Passover is the holiday when Jews traditionally open their doors to those less fortunate, the hungry and the poor and the various huddled masses.
On Santa Monica Boulevard at Century Park East, there is a huddled mass. Always concealed behind three golf umbrellas to ward off the hot Los Angeles sun, this person seems nothing more than a pair of legs dangling from a lawn chair. I don't know if ze is a man or a woman. I don't know hir race or age. All I know is that this Passover, I can't actually open my door to this person. I can open my door, and I can invite in a neighbor who happens to be outside looking in curiously, or a guest who's arriving late. I can't let in the person who desperately clutches at hir umbrellas. There is a limit to the traditional gesture of compassion, and the limit is the safety and comfort of me, my family, and my friends.
Whoever you are, behind those elegant Titleist logos, I'm thinking of you tonight.
