The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Tazria introduces us to the laws of tzara’at, a type of skin-disease which renders the patient tamei (ritually impure). Throughout the ages, scholars have uncovered for us the symbolism underlying this institution and its particular laws, showing how the procedures for dealing with tzara’at reflect the proper approach towards spiritual defilement in general. These analyses generally take into account the prominent role of the kohen throughout this process. The kohen was the only one who could formally declare the presence of tzara’at. A non-kohen, no matter how proficient he may be in the relevant laws, cannot establish tum’at tzara’at. Only once the kohen determines the presence of tzara’at does the patient become ritually impure. Similarly, as the Torah outlines in the beginning of Parashat Metzora, the kohen is the one who conducts the metzora’s process of purification. The kohen’s role is often seen as symbolic of the function served by the spiritual guides and leaders in “purifying” the community from their spiritual ills.

Rav Yitzchak Stollman, in his “Minchat Yitzchak,” develops this idea in light of a passage in the Midrash Tanchuma on this parasha (7). The Midrash tells of a kohen who planned to leave on business and instructed his wife to take his place in assessing patients to determine if they indeed suffer from tzara’at. He told her, “If you see [from] the person’s hair that its fountain had dried, you should know that he has been smitten [with tzara’at], since for every hair the Almighty created its own fountain from which it drinks. Once the fountain dries, the hair dries.” The Midrash attributes tzara’at to the “drying of a fountain.” Leaving aside the physiological issue of to what exactly this Midrash refers, let us address the more crucial question: what does this represent in terms of tzara’at and its symbolic meaning?

Rav Stollman suggests that Chazal teach us in this passage that impurity results from a “drained fountain.” The process of defilement does not take place in a vacuum, it does not occur suddenly without reason. A person or community becomes “tamei” when its authentic fountains of spirituality are drained, when the “hairs” begin to “drink” from alternative sources of “life” rather than their traditional teachings. Tum’a thus means the detachment from one’s source, from one’s origins.

The kohen’s role, symbolic of the responsibility assigned to the religious leaders of every generation, is to identify this detachment, to check and see whether or not the people draw their values and ideals from the “fountain” of tradition. They must carefully study both the tradition and the current reality to determine whether or not there exists a parity between the two. Should they determine the presence of tum’a, that the fountain has indeed dried, then they must lend the metzora a hand as he undergoes the process of purification, the process of refilling the wellsprings with the spiritual waters of our traditions, enabling him to reenter the Jewish people and recommit himself to the teachings of our heritage.

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In describing the procedure required when a suspicious infection appears on one’s skin, the Torah addresses the case when, after two weeks of monitoring the patient, the infection fades. The Torah calls such an infection “mispachat,” some kind of rash or discoloration that does not qualify as tzara’at (13:6). Addressing the etymology of this word “mispachat,” Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his “Ha-ketav Ve-ha’kabbala,” associates it with the common term “nispach,” which means an appendix or addendum, something added that remains separate from the original. Rav Mecklenberg explains that the fading infection shows that it had not resulted from an internal disorder, but rather from some external factor. To qualify for tzara’at, the skin irritation must originate from some bodily illness. A “mispachat,” by contrast, is a reaction of the skin to some external irritant, rather than a symptom of an internal disorder.

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his “Yalkut Yehuda,” adds that this feature of tzara’at, that it evolves from an internal illness, relates as well to the symbolic, spiritual meaning behind tzara’at. Chazal teach that a person was stricken by tzara’at on account of certain violations, most commonly lashon hara (inappropriate speech about others). Sins come in two forms: those that originate from external factors, and those stemming from the person’s internal being. Tzara’at, as we saw from the Ha-ketav Ve-ha’kabbala, symbolizes the second type, the inherent flaws within a person. Therefore, as the Torah outlines in our parasha, the kohen initially proclaims a period of “hesger,” isolation, upon the patient. After this period, he checks the infection again to see whether or not it had spread. Rav Ginsburg explains that on the symbolic level, this “test” determines whether the spiritual ills from which the individual suffers originate from his inner self, or from the environment around him. If the infection remains even after the isolation period, then the kohen declares the presence of tzara’at. If the flaw exists even after the individual has been isolated from society, then he indeed suffers from an internal “illness” that requires extensive treatment. If, however, the infection begins to fade over the course of the “hesger” period, then evidently it was the result of external factors, rather than an internal flaw.

