Parashat HaShavua - Acharei Mot/Kedoshim
It is astounding to me that during a war lasting more than a year and a half, one of Israel’s most popular songs proclaims: “the blessed God always loves me, and will always only be good to me; and better and better and better… / ה׳ יִתְבָּרַךְ תָּמִיד אוֹהֵב אוֹתִי וְתָמִיד יִהְיֶה לִי רַק טוֹב; וְיִהְיֶה לִי עוֹד יוֹתֵר טוֹב, וְעוֹד יוֹתֵר טוֹב…״.” How can that be?
At a very basic level, the song’s popularity could be attributed to it being a raucous anthem embracing a simplistic pop-theology. Maybe, at a slightly deeper level, it offers escape from a complicated reality and is perhaps even a tefillah to God to help us. For me, the song’s mention of love and goodness actually highlights some of our essential values as a people, which are articulated in this week’s double parsha of Acharei Mot / Kedoshim, as well as ways that we, together with God, can strive for better. In his book Reclaiming Goodness, Hanan Alexander writes, “Learning to devote oneself to a higher good means adopting a comprehensive picture of how life ought to be lived organized around our most cherished beliefs, practices, and images.” (p. 6) In other words, when we sing about God being good to us, that goodness reflects our values, and comes with responsibilities along with its benefits. This, he suggests, is our “vision of a good life.”
And there is nothing simplistic about it, says Alexander: “Only the integrated personality can lead a good life on any adequate account of the good, because the very idea of goodness requires that we imbue emotion and activity with intelligence in order to generate moral choices that lead us to follow ethical ideals.” (p. 137)
This goodness, like the mandate to “love your neighbor as yourself / וְאָֽהַבְתָּ֥ לְרֵעֲךָ֖ כָּמ֑וֹךָ” (Lev. 19:18), pushes us outward rather than inward. The parsha “calls us not only to love our neighbors, but also to treat the stranger with kindness, to remember what it was like to be powerfulest and enslaved.” (p. 152) It is worth noting that this pattern or direction actually emerges in the very beginning of Acharei Mot, with regard to the ritual of the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest. The first forgiveness is granted “for him and his household/וְכִפֶּ֥ר בַּעֲד֖וֹ וּבְעַ֥ד בֵּיתֽוֹ” (Lev. 16:6, 11); then it is “the whole congregation of Israel/וּבְעַ֖ד כׇּל־קְהַ֥ל יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃,” (Lev. 16:17); and finally “the nation/וּבְעַ֥ד הָעָֽם.” (Lev. 16:24)
As Alexander says beautifully, “we need to approach the inner life and the community as pathways to a value and vision that lie far beyond them. Without a sense of the transcendent, we can never move beyond the limitations of our own individual or collective conceptions of the good to a vision that is more reliable and less muddled… Without the idea that something lies beyond our own limited perspective, there is no reason to hope for an improved life or to strive for a better tomorrow.” (p. 129)
Finally, what is most incredible and inspiring to me about the song’s popularity is captured by Alexander’s observation that “to embrace the possibility of goodness itself requires optimism that comes from having been cared for, from being loved. And the person who is able to rise above her circumstances and discover the possibility of goodness and rationality amidst a life of pain and suffering should be recognized as a moral hero.” (p. 168) May the people of Israel feel loved, and may we have the optimism to discover the possibility of goodness and rationality even at this time.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Jack Nahmod
Middle School Judaic Studies Head
Rabbinic Advisor
