Parshas Acharei Mos-Kedoshim 5783
The CEO issues the order that all employees meet in the atrium for a full, “all-hands-on-deck” meeting. The room is abuzz with anticipation and nerves over what could be so important as to share in such a dramatically public forum. The CEO approaches the podium, clears his throat, and carefully dissects the performance of a couple of his assistants, explaining that, though they’re doing an adequate job, there are ways they could transform their performance from satisfactory to stellar. It’s not that anyone is getting fired, but it would be a boon to the company if every employee would do the same. The meeting ends, and a sense of bewilderment descends upon the crowd. “What in the world?”
Parshas Kedoshim begins with the enigmatic instruction of “קדושים תהיו—You shall be holy,” which the Ramban famously interprets as a charge to soar above the heights of the letter of the law. One may follow all the strictures of the Torah, explains the Ramban, and yet emerge nonetheless as a “נבל ברשות התורה—a repulsive person with the Torah’s permission.” One could work his way down the checklist of every red line that halacha presents and yet be fundamentally motivated by desire, pettiness, and greed. The mitzvah of Kedoshim is to do more than just abide by the Torah’s demands, it is to comprehensively transform into the ideal Torah personality.
Which, of course, is a decidedly private matter. Whereas those red lines are drawn for the masses, providing general instruction for behavior that all must abide by, the call of “Kedoshim” is something that requires personal introspection of every individual. What motivates me? What am I living for? What’s my relationship with the Torah? Am I merely fulfilling my obligations or actually becoming a person of values?
It is this process, implicitly called for in the charge of “Kedoshim” that makes the context in which this command is issue so puzzling. Hashem instructs Moshe, “דבר אל כל בני ישארל—Speak to the entirety of the Children of Israel,” when you convey this precept of “Kedoshim.” A gathering of this variety is not typical of the other mitzvos of the Torah, which were required to be related to the Jews only after the entire nation was gathered together as one.
Why, then, does Kedoshim of all mitzvos buck that trend? Kedoshim is the enterprise of transforming one’s performance from satisfactory to stellar. Which is an analysis that is personal and private and is far from “one size fits all.” It is those “one size fits all” considerations that would be most appropriate for a company-wide meeting. Let every member of the nation hear as one the need to believe in G-d, keep Shabbos, eat kosher, and not steal pens and legal pads from the supply closet. Why take pains to create the most public of venues to share the most personal of instruction?
The Chasam Sofer offers a beautiful explanation. When we think of “Kedoshim,” the process of becoming holy, we may well think of the recluse—the person who withdraws from public life into a monastic existence, shunning the social interactions and influences that will undoubtedly erode his personal sanctity. If the call is to be “kadosh,” to be “holy,” then a retreat from communal life must be in order.
To this Hashem says, “דבר אל כל בני ישראל—Speak to the entirety of the Children of Israel”. Yes, the interpretation of “Kedoshim” demands personal scrutiny of one’s own life, experiences, and personality. But the incorrect assumption that one must withdraw from living a fully connected life—connected with family, with community, and with society—en route to holiness must to be set straight.
This is a critical statement. Not only because it grabs the would-be-recluse by the coattails and draws him back into the community before he isolates himself in the name of holiness. But, far more importantly, it tells the rest of us who would never be capable of such a thing that we must nevertheless demand holiness of ourselves. Those of us who enjoy the company of people, who seek the support of our communities, who thrive upon the love and affection of friends and family, could easily make the unfortunate error of assuming that holiness ought to be left to some other class of people. For those of us who are “normal,” we’ll be forgiven for falling short of holy.
The Torah insists otherwise. Holiness can be found in a table shared by friends, and is demanded in that space. You, specifically, who are found in the company of others, must consider how you speak each other and what are the topics of conversation. Not only with respect to the red lines of halacha—lashon hara, gossip, or profane speech—but what is the content of the banter? Is it materialistic or meaningful? Vapid or value-minded? Clothing and decor, or ideals and ambitions?
The masses are gathered to hear Kedoshim, because Kedoshim is a practice that is expected to be fulfilled in that very venue. Those who thrive on the social connections that a properly functioning society affords—the most normal and typical of people—can’t afford to sell themselves short. Opportunities abound for enhanced kedusha in the most pedestrian of places, and seize them we must.