Acharei Mot-Kedoshim-Keeping the Faith

Finding Holiness Through Acceptance

This week’s double portion reminds us that Yom Kippur is only five months away, which is mildly traumatic for rabbis to think about!

Acharei Mot opens with the Yom Kippur Temple service, which is the very portion we read on Yom Kippur morning. Astonishingly, the Mincha reading on Yom Kippur, about forbidden relationships (arayot), also comes from this same parsha. So Acharei Mot gives us two reminders of Yom Kippur! What’s surprising is that this service wasn’t created for Yom Kippur—it was the original ritual used to dedicate the Mishkan. So why does the Torah assign it to Yom Kippur? Why are we repurposing a ceremony of inauguration for a day of atonement?

The Torah’s introduction offers a clue: “Acharei Mot shnei bnei Aharon,” “After the death of Aharon’s two sons…” Why begin both the parsha and the Yom Kippur reading with this tragedy? What does that episode have to do with the service itself? Rashi explains that it is a warning: when entering sacred spaces like the Mishkan or the Beit Hamikdash, especially on Yom Kippur, one must approach with seriousness and care. But Rashi’s comment may point to something deeper than a simple caution. The Yom Kippur service does not begin with ritual. It begins with loss, grief, and acceptance. It begins with “Vayidom Aharon.” Aharon was silent. He accepted what he could not understand. That silent acceptance is not just a backdrop but the very foundation that allows the Yom Kippur service and our own inner service to unfold.

Then we move to Kedoshim, which asks: What does it mean to be holy? I like to joke that this is why Jews love bagels: because we’re confused about how to be holy, so we settle for being “holey.” But in all seriousness, the parsha defines holiness in unexpected ways: don’t cheat workers, don’t insult the deaf, leave food for the poor. Rashi says holiness means separation. Ramban warns not to be a naval birshut haTorah, a degenerate who lives within halachic boundaries but misses the spirit of the law. Similarly, Rambam, in Sefer Kedusha, focuses on refraining from forbidden foods and relationships.

But in Kabbalah, kedusha is linked to da’at, a deep, conscious relationship. Holiness isn’t just about what we avoid; it’s about who we choose to connect with. Separation has a purpose: to direct our connection toward what matters. Rav Dessler, in Michtav Me’Eliyahu, explains that tzniut, often misunderstood as just about clothing, is really about protecting your inner self so you can engage in meaningful, sacred relationships. It’s not about what you cover, it’s about what you uncover within yourself, and who you choose to share that with.

That is why Yom Kippur can feel so focused on death, especially in Unetaneh Tokef with its haunting question, “Who will live and who will die?” But at its core, Yom Kippur is about life. Like Yitzchak after the Akeidah, we sometimes must confront death to live more fully. If we focus only on fear, we miss the point. Rebbe Akiva taught that Yom Kippur is about closeness with God. “Lifnei Hashem titharu,” "before God you will be purified." That closeness does not come from fear. It comes from love.

And love, as the Rambam explains in Hilchot Teshuva, must come from free will. That is why he places the laws about free will before the laws about avoda meahava, serving God out of love. You cannot be forced to love, not a person and not God. A relationship is only genuine when it is chosen. And the foundation of that choice is trust, even when we do not understand.

That is why the parsha begins with the death of Aharon’s sons. Aharon did not despair. He accepted. He did not understand, but he chose relationship. That choice is what allows us to truly connect with God on Yom Kippur.

Since October 7, many of us have been forced to confront pain and confusion on a scale we never imagined. Like Aharon, we may not understand why, but we are being asked to accept and hold on to our relationship with God. That acceptance is not weakness. It is strength, and it is bitachon, trust in Hashem. It is through that deep and painful trust that our redemption will come even faster. The more we respond with love instead of despair, the more we open the door for the coming of Mashiach.

So when we face tragedy or confusion and say, “I accept this, even if I do not understand it,” we are not giving up. We are choosing relationship. That is the depth of love, not when everything is going right, but when we can say, “Even now, I am still with You.”

That is what transforms Yom Kippur from a day of fear into a day of deep and joyful connection. Not a repentance rooted in guilt or self-denial, but a teshuva that is a return to love. Not guilt, but gratitude for the chance to begin again. That is the meaning of kedoshim tihyu, that is holiness.

If we can live this way, not by ignoring pain or trying to erase it, but by accepting it and choosing love anyway, we can transform not only our own lives, but the future of the entire Jewish people. In the merit of all the incredible Jews in Israel and around the world who live with this strength and faith, may we see healing, unity, and geula soon.

Shabbat Shalom.

Eliezer Hirsch