Sometimes in an argument two people can use the same word, or two groups can make reference to the same concept, but they can mean that word or concept in opposite ways.
That dynamic can be seen at the threshold of Parashat Korach in the opposite ways that kedushah – sanctity – is deployed within just a few verses.
At the end of chapter 15, the final verses of last week’s portion, (which comprise the third paragraph of the Shema), the Torah presents the mitzvah of tzitzit and tells us the purpose of this mitzvah:
לְמַ֣עַן תִזְכְר֔ו וַעֲשִיתֶ֖ם אֶת־כָל־מִצְוֺתָ֑י וִהְיִיתֶ֥ם קדשִ֖ים לֵֽא-לה-ֵיכֶֽם׃
So that you may remember and perform all of my mitzvot and become holy to your God.
And…just a few verses later, holiness returns. This time in Korach’s stump speech:
וַיִֽקָהֲל֞ו עַל־מֹשֶ֣ה וְעַֽל־אַהֲר֗ן וַיֹאמְר֣ו אֲלֵהֶם֮ רב־לָכֶם֒ כִ֤י כָל־הָֽעֵדה֙ כֻלָ֣ם קדשִ֔ים ובְתוכָ֖ם ה׳ ומַד֥ועַ תִֽתְנַשְא֖ו עַל־קהַ֥ל ה׳׃
“And they assembled themselves together against Moses and against Aaron, and said to them: ‘You take too much upon yourselves, since the entire congregation is holy, every one of them, and the LORD is among them; wherefore then do you lift yourselves above the assembly of the LORD?’
“The entire congregation is holy, every one of them- kulam kedoshim”
Yeshayahu Leibowitz, the iconoclastic 20th century Israeli philosopher and public intellectual, pointed out that the Torah is deliberately contrasting two different world views – two different theories of kedushah – sanctity – and where it comes from and how it is created.
Bamidbar 15, the Shema, presents kedushah as something that is created as the outcome of mitzvah observance. “So that you may remember and perform all of my mitzvot and become holy to your God.” For the Shema holiness is something that one becomes as an aspirational goal of a life of mitzvot and of service.
For Korach, holiness is something that is innate to the Jewish people. The entire people are holy in a way that is intrinsic and definitional of who we are. And for that reason, the leadership of Moshe, a leadership that demands obedience to law, and respect for those who teach that law, is anathema to Korach. Why waste time, Korach argues, cultivating a life of mitzvah observance when the people, Kol HaEdah, are already entirely holy?
The dispute between Moshe and Korach is the difference between “becoming” verses “being.” Is holiness a matter of ontology – something innate in who one is – or is holiness a matter of aspiration, the goal towards which one strives? When we recite the Shema we declare that holiness is the product of mitzvot, and not the birthright of anyone.
In his characteristically provocative fashion – a true chid of his prophetic namesake, Yeshayahu Leibowitz pointed out that, like any dispute that is about ideas, the dispute between Korach and Moshe has endured long after the lives of the original protagonists. Moshe’s perspective, that holiness is the telos and product of mitzvah observance, is the animating force behind the halakhah and a uniquely Jewish spiritual stance. Korach’s perspective, however, is also with us.
The perspective that one can find in some of the writings of Rabbi Yehudah HaLevy, the Baal HaTanya, and others, who claim that there is something innately different, ontologically sacred, about Jews, is none other than Korach’s cry “kulam kedoshim.” All of them are holy. All of them are innately holy. All of them are already holy.
What makes Jews different from other people? According to Moshe, it’s the Torah, our operating system, our software. According to Korach, we have fundamentally different hardware and do not need the Torah to become holy.
Is holiness about our being or about who we become? Is holiness an adjective or an aspiration?
I’ve struggled with this observation by Leibowitz for many years. As I’ve tried to formulate a philosophy of Jewish peoplehood and a philosophy of Jewish pluralism, I’ve come up against Leibowitz’s critique that anything special about being Jewish other than a common framework for submitting to the mitzvot is nothing less than Korach’s rebellious rejection of the entire system of mitzvot.
And one day, I hope to share with you some of what I’ve thought about this over the years. But, today, there is something else on my mind and I do not want to explore various answers to Leibowitz’s questions. Today I want to delve deeper into Leibowitz’s observation and clearly acknowledge how very dangerous it can be when being replaces becoming, or when holiness becomes an adjective and not an aspiration.
