7 Days To Reflect on Life

Parshat Tazria

by Rabbi Avi Billet

A simple reading of the Gemara in Arakhin 16a informs us that tzaraat, a spiritual disease with a physical manifestation that is definitely not “leprosy,” could come upon a person for one of seven sins: lashon hora (slander and gossip), murder, swearing in vain, immorality, haughtiness, theft, and stinginess.

            

Raise your hand if you might get tzaraat if such a disease were extant today. (We can all put our hands down now)

            

It’s sad that most people focus only on Lashon Hara, because the reality is that even people who are not gossipers are not immune to the other causes of tzaraat. Everyone has a yetzer hara (evil inclination) and everyone makes mistakes. While murder is presumably most uncommon, the rest of the seven are not that far fetched for many people, in one form or another.

            

In its time, getting tzaraat would trigger being sent out of the camp of Israel, while they traveled in the wilderness, and outside of town once settled in the land, for the duration of a week. This week-long exile, which was sometimes extended for a week (or two!), was meant to give the person pause, to think, to reflect on which sin caused the affliction and how the person could make different choices for the future.

            

Hopefully, the tzaraat was meant to give the exiled a week to rethink choices and make a commitment to a different future – one of ahavat yisrael (loving one’s fellow Jew), and ahavat habriyot (loving one’s fellow Man). The actions which lead to tzaraat have a common theme that the violator sees himself/herself as being better than others, or above the law. The change would shift a person's entire essence to being a top-of-the-line mentsch. 

            

There isn’t much to say about tzaraat that does not venture beyond the theoretical and hypothetical, simply because it is not our reality today. But we do have week-long excursions that are not brought on by sins which may nonetheless give us pause to reflect and to think about our lives and what is most important to us. (Disclaimer:) The only comparison to be taken here is the length of time the people in question are removed from “normal life.”

            

One week long venture is a holiday such as the upcoming Pesach. Another 7-day escape is the vacation. Sometimes the holiday and the vacation are combined. A third 7-day removal from the day-to-day norm is when someone dies and the family sits for the mourning period of “shiva.”

            

On holidays and on vacations, and particularly when they are combined, whether people go to a hotel, a different state, or just don’t go to work, the test of “who we are and what we stand for and believe” is brought to the fore. How do we conduct ourselves? How do we portray ourselves? How do we spend the time we don’t normally have? Are we unaccountably lazy? Do we only spend the time doing fun things? Where is the dedication to Torah and Tefillah (prayer)? Do others see us as gluttonous? Or gaudy? Do we show off? 

            

We must reflect, think, and look at ourselves very introspectively and try to comprehend how others see us. And we must also hold ourselves accountable for how we use our time. It is OK to enjoy a vacation and to spend quality family time having fun. But a Jew is a Jew 24/7, not just when life is normal, kids are in school, and there’s a daily commute to work. The goal is to be mekadesh shem shamayim (to sanctify God's name) at every turn.

            

This is why those who are committed to davening and daf yomi have an easier time because they are driven to keep it up even when life’s routine is interrupted.

Shiva is a very different kind of escape. And the reflection is surreal. Everyone experiences shiva differently, and since the deceased’s age and stage of life is different in every home, the feeling in every shiva home is different as well.

            

Shiva is not just a reflective time for the mourners. It is also for the visitors to think about life and to remember the deceased and to focus on why mourners mourn and what the role of the “Menachamim” – the consolers – is supposed to be.

            

Too many people come to shiva homes for personal reasons instead of to be there for the mourners. Too many people talk about nonsense when conversations, if there should even be conversations, are supposed to be directed by the mourner, while the consoler’s job is to keep it focused on the deeds of the deceased, to help the mourner in such a personal reflection.

            

It should go without saying, but too many well-meaning people say the dumbest or most regrettable things during their shiva visits. How the person died is not as relevant as how the person lived. The details of the final moments are not as important as the details of the legacy left behind, or in the event of the tragic death of a young person, the absolute sadness and profound loss felt by those who are mourning. In this latter case, the mourners need to know they have friends who care about them. They don’t need to know whether life will ever be the same or that “I know how you feel.” (We don’t.)

