National Scholar Updates

Kedoshim:

What Is Holiness?

The opening half of the Book of Leviticus revolves around a single sacred center: the Mishkan, Tabernacle. Chapters 1–7 detail the sacrificial system; chapters 8–10 describe the dedication of the Mishkan, alongside the tragic cautionary tale of Nadab and Abihu, who approached improperly. Chapters 11–15 delineate who may not enter the Mishkan, and how one may regain access through purification. Finally, chapter 16 outlines the purification of the Mishkan itself, ensuring that God’s presence can continue to dwell among Israel.

Beginning in chapter 17, however, the Torah pivots. The focus shifts from sacred space to sacred life. The laws of chapters 17–26 extend holiness into every sphere of existence—dietary practice, interpersonal ethics, sexuality, ritual observance, and beyond. Already in Leviticus 11:44–45, within the earlier section, the Torah introduces the foundational principle: “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” This refrain reappears as a governing theme in our parashah (19:2) and beyond (20:7; 21:8).

Yet, we must ask: what does holiness actually mean?

Holiness as Imitation of God

The Torah’s central formulation—“You shall be holy, for I am holy”—defines holiness relationally—as a response to God’s own nature. Holiness is not an abstract state, but a call to emulate God. Scripture repeatedly refers to God as kadosh (e.g., Isaiah 40:25; 57:15; Habakkuk 3:3), and rabbinic tradition crystallizes this idea through imitatio Dei: just as God is compassionate, gracious, and just, so too must human beings strive to embody those traits (Sotah 14a; Shabbat 133b).

On this view, holiness is not confined to ritual precision. It is a mode of living in which one’s entire life reflects God’s values.

Two Classical Models: Restraint or Refinement

Medieval commentators debate how this ideal is realized in practice.

Rashi, following Leviticus Rabbah (24:6), understands holiness primarily as restraint—specifically, refraining from prohibited behavior. This interpretation fits the immediate context of chapters 18–20, which emphasize sexual prohibitions. For Rashi, the root k-d-sh conveys separation: to be holy is to set oneself apart from that which is forbidden. The same root can even describe something “set aside” for prostitution (kedeshah), underscoring that holiness is fundamentally about designation and separation.

Ramban, however, pushes further. Drawing on Yevamot 20a, he argues that one can technically avoid all prohibitions and still live a coarse, self-indulgent life. Such a person, though legally compliant, fails to achieve holiness. For Ramban, holiness is refinement—a disciplined, elevated mode of existence shaped by the spirit, not just the letter, of the law. The commandments aim to cultivate a morally and spiritually refined personality.

Halakhic observance alone does not necessarily produce ethical or spiritual excellence. Yet at the same time, the Torah insists that the path to holiness must pass through the framework of mitzvot.

Ethics at the Center of Holiness

Several nineteenth-century thinkers, including R. Yisrael Salanter, R. Moshe Sofer (Hatam Sofer), R. Hirsch, and Netziv, emphasize that holiness is most visibly expressed in ethical conduct, especially honesty in business and interpersonal integrity. In their view, one’s treatment of others is the truest measure of religious life.

This position captures a vital truth—but it risks reduction. Holiness in the Torah is inherently religious and cannot be limited to ethics alone.

Jacob Milgrom therefore offers a more precise formulation: what distinguishes the Torah is not ethics alone, nor ritual alone, but their integration. Ethical conduct is not optional—it is an essential component of holiness alongside ritual observance. Jeremiah Unterman sharpens this point further: in the ancient Near East, legal systems prohibited wrongdoing but did not mandate active care for the vulnerable. The Torah uniquely mandates care for the vulnerable as an obligation of justice.

Holiness, then, is not only about avoiding harm, but about actively building a just and compassionate society.

Holiness as a National Calling

A striking perspective emerges from Joshua Berman. In Tanakh, individuals are almost never described explicitly as kadosh. The lone narrative exception is the Shunammite woman’s description of Elisha as an ish kadosh, holy man (II Kings 4:9)—and even there, it is her perception, not the Torah’s or God’s designation.

