Emor: God's Public Relations Team
"Chosen People." These two words have sparked more controversy and misunderstanding than perhaps any other concept in Judaism. When I first encountered this idea during my early exploration of Jewish heritage, I took offense—a claim to superiority based merely on ancestry?
My error stemmed from confusing choice with privilege. In American culture, we're conditioned to think in terms of rights and entitlements. Judaism, however, frames chosenness not as privilege but as sacred responsibility—one that's open to all who sincerely choose to embrace it, regardless of ancestry or ethnicity.1 Being the “Chosen People” means that every choice we make carries the weight of God's reputation in the world. When you decline a lucrative opportunity that would require working on Shabbat, when you return money that isn't yours, when you help a stranger despite your busy schedule, you're not just acting ethically; you're revealing the Divine in a world where God chooses to remain hidden.
This profound responsibility takes center stage in Parshas Emor.
Divine Ambassadors
"You shall not desecrate My holy name, that I may be sanctified amidst the children of Israel.”2 With these foundational words from the Parsha, the Torah establishes Kiddush Hashem—the sanctification of God's Name—as a cornerstone of Jewish existence.
Why would the Infinite Creator need humans to sanctify His name? Our sages teach that God deliberately limits His presence in our world to preserve our free will. By stepping back, God creates space for us to actively reveal Him through our choices—allowing us to become partners in perfecting creation.3
Initially, all humanity shared this mission, but after the missteps of Adam and Eve, the generation of the Flood, and the Tower of Babel, Avraham emerged as the first to prove himself worthy to champion God's name. His reward? The promise that his descendants would become bearers of the Divine reputation throughout history. At Sinai, the Jewish Nation formally accepted their role as God's representatives on earth—His public relations team for all time.4
Sacred Self Sacrifice
How do we fulfill this awesome responsibility? Kiddush Hashem operates through two primary channels.
First comes self-sacrifice. Throughout Jewish history, countless individuals have chosen death rather than desecrate God's name. One of the most famous examples is Count Valentin Potocki—a Polish nobleman who converted to Judaism in the 1700s. When arrested for apostasy and offered freedom if he would return to Christianity, he refused. As he was burned at the stake, he recited the Shema with his final breath. That a nobleman with every privilege chose martyrdom rather than renounce his faith revealed God’s light in a time of great spiritual darkness.5
While few of us will face such extreme tests, self-sacrifice manifests daily in smaller choices. Take the following example of how even ordinary moments can have extraordinary impact: A religious property owner in Cleveland refused to photocopy a Blumberg form marked "do not copy" while finalizing a sale to a Jews for Jesus lawyer. When the lawyer laughed—"It's worth a cent! No one cares!"—the Jew stood firm: "I'm sorry, I can't. It's in the Code of Jewish law." The Jews for Jesus lawyer was so impressed that he began learning with him weekly, eventually returned to authentic Judaism, and helped others do the same. This small act of integrity accomplished what countless outreach programs couldn't.
This property owner's commitment to integrity—placing divine law above convenience—exemplifies the first aspect of Kiddush Hashem.
Making God Beloved
The second aspect of Kiddush Hashem involves making God beloved through our conduct.6 This means showing others that Torah produces people who embody divine qualities like compassion, wisdom, and respect for human dignity. Avraham started this tradition of “Kiddush Hashem” by opening his tent to travelers, demonstrating God's care for every human being.
The following story illustrates how we continue to follow in his footsteps until today: in the early 1930s, a Jewish reporter named Samuel Schmidt began dedicating himself to informing governments about the Nazi threat and funding rescue operations for endangered Jews. Despite Schmidt's lack of observance, Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski—the leading Torah authority in pre-war Europe—invited him to an hour-long meeting to discuss the allocation of rescue funds. At the end of their discussion, Rabbi Chaim surprised Schmidt by asking if he could call him "Reb Shmuel" (a title of honor).
Startled, Schmidt objected: "Rabbi, I don't even keep Shabbat or observe any mitzvot—and you're the greatest rabbi in Europe!"