This helps explain the particular stringency of tum’at tzara’at, requiring the metzora to remain quarantined, outside the camp or city, until his illness is cured. So long as the metzora remains within society, he can easily attribute all his shortcomings to the influences around him, to the negative forces in the community in which he lives and works. He is therefore sent outside the camp, where he has no one on whom to cast the blame for his own wrongdoing. There he can blame only himself, and undergo a process of sincere introspection and commitment to change, at which point his illness will be cured and he will be granted permission to reenter society.

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Parashat Tazria discusses the intricate laws and guidelines regarding tzara’at. In Masekhet Negaim, the section of the mishnayot dealing with these laws, we find the following comment: “Kol ha-negaim adam ro’eh chutz mi-nig’ei atzmo” – “A person can see all [tzara’at] except his own” (Negaim 2:5). This mishna refers to the procedure by which tum’at tzara’at is established. As we discussed earlier this week, only a kohen can determine the presence of tzara’at and thereby establish the impurity generated by tzara’at. The provision introduced by this mishna teaches that a kohen stricken with an infection cannot serve as his own “kohen” with regard to establishing tum’at tzara’at. He must bring his case to a different kohen who will make his determination according to the prescribed guidelines.

The Minchat Chinukh raises a fundamental question regarding this mishna. Does it refer to the observation of the infection in question, or to the formal declaration affirming the presence of tum’at tzara’at? To explain the Minchat Chinukh’s query, let us consider a case of a knowledgeable kohen who examines his own infection and reaches the conclusion that it does, indeed, qualify as tzara’at. If he reports his findings to a different kohen, who is ignorant in the laws of tzara’at, can the second kohen declare the presence of tum’at tzara’at on that basis? This depends on how we interpret the mishna in Masekhet Negaim. If we take the passage literally, that one cannot “see” his own infections, then a kohen is disqualified from examining himself for tzara’at. Thus, the second kohen, who merely hears the report from the kohen-patient, will have no power to declare tum’at tzara’at, given the fact that the patient examined himself. We may, h, adopt a more liberal interpretation of the mi, to mean that a kohen cannot declare himself a metzora, though he may indeed examine himself and assess the empirical evidence. Conversely, if a kohen himself does not have the necessarily knowledge to decide his status, may he bring a proficient scholar to study the situation and reach a conclusion, at which point the kohen himself will make the declaration? If the mishna disqualifies only the formal declaration of a kohen concerning his status, then presumably such a system would not work; if, however, it is the examination that is invalid, then so long as someone else conducts the examination, the kohen can declare his own state of tum’a.

The Minchat Chinukh expresses his inclination towards the second, more liberal reading of the mishna, that “seeing” actually refers to the formal declaration. He cites proof from Masekhet Zevachim (102a), where the Gemara discusses the most famous instance of tzara’at – the infection of Miriam, Moshe’s sister (Bemidbar 12). The Gemara asks, which kohen made the formal declaration establishing Miriam’s tzara’at? The kohanim at the time were Aharon and his two sons, Elazar and Itamar, who were relatives of Miriam, and kohanim cannot declare tzara’at on behalf of relatives (according to one view in that same mishna in Negaim), just as a kohen cannot declare tzara’at for himself. (The Maharsha briefly discusses the question as to why Pinchas could not serve as the kohen for Miriam.) Now if a kohen is disqualified from examining an infection for himself or a relative, but may issue the declaration of his own or relative’s tzara’at, we do not understand the Gemara’s question. Certainly they could have found a non-kohen proficient in the laws of negaim who could conduct the examination and report his findings to Aharon, who could then declare his sister a metzora’at! Apparently, then, the mishna in Negaim disqualifies a kohen from formally declaring his own or relative’s tzara’at, and hence an examination conducted by a non-kohen would be of no avail.

This is also the implication of the Vilna Gaon, who said, as cited by Rav Yehuda Assad (Yehuda Ya’aleh, Y.D. 187), that a person can rule on matters of halakha for situations concerning himself except in situations where a formal, verbal declaration is required, and he lists negaim as one such area of halakha. This would imply that the problem lies with the formal declaration, not with the examination.

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Towards the beginning of Parashat Tazria, the Torah repeats the mitzva of berit mila, which we had already encountered much earlier in the Chumash, at the end of Parashat Lekh-Lekha. Chazal (Masekhet Shabbat 132a) derive from the verse in our parasha one specific detail relevant to berit mila, that an eight-day old baby is circumcised even on Shabbat. Although normally the infliction of a bloody wound constitutes a Shabbat violation, this special provision requires the suspension of the laws of Shabbat for the performance of a berit mila (when it is performed on the eighth day).

