I commute between two main hubs in Jackson, Mississippi: my home and my office. I typically drive the same route from one hub to the other. In the morning, I drive to the first light, take a right, turn towards the interstate, where I take frontage road up to a U-turn to come back to the offices at the Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life. I return up the other direction back to my house for lunch. I then come back to work, and return at the end of the day. Every day it feels like I see a woman sitting with a cup or a man standing with a sign at one of the intersections right off the highway. My heart aches to see such a person suffer. While the world of homelessness is very far away from me, it is, at the same time – because of my travel, because of the city in which I live -- quite near. I try to give something to that woman with the cup if I have coins or some small bills. But If I don’t, I’m unsure of what to do. Should I simply ignore them? Or should I smile and give a wave?

At these moments I always look around. I see very few others extending a compassionate hand and I wonder, “What the heck?! Why is no one doing anything?! Are they not seeing the same person I see?!” I ponder the possibilities of what could be preventing them from providing assistance. Maybe they already gave to organizations that fight homelessness? Maybe they fear the person will spend their money on drugs or alcohol? Maybe they worry this person might have a mental illness, be unstable, and is therefore dangerous? What I usually think though, and this is what makes me both mad and sad, is that maybe the inaction comes simply out of callousness, that ignoring is easier than confronting the ugly truth of homelessness that can stare each of us in the face. I am pained twice over - not only because a person suffers but also because no one seems to acknowledge his or her humanity.

 The Talmud[i] comments on this situation. “When a person needs other people it as if he is judged with two judgments: fire and water.” One sage interpreted this statement in the following way: Imagine a poor person approaches a rich man for help, and the rich man does not oblige. The rich man may get angry and heap abuse upon the poor man until he leaves in shame. This poor man has been judged with the fire of anger. Or the rich man may not reply at all. He leaves the poor man standing there, begging until his blood becomes chilled and turns to water. This poor man has been judged with water.[ii][iii] The poor of our streets are judged by fire and water on a daily basis, but I’m curious about the rich person, the person that is able to give? How is he or she judged?

Multiple texts speak of the redemptive qualities of giving to a person in need. Other texts threaten that harm or financial loss will befall a person who refuses to give Tzedakah. Our tradition explains: if a poor person comes along and you do not give, your property will go into that person’s hands.[iv][v] These statements are problematic, however, for we see plenty of people withhold from the needy, yet it seems they suffer no consequence! I prefer to take a completely different approach. Instead of thinking about the reward or punishment due to the donor, I would like to direct our attention more fully to the individual outside our windows.

Hillel, the wise ancient rabbi, provided a guideline for us. ואל תדין את חברך עד שתגיע למקומו, “Do not judge your fellow man until you have arrived to his position.”[vi] We may never be in the exact position as the person standing with the sign at the off-ramp, however, Hillel challenges us to get to know these people at our corners and intersections. In his view, these are people at the off-ramps, human beings, some with families and all with personal stories. Hillel charges us to hold off on judgment, to give the person the benefit of the doubt as to who they are and how they might use our assistance. Hopefully one day, the drivers of America, including all of us sitting here today, will be able to resist the urges of fear and ignorance and see the person on the sidewalk in need. When that day comes, what then?

Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff published a book titled “54 Ways You Can Help The Homeless.” In it he compiled a list, which provides opportunities for anyone - whether child or clergy - to aid the homeless. In the book he addresses some of the fears and anxieties I mentioned. If you’re afraid they’ll use your money on alcohol or drugs, carry gift certificates to restaurants. Alternatively you can keep nutritious snacks in your car to hand out when needed. He recommends volunteering at a shelter or food bank, but of all of the actions he suggests, the two primary tasks Rabbi Kroloff gives us are to “Understand who the Homeless are,” and to “respect who they are as individuals.” “Understand who the Homeless are,” and, “respect who they are as individuals.”

