A few weeks ago I stood outside the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tenn., and read the stone marker that had been placed outside Room 306, where the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was shot on April 4, 1968. It's part monument to him and part exhibit of the struggle for freedom for equality as organized by the National Civil Rights Museum, cleverly situated in the space once occupied by inexpensive plywood and plastic furniture. Along with his name and pertinent dates, the marker includes a quote from the book of Genesis (37:19- 0): "They said to one another, Behold here cometh the dreamer" Let us slay him" And we shall see what becomes of his dreams."

Across the street the exhibit continues, expanding to include the boarding house rooms from which the shots were fired and a timeline of events in the life of James Earl Ray. Though the material evidence--bills in the name of a number of known aliases, weapons, hairs, fingerprints --was interesting, the more compelling piece of the story concerned what happened next, not simply in the lives of African-Americans, but in the lives of all Americans.

As you approach the stairs leading to the requisite gift shop, you are confronted by a list of people who--like Dr. King-- died in pursuit of civil rights and peace. The list includes Anwar Sadat and Yitzhak Rabin. It also includes Archbishop Oscar Romero, who spoke out against the humanitarian abuses perpetrated by the government of El Salvador during the 1970s, and San Francisco Supervisor Harvey Milk, an openly gay politician who, during his short time in office, sponsored gay-rights legislation and worked to ensure job protection for gay and lesbian teachers.

A few weeks ago, I stood in front of the Sudanese Embassy with a group Micah members protesting the atrocities in Darfur. Amidst intermittent rain and thunder, we stood shaking four foot posters imploring passing drivers to take notice. We hoped that our lunchtime presence would shame employees hoping to sneak out for a midday bite and that the incessant honking of car horns would be a constant reminder that the world is watching.

Temple Micah was the first congregation in the area--of any faith--to take up the protest begun by the Darfur Interfaith Network. Our protests will continue the fourth Thursday of every month from 12 -1 p.m. in front of the Sudanese Embassy, 10 Massachusetts Ave. Members of the Darfur Interfaith Network protest every Wednesday. Other congregations are currently considering joining the effort and, hopefully, in the months ahead the street outside the Embassy will be filled with voices of conscience many more times each week.

I was, of course, proud of our efforts. By bearing witness, we were living our Jewish values, doing our small part to pursue justice, to not stand idly by as others are tortured and murdered.

I was also a little embarrassed. Our small group was lauded for having shown up at all, for having stayed in our places as we were joined by rain and thunder. Having just come from the National Civil Rights Museum, I wondered if I could--if we could--be doing more. So many of us stood in protest last spring on the National Mall, but I know that I haven't done very much to further the cause since then. I haven't spoken about the issue from the bima, I haven't written the appropriate governmental representatives.

Many of you have participated in campaigns to ensure the rights or safety of other groups before. Perhaps you housed people or made sandwiches, as did many Jewish Washingtonians, during the Poor People's Campaign in the spring and summer of 1968. Maybe you took your turn standing in front of the Russian Embassy protesting the imprisonment of Soviet Jews as did members of many congregations in the area. You may have worked toward the rescue of Ethiopian Jews, the release of POWs or rights for black citizens in apartheid Africa.

If we, as a community, are concerned about those who have been driven from Darfur, then we can't simply act once every six or nine months. So I am asking you to do more: Learn more about the issue. Wear a wristband or a T-shirt or pin a green ribbon to your briefcase or book-bag--when people ask what it signifies, tell them. Write a letter to your representative or send a postcard to President Bush; you can find one at the savedarfur website. Come stand with us the fourth Thursday of every month. I hope to see you there.