            

Every 7-day escape is indeed a time to reflect and contemplate who we are, what we believe, what we stand for and what is most important to us. Hopefully we can use the time well and come out of the experience with a new commitment to be more aware, more sensitive, more caring, and more humble in the way we present ourselves and the way we relate to others.

           

Respecting Others' (Jewish) Decisions

Parshat Tazria Metzora

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The primary topic of our double parsha focuses on the affliction of tzaraat, its diagnosis and prognosis. The attention is primarily on the kohen, who is given detailed instructions for how to detect what is or is not tzaraat. He is also given tremendous autonomy in deciding whether the mark he is examining is tzaraat.

Interestingly, there is no mashgiach monitoring to see that what the kohen declares is "correct." He makes the call.

One can argue that even the Torah hints to the kohen's autonomy when it tells us how the kohen examines the tzaraat mark. 14 times the Torah says "V'ra'ah hakohen" - and the kohen sees it, yet only 5 times it says, "V'ra'ahu hakohen," and the kohen looks at it/him. The suffix "hu" added to the "V'ra'ah" leaves open the suggestion that the kohen not only examines the mark, but he also examines the person.

What is the circumstance? Has the person already learned the requisite lesson? Can the person afford to be away from home for a week? For an additional week?

Perhaps the kohen is allowed to make a diagnosis in this fashion due to the unique nature of the spiritual malady. Tzaraat is not like strep throat, where you either have it or you do not. (My mother often compares being honest to being pregnant – you either are or you are not.) Despite any markings on the flesh, you only have tzaraat if the kohen says you have it. And perhaps that determination is made based on factors beyond the textbook definition of a "nega" – a mark that looks like it might be tzaraat.

In this period of Sefirat Ha'Omer, when many people take upon themselves the custom of certain mourning practices in memory of the students of Rabbi Akiva, the feeling in the air often boils down to the question: are we guilty of the same arrogant behavior which the Talmud ascribes to his ill-fated students (Yevamot 62b)?

Let us take the Kohen case as an example. Imagine there were a Temple in Jerusalem, and people were afflicted with tzaraat symptoms and needed a kohen diagnosis to determine the status of the flesh marks in question.

How many kohanim, who are declared by God to be fit, on account of their DNA, to serve as kohanim, will now be called unfit by those who view themselves as 'holier than thou?' Of course every individual has the right to go to whichever kohen one prefers. But would people start ranking kohanim based on perceived levels of frumkeit? Would we call into question the decision of the kohen, claiming we know better what is and what is not tzaraat?

Ironically what we think or even what we know does not matter when it comes to tzaraat. The call belongs to the kohen alone, without the input of a non-kohen. How many of us recall stories of a bygone era, when our grandparents or great-grandparents would take a chicken, bring it to the shochet (slaughterer) and then to the rabbi to see if it was slaughtered correctly? After all, it is the shechita that makes the bird kosher (fit to eat) – not its merely being a chicken.

And how many of us can recount stories of a rabbi who looked not at the chicken but at the poor woman, sometimes a widow, who the rabbi knew could not afford to lose this chicken, and he declared with tears in his eyes that the chicken was kosher?

What would some of our brethren say today about such a rabbi? That he wasn't frum enough? That he was an 'am haaretz' (ignorant simpleton)? That he was unfit to be a rabbi?

Or perhaps he knew a lot more about Torah and Chesed, and about being "noheg kavod zeh lazeh" (respecting one another) than Rabbi Akiva's students knew, and than those of us who seek to criticize other Jews all the time know.

No one is perfect. We all klop "al cheit" on Yom Kippur. But it is time for all factions of the Jewish people to respect the fact that we are different and have different ways of serving God. Some are committed to Halakha, some are not.

Among those who are committed to halakha, some choose to follow a straightforward understanding, or even a liberal understanding of halakha – with basis in what is written in the Shulchan Arukh and its commentaries. Others choose to be more stringent for themselves, based on more stringent commentaries and poskim. Both approaches are admirable for the individuals who choose these routes for themselves.

