"K'doshim tih'yu, ki kadosh Ani, HaShem." - "Be kadosh, for I, HaShem, am also kadosh."
Ah, to be holy. That's the whole point, isn't it? The whole reason why G-d created us; why He created this whole Universe in which we live lives full of sound and fury.
But just what does "kadosh" mean? "Holy", after all, is just a word. What idea does it really connote?
There are numerous words which have k-d-sh as their root: kaddish, kedusha, kiddush, etc., but the term most crucial, I think, is hekdesh. An animal, an item, even a person, set aside (hekdesh) for a holy purpose (such as an offering, or for the public welfare) must fulfill that purpose and cannot be diverted to another, "profane" or mundane use.
Like it or not, we Jews are hekdesh, designated for holy use: to reveal G-d's existence and agenda to the world, to give, to teach, to lead by example. Once we have been spiritually designed for that noble purpose, we are destined to fulfill our role, almost without a choice in the matter.
The 51 mitzvot listed in parshat Kedoshim define the ways in which we can impact upon society in every facet of life, the way we imbue agriculture, the economy, food, family life, interpersonal relations and individual behavior with divinity.
Just as G-d is one - and one of a kind - so, too, are we unique, and not quite like any other nation. It is a mission we were born to; yet, not always one we relish or enjoy.
Kedoshim comes between two awesome days in our calendar: Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron. On both days, we acknowledge those who set themselves aside for extreme courage, sacrifice and devotion to G-d. Some chose their role willingly, others had it forced upon them, but both illustrate how exalted, how special, how kadosh this nation can be. Both are flames to light our way.
In 1987, I visited Istanbul's N'vei Shalom synagogue at its grand reopening after the (first) terrorist bombing it suffered. In a glass case was displayed the bloody, over-sized Chumash used by the rabbi to follow the weekly Torah reading. It had been found, after the attack, opened to the page now displayed for posterity. Though the bombing occurred in the summer, the Chumash was opened not to the portion of that week, but to parshat Kedoshim.
We cannot escape our destiny, dear friends. Let us, therefore, embrace it.
Ah, to be holy. That's the whole point, isn't it? The whole reason why G-d created us; why He created this whole Universe in which we live lives full of sound and fury.
But just what does "kadosh" mean? "Holy", after all, is just a word. What idea does it really connote?
There are numerous words which have k-d-sh as their root: kaddish, kedusha, kiddush, etc., but the term most crucial, I think, is hekdesh. An animal, an item, even a person, set aside (hekdesh) for a holy purpose (such as an offering, or for the public welfare) must fulfill that purpose and cannot be diverted to another, "profane" or mundane use.
Like it or not, we Jews are hekdesh, designated for holy use: to reveal G-d's existence and agenda to the world, to give, to teach, to lead by example. Once we have been spiritually designed for that noble purpose, we are destined to fulfill our role, almost without a choice in the matter.
The 51 mitzvot listed in parshat Kedoshim define the ways in which we can impact upon society in every facet of life, the way we imbue agriculture, the economy, food, family life, interpersonal relations and individual behavior with divinity.
Just as G-d is one - and one of a kind - so, too, are we unique, and not quite like any other nation. It is a mission we were born to; yet, not always one we relish or enjoy.
Kedoshim comes between two awesome days in our calendar: Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron. On both days, we acknowledge those who set themselves aside for extreme courage, sacrifice and devotion to G-d. Some chose their role willingly, others had it forced upon them, but both illustrate how exalted, how special, how kadosh this nation can be. Both are flames to light our way.
In 1987, I visited Istanbul's N'vei Shalom synagogue at its grand reopening after the (first) terrorist bombing it suffered. In a glass case was displayed the bloody, over-sized Chumash used by the rabbi to follow the weekly Torah reading. It had been found, after the attack, opened to the page now displayed for posterity. Though the bombing occurred in the summer, the Chumash was opened not to the portion of that week, but to parshat Kedoshim.
We cannot escape our destiny, dear friends. Let us, therefore, embrace it.