Va’yikra is not the easiest book from which to draw a modern day d’rash on lessons of self-improvement, spirituality or even human relationships. This week’s double portion of Tazria-Metzora is particularly challenging: purity and impurity laws after childbirth, skin diseases, sacrifices, clothing fungus, house mold, and the big finale of various and sundry discharges.  However, using 3 p’sukim from chapter 13, I hope to show that even a chapter about tza’ra’at, a disease commonly translated as leprosy, has a great deal to teach us about our ancient community’s approach to healing and illness, treatment of the patient, and the role of the spiritual leader in times of sickness.

 

I invite you to open your chumashim to follow along with me at the beginning of chapter 13 (as we review the first few p’sukim):

 

Verse 1: And God spoke to Moses and Aaron…

 

Verse 2: A person who has on the skin of his flesh the following: an uprising, an eruption or scab, a patch of white skin, and it, meaning the following skin problems, is in the skin of his flesh and it’s headed towards becoming or developing into the plague of leprosy, then IT (either the man, or the disease), is brought to Aaron, the priest, or to one of his sons, the priests.

 

First, take note of the emphasis concerning that description of Aaron and his sons: to Aaron, the priest, or to one of his sons, who are priests.  In verse 1, God is already talking to Aaron when he gives these rules concerning the skin diseases.  Why repeat to Aaron a title of which he is already well aware?  Why emphasize Aaron’s role as priest?  Since, there is no absolute rule that the name of Aaron must be followed by his job title of High Priest, I want to suggest that the repetitive labeling of Aaron the priest, and his sons, the priests, was a conscious choice on the part of the author to emphasize WHO was examining the illnesses.

  It is clear from this pasuk that these skin diseases and ailments are not being taken to Yossi the doctor, Moshe Rabbeinu, or even God.  They are clearly being brought to the priests.  Rashi, would add that the phrase “to Aaron,” indicates a “scriptural decree: that the [diagnosis] of the impurity of the skin eruptions [as well as] their purification is ONLY by the authority of a cohen.”

Lev 13:2, therefore, reveals one pattern for our ancient community concerning illness and healing: illness is taken for observation and analysis to a priest, a spiritual and ritual leader of our people.

 

The fact that the illness is being taken to the priest and not to a doctor creates an interesting question for most commentators: If the priest has already been identified as a ritual expert dealing in issues of sacrifices, purity, and spiritual repair, then perhaps, tza’ra’at is not actually a physical illness at all. Perhaps, tza’ra’at is a metaphor for a spiritual ailment resulting from some transgression, thereby explaining why it is taken to the priests and not to the doctors.  Therefore, one might re-read verse 2 with a new translation: A person who is embodying any of the following skin problems that may be the result of blasphemy, pride, or lashon hara, is brought to Aaron, the priest, or to his sons, the priests.  This seems to make more sense: now, we have the issues of morality and purity being taken to the proper authorities.

            Concerning tza’ra’at, writes Nehama Leibowitz, “The torah does not adopt a medical approach, but regards the disease as a symptom of spiritual imbalance.”  This would explain why the Torah does not prescribe skin creams, or antibiotics as a treatment, but instead, in chapter 14, develops an intricate purification ritual for the individual.  The priest, is working as a ritual, not a medical expert.

The most popular explanation as to what “causes” or brings about the disease of tza’ra’at is the sin of lashon hara.  The strongest proof text for this equation is found in the story of Miriam in B’midbar, chapter 12. Miriam and Aaron speak out against their brother, Moshe, and Miriam is struck with leprosy after God chastises her and Aaron for challenging his authority. She is then placed outside of the camp, according to the law, for 7 days. 

If we remember the expression, ain mookdam v’ain m’uchar ba’tanach, there is no “early” or “late” in the tanach, then the fact that Numbers follows Leviticus is irrelevant to discovering the hidden language of our chapter. Tza’ra’at is in fact not Tza’ra’at at all, but a secret code revealing the physical embodiment of one’s punishment for lashon harah as so clearly demonstrated by the example of Miriam.

 

            While I appreciate our commentators approach to tza’ra’at through a spiritual lens, I would like to propose that we see tza’ra’at not as a spiritual sin, but instead as a spiritual imbalance. Tza’ra’at may represent a wounded spirit thus requiring a spiritual expert in order to be healed. 

In chapter 13, there is no mention of what effect leprosy might have on one’s friends and family. Changes in relationships and adjustments to being outside the camp for 7 days are simply not discussed. Yet, in the Legends of the Jews, a compilation of midrash by Louis Ginzberg, we see a different approach to leprosy in the section exploring Miriam’s illness. Many of the midrash reveal Moshe, and not Aaron (the ritual expert and priest), confronting the full range of emotions when Miriam is diagnosed. In spite of Moshe Rabbeinu’s great position, we see a human response to Miriam’s pain, not a priestly or prophetic course of action. We begin to see the effects of an individual’s illness on others.

“I know what suffering my sister is enduring,” says Moshe when he looks upon his sister’s illness. “I remember the chain to which my hand was chained, for I myself once suffered from this disease.” (Moshe is referring to the time in Shmot when God struck Moshe’s hand with leprosy and then healed him as a sign to use when meeting with Par’oh so that Par’oh would believe in Moshe’s Divine calling and authority.) Moshe is not examining Miriam’s skin for uprisings, scabs, or white patches. He is addressing Miriam’s wounded spirit and her suffering.