The problem arises when people try to dictate for others how they should live. Every Jew who is a member of a shul, or who has a rabbi s/he turns to for halakhic guidance, demonstrates an acceptable halakhic authority figure that serves as the spot where the buck so-to-speak stops.

Just as the kohen did not need a mashgiach looking over his shoulders, our communities need to find a way to stop looking over others' shoulders or scaring people to submit to things they don't believe in because they must look over their shoulders to see who is watching.

Live and let live. Mind your own business. Grow in your Jewish experience, and let others grow in theirs' at a pace that works for them.

Human Development in Two Worlds

Parshat Tazria Metzora

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 Due to their not (yet) having been translated by the Jewish publishing houses much of the midrashic library is a treasure-trove of untouched gemstone mines. It is particularly fertile ground for rabbis to utilize in homiletical discourses, because not all Midrash is meant to be understood literally. Frankly, much of midrash can not be understood literally – an essential point to bear in mind before exploring any midrashic passage.

 It is fascinating to read through certain midrashim – and without the crutch of a translation, because it leaves the midrash open to interpretation, as well as the derivation of either important lessons, important messages, or both.

Parshat Tazria opens with laws and practices surrounding giving birth and the aftermath of boy or girl's arrival, vis-à-vis the baby's mother's responsibilities.

The Yalkut Shimoni on Tazria 547 recounts a debate between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel in which they differ over how the fetus develops versus how a parallel development takes place in the World to Come. 

Beit Shammai says "In this world, the flesh and skin develops first, followed by the sinews and bones. In the World to Come, the sinews and bones develop first, and the completion is the development of skin and flesh." He proves this analysis from Yechezkel's depiction of the Dry Bones coming to life (37:8).

On the other hand, Beit Hillel thinks the two developments pan out in the same ways. "In this world the skin and flesh develops first, and [the body] is completed with the sinews and bones. In the future as well, development will begin with skin and flesh and will be completed with the sinews and bones." He proves his analysis from a comment made by Iyov in Iyov 10:9-11.

What are they talking about?

Unlike questions of a "halakhic" nature, I don't believe the conclusion to this difference of opinion is particularly important. But the debate does give us pause to consider how people develop – not only physically, but spiritually. Bones and cartilage certainly begin developing in the fetus two months into a pregnancy, long after the (somewhat) human shape has formed its skin. This is a fact that everyone – even Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel – can take for granted and cannot argue otherwise.

 Aside from the physical reality, the message of human development would seem to suggest that the vessel is created first, and then the human has the opportunity to develop what shape or form the vessel will take. Please read the following descriptive words with their multiple meanings intended: will the person be tall and straight or bent and crooked? Will the mind be full or empty? Will the vessel be growth-oriented to reach great potential or will it be sedentary and take the shape of the couch it sits on its entire life? These are questions we can all appreciate.

But what about the end of life? What will be in future, or in the World to Come? Many rabbinic figures of the past have weighed in on what the World to Come means and what it will be like for all of us on some "other side." I am not interested in entering that conversation, because I am comfortable saying "I honestly have no idea." But Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, in this minor debate, shared with us what their opinions are.

If some version of the World to Come refers to a resurrection of the dead, with former bodies somehow being reformed from DNA, then their debate in the physical realm of how bodies will be recreated speaks for itself.

But if the reality they speak of is a spiritual development, I think there is no harm in suggesting that the two approaches will both be influenced by how a person leads and lives life in this world.

 According to Beit Shammai, the bones and sinews will develop first. This would indicate that the form or shape that a person created in life will inform the person's reformulation in the World to Come.

In Beit Hillel's approach, on the other hand, one's "rebirth" is exactly as was one's original birth. In other words, one gets a new slate, just as each person had the first time around.

 There is no question that both Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai would advocate living life to one's full potential – an honest, ethical, and morally upright existence. Their sons and daughters married one another because they respected each other greatly (Yevamot 14b). In a different realm, they also discussed the merits of living versus never having been born and concluded that now that we are born, we must constantly review, and presumably improve, our deeds (Eruvin 13b). But both approaches to the World to Come provide insight as to the long term merits of one's ethical existence.

