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Thoughts on Parashat Emor 5785
Parashat Emor contains two of the most fundamental commandments regarding worship in Judaism, two commandments that touch on the very nature of Jewish identity:
“Do not desecrate My holy name. I must be sanctified among the Israelites. I am the Lord, who made you holy and who brought you out of Egypt to be your God. I am the Lord” (Leviticus 22:32).
These two commandments are, respectively, the prohibition against desecrating God’s name—chillul Hashem—and its positive counterpart, kiddush Hashem—the commandment to sanctify God’s name.
The God of Israel is the God of all humanity. He made all of us—Jew and non-Jew alike—in His image. The God of Israel is radically different from the gods of the ancient world, and also radically different from the reality in which today’s atheists and agnostics believe. He is not identical with nature or the physical universe. He created the universe and transcends it. He cannot be measured or observed by science. He is not that kind of being at all. So how is He known?
A name is how we are known to others. God’s “name” is therefore His standing in the world. Do people acknowledge Him, respect Him, honor Him? These two commandments place that responsibility on the Jewish people. As the prophet Isaiah said: “You are My witnesses, says God, that I am God” (Isaiah 43:10). God is known in the world through Jewish history and through the ways Jews live and act. The God of revelation and redemption is made visible to the world through Israel. We, Jews, are testimony to something beyond ourselves. We are God’s ambassadors.
When we behave in ways that evoke admiration for Judaism as a faith and a way of life, that is kiddush Hashem, a sanctification of God’s name. When we act in ways that lead people to judge us negatively and our tradition and the God we represent, that is chillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name.
There is an interesting paradox in our tradition: our religious ethics are not built around human role models for others to imitate, as we find in Christianity or Buddhism. We don’t have a single figure we are told to copy. However, we Jews—flawed and imperfect—are expected to be role models for all humanity. It’s a difficult and challenging task, but our ancestors accepted it, and we must keep their word so that God will keep His promises.
From this perspective, the way we live—our moral and ritual behavior—matters! When we follow our tradition and take care, sometimes we are respected. When we do not, we are seen as hypocrites, and sometimes even monsters – might not be fair but it is true and we all intuitively know it.
So yes, we are role models—not necessarily because others should behave exactly as we do, but because we live in relationship with Divine law – our law is the law of humanity of human values – eternal values.
Similarly, when it comes to us, Jewish community leaders, we are role models for other Jews.
According to the Talmud and our meforshim, it was after the incident of the Golden Calf that God introduced social and spiritual hierarchy among the Jewish people—establishing the Levite and Priestly castes to serve as spiritual leaders, teachers, and role models for the rest of Israel. Israel, whose fundamental responsibility was to provide material support to these groups so that they could live with dignity in society, like people practicing other professions.
What does it mean to be a role model as a Jewish lay leader? Jewish community leaders are role models not only in terms of their ethics and observance, but also in terms of their work—fulfilling their obligations to the community, which they have voluntarily accepted. Therefore, we should always do our jobs not only diligently and with devotion, but also with the awareness that our efforts should inspire others – people are always watching. Best case scenario, other members of the community will want to become leaders as well—or at least take initiative from time to time and spearhead projects. Creating that kind of environment is part of our responsibility.
As Jews in the Diaspora, we have always lived as a minority, and we probably always will. We know what that means—we have experienced marginalization, exclusion, and survival and we have done that through community. Importantly that history connects us with all other minorities in the world – again, and we all know that intuitively.
Take, for example, sexual minorities. In Israel today, Tel Aviv has become a center of LGBTQ life, where queer Jews live openly and proudly. And in the United States, the Jewish community has often served as a role model in how to approach LGBTQ inclusion. The Conservative Movement made a halakhic decision in 2006 to allow same-sex marriage in our synagogues, and to ordain gay and lesbian rabbis. That decision was not just about inclusion—it was an example of how Jewish values can be lived with integrity, compassion, and courage.
This too is kiddush Hashem—when we act in ways that reflect the dignity of all people created in God’s image. And that’s part of what it means to lead: not just by maintaining traditions, but by helping shape a community that others look to with respect.
In the end, Jewish leadership isn’t about perfection. It’s not about following a person. It’s about following a path—a set of rules that are rooted in values. Justice. Love. Compassion. Community. Integrity. Education. Holiness. These are the ideals we strive to live by, not just as individuals, not just as a people, but as human beings. From these ideals/values ALL our laws are derived.
We were not chosen for privilege. We were chosen for purpose. To model what it means to live a life shaped by values—even when it’s hard, even when we fall short—because we will. That’s the responsibility of every Jew. And for those of us in leadership, the stakes are even higher. We’re not just living our own lives—we’re setting a tone for the community. We’re showing what it means to take our tradition seriously, to care for others.
That’s how we make God known in the world—not by claiming moral superiority, but by living with moral clarity. That’s the work. That’s the task. And that’s the kind of leadership our tradition—and our future—calls us to.
Shabbat shalom
Rabbi Mirski
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