Leprosy, according to the Dictionary of the Bible, “involved exclusion from the community as did no other disease; and the leper was looked upon not only as defiled herself, but as a source of defilement for her neighbors.”  Moshe senses his sister’s pain - the pain she is feeling from being isolated and alone outside of the camp, from being considered a source of impurity to herself and to others.  Moshe’s empathy is so painful for him, that he is driven to beg God for Miriam’s healing with what some commentators consider one of the first instances of penitential prayer said by a man in the Tanach: El Na R’Fa Na El.

Our rabbinic tradition offers us a window of human compassion and heartbreak that cannot otherwise be seen from our verses in chapter 13.  What’s more, Moshe shows us what it means to address the tza’ra’at of the spirit, and not the tza’ra’at of the body.  The midrash does not spend time on the intricacies of her skin, or the colors of her hair. It speaks to the pain that illness creates for the human spirit.

 

Rather than resolve the issue of tza’ra’at as either a physical illness, or a metaphor for spiritual suffering, I want to suggest that illness within our ancient community was addressed as both.  For our ancestors, there was no separation between the body and the spirit such that the doctor would treat some symptoms and the priest would treat the rest.  In this society, the priest saw the individual as a whole.  The priest addressed both the body with its physical illness, and the soul in its spiritual condition. Moshe Rabbeinu’s lament is a reminder for us of the spiritual repercussions of illness both on the individual and her loved ones.  The role of the priest is our cue to remember that to truly heal an individual, the healer must address the disease in its entirety.

 

Finally, let’s look together at verse 3. “And the priest will look at the disease in the skin of the flesh, and if the hair in the disease has turned white, or the disease appears deeper in the skin of his flesh, then it is tza’ra’at. [Now this is the part of the pasuk that I want to stress] The priest will look at (it) and pronounce (it) unclean.” (read in hebrew?) I want to focus on the two appearances of the word “it.” In this case, “it” can mean either the disease, or the patient. Since we have only been examining the disease for the first part of this pasuk, reasonably, the pasuk should read as follows, “The priest will look at the disease, and declare the disease unclean.”

Of course, it’s not the disease that has to worry about being unclean. The disease itself has no stake in entering the holy of holies.  It’s the individual that must live with the impurity and rectify the situation. Thus, most translations will favor the reading of “the priest will look at the disease and pronounce him, the individual, unclean.”

            What we have is an example of “metonymy,” a literary device whereby the disease is interchangeable with its victim: in referring to the disease, the text also refers to the person.  They are interchangeable.  Even in the language of our texts, we see that our ancestors did not encourage separation when addressing illness and healing.  This was not a culture that compartmentalized their members into problems for the doctor, for the shaman, or for the priest. Illness was addressed holistically. The person WAS the illness and the illness WAS the person. To address one required that you addressed the other.

 

We, like the priests, are religious and spiritual experts. While we no longer perform the sacrifices of purification, we should maintain the tradition of holistic healing – of attending to a person’s entire being. 

We must also continue to remember that illness is multi-dimensional.  It is both a physical disease and a spiritual imbalance. Our liturgy today reflects this tradition of our past as we pray to God during the Mi Shebeirach for a rfuat hanefsh v’rfuat hagoof, a healing of the spirit and a healing of the body.

Today, we are no longer in a community where the priest addresses both the physical and the spiritual elements of sickness and healing. Western medicine favors the isolation of a disease, often times removing the individual from the diagnosis completely.  A visit to any hospital today will provide you with no less than 10 visits from various individuals attending to the separate and highly specialized parts of your healing process. Many of you know that I worked as a hospital chaplain 2 summers ago on a cardiac surgery step-down unit. On any given day, my patients would be examined by any or all of the following: their primary care nurse, their primary care doctor, their surgeon, their social worker, their insurance agent, their dietician, their physical therapist, their phlebotomist, and of course, their chaplain.

Despite the compartmentalization, my role as a chaplain and as a future spiritual leader still emulates the ancient role of our priests: to address the individual as a whole; to see not just the disease, nor just the wounded spirit, but the full spectrum of a life that is affected by illness.  Sickness back then, as it does today, strikes out our bodies, our spirits, our emotions, our families – our entire lives.  Vayikra offers us a glimpse of what life was like when we addressed all of those elements in one visit.  Our special gift is our ability to see beyond the compartmentalization of our modern day society and reach back to the way of our ancestors.

Thus, I offer you these few p’sukim from Vayikra to help serve as a foundation for your practice of healing and your encounter with illness; and I offer you one more pasuk from the life of my father.

My father’s favorite phrase in the months before he died was the following: you can die healed but not cured. Our job is not to solve all of the problems caused by illness. Tragically, we cannot take away sickness with the proper blessing, a powerful sermon or even the most passionate prayer. What I have come to realize is that to solve is not our job.  We are meant to heal.  This is the medical and spiritual distinction my father tried to make: when addressing illness, ultimately it is not the cure that is critical, but the healing that must be found.

 

 

May you always remember the gift that you have to heal another human being.