Bench Holy

Parasht Achrei Mot-Kedoshim

This week we read Kedoshim, where God says: “You shall be holy, for I, Adonai your God, am holy.” Leviticus 19:2

That can sound like a mountain-top commandment. Holy can seem distant, glowing, out of reach—something reserved for sanctuaries, stained glass, prayer books, and rare moments when the heart feels unusually awake.

But Kedoshim refuses to leave holiness floating in the clouds. The portion drags holiness down into the dust of ordinary life: honor your parents, leave part of the harvest for the poor, do not steal, do not lie, pay workers fairly and on time, do not mock the vulnerable, love your neighbor as yourself.

This is one of Torah’s great surprises: holiness is not described first as incense smoke or angel song. It is described as honest scales, fair wages, restraint of the tongue, care for the weak, and love practiced in public.

Holiness, in Torah, wears work clothes.

That matters because many people quietly assume holiness happens somewhere else: in the sanctuary during services, on the High Holy Days, in moments of private prayer, or in the life of people somehow wiser, calmer, or more polished than the rest of us.

But Kedoshim says: look again.

The front office can be holy. The classroom can be holy. The committee table can be holy. The kitchen where volunteers wash dishes can be holy. The folding chair where someone nervously attends for the first time can be holy. The hallway where two people repair a misunderstanding can be holy. The workbench where something broken is mended can be holy.

Even a bench can be holy.

Not every sacred seat is set on a platform. Some chairs are built to elevate. A bench is built to welcome. Some seats are reserved. A bench usually has room for one more. Some furniture marks rank. A bench simply carries whoever comes weary.

A bench is where people wait. Where people rest. Where people talk. Where people grieve. Where people watch children play. Where strangers become neighbors. A bench is ordinary wood made useful by welcome.

So too with us.

We do not need marble floors or perfect lives to create sacred space. We need decency. We need patience. We need generosity. We need the discipline to speak truthfully and the humility to listen well.

Especially now, as our congregation continues rebuilding and adapting, this teaching matters. Holiness is not postponed until everything is finished. It is not waiting for ideal conditions. It can be found right now—in borrowed rooms, temporary arrangements, shared meals, volunteer hands, careful decisions, and the stubborn choice to keep showing up for one another.

That is the holiness of a living community.

So this week, notice the benches in your life—the ordinary places where human beings pause together. Then ask: how might I make this place a little more holy?

Sometimes the answer will be grand. More often, it will be small: a kind word, a fair decision, a phone call returned, an apology offered, a burden shared, a stranger welcomed.

And that is enough.

Because sometimes the holiest places are not the ones raised above us. Sometimes they are plain wood, worn smooth by love, carrying the weight of people who need somewhere to sit.

,שבת שלום

Student Rabbi Ben