Beit Shammai would seem to leave little room for error, while Beit Hillel would seem to leave open the possibility that no one is perfect, and every one of us will have the chance to try again to "get it right" in a world-to-come existence.

May we merit to get it right the first time, with no regrets.

Razors to Raise Them

Parshat B'ha'alotkha

The Levites are consecrated, once and for all, in the opening passages of our parsha. Mazal tov!

Hold your horses. Did you read what they have to go through to experience this monumental achievement?

"Take the Levites from among the Israelites and purify them. This is how you purify them: sprinkle on them 'sin waters' and pass a razor over their entire bodies (ie. shave their hair), then they'll wash their clothes and they'll thus be purified." (8:6-7)

The Midrash takes the entire procedure and places it into Korach's mouth as one of his arguments against Moshe's sanity and moral leadership. With (arguably) good reason! It sounds like they're going through a delousing formula before entering prison!

Rashi is so disturbed by this depiction that he quotes a "nice idea" that he heard from Rabbi Moshe HaDarshan, the master of Biblical exegesis, to try to explain why the Levites would go through such an ordeal. Such a homiletical interpretation suggests a lesson to be learned, but also an explanation that may not be entirely accurate.

Their body hair seems to be shaved, he explains, "Since they brought about the forgiveness for the firstborns who had worshiped idols (through killing those who worshiped the Golden Calf), and idolatry is considered 'the offerings of the dead,' and a person afflicted with tzara'at is called 'dead,' they were required to have the same kind of haircut as those afflicted with tzara'at."

So, if one is looking to achieve a spiritual connection to God, the last step before bringing a korban or dunking in the mikveh is to take a full-body-shave?

I understand the concept of shaving to achieve "cleanliness." But to compare the journey of the metzora cleansing himself to that of a Levite who carried out capital punishment on idolators is like comparing apples to oranges. Technically they're both fruit – but through two very different processes.

The biggest irony comes from the fact that the only other time the word for razor (ta'ar) appears in the Torah is in the context of a nazir commencing his vow period of not drinking wine or cutting his hair (Bamidbar 6:5). While the metzora does shave all his (or her) hair (Vayikra 14:8-9), there is no mention of the use of a razor.

The Talmud (Nazir 40) addresses the question of how we know the metzora's shaving is done by razor, concluding that the Rabbis interpreted thus from comparing their shaving to the shavings of the Levites and Nazirs which were done with a razor.

More importantly, what does it mean to have the body-hair shaved? And why do the Levites have to go through such a procedure?

Commentaries address how much hair must be removed. Ibn Ezra quotes the "copiers" who said the beard should be shaved, but not the "pe'ah," the area that is Biblically forbidden to cut (Vayikra 19:27). Rabbenu Bachaya says the "pe'ah" is included in what may be cut. The Midrash, however, says the only hair that may not be cut grows in hidden areas.

The Torah Temimah defines these "hidden areas" as armpits and the pubic region, and he learns this from a passage in Kiddushin 25a that says we only count generally seen organs. Organs that are not normally seen need not be shaved in the "full-body" shave.

No matter how much of the body is shaved, the question remains of why the "cleansing process" of shaving is applied to the Levites. One marked distinction between the shavings is that of the Sefer HaChinukh (Mitzvah 377), who says the Levite circumstance was a one-time purification process that only the first group of Levites went through, while nazirs and metzoras would forever have to go through such a process.

The Siftei Cohen (Shakh) puts it best when he describes the symbolism of this one-time act as one which helps the Levites get past a few dark spots in their familial history.

While it says "they will pass a razor on their flesh" the Torah does not go into detail as to what they'll actually shave, because it is the act of the moving of the razor that is symbolic, not the removal of the hair (as it is in the case of the metzora). The Levites had an appetite for the sword, as was originally demonstrated by their ancestor's actions in wiping out the city of Shechem. They took the same sword to punish those who had sinned at the Golden Calf (compare Bereshit 34:25 to Shmot 32:27). The razor needed to be passed over the body as a 'kapparah' for their distasteful act, inspired by the bad angel Sama'el, of using the sword to carry out justice.

