This week, our Torah portion Acharei Mot–Kedoshim coincides with the 80th anniversary of VE Day – Victory in Europe Day. There’s something profoundly moving about this conjunction: readings that speak of holiness and remembrance, paired with a date that marks both tremendous suffering and ultimate liberation.
Our double portion opens with Acharei Mot – literally “after the death” – referencing the passing of Aaron’s sons. It continues with Kedoshim – “you shall be holy.”
This progression – from death to holiness – mirrors precisely the journey our people have travelled since the Shoah.
When we think about VE Day, 8 May 1945, what images come to mind?
[Pictures: Marking VE80 at the Wimbledon War Memorial on May 8th, 2025]
Perhaps the iconic photographs of celebrations in Trafalgar Square, or soldiers embracing loved ones they feared they might never see again. But as Kenneth Jacobson of the Anti-Defamation League reminds us, alongside those images of jubilation were the heartbreaking photographs of emaciated Jews in concentration camps and the piles of bodies discovered in Nazi death camps.
I remember a conversation I had years ago with a survivor. “When liberation came,” she told me, “I wasn’t dancing. I was numb. I had lost everyone. Freedom meant facing what remained.” Her words stay with me – a crucial reminder that victory came too late for six million of our people.
The Allied military victory undoubtedly saved the world from tyranny. But for European Jewry, it was bittersweet. By D-Day in June 1944, approximately four million Jews had already been murdered. Our people faced what Jacobson calls “the worst possible combination of factors” – a murderous foe committed to our destruction, populations throughout Europe steeped in antisemitism, – American isolationism that gave space for Nazi aggression, and restrictive immigration policies that barred escape.
Everything, it seemed, was working against the Jewish people.
And yet.
In Leviticus 19:2, we read, “You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy.” What follows is a remarkable ethical blueprint – instructions about caring for the poor, treating others fairly, loving your neighbour, and welcoming the stranger. In the midst of ritual law comes this profound social vision.
Isn’t that the essence of our response after the Holocaust? From the ashes of destruction, we chose life. From the depths of trauma, we rebuilt.
The survivors’ will to live, the establishment of the State of Israel, the liberation of Soviet Jewry, the flourishing of Jewish communities worldwide – all testify to our commitment to holiness, to creating a better world.
This is what Rabbi Jonathan Sacks called our “defiant hope” – not a naïve optimism, but a determined choice to build even after devastation.
One of the veterans I spoke to recently said something I hope not to forget: “We didn’t just fight against something. We fought for something. For a world where people could live in dignity.”
That idea – that we stand for something, not just against something – echoes through our Torah portion.
Kedoshim tihyu – you shall be holy – is a positive command. Holiness isn’t merely the absence of wrong; it’s the active presence of right.
After the Holocaust, Jews around the world embraced this call to positive action. We didn’t just say “never again” to hatred; we said “yes” to justice, to human dignity, to tikkun olam – repairing our broken world.
Yet today, we face troubling realities. Since October 7th, antisemitism has surged in ways unseen since World War II. The J7 Annual Report on Antisemitism highlights dramatic rises in incidents across seven major countries – Argentina, Australia, Canada, France, Germany, the United Kingdom, and the United States.
Our parasha teaches us that holiness requires vigilance. It demands that we stand up for what’s right, that we speak truth, that we protect the vulnerable.
So what does that mean for us, eight decades after VE Day, as we face new challenges?
First, we must remember. Not just with ritual observance, but with full hearts. We carry the stories of those who perished and those who survived. Their lives, their strength, their silence and their words – all are part of our sacred inheritance.
Second, we must recognise that remembering isn’t enough. Our Torah doesn’t just ask us to recall the past – it commands us to build a just society.
The ethical demands of Kedoshim are not optional; they are the architecture of holiness.
Third, we must find the balance between vigilance and hope. Yes, we must be clear-eyed about the threats we face. But we must also be dreamers, visionaries who look beyond the headlines and see the world as it could be.
There’s a Chasidic teaching most of you know, but which is most appropriate to recall at this moment. Rabbi Simcha Bunim taught that everyone should carry two notes, one in each pocket. One says, “For my sake was the world created.” The other says, “I am but dust and ashes.”
We need both truths – the humility to know our fragility and the confidence to know our worth.
As we mark eighty years since the end of the war in Europe, we stand in that tension – between remembrance and renewal, between grief and determination. The Nazis sought to destroy not just Jewish bodies but Jewish values. Our most powerful response is to live those values more fully.
Kedoshim tihyu – you shall be holy. Not just as individuals, but as a community. Not just in ritual, but in how we treat each other and all humanity. Not just in memory of what was lost, but in service of what can yet be built.
May we honour the past by creating a future worthy of those we remember.
Shabbat Shalom.
This sermon is dedicated to Margot Friedländer, a remarkable woman. May her memory be for a blessing.
