Look to the Leper, Point to the Priest — Parashat Tazria (“Repro Shabbat”) 5784

It is something of a cliche to note that the Torah is much more concerned with responsibilities than rights. 

That having been said, the Torah is concerned with individuals’ freedoms insofar as it prohibits imposing laws and restrictions that it does not specifically command. The book of Deuteronomy (13:1) teaches: “Everything I command you, faithfully observe only that; do not add to it nor take away from it.”

So sacrosanct is this principle, which rabbinic tradition calls bal tosif, a prohibition on adding commandments, that the Torah does not even allow the king to impose new laws. The sovereign may only emphasize and enforce the commandments found in the Torah itself (Deut. 17:20). Moreover, the Torah systematizes legal authority, establishing a centralized and structured judicial system and law enforcement apparatus, studiously preventing vigilante justice and mob rule. Only people in certain roles, with certain expertise, and in certain circumstances, can make decisions that restrict an individual’s freedoms and impinge on their lives.

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Tazria, focuses primarily on the laws concerning tzara’at, a mysterious skin condition. Tzara’at is often translated as leprosy, but experts agree that, based on the Torah’s description of the ailment, it is most definitely not the condition we know today as leprosy, or Hansen’s disease, especially because tzara’at can also affect clothing and even the walls of buildings. The Torah goes into great detail about the complex criteria for diagnosing tzara’at, and then explains the equally complex process of treating and healing the metzora, the person afflicted with tzara’at. 

This parashah, along with Parashat Metzora, which we will read next week, are notoriously arcane. They’re the bane of B’nai Mitzvah students. Nearly incomprehensible to modern readers. There are a number of puzzling aspects of these texts: Why is the Torah uniquely concerned about this ailment yet conspicuously silent regarding other illnesses? What even is tzara’at? Is it something we should still be worried about?

The key in all of this seems to be the role of the priest, which is the focus of the parashah and, indeed, the entire book of Leviticus. According to the Torah, the priests, and only the priests, are entrusted with responsibility for diagnosing tzara’at, as well as treating and healing the metzora. All the diagnostic criteria are addressed to the priests, not the people. The priests have total authority over the matter, and are exclusively responsible for declaring whether or not a patient is a metzora. That’s important, because if a person is determined to be a metzora, they are exiled from the camp until a priest determines that they are healed, and then a priest conducts a ritual to render them ritually pure once again, and able to return to the community.

The fact that the metzora is exiled leads many commentators to assume that tzara’at was contagious, and that the concern here is about infectious disease. Yet curiously, the Torah never explicitly says that tzara’at is contagious, and there is not a single case recorded in all of the Bible of a person contracting tzara’at from contact with another person. In fact, there are very few cases of tzara’at in the Tanakh altogether, defying the presumption among many commentators that it was a common illness in the ancient near east. If it were so common, one would think there would be more accounts of it in Scripture. Meanwhile, the Bible doesn’t mention other more common diseases, even those long known to be contagious.

I think the Torah focuses on tzara’at not because it is more serious, or even contagious, than other diseases but, rather, because it is more visible. I may not be able to see my neighbor’s cold, or their cancer. But if they suddenly develop a strange-looking rash, I’m likely to notice it. And if I don’t know what the affliction is, other than the fact that it grosses me out, I may become concerned that I might catch it too. Wanting to avoid getting sick myself, I might avoid my neighbor, shutting him out of my life until he’s healed. Having lived through the Covid pandemic, I think we can all understand this mentality. 

Now, let’s go back to Bible times. Let’s say that I noticed my neighbor was suddenly stricken with a strange skin condition I didn’t recognize, and I was a little more alarmist, and a little more “proactive.” I might not simply avoid my neighbor. I might actually organize other people to ostracize or even exile him. I might even target that neighbor’s friends and family, or get a posse together going door to door rounding up suspected metzora’im. What happens to a community that tolerates this kind of panic-driven vigilantism? We don’t have to look far for the answer: Ask members of the LGBTQ community who were targeted, vilified, brutalized, ostracized, and even exiled during the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s. For that matter, ask those who were suspected of being Communists in the 1950’s, or Black people who dare to jog or drive through predominantly white neighborhoods in certain parts of the country, or Jewish people who today fear to walk the streets wearing kippot. A community that permits this kind of behavior is one in which people are targeted and ultimately persecuted for their difference, in which everyone lives in constant fear of their neighbor, in which everyone is always at risk and, therefore, in which no one is free.