Many scholars have questioned why Chazal did not forbid the performance of circumcisions on Shabbat, just as they forbade the performance of other mitzvot on Shabbat. A famous decree issued by the Sages prohibits us from taking the lulav on Shabbat during Sukkot, reading the Megila when Purim falls on Shabbat, and blowing shofar on Rosh Hashanah that occurs on Shabbat. This decree was intended to prevent a possible Shabbat violation that might result from carrying the given item (lulav, Megila, shofar) through a public domain. Perhaps, then, we should have expected a similar decree regarding berit mila. Why did Chazal not issue such a decree in order to prevent a mistaken Shabbat violation such as by carrying the knife through a public domain?

Among the famous answers offered to this question is that of the Taz (O.C. 585:5), who explains based on a famous principle that he advances in several places throughout his writings. In establishing this and other similar decrees, Chazal make use of the power invested within them by the Torah to make “fences” around Torah observance even by suspending a mitzva. The Torah empowered the Sages (under certain, limited circumstances) to suspend the performance of a mitzva in order to safeguard halakha. The Taz, however, imposes a significant restriction on this power granted to Chazal, namely, that they cannot override a Torah law explicitly formulated in the Torah. Thus, for example, one could ask why Chazal did not forbid shofar blowing even on Rosh Hashanah that falls on a weekday, lest someone blow it for non-mitzva purposes, which would violate Yom Tov. The answer, the Taz explains, is that Chazal cannot issue a decree that overrides an explicit verse in the Torah. If the Torah explicitly demanded that the shofar be blown on Rosh Hashanah, Chazal cannot do away with this mitzva.

Similarly, the Taz claims, the Torah, as interpreted by Chazal, explicitly mandates circumcision when the child’s eighth day occurs on Shabbat. Therefore, refraining from performing this mitzva on Shabbat would constitute a direct violation of this explicit provision, which Chazal are not empowered to decree.

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Yesterday, we discussed the halakha extracted by the Gemara from a verse towards the beginning of Parashat Tazria, that should a male baby be born on Shabbat, his circumcision takes place on Shabbat the following week. Despite the Shabbat violation involved, the Torah itself calls for overriding the strictures of Shabbat for the purposes of berit mila. We then addressed the question raised by many as to why Chazal did not prohibit Shabbat circumcisions just as they forbade other mitzvot on Shabbat (lulav, shofar, Megila) out of concern for the possible violation of Shabbat as a result. The Taz, as we saw, claimed that Chazal do not have the power to override an explicit verse in the Torah. Once the Torah explicitly mandated a Shabbat circumcision for a child born on Shabbat, Chazal cannot legislate otherwise.

Some later scholars have questioned this reasoning of the Taz. The Taz considers this provision, requiring a Shabbat berit mila, as a law explicitly introduced in the Torah. One can easily argue that this is simply not the case. The verse understood as the source for this halakha reads, “And on the eighth day, the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised.” On the surface, this verse says nothing about Shabbat; it is only through traditional, rabbinic exegesis that Chazal interpret this verse as referring to an instance of a Shabbat birth, mandating circumcision on the following Shabbat, on the child’s eighth day. Can we really consider this law “explicitly mentioned” in the Torah, such that a decree by Chazal forbidding a Shabbat berit would oppose an explicit law of the Torah?

One could perhaps answer that according to the Taz, a law derived from a verse through the principles of halakhic exegesis is, indeed, to be seen as “explicitly mentioned.” In other words, perhaps in his mind, from the perspective of halakha, the “derash” rereads the verse as clearly stating the derived halakhic principle. Only a Torah law that is not derived from a verse at all do Chazal have the power to override in the interest of safeguarding the Torah; when, however, a law is based on a Biblical verse, either explicitly or subtly, Chazal cannot issue overriding legislation.

Such an approach, however, would encounter considerable difficulty explaining other instances when decrees are issued that contradict Torah law derived from “derash.” One such example is brought from Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (21b). The Gemara there derives from a verse (“tikre’u otam be-mo’adam” – Vayikra 23:4) an extraordinary provision allowing witnesses to the new moon to violate Shabbat in order to travel to Jerusalem to give testimony. (Until Talmudic times, months were determined based on the sighting of the new moon.) Chazal, however, restricted this provision to the months of Nissan and Tishrei; witnesses to the new moon for all other months were not permitted to violate Shabbat for purpoof their testimony. Seemingly, according to the Taz, one might wonder how Chazal could issusuch a decree, given that the Torah – albeit subtly – gives witnesses permission to violate the Shabbat to testify!

