There’s a powerful connection between the beginning and end of our double parshah, Acharei Mos–Kedoshim. While they’re not always read together, even when separate, they remain deeply connected.
Parshas Acharei Mos opens with Ahron HaKohen being warned to be extremely cautious with the kedushah of the Mishkan. The Torah explicitly mentions his sons, Nadav and Avihu, who tragically died due to a breach in this holiness.
Rashi brings a Midrash with a mashal: Reuven visits his doctor and is told to avoid certain foods and stay out of the cold. After Reuven leaves, Shimon comes in and receives the same advice—with an addition: “Don’t eat those foods and don’t sleep in a cold room—or you could die like Levi did.” Why the stronger warning? Because Shimon is in a more delicate condition and needs greater caution.
Rav Avigdor Miller zt”l explained that a tzaddik like Ahron surely didn’t require such a harsh warning. “Be careful or you’ll die” is an elementary level of fear. So why was it said? To teach us that even the most basic level of yiras Shamayim—fear of Heaven—is never unnecessary. In fact, extra warning, when given for the sake of spiritual growth, is a great kindness. Fear of punishment is a low rung on the ladder, but it can lead us upward—toward serving Hashem out of love. It’s basic, but foundational.
At the very end of Parshas Kedoshim, the Torah says, “I have separated you from the nations to be Mine.” Rashi brings a Midrash: Don’t say that the aveiros the Torah forbids are simply unappealing to you anyway. Say instead: “I might want to do those things, but I refrain because I believe in Hashem and accept His commandments.” That is what sets us apart as Hashem’s people—willingly accepting everything the Torah asks of us.
I once spent time with a baal teshuvah and his family, many years after he had transformed his life. Someone brought imitation shrimp and crab to the table, and the family was excited to try it. The father took a bite and muttered, “Not the real thing.” Realizing he said it out loud, he laughed awkwardly: “Oops—I probably shouldn’t have said that.” We all laughed at the time, but in hindsight, I realized how incredible it was. He gave up what he truly enjoyed—for Hashem.
We often don’t appreciate what it means to live by the Torah. The mitzvos guide us to a moral, upright life. Klal Yisrael is amazing—we accepted the Torah and we live by it, every day!
Some frum people complain about how unhealthy our diets are—how we overeat at every simchah, kiddush, or event. They praise every new diet and lifestyle trend, lamenting that “frum Jews just don’t have it.”
But I ask: Would you eat a cheeseburger? Drink coffee with milk right after a meat meal? Of course not. Why? Because we’re frum Yidden—it’s unthinkable! Do we realize how much self-control that reflects? It’s so deeply ingrained, we don’t even recognize it as remarkable. (And by the way, no one said you have to eat at every kiddush!)
There’s a well-known story (which I heard directly from the person it happened to): A yeshivah guy was checking out at a supermarket when he overheard an African-American woman tell her son, “Put that down—it’s not kosher.” Surprised, he asked, “Ma’am, are you Jewish?” She smiled, “No.” “So why did you say it’s not kosher?” She replied, “I see all the Jewish moms say it, and it works—so I say it too, and it works!”
Our ability to restrain our desires comes from yiras Shamayim. Our moral compass comes from Torah. Passing up a financial opportunity for the sake of halachah is no small thing—it’s awe-inspiring.
I know of a not-yet-frum Jew who visited family during their daughter’s vort. They were stunned to learn the kallah had only met her chassan through a shadchan, and that they had met only a few times before getting engaged. Even more shocking to them was that there had been no physical contact—even after the engagement. That level of self-control? It’s incredible—and it all comes from living by Torah.
Rashi explains kedoshim tihyu—“be holy”—to mean: When you separate yourself from arayos (forbidden relationships) and sin, you gain kedushah. What is kedushah? It’s rising above the material world. Just as Hashem is above physical limitations, we strive to elevate ourselves beyond instinct and desire.
With kedushah, we also gain spiritual clarity. We begin to see Hashem’s hashgachah pratis—His divine providence—more clearly in the world around us.
Take last week’s massive forest fires in Eretz Yisrael. Over 20,000 dunam (about 5,000 acres) burned. The weather was hot, dry, and windy—perfect conditions for devastation. Some even suspect arson. Yet, despite all this, the fires were contained. A sudden change in the weather—siyata dishmayah—stopped the destruction. It could have been like California, G-d forbid. But it wasn’t. That’s hashgachah.
The missiles from the Houthis in Yemen keep coming—one or two each week. People are starting to take the sirens less seriously because, baruch Hashem, the missiles are always intercepted. But just this past Sunday morning, one got through. It struck near Ben Gurion Airport. This time it wasn’t debris—it was the full missile. The anti-missile system failed. It created a massive crater and scattered debris, but caused minimal damage. The airport resumed operations shortly after. A friend of mine walked through the airport minutes later—pausing only to take a photo of the crater.
How many missiles have been launched at Eretz Yisrael—by Iran, the Houthis, Hamas, and Hezbollah? And how little damage, baruch Hashem, has occurred compared to what could have been? So why did this one land? We don’t know. But we should recognize the miracles when they do work—not only when they don’t.
Why does Hashem perform so many miracles for us? Because Klal Yisrael is amazing. We are kedoshim! In the z’chus of following the Torah, and in the z’chus of the Torah learning in the yeshivos, we are worthy of divine protection.
May we be zocheh to greet Moshiach very soon!
By R’ Dovi Chaitovsky