By contrast, the nation of Israel is repeatedly called a holy nation (goy kadosh) beginning at Sinai. The concept of holiness, Berman argues, is fundamentally collective and covenantal. It arises only with the formation of Israel as a nation bound to God through law and mission.

Holiness, in this sense, is not merely personal piety. It is a national identity expressed through shared practices, boundaries, and commitments that distinguish Israel from other nations. Even when applied to individuals—such as priests or Nazirites—holiness is institutional, defined by roles within the broader covenantal system.

This framing yields a powerful corollary: when Israel lives up to its calling, God is sanctified in the world. When it fails, the result is hillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name. Holiness is thus both privilege and responsibility, inseparable from the public and national life of the people.

Conclusion: A Multi-Dimensional Ideal

The command “You shall be holy” resists reduction to a single definition. It encompasses:

• Separation from the prohibited (Rashi),
• Refinement of character and conduct (Ramban),
• Integration of ritual and ethical life (Milgrom, Unterman),
• Imitation of God’s attributes (rabbinic tradition),
• And participation in a national covenantal mission (Berman). 

Together, these perspectives reveal that holiness is not a single trait, but a multi-layered religious ideal. Holiness is not one dimension of religious life—it is its totality. It demands discipline and aspiration, law and spirit, individual growth and collective identity. Above all, it calls upon Israel to live in such a way that the presence of God is reflected not only in sacred spaces, but in the entirety of life.

Angel for Shabbat: Aharei Mot/Kedoshim

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Beginning Monday, April 20, Rabbi Hayyim Angel resumes teaching at the Beit Midrash of Teaneck. The class is currently studying the Book of Exodus. Classes are every Monday and Wednesday from April 20 through June 17 (except Memorial Day), 12:15-1:00 pm Eastern Time. Live classes are at 70 Sterling Place, Teaneck, New Jersey. Zoom classes are available as well. For the link and for more information, please contact Mrs. Leah Feldman, [email protected]. Free and open to the public.

On Tuesday, April 21, from 8:00-9:00 pm Eastern Time, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will give a Zoom class on the Yom Kippur service in the Torah. This class is sponsored by the Ben Porat Yeshiva in Paramus, New Jersey. Free and open to the public. Here is the Zoom link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/5413950938?pwd=dSszMGFUNEgrQlY3blc2K1hzYzdCUT09#success

On Sunday, April 26, from 9:40-10:40 am Eastern Time, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will give a class on Literary Studies in Megillat Ruth. This class is part of the SAR High School study days in Tanakh. It will be held at the SAR High School, 503 West 259th Street, Riverdale, New York. For registration information, go to https://saracademy.org/yemei-iyun-5786/.

On Shabbat, May 9, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will lead the next Foundations Minyan. The Foundations Minyan is a complete service, coupled with ongoing commentary on the Torah portion. Free and open to the public. The Minyan is from 9:15-11:30 am Eastern Time, at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, New Jersey.

On Shavuot (May 21-23), Rabbi Hayyim Angel will serve as scholar-in-residence at the East Hill Synagogue, in Englewood, New Jersey. For schedule, go to https://www.easthillsynagogue.com/.

BOOK REVIEW

Shemot in Context: A Scientific and Kabbalistic Commentary of Exodus by Rabbi Elia Benamozegh

By Sina Kahen and Ben Rothstein (Da’at Press, 2026), 302 pages

Since its founding in 2020, The Habura and its affiliated Da’at Press have distinguished themselves by producing original scholarship and translations that reflect the classical Geonic and Andalusian worldview. Committed to the highest values of Jewish tradition and scholarship, they make many previously obscure and inaccessible works available to the wider English-reading public.

Rabbi Elia Benamozegh (1823–1900, Leghorn, Italy) was a remarkable and wide-ranging thinker. He was deeply steeped in classical Jewish texts and mysticism, while simultaneously being up to date with the best of archaeological and linguistic scholarship which expanded dramatically in his time. In his Em LaMikra commentary on the Torah, he approached Torah interpretation by bringing every tool he knew to bear, engaging in pagan myths and culture to demonstrate similarities and profound differences with the Torah in its context. 