Rav Moshe Feinstein, in his Iggerot Moshe (O.C. 1:134), suggests an explanation in defense of the Taz. In truth, the Taz referred only to laws that the Torah mentions explicitly. The permission granted to the witnesses to travel on Shabbat does not appear explicitly in the Torah, but is rather extracted through the process of “derash.” Our verse, calling for a child’s circumcision on Shabbat, does not appear to present this law explicitly, but it nevertheless qualifies for the Taz’s restriction on Chazal’s power of legislation. Rav Moshe claims that Chazal view this verse as coming entirely to introduce this provision allowing for Shabbat violation. They did not impose an additional level of interpretation, or derive a law from some nuance in the verse. Rather, they found the verse entirely superfluous, and therefore concluded that it must have been added for this very reason – to introduce the law calling for a circumcision even on Shabbat. Therefore, Rav Moshe suggests, the Taz considered this halakha explicitly mentioned in the Torah, thus precluding the possibility of a rabbinic decree forbidding Shabbat circumcisions.

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Parashat Tazria opens with the halakha of “tum’at yoledet,” the laws regarding the tum’a status of a woman after childbirth. After every birth, a woman is deemed ritually impure for seven days, similar to her period of tum’a during her menstrual cycle. Afterwards, she observes a longer period – thirty-three days for a male child, sixty-six for a female child – called “yemei tahara.” During this period, her blood is not considered menstrual blood which would render her ritually impure, but she is nevertheless forbidden from entering the Mikdash or partaking of sacrificial meat. At the end of this period, she brings a special sacrifice and thereby becomes tehora.

Several different explanations have been offered as to the concept underlying this form of tum’a. We will present here the approach taken by Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsh, in his commentary to this parasha. Rav Hirsch finds the clue to understanding this halakha in the word used by the Torah to describe childbirth, the word that has become the name of this parasha: “tazria.” Rather than simply stating, “When a woman gives birth to a child,” the Torah chose to add this term, which, as Rav Hirsch observes, appears in only one other instance in Tanakh in the context of reproduction: in Bereishit 1. The Torah there describes the vegetation God created on the third day of creation as “mazri’a zera” – that it gives forth seed, enabling its own reproduction. Why did the Torah choose to describe childbirth in this manner? What does this term contribute to the context at hand?

Rav Hirsch suggests that the term “tazria” invokes a certain perspective on the event of childbirth, one which focuses on “the purely material physical character of its physiological process.” The Torah describes childbirth here as something more or less parallel to the reproduction in the plant world, without any distinctive human quality involved. “Tazria” connotes an entirely mundane, physical event, having nothing to do with the introduction of a new human soul, the addition of a new member to Kenesset Yisrael, or the emergence of yet another link on the golden chain of Jewish tradition. Childbirth is depicted here in its crudest form, as a physiological phenomenon shared by human beings, the animal kingdom, and plant life. This, Rav Hirsch claims, forms the basis of tum’at yoledet. After childbirth, a process is necessary by which a mother can overcome “tazria,” the passive, purely physical experience of childbirth, and “reestablish again the consciousness of her own spiritual height.” The procedure of tum’at yoledet, culminating with a visit to the Temple and the offering of sacrifices, is meant specifically to help the woman gradually regain her sense of spirituality, which to some extent gives way to a more dominantly physical focus over the course of the painstaking process of childbirth.

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One famous law relevant to a metzora introduced in Parashat Tazria requires that “badad yeishev” – he must dwell in solitude outside the camp (13:46). The Gemara in Masekhet Pesachim (47a) establishes that a metzora must remain isolated from even other temei’im – those who, like him, have contracted ritual impurity (presumably including other metzoraim). The Torah requires that the metzora live in complete solitude, and may not enjoy social contact with any other person.

A surprising qualification of this halakha is cited in the name of the work, “Eil Miluim.” Why does the Torah require the isolation of the metzora? The Gemara in Masekhet Arakhin (16) explains that a metzora “separated between people”; he is therefore punished by having to remain isolated and separate from all other people. The Gemara here refers to the famous association drawn between tzara’at and lashon ha-ra – gossip and slander. Spreading rumors about someone causes others to keep their distance from him; the talebearer is thus punished by living in solitude until he is cured from his tzara’at.

In truth, however, the Gemara there in Arakhin lists seven sins for which one is stricken with tzara’at. Thus, while we generally associate tzara’at with the sin of lashon ha-ra, it is actually brought on by other transgressions, as well. Indeed, we find in Tanakh several examples of tzara’at as a punishment for other forms of wrongdoing. King Uziyahu was stricken by tzara’at for bringing an unlawful incense offering. Geichazi, the attendant of the prophet Elisha, is punished with tzara’at for greedily accepting a gift from Na’aman, the general of Aram, after Elisha had turned down the offer of such a gift. Accordingly, the “Eil Miluim” contends that the provision in Masekhet Pesachim, that a metzora must remain isolated even from fellow metzoraim, applies only to someone stricken with tzara’at for speaking lashon ha-ra. A violator of a different transgression who suffers from tzara’at as a result, may, in fact, maintain social contact with other metzora’im. (Presumably, we must find some other reason why he is banished from the city in the first place.)

