“Two men came before a great scholar of Torah and asked him for instruction on the differences between right and wrong.  One of them was a great wrongdoer in his own mind, for when he was a young man he had had at terrible quarrel with a close friend, and, in the heat of anger, he had struck him with a heavy stick and killed him.  And from that day on, his conscience had given him no rest.

“The second man who came to see the great scholar had never fallen into evil or wicked practices and, in his own estimation, at least, he was pure and without guilt.

“The great scholar listened to the two men and asked them to talk about themselves: what they had done in the past, how they had earned a living, and so on.

“The first one broke down and burst into tears.  He confessed, weeping and groaning, how he had killed his best friend.  He had no hope that such a crime could ever be forgiven, neither on earth nor in heaven.  The second one declared that he had never stopped to commit any great wrongs or crimes, so therefore he could not remember any one particular bad thing he had done.  Whatever minor evils he had committed had all vanished from his mind.

“Then said the scholar to the first man: ‘Go, my son, across to the other side of the road and find one very large stone, the biggest one you can find, and bring it here to me.  And you, ’ he said to the second one who had led what that man considered to be a blameless life, ‘ you go out to that same field across the road and bring me a great many stones, very small stones, as many as you can carry in your hands.’  And the men went forth and did as directed.

“When they had finished their assigned tasks, the rabbi looked at the stones and said, ‘And now here is what I want each of you to do.  Take all these stones and bring them back one by one to the exact spot where you got each single stone.  And then come back to me here.’

“Again, both men started to do as the rabbi had told them.  The one who carried the big stone easily found the spot where he had picked it up, and he replaced it.

“But the second one could by no means remember each of the many single places from which he had picked up each little stone and pebble.  And he came back to the scholar without being able to fulfill his demand.  Then said the rabbi: ‘Man’s wrongdoings and errors are like these stones.  You can easily find the place from which you took the large stone, and you were able to bring it back immediately.  But you,’ he said to the second man, ‘could not restore the little stones, because there were too many spots for you to remember them.’

“And then he arose and said: ‘Blessed is the man whose conscience is heavy upon him - like a big stone - because it is easier to remove his guilt and let repentance enter in.’

“And to the smug little man who could see no evil in himself he said, ‘But woe to him who pays no attention to the little errors he commits.  He pays no attention to them and he will never try hard to be for­given.  Thus, the greater wrongdoer can actually often be the better man.’”^[1]

Yom Kippur is a time when we Jews are supposed to honestly confront our sins, acknowledge them as sins, and commit ourselves both to repair the damage we have done, to the best of our ability, and to consciously, actively avoid repeating those sins.

As we gather here tonight, I imagine that there are few, if any, great sinners among us.  There are few, if any, who are burdened with the big, heavy stones of guilt.  Rather, most of us are “small stone” people.  We try to lead decent lives, but we make mistakes along the way; bad choices, poor decisions.  Nothing big, and within a day or so after we have done them, we have forgotten them and have moved on with our lives.  And in our moving on, we have, knowingly, or most likely unknowingly, left behind us a wake of pain and sorrow, suffered by others.  Yes, we are “small stone” people.

But of all our small stones, perhaps one of the smallest - one so small that we often fail to recognize it - yet one of the most potent, one of the most soul poisoning stones there is, is the sin of indifference.  Indeed, by its very definition, the sin of indifference implies that we simply do not care.

Just a few weeks ago, during our summer services, our weekly Torah portion, “Ki Tetze,” contained a text that really struck me; that drove home the point of the insidious power of indifference.  Let me share with you that text: “If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow.  If your fellow does not live near you or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your fellow claims it; then you shall give it back to him.  You shall do the same with his ass; you shall do the same with his garment; and so too shall you do the same with anything that your fellow loses and you find: you must not remain indifferent.  If you see your fellow’s ass or oxen fallen on the road, do not ignore it; you must help him raise it.”^[2]

I was taken by that statement, “You must not remain indifferent.”  Of all the things that the Torah author could have said at that moment in the text - things like, “You must always reach out to your fellow” or “You must always concern yourself with the well being of your fellow,” or “You must always help your fellow when in need” - why did the Torah author choose “You must not remain indifferent?”  Perhaps because the Torah author understood that while we consider our indifference innocuous, neither good nor bad, our indifference is most certainly one of the most insidious forces of evil in our day-to-day living.  Indeed, how much suffering goes on in this world because we choose to quietly stand by and do nothing!

