By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
Following the news these days can leave a person feeling whipsawed.
One day, the United States and Israel are striking Iran, determined to dismantle its nuclear ambitions. The next day, talk of a ceasefire emerges, and Iran signals a willingness, at least outwardly, to step back. One day, Israel is engaged in a full-scale confrontation with Hezbollah, declaring that this time it will not rest until the threat to its northern residents is eliminated. The next day, a ceasefire is imposed.
One day, President Trump announces that a sweeping peace agreement with Iran is within reach. The next day, Iran declares that it will not even attend the talks.
The same events are described in completely different terms depending on who is speaking. Some portray a necessary and even heroic campaign against a dangerous regime that threatens not only Israel, but the stability of the Western world. Others condemn the very same actions as reckless and unjustified, accusing leaders of overreach and irresponsibility.
It is not only the events themselves that are dizzying. It is also the constant shift in how they are understood.
The world feels unsteady, lurching from one crisis to the next. Wars, threats, disasters, rising hatred, senseless violence—each day seems to bring a new upheaval. It can feel as though no one is truly in control, as if there is no steady hand guiding events, no clear path toward stability.
But we know that beneath the surface turbulence, beyond what appears to be happening, nothing is haphazard. Rather, everything is being carefully guided by the Ribbono Shel Olam. There is a plan, even when we cannot see it. There is order, even when everything appears chaotic.
A person who doesn’t appreciate that cannot remove the feeling of instability. Those who live without Torah and are tethered to their phones can feel as if life pulls them in different directions, emotionally and mentally. The constant barrage of information, the shifting realities, and the conflicting voices can leave a person unanchored.
But we live differently. We exist for a higher purpose.
As Hakadosh Boruch Hu prepared to give us the Torah at Har Sinai, He defined who we are meant to be. He told Moshe Rabbeinu to convey to us our mission: “V’atem tihiyu li mamleches kohanim v’goy kadosh, You shall be to Me a kingdom of kohanim and a holy nation” (Shemos 19:6).
What sets us apart, what defines us, is not only what we do, but who we are meant to become—namely, a goy kadosh, a nation of holiness. Kedusha is not an added dimension of Yiddishkeit. It is its very core. Every one of us, no matter who we are and what we do, is charged to live a life of kedusha. That obligation is not just for the few, for the best, for the roshei yeshiva, rebbes, kollel yungeleit, rabbonim, and others who dedicate their lives to Torah study. It is the mandate of us all.
This week’s parsha of Kedoshim opens with that same all-encompassing charge: “Kedoshim tihiyu—You shall be holy.” Moshe Rabbeinu gathered together kol adas Bnei Yisroel, the entire nation, and delivered this message to everyone equally—not only to a spiritual elite, not only to those removed from the mundane world, but also to ordinary people living ordinary lives.
Because for us, holiness is not the domain of the exceptional. It is the responsibility of every Jew.
We are not meant merely to get by, performing mitzvos, learning Torah, and checking the boxes of observance. That is not the entirety of who we are. We are meant to be kedoshim, living differently, thinking differently, and being driven by a higher standard that shapes how we act, how we speak, and how we live.
But what does it mean to be holy?
It means to always be aware that Hashem created the world and created us for a purpose. When we know that He controls the world and everything in it, we live differently and conduct ourselves accordingly.
Many imagine holiness as something distant, reserved for those who withdraw completely from the material world, detaching themselves from its distractions and temptations. Yet, the Torah immediately dismantles that notion. The same parsha that commands kedusha goes on to speak about honesty in business, proper weights and measures, respect for parents, care for the poor, sensitivity in speech, and fairness in judgment.
These are not side topics. They are the definition of kedusha.
The Torah’s vision of holiness is not an escape from life, but an elevation of it.
Rashi famously explains “kedoshim tihiyu” as a call for perishus, restraint. Not merely abstaining from what is forbidden, but exercising discipline within what is permitted. A person can live entirely within the framework of halacha and still be driven by indulgence and a lack of refinement. Kedusha begins where mere permissibility ends. It is the awareness that just because “I can” does not always mean “I should.”
The Ramban sharpens this idea with his powerful description of the “novol birshus haTorah,” a person who follows the mitzvos, yet whose life lacks dignity and inner boundaries. The Torah’s command of holiness comes to close that gap. It calls upon a person to cultivate an inner nobility and live with restraint, proportion, and purpose.
As we count down toward Shavuos and Kabbolas HaTorah, we also have to take stock of our lives as Jews. We are all, no doubt, proud bnei Avrohom, Yitzchok, v’Yaakov, but sometimes we forget what it is all about.
We live in a world of plenty, where so much is available, and much of it has a hechsher or other indications that it is kosher. It becomes difficult to draw the line of where to stop and where to go; what is appropriate for us to bring into our homes and what is not. We forget to think about what will affect us in a good way and what will affect us in a negative way.
When we go shopping in the large, beautiful, fully stocked supermarkets that we are now blessed with, as we try to decide whether to purchase an item, we check the label and examine its ingredients and caloric content. How much sugar does it have? How much sodium? What about trans fats and other elements that can affect our physical health?
Being a member of the am kadosh means that we should also consider how any product we buy will affect our spiritual health. Will the product help us become better Yidden? Will it help us learn Torah? Will it give us an added geshmak in performing mitzvos? Or will it turn us off and cause us to become cynical of people who strive for holiness? Just because something has a glitzy cover and appears appealing does not mean that we should buy it.
I had a dear relative who was not privileged to grow up in a religious home. She lived out of town and did her best to keep kosher. One of the ways she determined whether food was kosher was by looking for Hebrew letters on the packaging. She assumed that any product with Hebrew letters on it was kosher, and where she lived, that assumption usually worked.