In light of this theory, the “Eil Miluim” suggests an explanation for a comment in Masekhet Sanhedrin 107a regarding the famous story of the “arba metzoraim,” the four lepers of Shomron, of which we read as the haftara for Parashat Metzora (though this year on Shabbat Parashat Metzora we will read the special haftara for Shabbat Ha-gadol). Sefer Melakhim II (chapter 7) tells of four metzoraim who resided outside the city of Shomron when the city came under siege by the forces of Aram. Seeing that there was little hope for the city’s survival, the four decided to try launching an offensive of sorts against the enemy camp. When they arrived in the camp, they found it deserted; the entire army had been scared away by a miraculous simulation of the sound of large armies produced by God. They informed the city of what had happened, and the starving residents of Shomron were saved and took all the goods left by the fleeing soldiers. The Gemara in Sanhedrin identifies these four metzoraim as Geichazi and his three sons. As mentioned, Geichzai was punished for dishonestly taking a gift from Na’aman against the wishes of his mentor, Elisha (see Melakhim II chapter 5). Elisha declared that Na’aman and his offspring will suffer from tzara’at on account of Geichazi’s greed. According to the Gemara, these four were the metzoraim outside the city of Shomron.

On what basis did the Gemara make such an identification? The “Eil Miluim” suggests that the Gemara sought to resolve a basic question with this story of the four metzoraim: how could it be that they dwelled together outside the city? Did not the Gemara explicitly state in Masekhet Pesachim that a metzora may not enjoy the company of even another metzora? The Gemara therefore ithese metzoraim as Geichazi and his sons who, as we know, were not stricken with tzara’at for spreading gossip; they were punished for an entirdifferent matter. Therefore, based on the principle established by the “Eil Miluim,” they were, indeed, allowed to dwell together.

One may, however, suggest a far simpler explanation as to the significance of this identification of the metzoraim as Geichazi and his sons. As mentioned, Elisha decreed tzara’at upon their family as a punishment for greed. In the story of the “arba metzoraim,” we read that when the four first noticed the deserted enemy camp, full of food, provisions and riches, they ate, drank, and began hiding treasures for themselves. In the midst of their activity, they suddenly come to the realization that this was improper: “They then said to one another: We are not doing right. This is a day of good news, and we are keeping silent! If we wait until the light of morning, we shall incur guilt. Come, let us go and inform the king’s palace” (Melakhim II 7:9-10). These verses take on far deeper significance in light of the Gemara’s assertion that these men were none other than Geichazi and his sons. We see in the clearest possible way the positive effects of the tzara’at experience, the transformation of a greedy family into people sensitive to the plight of others. The ordeal they had just undergone led them to take pause as they filled their pockets and hid treasure chests, realizing their obligation to people other than themselves. This account, then, is a true tzara’at success story, an example of genuine teshuva resulting from the metzoraim’s banishment from society and process of introspection and change.

Parashat Metzora opens with the description of the procedure by which a metzora undergoes purification from his state of ritual impurity – tum’a – resulting from his illness. This ritual involved, among other things, two birds, one which is slaughtered and the other ultimately sent away. The Torah requires the metzora to bring two birds described as “chayot” and “tehorot” – literally, “alive” and “pure” (14:4). Rashi, citing from Chazal, explains more specifically what these two criteria entail. “Alive” excludes “tereifot,” mortally ill birds. “Pure,” Rashi comments, excludes “oaf tamei” – non-kosher birds. The metzora must therefore bring two healthy, kosher birds.

Later commentaries have detected a subtle anomaly in Rashi’s commentary to this verse. Commenting on the first term – “chayot,” Rashi speaks in plural form – “to the exclusion of ‘tereifot’ [sick animals].” In his remarks about “tehorot,” he suddenly shifts to the singular form - “to the exclusion of a non-kosher bird.” What makes this inconsistency particularly troubling is the fact that in Torat Kohanim, the source of Rashi’s comments, the consistency is, in fact, maintained: it employs the plural form in both. Why did Rashi deviate from the text of the Torat Kohanim?

