In a 2025 survey conducted by the American Bar Association, only 45% of Americans were able to identify "We The People" as the powerful opening words of the U.S. Constitution. I shudder to think what percentage of that 45% recognized the historical and legal significance of the phrase We The People.

Written in 1787, ratified in 1788, and in operation since 1789, the U.S. Constitution is the world's longest surviving written charter of government. Its preamble was mainly composed by Bronx-born Gouverneur Morris, a delegate to the 1787 Constitutional Convention held at Independence Hall in Philadelphia. At the very outset, We The People affirmed that the government exists to serve its individual citizens, not vice versa. While most Americans still thought of themselves as citizens of their respective states, Morris advanced the idea of being a citizen of a single union of states, a nation. The principles of government articulated in Philadelphia profoundly influenced the French reformers who composed the 1789 Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen and the French Constitution of 1791.  

Does the Torah employ language that distinguishes between people and nation? Oui, the people appear connected to a strange mitzvah in this week's parsha:

וְאַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ תִּהְי֣וּן לִ֑י וּבָשָׂ֨ר בַּשָּׂדֶ֤ה טְרֵפָה֙ לֹ֣א תֹאכֵ֔לוּ לַכֶּ֖לֶב תַּשְׁלִכ֥וּן אֹתֽוֹ׃         

You shall be holy people to Me: you must not eat flesh torn by beasts in the field; you shall cast it to the dogs.

So the dog gets to eat טריפה, the meat that we cannot consume. The Mechilta explains that the directive to cast "treif" meat to a dog teaches us that Hashem recalls all valiant actions and rewards them, and therefore every dog has his day:

וְלִמֶּדְךָ הַכָּתוּב שֶׁאֵין הַקָּבָּ"ה מְקַפֵּחַ שְׂכַר כָּל בְּרִיָּה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר וּלְכָל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לֹא יֶחֱרַץ כֶּלֶב לְשֹׁנוֹ (שמות י"א), אָמַר הַקָּבָּ"ה תְּנוּ לוֹ שְׂכָרוֹ

And Scripture tells you at the same time that God does not withhold the reward due to any of His creatures. The dog is entitled to reward because it is stated, (Exodus 11:7) “But against the children of Israel shall not a dog move its tongue”, and this happened. The Holy One, blessed be He, said: Give it the reward it deserves.

The dogs earned this reward by not barking at the time of Makkas Bechoros. Their silence was golden, and the quiescence of the dogs that didn’t bark in the night is commemorated through the mitzvah of throwing them this bone. And the preamble to this mitzvah is וְאַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ תִּהְי֣וּן לִ֑י, you shall be a holy people to Me. 

This all sounds wonderfully just and righteous, but 45% of Americans would question the timing of the payback. Your beloved pet dog, the one barking at offensive molecules that only he can detect, was not present in Mitzrayim and did not experience the events of 15 Nissan, including Makkas Bechoros. The dogs of Egypt are long gone. So when you throw Fido a scrap of meat, how does that reward the Egyptian canines who went against their nature and did not bark? That isn't really God "not withholding" the reward from every creature. Those dogs in Mitzrayim didn't receive anything at the time. 

Furthermore, there is a parallel pasuk about non-kosher meat that appears in Devarim 14. There, we find a different beneficiary of meat we may not eat:

לֹ֣א תֹאכְל֣וּ כׇל־נְ֠בֵלָ֠ה לַגֵּ֨ר אֲשֶׁר־בִּשְׁעָרֶ֜יךָ תִּתְּנֶ֣נָּה וַאֲכָלָ֗הּ א֤וֹ מָכֹר֙ לְנׇכְרִ֔י כִּ֣י עַ֤ם קָדוֹשׁ֙ אַתָּ֔ה לַיהֹוָ֖ה אֱלֹהֶ֑יךָ לֹֽא־תְבַשֵּׁ֥ל גְּדִ֖י בַּחֲלֵ֥ב אִמּֽוֹ׃ 

You shall not eat anything that has died a natural death; give it to the stranger in your community to eat, or you may sell it to a foreigner. For you are a nation consecrated to the ETERNAL your God.
You shall not boil a kid in its mother’s milk.

Here we are discussing a different category of non-kosher meat: נבילה, meat from an animal that died without proper shechitah. Consuming this meat is forbidden, but selling it to non-Jews is encouraged. This is in fact the practice at kosher slaughterhouses nowadays. When meat is rendered treifah or neveilah, it is not thrown in the garbage. Instead, it is sold at a discount to Tyson or Perdue or Boar’s Head for their customers. Let us also note that the stated reason for this mitzvah is  כִּ֣י עַ֤ם קָדוֹשׁ֙ אַתָּ֔ה, for you are a holy nation. 