That’s why the focus of our parashah is not on the disease per se, but rather on the role of the priests. By giving the priests total authority over diagnosing and treating tzara’at, the Torah protects the community, and particularly vulnerable minorities, from the dangers of vigilante justice and mob rule. This may help explain why there are so few cases of tzara’at in the Tanakh. Centralizing authority for diagnosing and treating tzara’at, and establishing very specific criteria for what could be considered tzara’at in the first place, would have severely limited the number of cases. Maybe the diagnostic burden was so high that there were never actually any cases of tzara’at. The system keeps people safe and free by protecting them from mob violence, vigilante justice, and the tyranny of minority rule, thereby ensuring the social order and equal justice and protection under the law. 

By limiting and centralizing scenarios in which people’s freedoms could be restricted, the Torah enables people to live their lives free from infringement, whether by the authorities or by other individuals. In other words, perhaps counterintuitively, the laws of tzara’at are designed to underscore and protect people’s rights to basic bodily autonomy. 

This Shabbat, we are proud to be participating in what is known as “Repro Shabbat,” an annual opportunity, sponsored by the National Council of Jewish Women, to learn about reproductive freedom from a Jewish perspective and consider our role as individuals and as a community in advancing a society where all people are free and able to make the healthcare decisions that are best for them and their families. 

Today, reproductive freedom – and beyond that every American’s foundational right to bodily autonomy – is in mortal danger. For decades, a relatively small but influential coalition of fundamentalist Christians and politicians, including those who are themselves ideologically radical and also those who are just plain cynical and hungry for power, have worked to erode reproductive freedom in this country. This movement reached a terrifying high water mark with the Supreme Court’s 2022 decision in Dobbs v. Jackson, which overturned Roe v. Wade and eradicated a constitutionally protected right that Americans had come to rely upon for five decades. 

That fact alone should concern Jewish Americans. For starters, Jewish law traditionally allows for, and in some cases requires, pregnancies to be terminated, which means that our faith demands doctors and their patients be fully able to make whatever decisions circumstances dictate for their particular situations. Dobbs, in other words, disables us as Jewish Americans from following our own religious tradition. And if the federal government imposes a nationwide abortion ban – as some elected officials and candidates for high office are promising to do – then not only will all American women be denied a fundamental right, but also every American will be deprived of the freedom of and from religion that has always been this country’s foundational promise; a promise that, among other things, has enabled Jews to flourish here in a way profoundly unique to our history. All of that could disappear with the outcome of one more national election.

Perhaps even more pernicious, by granting each individual state the authority to create and enforce their own laws about reproductive health, Dobbs represents a full-fledged assault not just on reproductive freedom but on the notion, one affirmed by Jewish tradition, that we all have the right to basic bodily autonomy. If reproductive rights vary from state to state, and there is no common law or centralized authority willing or able to adjudicate between them, then whoever has the greater might will determine what is right. Just this week, the Arizona Supreme Court issued a chilling ruling, based on a law from 1864, that effectively outlawed all abortions in the state. What if the legislature there decides to take it one step further, and declares it illegal to travel out of state for an abortion? Can Arizona prevent its residents from doing so, or prosecute them if they do? They will certainly try in the absence of a common law or centralized authority willing and able to rule on such cases in favor of personal liberty and bodily autonomy. Should California be forced to extradite Texan women who sought out abortions across state lines? What about the Californian doctor who provides such a service to a Texan woman? Texas will certainly do everything in its power to secure this outcome if they are not forced to respect every American’s bedrock freedoms. Will anti-abortion states be permitted to set bounties for suspected interstate offenders, encouraging vigilantes to find and capture them? What woman would be safe? Absent a common law or centralized authority willing and able to enforce personal liberty and bodily autonomy, the answer is clear, and ought to terrify us all.

As the New York Times columnist Jamelle Bouie has quite convincingly pointed out, empowering every state to establish its own abortion restrictions implicates a broad set of rights tied to our personal and bodily autonomy: our right to interstate travel; our right to marry whomever we want regardless of their biological sex, gender identity, race, religion, or ethnicity; our right to choose with whom, when, and how we are physically intimate; our right to family planning, contraception, and fertility treatments. If these rights vary from state to state, and the federal government is unwilling or unable to adjudicate between them, then no person’s rights, indeed no person’s body, will ever be safe. Reproductive freedom, and beyond it bodily autonomy, is inseparable from other questions of freedom, and the move to restrict it represents the tyranny of the minority and is intertwined with the larger shift to authoritarianism that currently threatens us all. 

We as Jews must do everything we can to stand against it. 

Yes, tzara’at is not, technically speaking, leprosy. And the metzora is not, technically speaking, a leper. But if you’ll indulge me with a bit of poetic license, and permit me to use those English terms for the sake of alliteration, let me say this: In taking a stand today as Jewish Americans for bodily autonomy, we ought to look to the leper; we must point to the priest.

