If Judaism—or any religion—is meant to respond to any question, it is this: what does it mean to be human?
Tazria-Metzora, the double parashah that we read this week, grapples with this question in its most gory and graphic details. In discussing purity rituals surrounding childbirth and illness, the parshiyot highlights the essential paradox of human life, as understood by Jewish tradition: on the one hand, human beings are physical beings who are subject to bleeding, infections, seminal emissions, illness, and death; on the other hand, humanity is sufficiently close to the divine so as to be capable of the spiritual purification that the Torah prescribes.
The simultaneously physical and spiritual state of human nature described by these parshiyot provide the early rabbis with an opportunity for a meditation on the human condition. Much of the related midrash in Vayikra Rabbah, a fifth century collection of rabbinic material, describes the formation of the fetus as a joint production of the human parents and of God. In addition to offering their fanciful understandings of the creation of human life (which include, for instance, menstrual blood transforming itself into various organs and into the breast milk that will feed the newborn), the rabbis describe God’s role both in creating the human being and—in the future—in creating a new human, who will transcend physicality altogether.
In the midst of this reflection on the human condition, the rabbis offer a puzzling exposition of the verse, “When a person has an inflammation of the skin,” (Leviticus 13:2) which, in the Torah, introduces a section that describes the diagnosis and purification of a person who has developed a strange skin disease. In grappling with this situation, the midrash offers the following parable:
This is alluded to in what is written, “Judgments are prepared for the scorners, and lashings for the back of fools” (Proverbs 19:29). . . This may be compared to the case of a lady of rank who, on entering the king’s palace, saw whips hanging [around], and was terrified; but the king said to her: “Be not afraid; these are meant for the male and female slaves, but you are here to eat and drink and make merry.” So, too, when Israel heard the section of the Torah dealing with leprous affections, they became afraid. Moses said to them, “These are meant for the wicked nations, but you are intended to eat, drink and be joyful,” as it is said, “Many are the sufferings of the wicked; but the one who trusts in God is surrounded by mercy” (Psalms 32:10). (Vayikra Rabbah 15:4)
In other words, according to the midrash, the illnesses and infections described by the Torah will only befall those who do not believe in God, and will not affect the Jewish people.
This midrash does not necessarily ask to be read ironically, but I propose that we read it as such. Let’s first, though, review the details of the midrash:
- Through reference to a verse in Proverbs, the text suggests that only the wicked will be afflicted with the skin diseases mentioned by Leviticus.
- By way of parable, the midrash tells a story in which a noblewoman is asked to dine in the presence of implements used to whip and beat servants, without allowing herself to be emotionally affected by the sight of these tools.
- Through reference to another verse, this one from the book of Psalms, the midrash reiterates the suggestion that Jews will not be affected by the afflictions mentioned by Leviticus.
It is difficult to accept at face value the midrashic suggestion that the afflictions mentioned in Leviticus will not affect the Jewish people, given that Torah presents the description of these diseases and their cures as specifically relevant to the Jewish people in the land of Israel. The purification ritual for these diseases requires the involvement of the priesthood, an institution specific to the Jewish people.
Given the textual difficulties with suggesting that the biblical warnings about skin affliction are relevant only to the other nations of the world, I propose that we read the midrash inside out, beginning with the parable at its center.
A noblewoman enters the king’s palace and is frightened by the sight of whips hanging on the walls. The king tells her not to be afraid, as these whips are intended only for beating servants. Instead, he urges, the woman should ignore these whips and enjoy herself.
What is the noblewoman’s response? Does she accept the king’s suggestion, ignore the whips, and eat and drink without concern? Or does she refuse to remain in the king’s palace, announcing that she cannot possibly enjoy herself in a place in which so many others suffer? The midrash leaves both possibilities open.
We might imagine, anachronistically, the biblical text challenging the midrashic suggestion that a person or a nation, even when not directly afflicted, can ignore the suffering of others. By emphasizing that the afflictions described in Tazria-Metzora apply specifically to the Jewish people and within a Jewish community, the Torah seemingly rejects the possibility that such afflictions might be directed only toward those who do not accept the Jewish God.
Rather than reading the midrash straightforwardly, the biblical texts prompts us to read this text as saying, “Do you think that you can eat, drink, and be merry while others suffer? Do you think that your real or imagined privilege allows you immunity from affliction? Do you want to be like royalty who are insensitive to the realities of their subjects? If so, you will certainly find yourselves directly affected by the affliction that you are trying to ignore.”
Given America’s increasing economic stratification and racial segregation, it may be easy for many people to believe themselves untouched by the suffering and struggles of others. However, as our new reading of the midrash suggests, one can never fully disassociate oneself from the pain of others. Anyone who tries to position him/herself as royalty, capable of rejoicing in full sight of the instruments of others’ pain will, as the biblical text suggests, find him/herself afflicted as well. As the early rabbis notice, the condition of humankind is such that, though we may be created in the divine image, we can never escape our basic physical nature. Thus, even a person of the highest social or economic standing, or of the greatest level of religious practice and learning still must cope with the everyday concerns that affect our ability to live, and to live in community.
In contemporary America, the application of this lesson might remind us that the current war on immigrants may eventually destroy our economy and threaten our civil liberties; that the lack of attention to public school education will produce a generation incapable of competing in the global economy; and that the absence of universal health care will produce an unhealthy population dependent on emergency care and unable to work.
Within the biblical text, the priests—a subgroup of Jews who descend from Moses’ brother Aaron—are charged with helping the afflicted to purify themselves. Israel Knohl notes, “The priesthood. . .bears a consciousness of public mission and a sense of national responsibility. We may even speak of a certain mutual responsibility, as the people, through their observance of the purity laws and the atonement practices, enabled the Priestly superstructure to exist. (The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995] 155)
Per Knohl’s description, the priests and the full community all bear responsibility for healing and purifying the community as a whole. Within the Bible, this sense of joint responsibility allows the priests and the people to work together to keep the community and the land relatively free of affliction. Today, we are no longer as concerned about physical purity. However, the biblical example reminds us that one person’s suffering affects the entire community, and therefore requires the response of the entire community.