The Maharal of Prague, in his “Gur Aryeh,” suggests that Rashi shifted to singular form so as to avoid a possible misunderstanding. If he would have written “oafot temei’im,” this might have implied that by “temei’im” he refers not to “non-kosher” birds, but rather to “ritually impure” birds, meaning, birds that had contracted tum’a. In order to ensure that the reader will understand that he refers to non-kosher birds, Rashi shifted to the singular form, and wrote, “oaf tamei.”

The Levush Ha-ora, another work on Rashi’s commentary to the Chumash, raises the two obvious difficulties against the Maharal’s explanation. First and foremost, how does Rashi preclude this misunderstanding by shifting to the singular form? Why would the plural form lend itself to the interpretation of “temei’im” as “ritually impure” more so than the singular form? Moreover, the Levush adds, there is, technically, no such thing as a ritually impure bird. Only human beings can contract tum’a during their lifetime; animals and birds can become tamei only after their death. Why, then, would anyone possibly misinterpret Rashi as referring to “ritually impure” birds, if the Torah explicitly required that the metzora bring a live bird?!

A much different, particularly sharp explanation of Rashi is suggested by Rav Shelomo Ha-kohen of Vilna (in his “Kuntrus Chiddushei Torah” published in his “Binyan Tziyon”). Rashi here seeks to resolve an apparent problem in the verse. At first glance, we have no need for the Torah to specify “tehorot” – that the metzora must use kosher birds. Later in its description of the ritual, the Torah tells that the kohen slaughters (“ve-shachat”) one of the two birds. Now the term “shechita,” which denotes rendering a live animal halakhically permissible for consumption, can, by definition, be applied only to kosher animals and birds. Since a non-kosher animal does not become permissible, its slaughtering cannot be described with the term “shechita.” Necessarily, then, the bird used for this ritual is a kosher bird, and the Torah therefore had no need to explicitly require “tehorot.”

The answer, Rav Shelomo writes, is obvious. Recall that this ritual involves two birds, only one of which is slaughtered. Thus, though we have no need to be told that the slaughtered bird must be kosher, the Torah must, indeed, specify that a kosher bird is needed for the second bird. To this, perhaps, Rashi refers when he writes, “to the exclusion of a non-kosher bird.” Since Rashi sees the word “tehorot” as referring specifically to the second bird, he employs the singular form.

What about the Torat Kohanim? Why does it write “to the exclusion of non-kosher birds,” in the plural form?

Once again, Rav Shlomo of Vilna responds with a brilliantly sharp solution. Unless we find explicit indication otherwise, we generally attribute the comments in Torat Kohanim to the famous tanna, Rabbi Yehuda. Now we know from the Talmud that Rabbi Yehuda held that according to Torah law, birds do not require shechita. Therefore, according to Rabbi Yehuda, we cannot derive anything from the use of the term “ve-shachat” in reference to the birds used during the metzora’s purification. Since “shechita” does not (according to Torah law) have any effect on birds, the use of the term here is unique and singular. We would not, then, derive from the word “ve-shachat” that the slaughtered bird must be kosher, and hence the word “tehorot” is required for both birds, not merely the one that remains alive. For good reason, then, the Torat Kohanim, as opposed to Rashi, employed the plural form, “to the exclusion of non-kosher birds.”

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In Parashat Metzora, the Torah concludits discussion of tzara’at with the verse, “Le-horot be-yom ha-tamei u-v’yom ha-tahor” – “To instruct as to when they [tzara’at infections] are unclean and when they are clean…” (14:57). The word “le-horot” (“to instruct”), a form of the term “hora’a,” generally refers to halakhic instruction and guidance, the teaching of halakhic principles. What did the Torah intend through this mention of the instruction of the laws of tzara’at here at the conclusion of the tzara’at section?

The Netziv, in his “Ha’amek Davar,” suggests that this verse introduces a specific halakha relevant to the kohen’s examination of tzara’at. As the Torah discusses in Parashat Tazria, only a kohen can determine whether or not a given infection qualifies as tzara’at. Based on the position of the Ra’avad in his commentary to Torat Kohanim, the Netziv claims that when a kohen would be summoned to examine a suspicious infection, he would assemble his disciples around the patient in order to train them in the skill of tzara’at examination. In order to train future kohanim, it was necessary for them to receive hands-on experience in the field. According to the Netziv, it is to this that the Torah refers when it concludes the tzara’at section with the term, “le-horot.” Despite the obvious discomfort caused to the patient, and the humiliation he will suffer as a result of the presence of several students, the Torah nevertheless calls for such a demonstration for the purpose of teaching and educating. The Netziv adds that this humiliation is part of the “midda ke-negged midda” – measure for measure punishment the Torah decrees upon the metzora. Since tzara’at generally came as a punishment for“lashon ha-ra,” improper speech about others, the metzora is punished accordingly by having to undergo a degree of personal humiliation.