While driving home one day, I stopped and had the fortune of meeting Earl. I saw him as I stopped at the intersection near my home and rolled down my window. I asked if I could get him anything, parked my car at the Seven-Eleven, and walked back to him. Standing in the heat, he was extremely grateful just to receive a soda and some water. He told me he has AIDS and since his wife died two years ago he just hasn’t been able to take care of himself. His polite manner stuck out as he continually called me “sir,” and adamantly explained he does not do drugs or alcohol. He wanted to get a job but no one would hire him because his clothing is so ragged. On the Friday afternoon we met, he chose that particular spot because he knew a lot of cars would pass by and have to stop. I asked him how things had been going and he revealed that most people getting off the freeway generally didn’t acknowledge his presence. He had one unfortunate encounter wherein a guy viciously yelled at him to get a job. Earl was judged by both fire and water. I asked if he had a message for all those people in the cars and he responded simply. “Just treat me like a normal human being, man!”

Our tradition has many stories telling how ancient Jews would and then SHOULD treat the homeless. However, there’s one story that is particular relevant given the season.  Once there was a rabbi in the town of Nemirov. Immediately following Selichot, the Shabbat immediately before Rosh haShanah, the rabbi of Nemirov would vanish. He was nowhere to be seen. Where could the rabbi have been? In heaven, no doubt. A rabbi has plenty of business to take care of just before the Days of Awe, leading every soul in the Jewish community on the right path is a big job, and so the Rabbi had to go up to heaven to speak with the angels and God about how to do that. At least that’s what most people in his community thought.

But, most is not all and there was a skeptic who always laughed each time someone would say, “the rabbi goes up to heaven before the High Holidays.” One year, the skeptic decided to disprove this ridiculousness. Right after selichot the skeptic hid behind the rabbi’s house. The rabbi arose long before sunrise and put on a bundle of peasant clothes – a ragged, sun-stained, browned tunic and broken sandals. The rabbi went out, and the skeptic followed him. The rabbi cut down a tree, broke it into firewood, and went to the poorest section of town. He knocked on all the doors, selling firewood for pennies, sometimes allowing the poor to pay later. He even convinced some of those with houses to help feed and warm those sleeping outside. The skeptic was moved and changed his tune. Every year, when the congregants each said, “look how great the prayers are being said, our Rabbi must have travelled up to heaven.” Instead of laughing, the skeptic always repeated the same thing. “If not higher.” “If not higher.”[vii]

Imagine if the residents of the entire city acted in the same way as the rabbi, not judging by fire and water, but by seeing the human in each of his fellows. Imagine if we could act in a way in which we emphasized the humanity of each man and woman on the street. Perhaps if we begin to reach out, others will follow our example. Perhaps our commutes can be transformed from painful to inspiring. Perhaps we might restrain from judging the “homeless” and figure out a way to acknowledge each one as a human being. Sometimes that means giving money. Sometimes that means offering to buy some food. Sometimes that means simply smiling and making eye contact. These acts of caring can bring comfort to a stranger, a homeless person, each of whom has a story.

As we leave here to drive along our personal travel routes, may Rosh haShanah inspire us to recognize the individuals at our intersections. May we inquire after his or her well-being. And may we work toward a better life for everyone.

[i] Babylonian Talmud, Berachot 6b

[ii] 19th Century Rabbi Ben Yehodaya was from Bagdad and wrote the חי איש בן (Ben Ish Chai, Son of Man (who) Lives)

[iii] Daniel Levy, The Challenge of Wealth and poverty: The Ben Ish Hai on Wealth, Poverty, Charity, and the Torah’s View of Money (Jerusalem: Yeshivat Ahavat Shalom Publications, 1996), 48.

[iv] Shir haShirim Zuta 1:15

[v] Proverbs 22:16 makes a similar statement, saying: “profit by withholding what is due to the poor is like making gifts to the rich – pure loss.

[vi] Pir’kei Avot 2:5

[vii][vii] Based on I. L. Peretz’s Yiddish poem “If Not Higher”.