Leviticus, the Chosen and the Fourth Order

This week’s Torah reading, Acharei Mot-Kedoshim, brings us to the part of Leviticus known as the “Holiness Code.” In enjoining Israel to be a holy nation, a nation of priests, how does Leviticus view that role in the context of the wider world? It turns out to be a responsibility, not a privilege; an affirmation of a special duty to serve God’s world, created by Him and whose material nature, living order, and human nations are all declared by their Creator to be good. Holiness amounts to a distinct and structured order of service to God and His creations.

This call to holiness, a sacred service to God’s creation, finds structure in Leviticus’s ordered world, which Mary Douglas unveils as a tapestry of three-tiered sanctity woven through Israel’s life. The holy nation stands at the base of the mountain of revelation; their leaders halfway up; Moses at the summit to commune most intensely with God’s presence. A walk through the Tabernacle proceeds through the outer sanctum, the middle, and then the Holy of Holies. A sacrificial animal has an outer part, a middle, and its innermost, its blood, which symbolizes life and cannot be consumed.

We can ask whether other three-part divisions shape Israelite thinking in Leviticus. Though the authors’ intent in these patterns remains veiled, the quest to uncover them sharpens our insight into holiness.

Time divides into festivals, Shabbat, and Yom Kippur, with later Jewish thought noting intermediate festival days and Talmudic debates on Shabbat’s primacy. Does the priest’s garb—tunic, breastplate, turban—reflect this triad? As the Bible unfolds, a sacred order emerges: the land of Israel, Jerusalem, the Temple, each a step closer to divine presence.

Yet Leviticus’s vision of holiness stretches beyond Israel’s sacred tiers, casting a light of universal ethic over God’s world, as the priestly tradition declares all creation good. Leviticus does not view the outer world, the fourth order of holiness, negatively. Leviticus is the product of the priestly school—the same school that produced Genesis, in which the whole universe, the whole world, all living creatures are created by God—who found them to be good.

This affirmation of the world’s goodness lays the foundation for Leviticus’s radical insight: a moral equality that transcends Israel’s boundaries, influencing even modern political thought. All of humankind is descended from one father and mother, one Adam and Eve. One of the gifts of the Jews was the vision of moral equality among all human beings. Biblical ideas had a powerful impact on the Enlightenment in political thought. Read the Declaration of Independence: it is self-evident that all men are created equal and endowed by their Creator with the rights to life, freedom, and the ability to find their own meaning in life. These truths were self-evident to American founders who were immersed in the Jewish biblical tradition as transmitted through various forms of Protestant or Deistic beliefs.

This moral equality, born of a shared human origin, shines through the Bible’s portrayal of nations, where even adversaries reveal strengths that mirror Israel’s own. The biblical view is remarkable for its time in presenting the flawed nature of Israelite heroes and humanizing other nations. Abraham is remembered as the father of many nations, not only Israel. We compare Israel with Esau, the namesake of Israel and their often-enemies, the Edomites, and each has their own strengths and weaknesses; there is much to admire in Esau’s straightforwardness and forgiving nature, and to wonder about Jacob’s trickery before he ultimately steps up and wrestles with angels.

Antisemites through time have reviled Jews for thinking of themselves as the “chosen people.” Let us look at the analogy of the priests and high priests in Leviticus. They are not presented as superior; Aaron is a get-along, go-along figurehead while Moses is off at the mountaintop. At one point, he is envious of Moses’ unique relationship with God. A priest is someone with prescribed duties that must be meticulously followed on potential penalty of death; a high priest has the most prescribed duties that must be meticulously followed on potential penalty of death.

One error—Nadab and Abihu’s presumption—brings death from on high, with Aaron forbidden to mourn. This is not privilege, but a burdensome calling, reflecting the weight of holiness in Leviticus’s vision. Israel’s calling as a “nation of priests,” a “light unto nations,” is not about power. God chose the smallest of nations, a humble duty. To be chosen is to bear responsibility, not privilege.