Rambam demonstrated the value of situating Torah within the intellectual world of antiquity. Rabbi Benamozegh advanced this methodology with the plethora of findings Rambam wished he could have accessed (Guide of the Perplexed III:48). Of course, Rabbi Benamozegh was limited to nineteenth-century scholarship, just as Rambam was limited to that of the twelfth century. However, while many of his theses have become obsolete with updates in scholarly knowledge over the past two centuries, his pursuit of truth using the best available learning tools remains as relevant and as illuminating as ever. 

Rabbi Benamozegh is an independent scholar who critically evaluates the opinions of his predecessors and peers, and who sees an overarching unity from the many available sources of tradition and scientific knowledge. Kahen and Rothstein ably summarize and paraphrase many of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analyses of the Book of Exodus.

To cite one particularly striking example of this unusual methodology, Rabbi Benamozegh explores the meaning of the unusual name of God, Shaddai. Exodus 6:3 reads, “I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as El Shaddai, but I did not make Myself known to them by My name GOD” (the four-letter personal name of God). Rabbi Benamozegh’s extended discussion (see pp. 118-138) exemplifies many of the methodological tools evidenced throughout his comments in Em LaMikra.

Rabbi Benamozegh places singular importance on understanding the meaning of God’s various names in the Torah. Such analysis enables us to comprehend the Torah better, but also helps us ascertain layers of pure monotheistic faith which spread throughout humanity from the most ancient times. Rabbi Benamozegh considers ancient languages and mythology as repositories of traces of true faith in God.

He begins his analysis of Shaddai by surveying and evaluating the views of the classical peshat commentators. Rashi understands the name as compound, she-dai, she-yesh dai. God is sufficient for all creatures, and supplies their needs. Many other medieval commentators—including Rambam, Ralbag, and Sforno—similarly understand Shaddai as compound, even as they offer different nuances to its precise meaning.

In contrast, Ibn Ezra and Ramban interpret Shaddai as deriving from shadad, victorious, mighty. Rabbi Benamozegh, however, rejects their interpretation, insisting that ancient Jewish tradition unanimously understands Shaddai as compound. To bolster his claim, he cites numerous Midrashim that indeed understand Shaddai as referring to God’s sufficiency. He observes that nearly all the ancient translations—including Symmachus, Theodotion, and the Septuagint—similarly interpret Shaddai as compound. Similarly, the Zohar understands Shaddai as compound. To “prove” his thesis, Rabbi Benamozegh observes that even the heretic Benedict Spinoza adopted this view, even though he had no allegiance to rabbinic tradition!

Rabbi Benamozegh offers a philological analysis of related words and phrases in Tanakh, which he claims also supports the dominant rabbinic reading against that of Ibn Ezra and Ramban. Thus far, he develops a traditional framework of interpretation to support his understanding that Shaddai is a compound name that derives from she-dai, sufficiency. His citation of biblical verses, Midrashim, and classical commentary is nothing out of the ordinary. His knowledge of ancient translations, the Zohar, and even Spinoza, makes him considerably more unusual among traditional commentators.

Yet none of the above compares with the next layer of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analysis. He turns to ancient India and China, where the word Tao or Dao is a seminal theological concept (the authors note that Taoism is indigenous to China, and perhaps Rabbi Benamozegh links this philosophy to India based on a legend that Laozi—the founder of Taoism—traveled to India). Rabbi Benamozegh links this Tao or Dao to Egypt (Teos), Greek (Theos), Latin (Deus), and French (Dieu), among other cultures.

Rabbi Benamozegh maintains that the dai in Shaddai is related to Dao. The etymological link might appear strained, since the Hebrew dai refers to sufficiency and Tao refers to “the way,” and represents the underlying unity within the created universe. However, Rabbi Benamozegh cites Kabbalah, which links Shaddai with the sefirah of Yesod, which kabbalists call derekh, the way.

