Tazria is one of those portions in Leviticus that is generally skimmed by casual readers. It speaks of bodily emissions, skin infections and other ailments. It’s just not a pleasant portion to read in English, and not from the bemah on Shabbat. Nevertheless, it’s a particularly poignant Torah portion for us. In ancient times, the ailments were really a cause for fear and anxiety for the individual and the community. Such ailments were regarded as God’s punishment for personal transgressions. No wonder this is the same portion that reckless preachers cite when they look for reasons to condemn so-called “transgressors”. But, they and we misunderstand the Torah portion if we conclude that the purpose of the text was only to exclude. In fact, if read for the purpose it was recorded, the text is also meant to provide means of participation in the community, in light of previous transgressions or ailments that once prevented active participation. The goal was not to ostracize, but to provide opportunities to return and participate with sacred tasks in a sacred community.
Today, there are more serious concerns than ancient accounts of green stuff growing on the walls of a house (mildew) or scaly skin infections (eczema), for which we have real therapies. Today, we face real sins of homophobia, xenophobia (fear of foreigners), bigotry, racism, and anti-Semitism. These are the sins that plague us. They dismantle the social structures we depend on to be a community. Torah is the antidote that provides us some relief from our learned fears. In Torah we find our Golden Rules, chief among them, “Love your neighbor as yourself; I am the Lord” (Leviticus 19). Our fear and insecurity often come from what we don’t yet know about ourselves. Unlike the plagues that affected ancient communities, no one can “catch” old age or “catch” homosexuality. Unfortunately, modern records attest to the gross insecurity we have felt and later foisted onto groups in society. Our behavior is no better than the ancients; in fact, it might be worse.
In Leviticus, those who were sent away expected that they would be welcomed back after they demonstrated their healing to the high priest. Whatever ailed them concerned the community and their needs were met with commensurate opportunity to heal and to return. In 2008, there are increasing examples of “justice” that mean only to exclude and never to return. Overwhelming bigotry of all sorts offers almost no hope for healing and return. The inherent social norm to learn about someone else, to overcome preconceived ideas about others, and to build understanding has taken a backseat to seemingly more important concerns: abstinence training education in school; science v. evolution debates and science textbooks; walls to prevent hope from crossing the border; and, new ethnic barriers to participation.
The lesson from Tazria places the burden on the individuals to heal themselves from the conditions that caused them to be excluded. Likewise, today, anyone who possesses a personal challenge that can be overcome should strive to overcome it, including a medical ailment or even a language barrier. But, Tazria also places an equal burden on us, especially the leaders of the community, to be ready to receive those individuals again, and to include them with full rights. I urge you to look around your neighborhood and into your heart to examine whether or not you have done what you should to meet the expectations of your Judaism: “to know the heart of the stranger because you were strangers in the Land of Egypt” and “to love your neighbor as yourself; I am the Lord.”
This past week, I was in Cincinnati, Ohio, for the annual convention of Reform Rabbis. There we visited and learned in the Freedom Center, to recall the long journey of African slaves. The story is familiar to students of American history, but the lessons are still being learned. Perhaps it was not a coincidence that Tazria was our Torah portion, and that we, who live in the Land of the Free are still learning what freedom should mean to us and to our neighbors.
From my desk to yours, Shabbat Shalom.
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