Jonah’s evasion, swallowed by a fish and rebuked by God, shows this. His sailors’ piety and Ninevites’ repentance highlight a universal mission, where Israel serves all who seek God’s forgiveness. This humble promise, a covenant of service rather than supremacy, calls Israel to embrace the outsider, reflecting the Holiness Code’s ethic of compassion in a world of strife. God did not promise Israel world domination. He promised them a little country in the invasion path from three continents repeatedly used by neighboring imperialists.

An integral part of Jewish identity has been identification with the outsider, echoing Leviticus’s call to ethical holiness. Set in the Wilderness, Leviticus urges Israel to remember their oppression in Egypt. Despite threats from Amalekites, they must protect the vulnerable, including non-Israelites who joined the Exodus. Leviticus insists a holy nation treat these strangers with compassion and respect.

The Holiness Code commands in Leviticus 19:34, “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God.” Similarly, Leviticus 19:10 instructs, “Nor shall you glean your vineyard, nor shall you gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the needy and for the stranger. I am the Lord your God.” These verses underscore the ethical imperative to treat the ger justly, reflecting Israel’s own history of vulnerability.

Believing you have a distinct mission as a people does not mean you think you are better. If you believe you are part of a family of musicians, or doctors, or architects, that means your heritage involves a particular mission of service, grounded in your heritage that you wish to continue through generations. You might feel the call, and do your best to live it—even if you are unsure about whether you yourself are especially gifted. Immersion in a calling can in fact make you more aware of what the highest standards are and more self-aware of how far you have fallen short.

The distinct Jewish sense of identity that calls to ethical holiness lives on in Israel.

To wish to maintain Jewish identity is not to seek elite status, but a distinct mission to enlighten and inspire. Israel contends with modern-day Amalekites yet commits to the dignity of non-Jewish citizens. It strives, though imperfectly, to achieve equality.

Count the burgeoning Arab population in Israel, compare it to the circumstances of Jews in the Arab world—in any place you can still find them. This commitment to inclusivity was articulated in the Israeli Declaration of Independence of 1948, which stated: “WE APPEAL—in the very midst of the onslaught launched against us now for months—to the Arab inhabitants of the State of Israel to preserve peace and participate in the upbuilding of the State on the basis of full and equal citizenship and due representation in all its provisional and permanent institutions.” The High Court of Israel has been clear that the Declaration’s commitment is not only a foundational vision, but an ongoing part of the court-enforceable foundational law of Israel.

The 1988 Hamas Charter’s call in Article 7 states: “The Day of Judgment will not come about until Muslims fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say, O Muslims, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him.” Even the marginally sanitized 2017 version of the Charter, claiming in Article 16 that “Hamas affirms that its conflict is with the Zionist project not with the Jews because of their religion,” persists in opposing Israel’s right to exist as the Jewish homeland, challenging the inclusive ideals rooted in Leviticus’s ethical mandates. The October 7 attacks, the reiteration of the goal of Hamas leaders to wipe out Israel, and their continued confinement and brutalization of hostages should leave no doubt that the unsanitized version of the 1988 Hamas Charter remains its lethal lodestar.

Israel is not immune to criticism. Just go to Israel and listen to Israelis. Perfection, in the face of existential threat, is not within human ability. Leviticus imposes the highest aspirations, expects errors, and provides avenues for reflection and redemption. The Bible as a whole is the story of a people who reacted to disaster with a probing self-criticism.

Israel holds itself to a high standard in the face of relentless hatred. A people committed to life must respect the life of its own people as well as others in the face of those who seek to extinguish it.

Entropy—disintegration of order—is easy. It takes creative energy to resist it. It may take supernal courage.

The ultimate resistance is life.

The Jew-haters of modern times, including those of the antisemitic left, consider themselves as part of some “global resistance.”

They should try doing something hard.

Something that requires humility, independent thinking, a moral compass.

Try understanding, accepting, even protecting a tiny people that has always been a cult of life.