Our parashah, and Jewish tradition broadly speaking, insists that we all have the right to and decide what is best for our own bodies, and instructs us to establish structures and systems to prevent such dangerous chaos and tyrannical repression – not by adopting the most restrictive possible policies and applying them uniformly on the entire population, but rather by facilitating the most freedom for the most people most of the time, limiting and centralizing scenarios in which people’s freedoms could be restricted, enabling us to live our lives free from infringement.  

As we mark this Repro Shabbat in the looming shadow of abortion bans and encroaching authoritarianism, let us look to the leper, and let us point to the priest, to inspire and guide us toward a future where all are free.

So may it be God’s will. Amen.May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart, be acceptable in Thy sight, Infinite One, our Source and our Salvation.

It is something of a cliche to note that the Torah is much more concerned with responsibilities than rights. 

That having been said, the Torah is concerned with individuals’ freedoms insofar as it prohibits imposing laws and restrictions that it does not specifically command. The book of Deuteronomy (13:1) teaches: 

אֵ֣ת כׇּל־הַדָּבָ֗ר אֲשֶׁ֤ר אָנֹכִי֙ מְצַוֶּ֣ה אֶתְכֶ֔ם אֹת֥וֹ תִשְׁמְר֖וּ לַעֲשׂ֑וֹת לֹא־תֹסֵ֣ף עָלָ֔יו וְלֹ֥א תִגְרַ֖ע מִמֶּֽנּוּ׃ {פ}

Everything I command you, faithfully observe only that; do add to it nor take away from it.

So sacrosanct is this principle, which rabbinic tradition calls bal tosif, a prohibition on adding commandments, that the Torah does not even allow the king to impose new laws. The sovereign may only emphasize and enforce the commandments found in the Torah itself (Deut. 17:20). Moreover, the Torah systematizes legal authority, establishing a centralized and structured judicial system and law enforcement apparatus, studiously preventing vigilante justice and mob rule. Only people in certain roles, with certain expertise, and in certain circumstances, can make decisions that restrict an individual’s freedoms and impinge on their lives.

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Tazria, focuses primarily on the laws concerning tzara’at, a mysterious skin condition. Tzara’at is often translated as leprosy, but experts agree that, based on the Torah’s description of the ailment, it is most definitely not the condition we know today as leprosy, or Hansen’s disease, especially because tzara’at can also affect clothing and even the walls of buildings. The Torah goes into great detail about the complex criteria for diagnosing tzara’at, and then explains the equally complex process of treating and healing the metzora, the person afflicted with tzara’at. 

This parashah, along with Parashat Metzora, which we will read next week, are notoriously arcane. They’re the bane of B’nai Mitzvah students. Nearly incomprehensible to modern readers. There are a number of puzzling aspects of these texts: Why is the Torah uniquely concerned about this ailment yet conspicuously silent regarding other illnesses? What even is tzara’at? Is it something we should still be worried about?

The key in all of this seems to be the role of the priest, which is the focus of the parashah and, indeed, the entire book of Leviticus. According to the Torah, the priests, and only the priests, are entrusted with responsibility for diagnosing tzara’at, as well as treating and healing the metzora. All the diagnostic criteria are addressed to the priests, not the people. The priests have total authority over the matter, and are exclusively responsible for declaring whether or not a patient is a metzora. That’s important, because if a person is determined to be a metzora, they are exiled from the camp until a priest determines that they are healed, and then a priest conducts a ritual to render them ritually pure once again, and able to return to the community.

The fact that the metzora is exiled leads many commentators to assume that tzara’at was contagious, and that the concern here is about infectious disease. Yet curiously, the Torah never explicitly says that tzara’at is contagious, and there is not a single case recorded in all of the Bible of a person contracting tzara’at from contact with another person. In fact, there are very few cases of tzara’at in the Tanakh altogether, defying the presumption among many commentators that it was a common illness in the ancient near east. If it were so common, one would think there would be more accounts of it in Scripture. Meanwhile, the Bible doesn’t mention other more common diseases, even those long known to be contagious.

I think the Torah focuses on tzara’at not because it is more serious, or even contagious, than other diseases but, rather, because it is more visible. I may not be able to see my neighbor’s cold, or their cancer. But if they suddenly develop a strange-looking rash, I’m likely to notice it. And if I don’t know what the affliction is, other than the fact that it grosses me out, I may become concerned that I might catch it too. Wanting to avoid getting sick myself, I might avoid my neighbor, shutting him out of my life until he’s healed. Having lived through the Covid pandemic, I think we can all understand this mentality. 

