The Torah and... the Bearded Lady?

Before I started posting my weekly Dvar Torah to this blog, 
I wrote this article entitled Bald, Pure, and Loving It! 
This is the natural follow-up to that entry

Parshat Tazria

by Rabbi Avi Billet

I created a program several years ago, called ParshaDrama, in which I go to a school and present the weekly Torah portion to different grades through a combination of storytelling and dramatics – playing the roles of the various characters, while sometimes calling up some students to assist when there are multiple characters on the Torah’s storyline.

For Tazria, I typically call up volunteers in order to “point out” the kinds of blemishes that are described in the parsha, accompanied by an explanation of the process the person will now have to endure in order to be deemed “tahor” again.

Since I mostly deal with younger grades, I am often in a co-ed school with boys and girls together. 

Last week, immediately after presenting the parsha about the dedication of the Mishkan and the role of Aharon and his sons, including the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, one girl, who is in first or second-grade, asked me why I don’t include girls in the story. After accepting her critique, I told her I am unaware of Aharon having daughters. And I reminded her (with a smile… I was very nice) there are many “girls” in the stories in Bereshit, even if they are not as prominent as the “boys.”

It’s OK – I pick the girl volunteers to demonstrate many of the tzara’at afflictions of our Parsha, or for a unisex discussion about law in Mishpatim, as well as anytime I specifically need someone with a beard (e.g. some Kohen situations in Parshat Emor), because many of the girls are adept at bringing their ponytails round to front and tying them under their chins, aside from the female roles they play. It is an interesting point of note that the only person recorded by the Torah to have been afflicted with tzara’at is a woman (Miriam, in Bamidbar 13). It does not follow that tzara’at is a women’s disease any more than a men’s disease, as we encounter other “metzo’ra’im” (tzara’at inflicted individuals) in the rest of the Bible who are men as well.

Our parsha this week begins talking about the status of a woman who “has seed” and gives birth to a boy, or who gives birth to a girl. And while the parsha talks primarily about the generic “Adam” (human – male or female) who gets tzara’at, the Torah specifically mentions “a man or a woman” who have a “nega” (mark) on the head or on the beard. (13:29)

What? Is the Torah addressing the circus and the bearded lady (some interesting ladies have embraced their genetic disorder that causes facial hair to grow – amazing what you can find on Google)?

Rashi explains this strange language to mean that the Torah is distinguishing between tzara’at that occurs on hairy spots versus tzara’at that appears on skin where hair does not grow. Perhaps, on “the head” refers to women, who do not usually go bald, while on “the beard” refers to men, who usually (certainly in Biblical times) have facial hair. “The head” could refer to a bald spot (for men who suffer from hair loss) and “the beard” spot could refer to women who are usually naturally clean shaven.

Chizkuni simply says the head is speaking of the woman, while the beard speaks of the man. This explanation is eyebrow raising because the Torah generally follows the order of applying the first noun to the first noun (which are man and head) and the second noun to the second noun (which are woman and beard).

Alshikh ignores the cantillation mark which puts a significant pause between the man or woman (pause) - on the head or beard, suggesting that both man or woman is connected to “on the head,” while “on the beard” is a tag-on for the men, who are afflicted on their beard for not showing respect to other people (he explains what he means).

Or HaChaim explains the verse first saying that the word “or” as in “a man or a woman” is utilized to separate the experiences of the man and the woman, rather than using the word “and” which would otherwise suggest that the rule in this verse apply equally to man and woman on head and on beard – which it doesn’t, because, as he puts it, “a woman does not have a beard.” He concludes, however, suggesting that were it to be the case that a woman does grow a beard (I was right about the bearded lady!), the rules of the verse would apply to her equally. 

There you have it folks. Equality in the Torah. Men and women can both get the same affliction. And there is even no discrimination against women who grow beards.