To recap these anomalies: In Shemos, we are commanded to become אַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ; in Devarim we are described as being an עַ֤ם קָדוֹשׁ֙. In Shemos, the forbidden food is to be cast to a dog; in Devarim, the forbidden food is to be transferred to a non-Jew. And fundamentally, how do we reward a dog in 2026 for something that a different dog didn’t do almost 4000 years ago?

It all has to do with individual versus group. 

A Jew derives sanctity from two sources: from being a member of a group called the Jewish people, the עַ֤ם קָדוֹשׁ֙, whose collective body is consecrated as a whole. Additionally, the Jew earns sanctity through individual achievements, by being people worthy of being dubbed אַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ, men and women acting in a way that telegraphs their holiness. 

In Devarim, a person is forbidden to consume נבילה as a member of the broader group: כִּ֣י עַ֤ם קָדוֹשׁ֙ אַתָּ֔ה לַיהֹוָ֖ה אֱלֹהֶ֑יךָ. The non-Jew is not a member of this group, and so naturally the prohibition doesn’t apply to him. Thus: לַגֵּ֨ר אֲשֶׁר־בִּשְׁעָרֶ֜יךָ תִּתְּנֶ֣נָּה וַאֲכָלָ֗הּ א֤וֹ מָכֹר֙ לְנׇכְרִ֔י, give the meat to a non-Jew. 

But in our pasuk from Mishpatim, the Torah emphasizes that it is not enough to derive sanctity from membership in a group. Rather, one must create sanctity through individual achievements: וְאַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ תִּהְי֣וּן לִ֑י. The prescription to cast the טריפה to the dogs, לַכֶּ֖לֶב תַּשְׁלִכ֥וּן אֹתֽוֹ, rewards a species not defined by individuals. 

In Halakhic Man, Rav Soloveichik writes that “with reference to all other creatures, only the universal, not the particular, has a true, continuous existence.” Meaning, we need not worry that the particular dog that receives treif meat was not present at Makkas Bechoros; that’s irrelevant. It is only significant that a member of the dog species receive it. That group of canines spans the millennia, and God is giving them their just reward. With all due apologies to dog-lovers, these beloved creatures are not ascribed individual significance. The reward is granted to the species/nation as a whole. 

In contrast, it is not just the human race which has significance; the individual human counts as well. This aspect of our existence may even surpass group identity. We, particularly, have to be אַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ as well. A Jew must not rely solely on the sanctity that he or she derives from being a member of the Jewish people; he or she must devote energy to developing individual sanctity.

The previous generations made this error when they based their religious identity on that of their group. Thus, you were "Orthodox" if you belonged to an Orthodox shul, "Conservative" if you belonged to a Conservative shul, and "Reform" if you belonged to a Reform shul, which in reality was often not the case. Of course, synagogue affiliation does not a Jew make, and we understand that writing a check for shul dues – while important - does not automatically credit the individual for the activities performed by the group. Shul membership must not serve as a proxy for religious involvement. Does your gym membership magically confer fitness upon you, or is there something else you must do?

In our generation we understand that group identity does not absolve us of individual religious responsibility, but we still make the mistake of deriving our identity from organizations, not our own lives. Thus, for example, we may consider ourselves religious Zionists if we belong to a shul that says the Tefillah L’Shlom HaMedinah and offers a Yom Haatzmaut observance every fifth of Iyar. Now, we don’t have to actually leave our home and attend said Yom Haatzmaut program, but we get credit for being religious Zionists by association with the group. It makes us feel good. 

We wouldn't dream of belonging to a shul that doesn't value a wide range of adult educational options, including shiurim and programs for men and women, with a variety of presenters. This does not mean we have to show up at these classes; we are simply proud to associate with a shul that boasts robust learning options. And the same goes for minyanim. 

When it comes to our children's education, many of us would only send our child to a yeshiva or summer camp that promotes a religious Zionist philosophy, and then when he or she grows up and expresses a desire to - gasp - enlist in Tzahal or live in Eretz Yisrael we are beside ourselves. Because the school’s clear and strong hashkafa didn’t really match our ambiguous and weak one. We desperately wanted our child to love Torah and mitzvos and be a serious Jew, but not if it interferes with the chosen destination for our family vacation, or the type of college he or she now wants to attend. We expected a light sprinkling of sentimentality, and instead the Kool Aid was proffered and drunk. 

We also err by imagining that the type of yeshiva our children attend automatically characterizes the values of the homes we live in, and our work is done, and so we abdicate our own religious responsibilities by delegating everything to the school. We identify by the group, We The Nation, and forget the painstaking work it takes to become אַנְשֵׁי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ, We The People. We cede our influence to the paid professionals at these institutions and neglect to parent and share our personal value systems.

Back at Independence Hall, We The People captured a remarkable transition from monarchy to democracy, expressing the principle of popular sovereignty - that the people are the ultimate source of authority. Millennia ago, each Jew was tasked with living a double life: as a holy individual wholly connected to a holy nation, all under divine authority. This can be a difficult balancing act, but doggone it, we can find incredible sanctity in our community and in ourselves.