Rav Eliezer Waldernberg, in his “Tzitz Eliezer” (13:85), cites these comments of the Netziv as a possible basis for his own ruling concerning a common, practical issue that often arises in hospitals. Particularly in university hospitals, physicians administering treatment many times bring students to observe their work as part of their medical training. This practice gives rise to a difficult predicament. On the one hand, society at large can only benefit from the highest standards of medical instruction, and there is little denying that a student’s proficiency increases immeasurably when seeing the material studied put into practice. On the other hand, these “public” demonstrations could potentially cause the patient humiliation, while as it is he suffers physical and possibly emotional pain due to his illness. Can we sacrifice the pride and respect of the patient on behalf of the “greater good” – the concern for well-trained doctors in the future?

The Tzitz Eliezer rules in the negative. A doctor may try to politely persuade the patient into granting him permission to bring students into the room, but their attendance may not be forced upon the patient. As we see from the Netziv, Rav Waldenberg writes, the kohen’s apprentices are granted permission to attend to metzora’s examination only as part of the punishment decreed upon him. Otherwise, this demonstration would be forbidden. It thus stands to reason that in other parallel situations, such as medical treatment, we would not allow such demonstrations.

(See the defense of the opposing view, which permits the forced attendance of medical students at medical treatment, in “Emek Halakha,” vol. 2, p. 129.)

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As we discussed earlier this week, the metzora’s purification process requires bringing two birds, one of which is slaughtered, and the other is sent away. The Gemara in Masekhet Arakhin (16b) asks why the metzora, unlike all other temei’im (those who have contracted ritual impurity), must bring two birds as part of his purification process. The Gemara answers by pointing to the “pitput” – the chirping noise made by birds. Since tzara’at generally comes as a punishment for the sin of lashon ha-ra, inappropriate speech about others, the Torah required the metzora to bring two birds – to remind himself of his “noisemaking” that resembles the noise of the bird.

The Ramban questions this parallel drawn by the Gemara between the talebearer and the bird. Not all birds, the Ramban observes, produce sound constantly. Many birds sing or chirp only periodically. Why, then, would the bird serve as an appropriate symbol for the pattering of the metzora?

The Ramban answers with a novel, etymological theory concerning the word “tzipor” used in this parasha for “bird.” The Ramban claims that “tzipor” refers to one specific type of bird, the birds that arise early in the morning and chirp. He notes that the Aramaic word for morning is “tzafra,” and so the morning bird is called “tzipor.” The metzora is compared to the noisy morning birds that chirp loudly and consistently in the early morning hours.

One might suggest a different answer, based on a comment of Rav Yerucham Lebovitz of Mir concerning this parallel between the bird and the gossip. Rav Yerucham suggests that the metzora is punished not for the speech itself, but rather for the freedom he grants his tongue. Chazal liken the talebearer to a bird because a bird makes its sounds indiscriminately, at whim, whenever it wishes. It exercises no control over its noisemaking, it sounds it music freely. This, claims Rav Yerucham, forms the basis of the parallel between the bird and the teller of lashon ha-ra. A person must accustom himself to exercising restraint in speech, he must train himself to speak with discretion. The gossip, like the bird, makes his “noise” without compunction or discretion, and for this he is punished.

This easily resolves the difficulty raised by the Ramban. The infrequency of a bird’s sounds in no way undermines this parallel drawn by the Gemara. The point here is not the constant chirping, but rather the indiscriminate chirping, the inability or unwillingness to think before speaking, to know when it is appropriate to talk and when it is not.

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Among the intriguing questions in parshanut (exegesis) arising from a study of the tzara’at laws in Parshiyot Tazria-Metzora is the sequence of their presentation. We read in these parshiyot of three categories of tzara’at infections: those which affect the body, one’s garments, and one’s home. For the most part, as we would expect, the Torah addresses each form of tzara’at independently. The tzara’at section begins with bodily tzara’at (13:1-46), then proceeds to the laws concerning tzara’at on garments (13:47-59), and concludes with the tzara’at appearing on walls of homes (14:33-57). One critical exception, however, appears to disrupt this otherwise coherent structure. The guidelines for the purification of a metzora – a person stricken with bodily tzara’at, which opens Parashat Metzora, are not placed together with the laws regarding the confirmation of the presence of tzara’at. Meaning, the opening section of the tzara’at unit presents the rules by which we determine whether or not a given patient has indeed contracted the illness. The procedures by which one is purified from tum’at tzara’at, however, appear only later – in between the Torah’s discussions of garment and house tzara’at (14:1-32). How do we explain this structure? Why did the Torah divide its discussion of bodily tzara’at, rather than presenting all the laws together in a single subsection?