The book’s authors conclude, “Rabbi Benamozegh shows how philology, Rabbinic tradition, comparative religion, and Kabbalah all converge in the name Shaddai, revealing it as a profound symbol of divine sufficiency, providence, and the sustaining power of creation. It is a name rooted in Israel’s ancient tradition yet echoed in the languages, myths, and symbols of other nations.” 

It is difficult to accept all of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analysis, but it may be viewed as creative theology rather than rigorous historical philology. It also reflects the sweeping comparative enthusiasm characteristic of the 19^th century. Yet such sweeping convergence invites scrutiny.

Rabbi Benamozegh’s enduring value lies not in the precision of every historical or philological claim, but in his expansive theological imagination and his confidence that all genuine wisdom ultimately converges in divine truth. His work reflects the sweeping comparative enthusiasm of the nineteenth century, and modern scholarship may question many of his linguistic connections. Yet his intellectual audacity remains deeply instructive. He models a Torah scholarship unafraid of engagement, willing to test its claims against the widest available horizons of knowledge. Reading him today is also a salutary reminder that our own scholarly certainties may one day prove provisional or obsolete. Sina Kahen and Ben Rothstein have rendered a significant service in making this daring and erudite interpreter accessible to the English-speaking world.

     “Inclusive Orthodoxy” was Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ way of describing how the majority of Jewish

congregations operate in Britain and the Commonwealth. In these communities most

synagogues are run along Orthodox lines with an Orthodox Rabbi, and some

members who are observant. However, most congregants are more traditional than

strict in their religious practice. Nevertheless, they are part of an Orthodox

congregation, and when the model is working at its best, they feel at home there, are

actively welcomed and valued, and they may even grow in their religious

commitment. Beyond their commitment to maintaining Orthodox communal

standards, these congregations are not part of a dedicated ideological project of any

particular variety, but religious communities that seek to provide a home to as many

Jews as possible.

     That is the model of the United Synagogue in London, similar congregations around

Britain, and in other countries including Canada, New Zealand, South Africa and my

own home in Australia. I have been the Rabbi of one such congregation, The Great

Synagogue of Sydney, for just over ten years now. In that time I have had to reflect

on how a Rabbi can and should lead an Inclusive Orthodox community. It is not

straightforward, and raises several quandaries. How can the Rabbi uphold Orthodox

standards while still welcoming everyone? How can he make everyone feel at home

even though they might have very different lifestyles to his own, and very different

from a halakhic ideal? How can he promote increased Jewish observance without

alienating his congregation?

     I cannot claim to have all the answers to these questions, but I think that the bridge

that needs to be built may rest on three pillars: Embracing, Exemplifying and

Encouraging. Just as Rabbi Sacks argued that Inclusive Orthodoxy as a whole was

not an accommodation, but an ideal, certainly in the context of the modern world as it

actually exists, I submit that this rabbinic approach is not just a strategic choice, but

is also a religious imperative.

     First comes Embracing. It is the job of the Rabbi of any congregation, and especially

a congregation where the members are not uniform in their level of religious

observance, to embrace each and every person. My young children have a board

book called We Go To Shul (by Douglas Florian and Hannah Tolson), which includes

the line “rabbi greets all those he meets”, which captures this responsibility

perfectly. Everyone who wants to come to any activities of the congregation should

be greeted, embraced, genuinely welcomed and valued, and they should feel that is

the authentic disposition of the Rabbi. This is a different concept to being non-

judgmental. Choosing not to be judgmental implies that I harbor an unexpressed

judgement, and I am making the decision not to bring it out, but it exists and I could if

I wanted. Embracing puts all that aside, and sees only a person who wants to

connect, and celebrating and facilitating that desire. Although, as I will go on to

argue, the Rabbi can and should be ambitious for each person’s religious growth,

authentic embrace is not a tool to bring about that growth but a fundamental

expression of Jewish values in its own right. When Maimonides codified the

obligation to love another Jew in Hilkhot Deot 6:3 he did so without qualification:

“Each person is commanded to love each and every one of Israel as themselves.” It

is not dependent on the level, actual or prospective, of religious observance.