Rabbi Chaim responded: "Reb Shmuel, do you really think that a Jew who dedicates his time, money, and effort to saving Jews from certain doom doesn't deserve honor? Do you really think he doesn't give incredible joy to God by saving His children?"
This recognition of Schmidt's true spiritual worth moved him so deeply that he eventually returned to observant Judaism.
Living Testaments
In an era of rising antisemitism, our role as bearers of the Divine Name takes on renewed urgency. Every public interaction serves as an opportunity to counteract negative stereotypes through our demonstration of Jewish values.
We are not merely individuals; we are walking embodiments of Torah values and divine representation. As we say each day in Aleinu, “It is upon us to praise the Master of all, to ascribe greatness to the Molder of the primeval creation.”
To make Kiddush Hashem practical, I invite you to identify one recurring situation in your daily life where your actions as a Jew are clearly on display to others. How might you elevate that moment to reflect divine qualities like integrity or compassion?
God chose us not for privilege, but to shoulder this sacred responsibility—to represent divinity in a world desperate for His light. When we live with this awareness, even our most mundane choices blaze with cosmic significance.
Shabbat Shalom!
Avraham
So long as a person proves their sincerity, anyone can convert to Judaism
Vayikra 22:32
The word for world in Hebrew is “Olam”, which derives from the same root as "Helem," which means hidden. The Hebrew word for desecration of God is "Chilul Hashem" which comes from the same root word as "Chol" - Mundane and "Chalal" - emptiness. That’s the world in its unadulterated state - apparently empty of His presence. When we desecrate God through acting against His will and thereby acting as if He doesn’t exist, we advance the perspective that our world is vacant of Divinity.
It is therefore in our hands to sanctify God: To make the world holy. To fill the world with the opposite of Chol, which is Kedusha. We do that by following the word of God as closely as we possibly can, radiating Godliness in all our actions, especially around others. What impression would it make on the world to have an entire nation who puts leather straps and boxes containing verses of the Torah on their head and arms every morning, who shut down their businesses for 25 hours every Shabbos, who fast on Yom Kippur, and who carry out 613 mitzvos with love and fervor? Wouldn't that demonstrate that there is something beyond this world - something infinitely more holy and meaningful?
As a result, every word we speak and action we take becomes a statement about God Himself. When we act with integrity and compassion, we inspire mankind to respect and love God, drawing His presence closer to our world - we make a “Kiddush Hashem”. When we fail, we create a Chillul Hashem—a desecration that pushes Divine presence away, leaving room for chaos and darkness. The word “Chillul” stems from the same root as "Chol" (mundane) and "Chalal" (emptiness), reflecting how such actions strip the world of Divine presence.
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains the concept of Chillul Hashem in depth: “With every refusal to sacrifice any impulse or possession for the fulfillment of His will, we desecrate His holy name. Our example promotes the powerlessness of the Divine Name that rests upon us... It shows that one can call oneself a Jew yet place one's own will as the absolute idol before which God's will must yield powerlessly.”
Jewish law (halacha) generally requires that one give up their life only for the three cardinal sins: idolatry, forbidden sexual relations (including adultery and incest), and murder. However, in times of religious persecution, when Jews are being forced to violate Torah laws publicly (in the presence of ten or more Jews), one is obligated to give up their life even for a seemingly minor commandment. This young man's sacrifice fulfilled this obligation, as the Nazis were attempting to force him to publicly desecrate a Jewish ritual object and renounce his faith in front of the entire camp.
In recent years, the definition has expanded to include anyone who gave his or her life for being a Jew - the 6 million holy souls who gave their lives in the Holocaust, the victims of October 7th, and the heroic soldiers of the Israeli Army who died protecting our people.
The Talmud (Yoma 86A) captures this obligation with eloquence: “And you shall love the Lord your God" means that you shall make the Name of Heaven beloved. How? When someone reads Torah, learns Mishna, serves Torah scholars, and conducts business honestly and pleasantly, what do people say? "Fortunate are his teachers who taught him Torah. See how pleasant are his ways and how proper are his deeds!" But when someone studies Torah yet deals dishonestly with others, what do people say? "Woe to him who studied Torah, woe to his teachers who taught him Torah!"