Drash – Yitro

Rabbi Sam Zwarenstein

Emanuel Synagogue

The Haftarah we read this Shabbat comes from the prophet Isaiah, primarily from chapter 6, with a few verses drawn from chapters 7 and 9. Isaiah describes an overwhelming experience, a mystical vision in which he beholds God enthroned, surrounded by seraphim (fiery, otherworldly beings) calling out to one another in an eternal chorus; “Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh, Adonai Tzeva’ot, m’lo chol ha’aretz k’vodo” (Holy, holy, holy is the God of Hosts, Whose presence fills all the earth) – Isaiah 6:3.

This verse is profoundly familiar to us. We proclaim it every time we recite the Amidah aloud. It is in the Kedushah, the third blessing of this central prayer service. Moreover, the way we recite it matters. We stand. We rise onto our toes with each repetition of the word kadosh. In doing so, we physically enact our spiritual longing, stretching upward, as if to say we know we are grounded here on earth, but we yearn for something higher.

Rabbi Reuven Hammer z”l notes that the Kedushah bears the imprint of ancient mystical traditions. Originally, it was recited only on Shabbat and Festivals, moments already designated as sacred and set apart. Only later, during the Babylonian exile, did it become part of the daily prayer service. There is something profoundly human in that evolution. When life was stable, holiness could be reserved for special times. When life became precarious, holiness needed to be accessible every day.

That insight feels particularly relevant now. We live in a time of global instability, rising antisemitism, and a relentless pace of life that leaves little space for reflection. Many people feel spiritually distant, searching for basis and meaning. Perhaps that is why the words of the Kedushah still speak so powerfully. They remind us that holiness is not confined to rare, transcendent moments, rather it needs to be woven into the fabric of daily life.

The language of the Kedushah reinforces this idea. The words Kedushah, Kadosh, Kodesh, Kaddish, Kiddush, and Kiddushin all share the same three Hebrew letters (kuf, daled, shin). At their core, they mean “to set apart”. Holiness in Judaism is not about escape from the world, but about intentionality within it. We sanctify time through Kiddush, relationships through Kiddushin, memory through Kaddish, and community through Kedushah.

And yet, there is a striking limitation placed on the Kedushah. It can only be recited in the presence of a minyan. One traditional explanation is that sanctifying God’s name requires witnesses and that holiness must be declared publicly. Another points to the mystical roots of the prayer, cautioning against spiritual practices pursued in isolation.

But perhaps the most compelling explanation is that genuine holiness cannot be attained alone.

We live in an age that promotes autonomy and self-sufficiency. We are encouraged to curate our own identities, beliefs, and even our own versions of spirituality. And yet, loneliness is widespread. Many feel disconnected from institutions, from tradition, and from one another. The Kedushah pushes back against this narrative. It insists that holiness is communal. It happens when we gather, when we listen and respond, and when we align our voices with those around us.

Isaiah’s angels do not proclaim kadosh in solitude. They call out to one another. Holiness, in this vision, is relational. It emerges in dialogue, in shared awe, in collective presence. The same is true for us. When we rise on our toes together, we acknowledge that none of us can reach holiness alone, but together we can lift one another higher.

In a fractured world, the Kedushah becomes an act of connection. It declares that community still matters, that shared language and ritual still have power, and that sanctity can be found not only in heaven, but here on earth, in the spaces we create together.

When we proclaim “m’lo chol ha’aretz k’vodo”, that the whole earth is filled with God’s glory, we are making a bold claim. Not that the world is perfect, but that it is still worthy of holiness. And that holiness begins with us, standing together, voices joined, reminding one another that even in uncertain times, we are not alone.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Sam Zwarenstein