On Wednesday night, a group of arsonists in Israel set fire to the Church of the Loaves and Fishes near the shores of the Kinneret. The words, “ve’hagelulim karut yekaretun – may the idols be cut down” – a phrase that we say in the Aleinu Prayer – was spray-painted over a surviving wall of the building. Sadly this arson is not an isolated event. Since 2011 seventeen churches or mosques in Eretz Yisrael have been vandalized by Jewish extremists without a single suspect being indicted. The ability of the arsonists to evade capture suggests that there is a broader circle of sympathizers within their communities.
The desire to violate and to desecrate non-Jewish places of worship in Eretz Yisrael is a direct descendent of Korach’s cynical and seductive cry: kulam kedoshim – they are all innately holy! Only someone who believes that there is something innately sacred about Jews and Jewish life could disregard morality and disregard halakhah, and disregard common sense by committing an act of violent desecration against a place of worship.
Sanctity is an aspiration and it isn’t something one is born with. Korach’s claim that sanctity is innate is inexorably connected to his rebellion against Moshe and against the entire system of mitzvot and halakhah, and morality.
America has its own version of Korach’s rebellion and it’s called, “American exceptionalism.” American exceptionalism – a term that was first used by the American Communist Party, ironically enough, starts with the appropriate recognition that this is a unique and special country with a unique and special role in the world. So far, no complaints. But American exceptionalism, as it’s understood by many, is taken to mean that we are not just a great country and a unique country but – somehow by definition – we are the best country. We’ve heard that before: Kulam Kedoshim.
The danger of seeing America as “the best country” always and forever is that we become blind to our country’s weaknesses. We miss opportunities to recalibrate our values and policies, or we miss the need for serious reflection or repair.
The mass murder, the terror attack, on the AME Church in Charleston this week occurred at the intersection of America’s two tragically fatal blights: racism and gun violence. Racism is the original sin of this country, literally written into the very words of our constitution, and a stain on this country’s conscience that persists and pesters, two-steps forward, one step back, two steps back, one step forward, year after year, decade after decade, century after century.
And our anachronistic attachment to guns and our refusal to demand responsibility from those who own and sell them – the sort of responsibility that would be obvious to anyone who has ever opened a Bava Kama – results in an annual bloodbath in our homes and streets that claims tens of thousands of lives every year. The only countries on Earth with higher per-capita firearm fatalities than the United States are countries with armed guerrilla groups encamped in their jungles.
The founding fathers were filled with hope for this country but they did not believe in American exceptionalism. The constitution speaks of the desire “to form a more perfect union” and that desire, to perfect and to improve, to strengthen, and to revise and to fix is at the heart of what created this nation and what has allowed it to flourish.
Patriotism too, must be aspirational. It should be about what we can become, and not about assertions about what we already are. America too can learn from the way that the Shema describes sanctity. Our loftiest goals for our country must be about becoming rather than being, an aspiration and not an adjective.
Shabbat is the day that acknowledges God’s creation of the Heavens and Earth and all they contain. “vaYechulu haShamayim ve’Ha’Aretz, v’chol Tziva’am.” We acknowledge humanity as the pinnacle of God’s creation, having been created b’tzelem Elokim in God’s own image. And so our own human civilizations are the most refined and rarified element of God’s creation. Religion, the human desire to encounter God and experience transcendence, is accordingly the most exalted product of human civilization and something deserving of our respect and reverence.
That reverence and respect was shattered this week in an act of arson in Northern Israel, and in a murderous assault in Charleston. To violate the lives of people engaged in Bible study and prayer is more than just killing people (which is evil enough), but it violates our deepest sense of purpose and violates everything that we cherish as Ovdei Hashem – servants of God.
This is true for attacks on prayer and religion – whatever the religion may be. An arson attack on a church in Israel, or a murderous rampage at a South Carolina Bible study session are attacks on the tzelem Elokim when it is most beautiful.
Instead of wishing you a “Shabbat Shalom” as we move onto Mussaf, I’d like to conclude today with a prayerful reflection and I ask that you maintain your silence until the baal tefilah begins Mussaf:
God full of mercy, grant rest under the sheltering canopy of your Presence to the souls of the nine martyred men and women who were murdered this week in Charleston as they engaged in the study of scripture and in prayer and sought knowledge of You. May they bask in your Presence and study wisdom and insights of your Torah in the beit midrash shel ma’aleh – the heavenly academy. Bind up the nation’s wounds and grant us the ability to experience a true Sabbath of Peace.
Amen.
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 