We were taught to build a “fence around the Torah,” to protect us from violating mitzvot, commandments, and to prevent us from committing transgressions unknowingly. It applied equally to physical, spiritual, and personal mitzvot. For example, a person who is Shomer Shabbat, who avoids prohibited work on the Sabbath, might not even hold a pen in his hand to avoid the risk of writing—a prohibited act. Or a person who is prone to addiction, a violation of sh’mirat haguf, to protect one’s body, might join a new circle of friends to make healthier, life-saving choices. The core of the Torah is safeguarded when we build fences that direct our actions, thoughts, and impulses towards the good.

In this week’s Torah portion, Kedoshim, we begin reading the Holiness Code in Leviticus 19. We learn, “You shall be holy for I, the Eternal One, am holy” (Leviticus 19:2). Rabbis interpret it to mean that the Israelite people are already holy because God is holy. The if-then proposition is easy to understand. But in Hebrew, “you shall be holy,” is written in the imperfect form, kedoshim tiheyu, which led the rabbis to explain that holiness is underway, in progress, and always ahead of us but reachable through prayer, tzedakah, and acts of lovingkindness. And for anyone concerned that holiness is too much to achieve, the rabbis explained that we should only expect to achieve human holiness.

To some, even “humanly holy” sounds too unreachable. The best definition of holy is “something set apart for a special purpose.” When we make kiddush, a blessing over wine, we identify the Sabbath day, a festival, or special occasion as set apart from all other days and times. Wine doesn’t make holy what is already holy; rather, a full cup of sweet wine is a perfect symbol of the blessing that is joy. A marriage is also called kiddushin, a sanctified union, because it is set apart in its uniqueness and purpose between two people.

Judaism’s focus on Torah’s goodness and holiness, and how to avoid transgressing it, is difficult to square with what is happening all around us, today. Acts of incivility, bigotry, hatred, paranoia, cronyism, nepotism, greed, and a host of obvious transgressions boggle the minds of all but the perpetrators and their sycophants. Our antidote is not tolerance but action. It’s not violence but justice. Judaism is a religion of action and justice. It’s why most of us have built fences around the Torah to safeguard ourselves from falling prey or acquiescing to violations of human rights and dignity at home and abroad. And we have advocated for those who have become victims of those violations.

So, I want to ask you, “Where is the fence line around your Torah?” Some fence lines are drawn too tightly and some too loosely. Others, like mine, are drawn around the reasonable middle, as I like to describe it, because in the reasonable middle there’s a place for everyone. A reasonable fence around the Torah prevents us from violating human rights and dignity and welcomes others to be safe among us.

The totality of mitzvot command and compel us to see the world as it is and transform it into what it ought to be. “You shall be holy,” is a lifelong goal that sets us on a trek filled with opportunities to get it right and to accumulate well-being, goodness, and a shem tov, a good name. In the end, when our trek is done, we take nothing with us and our wealth will be spent. It’s only our good name that remains, etched in stone or spoken aloud with respect. And those for whom there is no good name? The rabbis taught, Yimakh shemo, “May his name be blotted out.”

Rabbi Jacob Rudin taught that when our life’s journey is ended, “let it not be said that life was good to us, but rather we were good to life.” I urge us all to check our fence lines and to walk paths towards human holiness.

L’Shalom,