I met her shortly after she returned from her first visit to Israel and asked her how the trip had gone. She could not stop speaking about how wonderful it was to be surrounded by Jews wherever she went and how different it felt from her small hometown. Decades later, I distinctly remember one of her comments. She said, “And one of the best parts of being there was that it was so easy to find kosher products, because everything had Hebrew letters on it!”
We can laugh at her naivete, or we can feel compassion for this sincere and well-meaning woman. But in truth, we often do something quite similar. We assume that because something has a Hebrew name, it is proper and kosher enough for us.
Our world has become dumbed down and we often act without giving things sufficient thought. We form opinions based on snippets of information we have picked up, or more often merely skimmed, from dubious people driven by agendas or irresponsibility. In doing so, we lose sight of the truth and of our obligation to be better and holier than those around us.
We become involved in pursuits that take over our lives and fail to remain dedicated to Torah study and behavior.
So many of the mitzvos in Parshas Kedoshim relate to how we treat others, because without them, we can become overly focused on ourselves, our families, and our immediate circles, and grow indifferent to the needs and feelings of others.
There is much more to being a Yid, but being thoughtful, caring, and treating others the way we ourselves would like to be treated is where it begins, and it should become second nature to us.
The Alter of Kelm would say that included in this week’s mitzvah of ve’ohavta lerei’acha kamocha is that we care about another person not merely because we are commanded to do so, but because we genuinely love him. He explained that the mitzvah is to love another as you love yourself, and just as you love yourself naturally—not because anyone instructed you to—we are meant to love others as part of our very nature.
And just as there is no limit to how much people love themselves, it is not as if a person loves himself to a certain degree and then fulfills his obligation, so too, when it comes to loving others, there is no limit. We must be proactive in anticipating the needs of others, caring about them, rejoicing with them, grieving with them, assisting them, and helping them achieve a sense of satisfaction and happiness.
It is something we are all capable of doing or it would not be a mitzvah in the Torah. No one should say, “This is not for me. I am not that type of person. I do not have patience. I am too busy. I cannot be bothered attending other people’s simchos or, lo aleinu, shivahs. I cannot be kind to everyone.”
This is who we are meant to be and what our essence is meant to reflect.
We are all familiar with the story of the prospective ger who asked Hillel to summarize the entire Torah in one sentence. Hillel responded, “Mah de’aloch sonei lechavroch lo sa’avid—What you do not want done to you, do not do to your fellow.”
Apparently, Hillel was explaining the words ve’ohavta lerei’acha kamocha, teaching that this mitzvah is the very foundation of the Torah. Treating others the way we wish to be treated is not just a nice idea. It is not just another one of the 613 mitzvos.
This week, we will be learning the third perek in Pirkei Avos, where the Mishnah (3:17) states, “Im ein derech eretz, ein Torah” – without proper conduct, there can be no Torah. Someone who cannot conduct himself properly cannot properly learn Torah.
Chazal further teach in the third perek of Pirkei Avos that one who finds favor in the eyes of people finds favor in the eyes of Hashem. As members of an am kadosh, what we say and do in our interactions with others must always be aligned with the principles of derech eretz and middos tovos.
The Meshech Chochmah asks a striking question at the end of Parshas Yisro: What did Moshe Rabbeinu personally gain from Kabbolas HaTorah? Moshe had already reached the highest possible levels of spirituality. He was able to ascend to Shomayim even before the Torah was given, which is a clear indication that he had already achieved perfection. So what changed at Mattan Torah?
The Meshech Chochmah’s answer is profound and deeply relevant to us. Until Mattan Torah, he explains, even Moshe Rabbeinu’s avodah, and more broadly man’s avodah, was primarily in the realm of ruchniyus. Holiness was expressed through detachment from the physical, through elevating oneself beyond the material world.
At Mattan Torah, something fundamental changed. From that point on, gashmiyus became a vehicle for kedusha. The physical world was no longer something to escape from, but something to elevate.
In this light, the Meshech Chochmah explains the meaning of Hashem’s words to Moshe at the burning bush: “Shal ne’alecha mei’al raglecha—Remove your shoes from your feet.” On a simple level, Moshe was being told to remove the physical coverings that connected him to the earth. Symbolically, he was being told: “Set aside your physicality as you stand before Me.” At that moment in history, before the Torah was given, holiness meant stepping away from the material and entering a space of pure spirituality, like a malach.
But after Mattan Torah, everything shifted. The “shoes” are no longer removed. They are part of the avodah. The physical life of a Jew is not something to be discarded in order to serve Hashem. It is something to be refined and elevated in the process of serving Him.
Thus, after Mattan Torah, Hashem told Klal Yisroel, “Ve’anshei kodesh tihiyun li—You shall be holy people unto Me” (Shemos 22:30).
Holiness is not achieved by escaping life, but by elevating life as it is lived, and doing so with kedusha.
We are not meant to become malochim. We are meant to remain human beings who bring kedusha into human life.
We do not need to withdraw from the world to be good. We do not need to retreat into isolation to become kedoshim. The Torah wants us to live among people, amidst the complexity of daily life, and to make that life holy.
In a turbulent world, where up can feel like down and down like up, where truth becomes blurred and depth is too often replaced with emptiness, being anchored to Torah gives us stability. It allows us to find clarity and purpose amid the confusion, and to build lives of kedusha through Torah, mitzvos, and avodas Hashem.
May we all merit to fulfill our missions in this world, to live full and meaningful lives, and to bring the world ever closer to the coming of Moshiach, bemeheirah beyomeinu.
