You Do You, Really? Loving Your Neighbor as Yourself

Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon’s Sermon Shabbat Kedoshim 5784

Last week I drove twice to Phoenix, the second time to conduct the wedding of the children of congregants.  On the way, of course, I passed huge billboards advertising casinos; I mean, there are always commercials for casinos here in Arizona, on TV, as web ads, and billboards.  One of the most prominent has the tagline, “Come to our casino, where you do you.”  In the TV version of this ad, beautiful and glamorous looking women and men—mostly women—are busy gambling, dancing, swimming, eating lavish meals, drinking, flirting, and then gambling again.  And at the end, that repeated tagline: “Our casino, where you do you.”  

Frankly, I don’t exactly know what “you do you” means, but I assume it is a way of saying that at these places of hedonistic pleasures you can show yourself all the love you personally deserve.  And while you are doing you, you can also spend some money at the tables helping the casino do itself, I suppose.

That self-indulgent ethos, that focus on pandering to the most superficial of pleasures, is certainly a big part of contemporary American life.  And if “you do you” means more than that—and I’m not sure it really does—it is probably a reflection of our secular society’s concept that each of us has the privilege—perhaps even the right—to live and act however we desire, without much regard for our fellow citizens.  Want to wear clothes that don’t fit in?  In Tucson, that’s hard to imagine, but go ahead, you do you.  Want to voice harsh political opinions in front of people who will be offended?  Go ahead, you do you.  Want to cut someone off in traffic and then slow down?  Go ahead, you do you.  Choose not to pick up your own trash?  Go ahead, you do you.  I mean, you are the most important person in your world, right?

So, you do you. 

I mean, you can’t love anyone else until you love yourself, right?  So, by showing yourself lots of self-love you are undoubtedly improving your chances of being loving to others, right?  Yeah, go ahead, you do you.

In a way, this is an attitude that’s antithetical to Judaism’s general belief that we are each mutually responsible for one another.  Kol Yisrael areivim zeh bazeh, we are told in Talmud, again and again: every Israelite is responsible for one another, that is, each person is responsible for, and to, every other person in our society.

But in another way, there is one place in the Torah that this self-absorbed outlook might reflect something valuable.  And it deals with the question of love in a unique and powerful way.

As you know, this Shabbat we read the great Torah portion of Kedoshim, which includes the Holiness Code, the ethical injunctions that lie at the heart of Jewish practice.  Kedoshim includes mitzvot that require us to assist the poor, treat strangers, widows, and orphans with generosity and kindness, obligates sensitivity to those with physical and other impairments, and insists on fair business practices.  This is not “you do you” at all, but you act in ways that build a good and just society.  This is you doing things that help others, not yourself, and that create justice and kindness in our world.

Kedoshim directs us to live moral lives, then tells us how to do so, and finally builds thematically to its most powerful message.  That message is ve’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha, love your neighbor as you love yourself.  It is perhaps the greatest of all moral instructions, and it lies at the heart of the religious spirit in life.  Love your neighbor as you love yourself—and do so by acting in ways that build trust and goodness every day.

This remarkable sentence comes in the precise center of the middle book of the Torah, Vayikra, Leviticus.  Kedoshim, the Holiness Code, is in the middle of the middle of the Torah.  It forms the heart of the heart of our most sacred text.  And at the heart of the heart of the heart, if you will, is the ethical injunction to love your neighbor as you love yourself. 

This concept is an amazing, utopian ideal—love your neighbor as much as you love yourself. 

But what does that truly mean?  How do you show another person that you love her or him as much as you love yourself?  Is it even possible?

The Kotzker Rebbe, a noted and brilliant contrarian, in typical fashion asks a question about this passage, ve’ahavta l’rei’acha kamocha, love your neighbor as you love yourself: “How can one be asked to love his friend like himself?” he begins.  In other words, how is it even possible to ask this, when on the surface it appears that we must follow the dictum in Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Ancestors, im ein ani li mi li, if I am not for myself first, who will be for me; who will stand up for me if I don’t take care of my own needs?  Who will advocate for me if I don’t do it first?

But then the Kotzker Rebbe goes on to question the very essence of this statement.  He asks further, “Since when is loving yourself a truly good thing?  Loving yourself brings a person to selfishness and a host of other bad qualities.”  Narcissism, hedonism, egotism, greed, and on and on.  No, the Kotzker Rebbe says, “The goal should not be love oneself at all, but rather, a person should negate himself totally.”  This is a mystical idea, actually: the goal of the truly good person, the religious person, should be to humble the ego, to eliminate the obsession with the self completely.

Wait: does that mean that according to this approach, that is how the Torah wants you to treat your friend?  You know, since you have focused on humbling, even negating your own selfish ego you should do the same for your friend?  That is, treat them as nothing, too?  Ah, no, the Kotzker answers, quite the opposite: “ve’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha means that to the same degree with which you negate yourself to the epitome of humility and self-abnegation, so too you must love your friend to the epitome of love.”

In other words, we are being taught here to diminish our own self-love and egotism, and exchange that for love of our friends, relatives, and all other members of our society.  Love your neighbor with the love you give him or her in place of giving it to yourself.

Not you do you: you give of you, you give from yourself, you do what’s best for others.

Ve’ahavta lrei’acha kamocha—love your neighbor as you love yourself as a gift of your best to others.

OK, so just how are we supposed to do that? 

While the Torah does not choose to explain this central tenet, in true Jewish fashion it also does not make this simply an idealistic statement and hope people figure out how live up to it.  It is instead worked into a practical imperative.  Kedoshim builds up to this magnificent commitment with a series of ethical injunctions: leave a corner of your field for the poor and the stranger.  Don’t leave a stumbling block before the morally blind.  Care for the widow and the orphan.  Be honest in your business dealings.  Have equal weights and measures; be honest in your personal conduct.  Be holy, because God is holy—that is, be ethical, because that is the heart of holiness.

Kedoshim teaches us that the way to love your neighbor is by treating him or her fairly, honestly, and compassionately.  It makes it clear that showing empathy and concern for others is a pragmatic approach to love that is just so Jewish. 

We are not obligated to convert our neighbors to our own views.  We are not obligated to save our neighbors from their own belief systems.  We are not obligated to change our neighbors into carbon copies of ourselves.  We are not required to condemn our neighbors because they are different from ourselves, or have other political beliefs.  Rather, we are commanded to treat them as we wish to be treated: respectfully, honorably, honestly, charitably, ethically, generously.  That is the best expression of love.

Frankly, this is exactly what our society today needs most.  Not you do you; you do what’s right for all.

This is love of one’s neighbor expressed in a functional, healthy world.  Not coercion, but concern.  Not compulsion, but care.  Not elitism, but egalitarianism.  Not dishonesty or manipulation, but honesty and generosity.

May we learn to reshape our own lives, and perhaps then the public life of our country, in these profoundly Jewish ways.  And may we come to do this speedily and soon.