I thought about that text, and how, when you read the text on a superficial or a literal level, it would appear not to have much application for our lives today.  After all, how many of us have to worry about the well being of our neighbor’s ox or sheep or ass, for how many of our neighbors actually own such animals?

But the text is speaking about far, far more than merely the etiquette of farm living.  It is speaking about the ethics of living in the company of others.  It is not about oxen and sheep.  It is about us.  It is about how easy it is for us, when confronted with the misfortune of others, to turn our heads, avert our eyes, and walk on by, thinking to ourselves, or perhaps even muttering under our breath, “It’s not my problem.”

Several years ago, some of you in this room tonight joined the Cantor and I on a journey to San Francisco, to attend a biennial convention of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, the North American congregational body of our Reform movement.  At that convention, one of the workshops I attended was a workshop on practical tsedakah, discussing some of the means by which we can incorporate the mitzvah of tsedakah into our daily living.  One of the issues which one of the presenters addressed was that of “How do we deal with beggars on the street?”  That, of course, is far more of an issue in the big cities than it is in a small community like ours.  However most, if not all of us, have been to big cities and have been confronted by what sometimes seems like an endless array of such beggars; homeless people on street corners with cups in their hands.  God knows, at that particular convention, we had the opportunity to encounter large numbers of them on the streets of San Francisco.  I doubt that there are few in this room who have not had the experience of which I speak.

The question is, “What do we do when we encounter these folks?”  How many of us look down, look away, or look straight ahead with steely eyes, making believe these people are not there?  We justify ourselves with thoughts such as “There are simply too many of them.  I cannot afford to give to them all” and “These people really don’t need this money.  They are just going to use it to buy alcohol or drugs.”

For those of you who have had such experiences, consider, “How do you feel when you do that?”  Does it make you feel good or does it make you feel uncomfortable to walk by these people?

When you walk by these street people, pretending that they do not exist, refusing to help them, indeed, denying their very humanity, that is the sin of indifference.  It is just the same as in the Torah text, as if you walked past you neighbor’s ox or ass or sheep, which was lost or in crisis, and you did nothing.

The workshop dealt with this question, and a suggestion arose that if we lower our expectations of giving, then we can change our behaviors.  If the street is filled with beggars, you do not have to give each one a dollar.  Who can afford that?  You can give them a quarter, or a dime or a nickel, or just a few pennies.  Give them what you can afford.  Whatever it is, it will make a difference.  And do not worry that some of them will use it for drugs or alcohol.  Others, indeed, the majority, will not.  It is not that these people are lazy.  They are destitute.  Who in this room would demean themselves to begging on the street in order to earn some money, if there was another way - any other way - that we could earn money and retain our self respect?

Self respect.  A sense of self worth as a human being.  They are important pieces of that puzzle.  The beggars on the street need them almost as much as they need the coins we place in their cups.  When we choose to walk by them, making believe that they are not there, we are proclaiming, as much as if we stopped and shouted at the top of our lungs, “This person is not a human being!  This person is worthless!”  However, when we do stop and we give them something, it matters not how little or how much, we are making quite another proclamation.  We are stating, “You are a precious human being.  I pray that your future will be brighter than your past.”

That workshop was right before lunch.  I remember our delegation gathering from our different sessions, meeting in the hotel lobby, to go out together for lunch.  Shira was with us.  She was much younger then.  As we went out for lunch, I decided to give this suggestion a try.  So I took some small coins, and with every beggar we encountered, I handed one or two coins to Shira and had her put them in their cups.  As for my fears that the beggars would sneer at such small gifts - they were unfounded.  Quite the contrary.  The looks of joy and gratitude on the faces of the beggars as Shira deposited her coins into their cups was ample reward in and of itself.  It was a revelatory moment.  I could not believe how good it made me feel.  It was as if a weight had been lifted from my chest; the weight of guilt - God knows how many small stones! Yes, the sin of indifference is a heavy burden, and more often than not, we do not even realize that we are carrying it.