     Sometimes this can be difficult, on a personal or a religious level. Some people are

difficult, they are prickly characters, or simply have a personality that does not click

with the Rabbi’s. Sometimes the Rabbi may feel frustration or disappointment with a

congregant’s religious observance. He might feel the congregant could do more, or

has even slipped backwards. He might feel that his hopes for that congregant have

not borne fruit, or that he has poured care and effort without experiencing reciprocity.

     There are two ways for the Rabbi to address this, and they are both internal work.

The first is to try to set all these considerations aside, and return to the core values

of universal and unconditional embrace. If that is not immediately or always possible,

then it is worth remembering that religious-pastoral relationships play out over a long

time. What does not happen this year may happen next year, or in ten years.

     Patience and persistence are the keys to both a happy and a successful rabbinate.

The second pillar is Exemplifying. Yelling at people to do more or do better probably

never worked well, and certainly cannot work today. A Rabbi makes clear their

standards not by demanding them of others but by living up to them, as much as

possible, himself. Again Maimonides points us towards this, when he advises

(Hilkhot Talmud Torah 4:1) that however wise a teacher may be, he should only be

followed if his behavior exemplifies proper conduct, because teaching ultimately

resides in actions more than words. The Rabbi must therefore be scrupulous in how

he speaks and what he eats, in timely and reliable attendance at services, visible

enthusiasm for the study of Torah, hospitality, generosity, acts of personal kindness.

As the Talmud states in Yoma 86a, he should prompt observers to say of him “how

pleasant are his ways, how proper are his deeds”.

     This should not make the Rabbi appear angelic, because the Torah was not given to

the angels. He can thoughtfully give insight into his struggles, because questioning

and doubt are inevitable parts of the religious experience, and his congregants

should not be misled into believing they alone face these challenges. That would be

both dishonest and unhelpful. In a careful way, the Rabbi can share the practical

struggles of, say, raising a young family while also attending to religious and

communal obligations, or the theological struggles that come from seeing the

innocent suffer.

     The Rabbi must also demonstrate palpable intellectual integrity and moral clarity. If

he feels the need to teach difficult lessons or transmit challenging ideas, he must do

so, but not in a way that demands agreement or compliance. The stance of the

Rabbi should be “you have asked me to be your teacher, and that gives me an

obligation to teach the truth as I see it. No one is obliged to agree with me, but you

have a right to know what I think, if I believe the circumstances call on me to tell you.”

     That combination of courage and conviction with humility and openness is a

contribution in itself and also makes even the hardest messages possible to give and

receive without destabilizing relationships. They reveal a Rabbi who might be wrong,

and knows he might be wrong, but who is not prepared to be a liar or a coward. Of

course, knowing when not to speak, and how not to speak is just as important, and

verbal recklessness is no more a quality in a Rabbi than it is in anyone else. What is

true, is that with the growth of love and trust, more can be said.

     Have I detailed impossibly high standards? Probably. Which means in turn there can

be modelling of living with imperfection, honesty about falling short, the need for

repair following rupture and a continual attempt to do better.

     The final pillar is Encouraging. The challenge is to nudge without becoming a

‘noodge’. In an Inclusive Orthodox congregation the Rabbi cannot rely on a shared

understanding of the practical binding force of Halacha, or on peer pressure and

social expectations, but he still wants to see his congregants grow in their religious

observance. He is not presiding over what is sometimes called a “kiruv shul”, a place

where everyone is consciously and deliberately on a journey towards greater

religious observance and they want the Rabbi to help them on that path. That is

probably not the project or the consensus of the membership of an Inclusive

Orthodox community. What, then, can the Rabbi do? He can and should encourage.

He should engage with his congregants, as Maimonides counsels “patiently and

Gently” (Hilkhot Deot 6:7). Suggesting to someone who rarely attends services to

come, not just more often in general but on a specific occasion, whether Shabbat,

Yom Tov, or weekday; offering to take time to learn Torah with them; not just laying

tefillin for them, but teaching them how to put on tefillin; teaching them how to read a

Haftarah, perhaps the Torah, or lead a service; giving them an active role in services

as a shamash or gabbai. This is aside from a role in lay leadership, such as joining

the synagogue board; it is about deepening specifically religious activity.