Therefore, the razor, and not the actual hair removal is what becomes the focus. Even though capital punishment is sometimes necessary, those who rush to carry it out are still held culpable for their participation in the act, minimally mandated to have a spiritual cleansing.

The one-time act was meant to purge forever Levitical characteristics that would no longer be useful in those designated for Temple service.

Never Again? Not Again

This second week after Pesach always carries with it a cycle of emotions. Between the return to post-Pesach reality and the thought that the kids have “only” two months of school until summer, we note the continued passage of time. We are hit with Yom HaShoah, which comes with the realization that as grateful as we are for all the survivors who are still with us, their numbers dwindle with every passing year. And then, this weekend is the preview to the celebrations surrounding the independence of the State of Israel and Yom Ha’atzmaut.

It’s real life, it’s thoughts of future plans, reflection on past tragedies and great moments, with concern for where we are headed, all rolled into one brief time span.

In the echoes of the “never agains,” one merely needs to read a few headlines to see how bad things are in Europe. No, it won’t likely lead to another Holocaust, but what will be the end of the story?

We can be so proud of our people and our resolve, and the wonderful army we have in Israel. But what can we make of how even the United States – which has always supported Israel – is treating Israel and its citizens like pariahs and piranhas?

Perhaps there is an allusion to these questions in our parsha.

In discussing some of the laws of tzara’at, the Torah says (14:34), “When you come to the land of Canaan, which I am giving to you as an inheritance, I will place the mark of tzara’at in houses in the land you inherit.”

On a simple level, this verse seems to imply that houses will become afflicted with the spiritual disease merely upon the arrival of the people. More likely, the verse refers to the idea that once everyone is settled, there will come a time when individuals will notice this strange affliction on the home.

We ought to recall that the Talmud lists a number of causes for the affliction of tzara’at, including l’shon hara (gossip), murder, immorality, illicit oaths, arrogance, theft and stinginess (Erakhin 16a).

Regardless of the cause or effect, and what the outcome will be, before anything is declared by the kohen, before any decisions are rendered, the individual must go home and take action. He must remove everything from the home, lest the items become “tameh” along with the house in the event the house is indeed declared contaminated.

And so, I feel, it is with us. Except that the outside world is playing the role of the kohen, and they have it backwards.

The kohen is supposed to examine, reexamine, and bend over backwards to try his best not to declare the item in question tzara’at.

Please do not misunderstand. The blotch is a divine warning to the person. G-d is saying, “I have my eye on you.” And hopefully the person catches the hint and repairs his ways before he must suffer the degradation and humiliation of real tzara’at.

But the nations of the world that hold Israel to ridiculous standards (only because Israel will actually pay attention, for example, to the president of the United States), typically pass judgment before looking at the reality or the facts on the ground. Boycotts and violent crimes only stem from ignorance – though anti-Semites will claim their victims are guilty of the tzara’at-inducing crimes enumerated by the Talmud.

And it is not too far-fetched to say these things are happening because, “you have come to the land of Canaan,” and “have the audacity to presume you are there to stay forever.”

So what is our task?

I believe it is twofold.

Firstly, the Jewish people must live virtuous lives, because that is what G-d commands of us. A virtuous life could never yield even a warning blotch on a wall, let alone a genuine tzara’at affliction. If we all lived virtuous lives, how could any statements made against us be viewed as anything but pure, unadulterated gossip and slander?

Secondly, the kohen advised to take action, to avoid all of one’s belongings possibly becoming tameh. It is our job to take whatever steps we can to minimize the impact of the tzara’at. Whether this means to call our congressmen or representatives, or to flood the White House with letters and emails, this is a start.

But when we celebrate Israel’s 62nd year and watch the survivors age or disappear, we are the only ones who can assure that, in our lifetime, we continue to say “never again.”