Here, Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Ḥama ben Rabbi Ḥanina, and Rabbi Berekhya, in the name of Rabbi Abbahu, offer a powerful insight, focusing on the verse from Leviticus (20:26): “I have separated you from the peoples…”
Now, the rabbis cleverly point out that the wording is crucial. What if it said, "I have separated the peoples from you"? According to this interpretation, that would have meant that there could be no revival for the enemies of Israel, and, more strikingly, that members of other nations wouldn't have the opportunity to convert to Judaism. In other words, no path to joining the Jewish people.
But the text doesn't say that. Instead, it states: “I have separated you from the peoples.” The rabbis explain this using an analogy: if you're sorting through a mixture and separating the bad from the good, you don't need to go back and separate again. Once the undesirable elements are removed, they're gone for good. However, if you separate the good from the bad, you might need to separate again later – you might find even more good stuff in the mixture!
So too, the rabbis suggest, the separation of Israel is not a final, fixed division. It's an ongoing process, leaving room for others to join. As Rabbi Aḥa beautifully puts it, this verse demonstrates that God is open to the nations of the world repenting and coming under His wings. It's an invitation, not a rejection.
But what does this separation actually look like? Rabbi Levi paints a vivid picture, noting that "all the actions of Israel are different from the nations of the world." He then provides a fascinating litany of examples, drawn directly from the Torah.
Think about agriculture. The Torah commands us, "You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey" (Deuteronomy 22:10), or "You shall not sow your vineyard with diverse kinds" (Deuteronomy 22:9). There are laws about leaving gleanings for the poor ("And you forget a sheaf in the field," Deuteronomy 24:19) and not muzzling an ox while it's threshing grain (Deuteronomy 25:4). Even building codes are different: "You shall make a guardrail for your roof" (Deuteronomy 22:8), a safety measure reflecting a deep concern for human life. These aren’t arbitrary rules, but rather, they reflect a unique ethical and spiritual approach to the world.
And it goes beyond agriculture and construction. There are differences in how we treat our firstborn, how we prepare meat, how we shave ("You shall not mar the edge of your beard," Leviticus 19:27), and even how we count people. Instead of a direct census, which some believed could bring bad luck, the Israelites were instructed to each donate a half-shekel, and the total sum was counted ("When you take a census of the children of Israel…", Exodus 30:12). As the text notes, Israel even counts time differently, following the lunar calendar, while other nations often use the solar calendar.
So, what does it all mean? This passage from Shir HaShirim Rabbah isn't about building walls, but about cultivating a distinct way of life. It’s about embracing a set of values and practices that set the Jewish people apart, while simultaneously leaving the door open for others to join in that journey. It suggests that our uniqueness isn't meant to isolate us, but to offer a different way of being in the world, a way rooted in justice, compassion, and a deep connection to the Divine.
Perhaps the real question isn't why we're different, but what we do with that difference. How do we use our unique traditions and practices to create a more just and compassionate world for everyone?