We might suggest an explanation (“al derekh derush”) based on a close look at the purification procedures for the various forms of tzara’at. A garment confirmed to have contracted tzara’at is burned; similarly, a house determined to be infected must be dismantled. Obviously, a human being is not put to death after having been declared a metzora. At first glance, this distinction only reinforces our original question. The fundamental difference between these purification procedures seems to provide yet another reason to separate as much as possible the discussion of human tzara’at from the other forms of tzara’at. As clearly indicated by their different methodsof purification, these manifestations of tzara’at are completely unrelated and have little to do with one another. Why, then, would the Torah “transplant” its discussion of the metzora’s purification to the middle of its discussion of the other forms of tzara’at?

Perhaps this structure is meant to give us a different perspective on the purification process of a metzora. As we know, Chazal view tzara’at as reflective of spiritual illness, and the process of purification serves as a means of spiritual cleansing. By associating the metzora’s purification with the other forms of tzara’at, the Torah perhaps – albeit subtly – informs us that his purification must, in fact, resemble the purification of infected garments and homes. Though physically he is obviously allowed to remain alive, he is nevertheless called upon the “destroy” his old person, his sinful past, and begin anew. Just as we must destroy a garment or home stricken by tzara’at, so must we “destroy” our internal beings when they become infected or contaminated. The process of teshuva is one of fundamental transformation, not merely of isolated patches and superficial change. This, perhaps, explains why the purification process of the metzora appears sandwiched in between the laws of the garment and the house, to teach us that the person, too, must eradicate his former self and embark on a new beginning.

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Parshiyot Tazria-Metzora speak mainly about tzara’at, which, Chazal tell us, is associated primarily with the sin of lashon ha-ra. Although the Gemara lists several violations for which one receives the punishment of tzara’at, the transgression of lashon ha-ra has always been identified as the most common cause of this punishment. To conclude our on these two parshiyot for this year, we will discuss a famous story told about the Chafetz Chayim, who devoted much of his life to combating the destructive phenomenon of lashon ha-ra.

It is told that while riding a train, the Chafetz Chayim, who headed a yeshiva in the small town of Radin, met a Jew traveling to Radin to meet with him, the Chafetz Chayim. Never before having met or seen a picture of the great rabbi, the traveler was unaware of the identity of the man sitting near him. Over the course of conversation, the man mentioned the purpose of his trip – to meet with the renowned sage of Radin. The Chafetz Chayim humbly denied the greatness attributed to him by the other traveler and insisted that the rabbi of whom he speaks – himself – is not, in fact, anything extraordinary. Enraged by the disrespect shown by this man – whose identity he did not know – towards the great tzadik, the traveler smacked the Chafetz Chayim. He later discovered that this man whom he had smacked was in fact the Chafetz Chayim, and he naturally rushed to him to beg for his forgiveness.

“I deserved to be beaten,” the Chafetz Chayim replied, “because, as I have learned, it is forbidden to speak lashon ha-ra – even about oneself!”

According to this story, the Chafetz Chayim extended the prohibition against speaking lashon ha-ra to negative speech about oneself. The question arises as to why this should be the case. Seemingly, one’s feelings are his own. Just as he may embarrass himself if he so desires, presumably he should reserve the right to speak of his own perceived or actual shortcomings, as well.

Indeed, Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv is cited as remarking that no prohibition exists whatsoever against verbal self-degradation. One may, in fact, speak lashon ha-ra about himself. Responding to a challenge to this ruling based on the aforementioned account of the Chafetz Chayim, Rav Elyashiv commented that to the contrary, this story proves his position. When all is said and done, the Chafetz Chayim did speak negatively about himself. He would not have done so if such speech was forbidden by halakha. Only in an attempt to alleviate his assailant’s humiliation did he make such a comment, that he was wrong for speaking lashon ha-ra about himself. In truth, however, this is permissible.

Nevertheless, Rav Elyashiv claimed, even if a person does allow himself to speak negatively about himself, this does not grant others permission to speak about him. He compared this to a situation of one who permits the theft of his possessions. Undoubtedly, thieves who come along and seize his property have nonetheless violated the prohibition against stealing. Similarly, Rav Elyashiv claimed, the fact that a person speaks freely about his own inadequacies has no effect on the prohibition forbidding others from engaging in such talk about him.

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