Parashat Tazria

Parashat Tazria

Adar-II 27, 5771 ~ April 2, 2011

by Diane Whitten-Vile

With this week's Torah portion, we learn a great deal about the ritual function of thekohanim (priests) in helping people cope with certain illnesses, particularly the illness of 'tzara'at,' or what is often mistakenly referred to as leprosy. This becomes the focus of sustained attention, presumably because it was quite common in the ancient Near East.

Basing themselves on a story found in the book of Numbers the Rabbis of the Midrash viewed tzara'at as an external sign of an internal decay. Illness became a symbol for corruption, immorality and callousness.

The link between illness and a lack of ethics arises from the story of Miriam's criticism of Moses' wife for being a Cushite. Clearly, Miriam uses her sister-in-law's ethnicity as a pretext for attacking her brother. Whereas Jewish tradition goes so far in rejecting racism that the Rabbis of the Midrash and Talmud justify Moses' selection of an African woman as his wife, Miriam is unable to restrain her harmful comments and her corrosive bigotry.

In a condemnation that neatly parallels Miriam's criticism that Moses' wife is too black, Miriam is stricken with an illness that leaves her skin a flaky white. Since her 'tzara'at' resulted from her critical words, the Rabbis naturally associated the two.

Thus, the biblical laws on 'tzara'at became an extended metaphor for self-centeredness, critical or slanderous speech, and hateful deeds.

Speaking and thinking ill of another person, construing their actions in the worst possible way, gossiping and spreading rumors which harm the reputation of another person--these activities are so widespread among our contemporaries that they no longer attract our notice at all. Half the channels on TV, it seems, are devoted to this kind of lashon hara. Yet they strike at the core of the kind of world Judaism is trying to establish. Those practices provoke a cynical disregard of human decency; they cultivate our suspicion of each other and our assumption that others are speaking ill of us behind our backs just as we are of them. How many times have you partaken in lashon hara, just to leave the conversation and think "I wonder if that person talks badly about me when I'm not around?"

My daughter, Hannah, told me the following parable which I thought was great, and many of you have heard I'm sure. She felt it was appropriate for this drash so here goes:

A man goes to his Rabbi and tells him that he has spoken badly about someone else, and he wanted to know how to make it better. The Rabbi told him to go home, get a big goose down feather pillow and poke a hole in it. After the feathers fall out, pick them up and put them back into the pillow. The man seemed satisfied and went home to attempt this task. However, the next day the man returned to his Rabbi and said "Rabbi, I poked a hole in the pillow, and the wind picked up the feathers and blew them all over the town and I couldn't pick them back up. (You know where this is going, right)? So the Rabbi said, "that is what lashon hara is like. Once you speak badly of someone, you don't know where it will go or how it will spread, and there is no taking it back."In the words of the Rabbis, "A loose tongue is like an arrow. Once it is shot, there is no holding it back."

A marvelous tale is told of a wandering merchant who came into a town square, offering to sell the elixir of life. Of course, large crowds would surround him, each person eager to purchase eternal youth. When pressed, the merchant would bring out the Book of Psalms and show them the verse "Who desires life? Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from guile."

In an age awash in corrosive mistrust, a lack of confidence in our public leaders, and an alienating sense of loneliness and isolation, there is little hope of establishing real community until we learn to speak a new language--one of responsibility, kindness and compassion.

Rather than spreading rumors to make others look bad, we can devise empathic explanations for why someone might have acted in a disappointing way.

Many thanks to my father-in -aw for always inspiring me with his weekly drashot, my daughter who remembers well what she was taught at OHDS and JCHS, and to Rabbi Bradly Artson whose writings always inspire.