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This week we read another double portion in the Torah, Acharei Mot-K'doshim. Unlike last week’s portions, which were ostensibly about the same topic, these two cover a huge range of ideas, from how to celebrate Yom Kippur to some of the most important moral teachings of our faith, like honoring our parents, loving our neighbors as ourselves, and judging fairly. It’s some seriously meaty stuff.

Yet as this week begins, I’ve found myself thinking less about the portions themselves and more about what they’re called. Acharei Mot means “after the death,” referring to Aaron’s sons who were killed a few weeks back in the Torah. K'doshim is a word you probably already know in many other forms, like kiddush that we say over wine, or the mourner’s kaddish that we say for those who have died. It means holy, or separate, and indeed the Torah portion explains the many ways in which Jews, in our own unique ways, seek to be holy, even if it means we are different.

When you put the two titles together, though, it sounds like a lesson: After the death…holiness. After the death…separation. The two are inextricably linked, and perhaps even offer a teaching for our lives now.

While we are still under stay at home orders, we are starting to watch as parts of the world tentatively open again. It is as if we are beginning to put the fear and fact of so many deaths behind them, starting to see examples of how to move forward. And all of us, even if we think it will be weeks or even months before there’s any return to normalcy, all of us are beginning to wonder what it will all feel like acharei mot, after the death is behind us.

What will it be like, we wonder? Will social distancing be a part of our lives forever? Will things like concerts and baseball games be a thing of the past? Or will we actually go back to normal, mourning those whose lives and businesses were lost but somehow still plowing ahead?

It strikes me that whatever happens in our lives acharei mot, after the death, it will be k'doshim in both senses of the word, separate and holy. There will be a practice of separation that never existed before. Whether that means gathering in different ways, or being more cautious about how we socialize, how we touch, how we prioritize our actions, we will almost certainly find ourselves more physically separate than before. That feels deeply sad to me (I am, by nature, a hugger), but I am slowly learning how we can connect even when we can’t truly be face to face, hands touching hands.

And perhaps we may also find that our lives are filled with holiness in new ways as well. For as many days (and hours, and minutes) that I have found myself frustrated, or lonely, or scared in these past weeks, there have also been remarkably many moments of joy. I’ve connected with old friends I haven’t spoken with in years. I’ve spent more one on one time with my children than any time outside of maternity leave. I’ve regained a sense of what truly sacred moments can feel like when my attention is fully on one thing and I’m not busy juggling all of my priorities.

Perhaps it’s naïve to think we will ever be in a phase of acharei mot; we may never, and perhaps should never, fully move on or return to who we were before this time. But if it leads us to living lives that are inherently more filled with a sense of holiness, even if that includes separation, it could offer us a hope that brighter days truly are ahead.