While we yearn for a time when God’s presence will be felt and the laws of tzara’at will be relevant to our regular existence, we also pray that all of us – men and women – can behave in a manner that would never call for or cause anyone to get tzara’at, because that would mean that we fundamentally respect one another and look out for our fellow Jew and fellow human being in a manner befitting what should be our God-like natures.

The Ear, the Thumb and the Toe

Parshat Metzora

by Rabbi Avi Billet

My daughter and I were recently learning Metzora, and she asked me why the process of getting rid of tzaraat included a ritual of placing blood on the ear, thumb and toe of the afflicted individual, on the one hand, and why it is specifically on the right (and not the left) of all extremities.

                

The simple answer is that the ritual described in 14:14 and 14:25 is meant to parallel, in a way, the ritual that was invoked in the transforming of Aharon and his sons from Levites to Kohanim. (8:23) Many aspects of both rituals are similar – including the specific kinds of sacrifices and offerings and what is done with the blood. [A similar comparison can be made to the consecration of the Levites to serve in the Mishkan, particularly insofar as the shaving of the hair goes (see Bamidbar 8:6-7)]

To run the parallel to one possible conclusion, perhaps both processes were meant to bring the person to a new level of spiritual fulfillment. Just as the kohanim could achieve things as kohanim that they could never have done as Levites, the former metzora is leaving behind a life of sinning and depravity to embrace a new existential reality through his renewed commitment to God and to his treatment of his fellow Man.

But it turns out that the symbolism runs much deeper than parallel rituals. [I did not find an answer for why the right over the left – but perhaps it is a reflection of the preference the Torah has for the right side in general.]

The Alshich, for example, creates a tale of extremes that could come from the act of Lashon Hara, gossip, one of the recognized main causes of the tzaraat affliction. Lashon Hara could be responsible for the deaths of three people. Perhaps someone tells his friend something about another person, which drives the listening party to murder. The relatives of the murdered chase down the murderer. God now avenges the deaths of these two people, through tzaraat upon the one who started it all, who opened the chain of events through saying Lashon Hara that should not have been shared.

The placing of the blood follows the acts of guilt. An ear heard the Lashon Hara. A hand was used to kill the subject of the Lashon Hara. Feet were used to chase down the murderer. The blood of guilt is therefore placed on these body parts of the tzaraat-afflicted.

There is an even deeper level associated with this act when done to the Levites who became Kohanim.  

Rabbi Yitzchak Caro (Toldot Yitzchak) describes one approach that the Mishkan and the human body parallel three worlds. Since the Mishkan also parallels the body, the equation becomes clear.

The Holy of Holies parallels the world of angels. The main room of the Mishkan parallels the galaxy of planets. The outer courtyard parallels our world.  In every human, the head is compared to the world of the angels, the heart to the world of the planets, and the insides and lower extremities of the body parallel this world.

The Mishkan needs to have a person who understands this – and this is the Kohen Gadol.

This is why Moshe put the blood (which brings atonement for the soul) on these three parts of the Kohen who brings atonement. The ear represents the head, the finger represents the heart as it is in the middle of the body, and the toe represents the lower extremities of the body. The parallel to having influence in the three worlds is achieved.

The message was driven home to the Kohen through these extremities as well. Blood on the ear reminded him to remember and be careful about what he heard and what he was commanded with respect to his job in the Avodah (service) of the Mishkan. Blood on his hand served as a reminder to be careful about the performance of the avodah of the mishkan, mostly done with the hands. Blood on the foot was to encourage him (“l’zarez oto”) not to enter or go to a forbidden place.

                

Perhaps the parallel to the tzaraat-afflicted becomes clear is well. Tzaraat affects the entire body, but is really supposed to overturn a person’s world. One cannot emerge unchanged from a tzaraat experience. The process of exile is mind-shattering, and the process of returning to one’s home, community and life is transformative.

                

Just as the kohen’s lesson spans worlds, the metzora’s lesson spans his personal world. Both are meant to learn how they are to use their bodies, and their senses, to achieve holiness and completion through properly serving God.

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.