It is no secret that I have dedicated a significant portion of my life to wage my own personal battle against this sin of indifference.  That commanding voice of the Torah, “You must not remain indifferent!” haunts me.  Therefore, you find me working to feed the hungry of our world, and urging you so desperately to join me in that task through such efforts as the CROP Walk, the High Holy Day Hunger Project, and MAZON.  With every walker who walks, with every pound of food we raise, with every dollar we give to CROP and MAZON, we are driving back the dark cloud of indifference.  For we cannot look at a world full of starving people - at the hungry of our own community - remain indifferent, and expect to preserve our souls.

Therefore you will find me involved in such community efforts as the Dr. David E. Lane Coats for Kids, striving to make sure that there is not a school child in Scott County who will have to face the winter with­out an adequately warm coat; as the Quad Cities Anti Hate Coalition, working to educate all Quad Citians, young and old, in the ever important lessons of diversity and respectful acceptance of each other; as the Religious Concerns Committee of Quad Citians Affirming Diversity, laboring for the day when we will no longer see in our community discrimination and persecution born of a prejudice concerning an individual’s sexual orientation; as In From the Cold, raising money to help the homeless of our community, by providing them not only with shelter, food, and medical attention, but also with the tools to enable them to pull themselves out of their homeless state.

I do all these things, not to get on television and in the newspaper, and not to receive praise from others.  I do them because not to do them would diminish me.  Not to do them, or not to take up other worthy causes like them, diminishes each of us, you as well as me.  For when we care only for ourselves and our own comforts, and close our eyes and our ears to the sights and the sounds of the suffering of those around us, then our souls wither, and even die, infected by the poison of indifference.

The horrible events of this past month have shaken all Americans out of, if not all of their indifference, then at least some of their indifference.  How grandly have our hearts gone out to those who have suffered as a result of these brutal terrorist attacks.  And that is as it should be.  But still it leaves us with other questions; nagging questions.  Does it require a tragedy of mammoth proportions to shake us out of our indifference?  Do thousands need to die instantly in order for our consciences to be aroused?  Are our hearts so small that we cannot sustain the spirit of caring throughout the year, extending it not just to those whose tragedies makes the headlines, but also to those whose lives are lives of tragedy, and whose tragedies have become so commonplace that they no longer are considered newsworthy?  To grow to accept their suffering as part and parcel of life in our world is to testify to the perfidious power of indifference, and to our own personal surrender to it.

Of all the people living on the face of the earth, there is no one who understands better than do we Jews the inherent and inescapable evil of indifference.  For we are the survivors - if not the physical survivors, then the spiritual survivors - of the Holocaust.  And as we come to better understand this darkest of all periods in human history, we come to better understand that our people were not just the victims of the Nazis.  They were also, and perhaps just as much, the victims of the indifference of most of the rest of the world.  They were the victims of the indifference of their neighbors who stood idly by, allowing the Nazis to have their way with the Jews; who lifted neither hand nor voice in protest as they watched their Jewish neighbors being ripped from their homes and being sent God knows where; as they watched their Jewish neighbors being slaughtered before their eyes.  They were the victims of the indifference of the governments of the free world - of our own government - as they refused to accept within their borders Jews fleeing the Nazi terror; as they refused to publicly acknowledge, nevertheless oppose, the Nazi policy of Jewish extermination, a policy they were fully aware of; as they refused to commit their military might to save the Jews, refusing to take such actions as bombing the rail lines to the death camps and the gas chambers and the crematoria themselves.  Yes, the Jewish people have tasted, have bitterly tasted, the fruits born of indifference.  Indeed tomorrow afternoon, we will recall our own pain born of this indifference as we read the following prayer:

“For the sin silence,

For the sin of indifference,

For the secret complicity of the neutral,

For the closing of borders,

For the washing of hands,

For the crime of indifference,

For the sin of silence,

For the closing of borders,

For all that was done,

For all that was not done,

Let there be no forgetfulness before the Throne of Glory;

Let there be remembrance within the human heart;

And let there be at least forgiveness

When Your children, O God,

are free and at peace.”^[3]