feel that they are by necessity more human than those of us who shuttle about in our fiberglass exoskeletons, getting places at unbelievable speeds that we completely take for granted. We travel faster than any Kings of old, and yet, so often we rage because it's not fast enough for us.

Stuck under our awning the pushcart man become an example of a meaning of Shabbat, that time of withdrawal when we are invited, or forced, to shelter from all the torrents of the world over which we have little control and passively free fall into a wider spiritual identification and trust. To blanket ourselves in a union with the eternal, with faith in a greater good unfolding beyond our abilities of comprehension, and hopefully to hear the hum of the thin cross hairs of truth mounted within the spinning wheel of Eternity.

There's another pushcart story that inspired this one, it's called Pushcart Prophet and it's posted on the Chabad website. The story introduced me to Rabbi Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidim. From his experience with a pushcart person of his era, he infers a lesson about the neglectful arrogance of complacency. Freewheeling, wasn't it, that he took readings not only from scripture but also from the Book of the World?

Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov was teaching his disciples when they were disturbed by a knock on the shutter. A peasant, hauling a cart of tools, peered through the window. “Need any fixing?” he cried. “Any shaky tables, broken chairs? A loose brick in the hearth, perhaps?”

“No, no,” came the impatient reply from within, where all were eager to get on with the interrupted lesson. “Everything is in perfect condition. There’s no need for any repairs.”'

“Indeed? Nothing to repair?” called the peasant. “That simply cannot be. Look well, and you're sure to find something that needs fixing!”

Rabbi Israel then addressed his students: “Many times have I taught you that nothing is by chance in G-d’s world; that every event and experience is purposeful, that everything one sees or hears is a lesson for one's service of the Almighty. Think of the words we just heard from this simple peasant. How profoundly relevant they are to each and every one of us! Is everything really in perfect condition? At times it might seem so; but if one truly searches his heart and evaluates his life, is he not sure to find something that requires repair...?”