Back in the `80s, I taught at an International School in Tokyo and had the opportunity to visit the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. This museum is not for the faint of heart. Exhibit after exhibit offered stark reminders of the human devastation created by a single weapon of mass destruction. A photo still etched in my mind depicted a blackened steel water tank that bore the lighter-toned silhouette of a person evaporated by the blast. All that was left of that person was a shadow. It was a moving visit for me, and I was relieved when it ended.

Later that day, I was on a trolley returning to the home of my host. At one of the stops a man in tattered clothing boarded the trolley, looked around, and headed straight to the empty seat beside me. He landed with a thud and immediately began a disjointed harangue. He presumed that I would understand Japanese (which I did) and thought I’d want to hear his thoughts about religion (which I didn’t). After enumerating the failings of organized religion, he paused thoughtfully. “There is one thing, though, that makes sense: forgiving your enemies. If we could just learn to forgive our enemies, we might actually put an end to wars.  No more wars…; no more Hiroshimas.” Just then the trolley came to a stop and the man stood up, bowed, and departed. After he left, the passenger to my right - genuinely embarrassed for me - whispered, “I’m so sorry. Don’t listen to him.  He’s crazy.”

Over the years, I have known many other people who were experiencing homelessness. I have also met people who were thought to be irrational. Turns out, my Hiroshima acquaintance was the first in a long line of itinerant teachers, and thanks to him, I have learned from them all.