     Not everyone will agree to try to do more, some will agree but not follow through,

some will follow through for a while and then participation will tail off, but the more

and the wider the Rabbi’s encouragement the greater will be the results. This

encouragement has to be personal. I have not seen exhortations from the pulpit or

appeals in emails have much effect. Success comes most often from personal

invitations made in the context of personal relationships. The greatest success for

the Rabbi is when, in the case of an individual, he no longer needs to encourage,

because that person now attends and participates because of their own internal

enthusiasm and not because of an external intervention. Of course, no longer

making specific suggestions should never mean the relationship is allowed to

atrophy. Anyone can see when the Rabbi loses interest because their presence is

taken for granted, is regarded as “in the bag”.  Instead what starts out as drawing

people in can become a warm, close and settled relationship of fellowship and

appreciation. No one should feel looked down upon because they do less, but they

should feel celebrated when they do more.

     While these three pillars represent an ideal rather than a claim of personal

achievement, they are perhaps parts of a vision to which an Inclusive Orthodox

Rabbi can aspire and strive. They are a route to combining openness with integrity, breadth with growth, 

and authenticity with ambition. For a Rabbi called to this type of community and the challenges 

and opportunities it will bring, I submit these suggestions as an approach worth attempting.

Book Launch: The Grand Worldview of Rab Uziel will happen on Tuesday, February 17, 7pm at Shearith Israel, New York. 

Angel for Shabbat HaGadol

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And the Lord gave the people favor in the sight of the Egyptians…” (Shemot 12:36).

For centuries, the Egyptians enslaved the Israelites with malice and cruelty. But when the Israelites were about to gain their freedom, the attitude of the Egyptians changed dramatically. The Israelites now “found favor in the sight of the Egyptians,” who showered gold, silver and garments on their erstwhile slaves.  Last year they hated us; today they love us; is this for real?

This strange phenomenon came to mind when I re-read an article I wrote in 2017, reporting on the results of a survey by the Pew Research Center. The survey showed that Americans expressed more positive feelings toward Jews than any other group! “Warmer feelings are expressed by people in all the major religious groups analyzed, as well as by both Democrats and Republicans, men and women, and younger and older adults.”  They loved us!

But the situation today seems so radically different. We are constantly barraged by statements and surveys that point to increased rates of anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism. Anti-Semitic violence is on the rise.  Did all the goodwill cited in earlier polls simply evaporate?

The bad news: people are fickle.  Attitudes can—and do—change due to media bias, publicity campaigns, statements by celebrities etc.  Public opinion can be—and is—manipulated through many sources. Not everyone has the clarity of mind or solid facts to make informed judgments. The crowd moves with the crowd. Demagogues know this and depend on this. By generating a non-stop flow of anti-Jewish and anti-Israel propaganda, they insidiously infect public opinion.

The good news: people can change for the better. They are able to overcome past negative stereotypes and come to see things more realistically. Most Americans, as reflected in earlier polls, admire the Jewish community as a highly educated, idealistic, charitable and constructive group. They respect the dynamic democracy of Israel and its amazing creativity and strength. When the anti-Jewish/anti-Israel fulminations die down, so will public opinion veer back in a positive and honest direction.

The haftara for Shabbat HaGadol is drawn from the prophecies of Malachi. He foresaw a day when righteousness will prevail over wickedness, when goodness will be rewarded and evil will be overcome. “But unto you that fear My name shall the sun of righteousness arise with healing in its wings; and you shall go forth and gambol as calves of the stall. And you shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes under the soles of your feet in the day that I do make, says the Lord of hosts” (Malachi 3:20-21).

During this season, the ancient Israelites were freed from bondage. During this season, may our generation be saved from haters, oppressors and perpetrators of violence against us. "In Nisan the Israelites were redeemed; in Nisan the Israelites will be redeemed."