Beth Shalom
Oceanside Jewish Center

The Power of Touch
Religion in Sickness and in Health

Parshat Tazriah / Metzorah
April 24, 2004 / 3 Iyyar 5764
By Rabbi Mark B Greenspan

There's only one way to describe today's Torah Portion: it's icky. It deals with things most of us would rather not think about. Each year, Tazriah Metzorah presents Rabbis and other interpreters of the Torah a special set of challenges. Here we have a Torah portion that deals with bodily fluids, skin eruptions, and moldy afflictions that affect the human body, clothing and even one's house.

It seems so out of place. Why are we reading about such things in the Torah? After all, this is the same book that says "Love your neighbor as yourself" and "I am the Lord your God who took you out of the land of Egypt." So why does the book of Leviticus obsess about leprosy, or whatever skin disease this Parshah is speaking about.

The sages tried to avoid this problem by suggesting that the Metzorah, the leper, is stricken with a mysterious disease because he's guilty of Motzi shem ra, slander. Because the two words sound so much alike, Metzorah and Motzi shem ra, they suggested that there must be a connection between the two. We also have a story in the Torah that suggests this connection: Miriam, the sister of Moses, is stricken with leprosy when she publicly embarrasses her brother. But I'm troubled by this interpretation. The idea of connecting illness with sin is dangerous, not to mention damaging. It inflicts a second misfortune on someone who is already suffering from a terrible illness. We have no right to assume or presume that someone else's misfortunes are a result of their actions.

The most we can say about slander and leprosy is that leprosy is an appropriate metaphor for the moral sickness of gossip and slander. Like leprosy, gossip isolates the afflicted individuals from others by objectifying them. The victim of gossip ceases to be an individual as we steal their privacy. And like leprosy (or whatever disease the Torah is talking about), gossip is highly contagious. It's hard not to listen; it's hard not to get caught up in the web of this bad habit.

(By the way did you know that's why God gave us ear lobes? That way we have something convenient to stick in our ears when someone begins to tell us gossip!)

Having said that, what are we to do with Parshat Tazriah Metzorah? What meaning can we find in this particular section of the Torah?

The fact that the Torah devotes several chapters to this illness is significant in itself. One could easily assume that the person who was stricken with a contagious illness is beyond realm of divine grace. One might even assume that they had now entered a demonic realm. The Torah says "No" - Judaism is also concerned with the icky and unsavory aspects of life.

Our ancestors understood the need for isolation and quarantine in the case of contagious diseases. While the Torah provides for such precautions, it never completely isolated the individual who suffered from this condition. Just the opposite: the person most respected in the community and the individual closest to God, the Kohen, was called upon to examine the afflicted person's sores and to diagnose his disease. It was his job to get his hands dirty. And when the person was finally cured of Tzara'at, the Kohen again came forward to bring the patient back into the tabernacle and the presence of God with offerings and immersions. In this way the stigma of his illness would not remain with the person. If the Kohen, who was called on to live by the highest standards of purity could be in the presence of the patient and even touch him then surely others could do so as well.

We also learn from these Parshiot that the Kohen was called on not to cure the Metzorah, but to heal him. His job was to establish the person's relationship with God and with the community during his illness and after as well. Cure was in the hands of God. Healing was a matter of wholeness and holiness. It had more to do with confronting the crisis when it began and overcoming the stigma of illness when it ended.

I'd like to suggest that this is the purpose of the Mi Sheberakh which we recite each Shabbat morning as well. It is not about cure but about healing and wholeness.

If you think about it, the Mi Sheberakh doesn't really make much of a difference. There are people for whom I have been reciting this prayer for literally years. And how many of us here have asked for a Mi Sheberakh to be recited for a loved one or a good friend only to have them pass away after some period of time. There is nothing magical about the Mi Sheberakh. If there was I would be richer than most doctors and the shul would be filled to capacity.

The Mi Sheberakh can not cure; it can only offer healing. First, it brings the ill person to our attention and it makes him a part of our community at a time when he's feeling most isolated and alone. There is something about telling people that we're reciting a prayer for them in synagogue that is comforting and that gives them strength. Others are thinking of them and devoting time to them in a sacred place.

Second, the Mi Sheberakh is a call to action. When we hear the name of the person who is ill we are called upon to fulfill the Mitzvah of Bikkur Cholim, visiting the sick. The names of those who are ill should not be read mindlessly. We need to listen attentively to each and every name that is being read. Otherwise the Mi Sheberakh is nothing more than a magical incantation.

Third, while the Mi Sheberakh cannot cure cancer or heal a sick heart, it can give a person a sense of hope, it can help us see the blessings of the present moment, it can encourage us to seek reconciliation with our loved ones and it can help us renew our relationship with God. Even someone suffering from a terminal illness needs a Mi Sheberakh - we pray that they will be able to close up the loose ends in their lives, make peace with death and say farewell to their loved ones. That is what we mean by healing.

Finally, like the Kohen who treats the Metzorah, the Mi Sheberakh reminds us that even those who are contagious and quarantined are not beyond the view of God's concern and compassion. That is the symbolism of the Kohen who diagnoses and oversees the treatment of the leper. His presence is a reminder of God's deep concern for all his children.

It is for this reason that I have chosen over the past few years to come off the pulpit and walk through the congregation when we recite the Mi Sheberakh prayer. Rather than forming a long line on the pulpit or simply reading a long list of names, I think there is something powerful about standing with the supplicant as they remember a loved one or a friend. It allows for the healing power of touch and presence. It suggests that like the Kohen, the person who is in crisis doesn't have to come to religion at such times; religion comes to him.

Too often we treat the Mi Sheberakh much too lightly. It often becomes and excuse for private conversation or simply allowing our minds to wander. I'd like to suggest that, Davka, when we recite this prayer we need to pay extra close attention. Not only is God listening but we hope that our neighbors are paying attention to our prayers as well. Someone sitting near us has asked that the Mi Sheberakh be recited because they are worried and concerned. Have we noticed?

So much of our prayers are impersonal. We pray as a "WE" rather than as a "ME." And while this creates a strong sense of community, we sometimes forget that a community is made up of separate individuals. The Mi Sheberakh is a reminder that there are people who need our prayers of healing and that each individual is precious in the eyes of God - even one afflicted with the worse of illness.

Some of you may remember shortly after September 11th two years ago that Rev Burton walked through our congregation and asked people to name people who they knew who were missing in the World Trade Center Disaster. Dozens and dozens of people named names of family friends and loved ones that evening, and not a peep could be heard in the room. We all felt their pain. Our hearts went out to each of them because we could see the worry in their eyes. We silently prayed even though we already knew that there was little hope for survivors.

While the Mi Sheberakh on Shabbat morning is not quite so dramatic, it is really no different. It is a deeply personal moment that others share with us - we need to respect them and share their pain.

The sages tell us that one who visits the sick takes away one sixtieth of the person's illness. I think this is a way of saying that suffering shared lifts the burden that others may feel. Maybe this is the ultimate purpose of the Mi Sheberakh as well as the Kohen's treatment of Tzara'at: to lessen a person's suffering by sharing it with them no matter how unpleasant it may be.

Yes it's true: life is sometimes icky. But even the icky moments belong to God if we allow them.

Shabbat Shalom