May 9, 2024

For those who struggle with the litany of rituals, rules, and regulations in the book of Vayikra, Parashat Kedoshim often serves as a welcome reprieve. While there’s no compelling narrative to speak of, this week’s Torah reading is packed with the kinds of ethical mitzvot that serve, for many of us, as the backbone of our Jewish worldview. 

The parashah opens with God’s command that we be holy, just as God is. It sounds beautiful, to be sure, but this instruction, taken on its own, is wonderfully vague. What exactly does it mean to be holy? What follows in the ensuing chapters of Parashat Kedoshim is not a definition of holiness, but a listing of mitzvot, which (from the Torah’s perspective) would help one fulfill the command to be holy. 

Even that, though, is not straightforward. Reading through the parashah, we see at least two conceptions of holiness emerge. For Parashat Kedoshim, holiness is separation. And for Parashat Kedoshim, holiness is caring for others. 

We see separation in the mitzvot that describe boundaries in our relationships with God (don’t make idols, for example) and with each other. We see caring for others in the requirement to leave the corners of our field for the poor, providing them with food and preserving their dignity, and to render impartial judicial decisions.  

Sometimes, these two approaches to holiness butt up against each other. We are enjoined (Leviticus 20:23-24) not to follow the practices of the nations among whom we dwell, because God has set us apart from other peoples. And we are also told: “The strangers who reside with you shall be to you as your citizens; you shall love each one as yourself” (Leviticus 19:34) 

Both commandments I cited acknowledge the reality of living in a blended society, in close proximity to people of different backgrounds and orientations, but they have very different opinions about that reality. The first commandment is suspicious of others, fearful of the corrupting influence of different religious practices and national identities. The second commandment preaches inclusivity and presumes deep and abiding connections between people of diverse national origins.

Both of these approaches resonate with our experiences today. As Jews and as compassionate citizens of the world, we strive to be welcoming to visitors to our homes and communities, regardless of their Jewish status or lack thereof. We see massive numbers of people in many parts of the world - including in our own country - displaced from their homes, trying to make their way in a land that is not their own. We respond with love, offering help and support, donating our money, our food, our extra clothing and household goods to be of assistance to those who know what it is to be a stranger. 

Especially in this time of increased vulnerability as a Jewish community, we also know well the desire to close ranks, to turn toward the safety of the people and institutions we know best, those we call our own. In seeking to protect ourselves and lean into our Jewishness, not just now, we have also at times cast those outside our community as potential threats, minimized their perspectives, distanced ourselves from them. 

How can we possibly love and demonize the stranger simultaneously?

Obviously, we cannot. And while fear and suspicion are often natural outgrowths of our most traumatic experiences, our tradition is one that teaches love and compassion as core values. “Love your neighbor as yourself,” (Leviticus 19:18) our parashah teaches. Rabbi Akiva famously said that this verse is the central tenet of the Torah (Sifra Kedoshim 4:12). 

With this in mind, I am so grateful that our shul is participating in Refugee Shabbat this week. A program of HIAS, Refugee Shabbat, brings congregations together in solidarity with the global Jewish movement for refugee protection and welcome. Our world is currently one where asylum seekers are turned away around the world. At least 110 million people worldwide have been forcibly displaced from their homes. Refugee Shabbat provides us with the opportunity to build on our tradition’s commitment to caring for those in these kinds of dire situations and reflect on what we can contribute to their cause. 

Motivated by the message of Parashat Kedoshim, that we can strive to emulate God by being holy, let us do so motivated by the holiness that stems from the compassionate, welcoming care we offer to those among us who need it most. 

Shabbat shalom.
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