Sermon by Rabbinic Intern Jacob Lipkin

We just read the single most important verse in the entire Torah. I recognize that I’m making a strong claim, so I owe some serious justification, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance to make my case. There’s a reason I’m sharing this as my final sermon of my internship and not the first sermon!

Millennia ago in the pages of the Talmud, Rabbi Akiva and Ben Azzai, debated the most important verse. Ben Azzai says that it’s “these are the generations of humankind” in Genesis, since it proves that we share a common ancestry, are all equal, and are all in the image of God. Rabbi Akiva says that it’s “love your neighbor as yourself,” which is in this week’s parashah. But that’s not the verse I’m referring to. If I could be so chutzpahdik as to dissent from Rabbi Akiva, I would respond to him that you actually need to go a little earlier in the same chapter. Here’s the most important verse: 

קדושים תהיו כי קדוש אני ה׳ אלקיכם

.You shall be holy for I Hashem your God am holy

:Embedded in this single sentence are five crucial theological claims

1. God is holy!
2. God is not unique in God’s holiness. 
3. God actually cares about how humans are. 
4. Humans can become holy. 
5. Humans can change!

These are profound and essential elements of the Jewish worldview. This is arguably even the core – the “on one foot” version – of the Torah. 

This is a radical series of claims, and it comes to us at a surprising point in the Torah. After our last few weeks of Leviticus, hearing all about the special sanctity of the priests and their protocols, we read a powerful reminder that no human being is really more holy than another. Holiness, in fact, isn’t even innate! According to this verse, holiness is an aspiration, and the only real source of holiness is God. 

I also want to clarify here that I think this attitude is actually intended to apply to all of humanity and not just Israel. Lest readers and listeners think that God is implying only Israelites can achieve holiness, the chapter includes an elaboration of the responsibilities owed to the ger. While it later means a convert, it is actually a Biblical Hebrew word that simply means a non-Israelite member of the community. Humans of any kind are able, asked, and expected to pursue holiness. 

What actually is this ideal of holiness? The 20^th century German scholar Rudolph Otto popularized the view in The Idea of the Holy that holiness is totally unrelated to morality. After all, he says, referring to something as sacred doesn’t actually mean that it’s morally superior. Otto actually says that he has Leviticus in mind when articulating this point of view! He refers to discussions of kashrut, the Mishkan/tabernacle, the Tent of Meeting, the altar, and more to adduce several instances where holiness does not have a moral connotation. And he’s right! But he seems to simply ignore chapter 19 in Parashat kedoshim, where we get a whole treatise on kedushah that runs egregiously foul of his claim. Here is a sampling of some commandments that constitute God’s vision of holiness:

• The aforementioned kindness and love to strangers
• Honest business practices
• Prohibition on favoring the rich in judicial affairs
• Paying laborers promptly
• Leaving parts of your field and crops for the poor

Do those really sound to you like amoral concerns? Fortunately, a more recent scholar, Israel Knohl, has offered a nuanced revision of Otto’s view on kedushah: there are actually two types of kedushah in the Torah! 

1. Places, items, and times can all be kadosh. This is an innate kind of holiness, the sort of mystical special quality that Otto focuses on. 
2. God is kadosh, humans might be kadosh, and certain behaviors can confer kedushah. Holiness comes up so much that this section is actually called the Holiness Code!

It is the latter that I am interested in. The Torah has an ethical vision, but it acknowledges that its achievement is the work of a lifetime. I want to take a minute to put our parashah in conversation with the broader western moral philosophy tradition. What we encounter in our parashah is an instance of virtue ethics. 

First proposed systematically by Aristotle, virtue ethics takes an interest in the formulation of moral agents through developing a host of positive virtues and rejecting negative vices. A virtue can be understood as “the disposition to do the right thing for the right reason, in the appropriate way,” per contemporary ethicist Julia Annas. The parashah introduces the virtue of holiness as the fundamental charge of Jews who wish to follow in God’s ways. 

So how do we cultivate this virtue? I think the answer actually lies in the pairing of parashot that we get this week. Acharei Mot is a gory parasha, full of sacrificial slaughter and minute details about the Yom Kippur ritual. If you read it alone, you might think that killing animals is the only way to get close to God. In a way, it’s actually read better, then, when followed by kedoshim – the pairing suggests that all of those rituals, the point of Yom Kippur, is to build up our kedushah. The ritual rhythms of Jewish life are meant to sensitize us to those around us and to the needs of the world, helping us to live more moral lives.  

The parashah begins with a reference to Nadav and Avihu’s death. A mdirashic tradition emphasizes that they died because they sought to come close to God, not because of their offering. Kedoshim is a corrective; it teaches us that we can indeed become closer to God through optimal moral living. Beyond the specifics of the parashah, which includes certain mitzvot related to agriculture and the land of Israel that we could not possibly uphold even if we wanted to, how do we cultivate the holiness that God commands us? 

I want to return to the very first text that I taught at Shomrei with rabbi Julie. That text, the Unetaneh Tokef prayer from the machzor, offers one possible answer: teshuvah, tefillah, tzedakah. Shomrei Emunah is a community that exemplifies these three aspects of Jewish living, so I’d like to take this opportunity to share what I’ve learned from this community about generating holiness. 

Teshuvah: It really means change, not repentance. Shomrei models change by being at the vanguard of Jewish innovation, from the flexible dues and open door policies, to exploring Judaism class, to Shabbat sha-blue Jeans. I have changed in more ways that I can count through serving this community. 

Tefillah: Prayer is alive at Shomrei Emunah! Whether it’s evening or morning Zamru, selichot and high holidays, or our weekly participatory services, we take praying seriously. The root of tefillah actually means to reflect; Shomrei is a congregation that takes introspection seriously as a value, recognizing that reflection is a key driver of growth and strength. I have been afforded the opportunity to both pray and reflect in ways that will stay with me. 

Tzedakah: Shomrei introduced me to a more expansive notion of tzedakah: giving what we can. In this community, everyone gives of themselves. I am lucky to have had many rabbis, Rabbi Julie chief among them, who have mentored me, but the truth is that it is the laypeople, you all, who are not paid and still work hard to give of themselves, who inspire me most. You have embodied and taught me about true tzedakah; the fullest ethical living requires that we each give what we can. 

Unetaneh tokef concludes with the proclamation that teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah have the power to alter a person’s destiny. Without getting into the thorny specifics of destiny as a concept, we can understand the underlying claim: teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah change a person’s life. Shomrei Emunah, I am endlessly thankful to you for the last two years and for permanently changing the course of my life. Shabbat shalom. 

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