Now, let’s go back to Bible times. Let’s say that I noticed my neighbor was suddenly stricken with a strange skin condition I didn’t recognize, and I was a little more alarmist, and a little more “proactive.” I might not simply avoid my neighbor. I might actually organize other people to ostracize or even exile him. I might even target that neighbor’s friends and family, or get a posse together going door to door rounding up suspected metzora’im. What happens to a community that tolerates this kind of panic-driven vigilantism? We don’t have to look far for the answer: Ask members of the LGBTQ community who were targeted, vilified, brutalized, ostracized, and even exiled during the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s. For that matter, ask those who were suspected of being Communists in the 1950’s, or Black people who dare to jog or drive through predominantly white neighborhoods in certain parts of the country, or Jewish people who today fear to walk the streets wearing kippot. A community that permits this kind of behavior is one in which people are targeted and ultimately persecuted for their difference, in which everyone lives in constant fear of their neighbor, in which everyone is always at risk and, therefore, in which no one is free.

That’s why the focus of our parashah is not on the disease per se, but rather on the role of the priests. By giving the priests total authority over diagnosing and treating tzara’at, the Torah protects the community, and particularly vulnerable minorities, from the dangers of vigilante justice and mob rule. This may help explain why there are so few cases of tzara’at in the Tanakh. Centralizing authority for diagnosing and treating tzara’at, and establishing very specific criteria for what could be considered tzara’at in the first place, would have severely limited the number of cases. Maybe the diagnostic burden was so high that there were never actually any cases of tzara’at. The system keeps people safe and free by protecting them from mob violence, vigilante justice, and the tyranny of minority rule, thereby ensuring the social order and equal justice and protection under the law. 

By limiting and centralizing scenarios in which people’s freedoms could be restricted, the Torah enables people to live their lives free from infringement, whether by the authorities or by other individuals. In other words, perhaps counterintuitively, the laws of tzara’at are designed to underscore and protect people’s rights to basic bodily autonomy. 

This Shabbat, we are proud to be participating in what is known as “Repro Shabbat,” an annual opportunity, sponsored by the National Council of Jewish Women, to learn about reproductive freedom from a Jewish perspective and consider our role as individuals and as a community in advancing a society where all people are free and able to make the healthcare decisions that are best for them and their families. 

Today, reproductive freedom – and beyond that every American’s foundational right to bodily autonomy – is in mortal danger. For decades, a relatively small but influential coalition of fundamentalist Christians and politicians, including those who are themselves ideologically radical and also those who are just plain cynical and hungry for power, have worked to erode reproductive freedom in this country. This movement reached a terrifying high water mark with the Supreme Court’s 2022 decision in Dobbs v. Jackson, which overturned Roe v. Wade and eradicated a constitutionally protected right that Americans had come to rely upon for five decades. 

That fact alone should concern Jewish Americans. For starters, Jewish law traditionally allows for, and in some cases requires, pregnancies to be terminated, which means that our faith demands doctors and their patients be fully able to make whatever decisions circumstances dictate for their particular situations. Dobbs, in other words, disables us as Jewish Americans from following our own religious tradition. And if the federal government imposes a nationwide abortion ban – as some elected officials and candidates for high office are promising to do – then not only will all American women be denied a fundamental right, but also every American will be deprived of the freedom of and from religion that has always been this country’s foundational promise; a promise that, among other things, has enabled Jews to flourish here in a way profoundly unique to our history. All of that could disappear with the outcome of one more national election.

Perhaps even more pernicious, by granting each individual state the authority to create and enforce their own laws about reproductive health, Dobbs represents a full-fledged assault not just on reproductive freedom but on the notion, one affirmed by Jewish tradition, that we all have the right to basic bodily autonomy. If reproductive rights vary from state to state, and there is no common law or centralized authority willing or able to adjudicate between them, then whoever has the greater might will determine what is right. Just this week, the Arizona Supreme Court issued a chilling ruling, based on a law from 1864, that effectively outlawed all abortions in the state. What if the legislature there decides to take it one step further, and declares it illegal to travel out of state for an abortion? Can Arizona prevent its residents from doing so, or prosecute them if they do? They will certainly try in the absence of a common law or centralized authority willing and able to rule on such cases in favor of personal liberty and bodily autonomy. Should California be forced to extradite Texan women who sought out abortions across state lines? What about the Californian doctor who provides such a service to a Texan woman? Texas will certainly do everything in its power to secure this outcome if they are not forced to respect every American’s bedrock freedoms. Will anti-abortion states be permitted to set bounties for suspected interstate offenders, encouraging vigilantes to find and capture them? What woman would be safe? Absent a common law or centralized authority willing and able to enforce personal liberty and bodily autonomy, the answer is clear, and ought to terrify us all.

As the New York Times columnist Jamelle Bouie has quite convincingly pointed out, empowering every state to establish its own abortion restrictions implicates a broad set of rights tied to our personal and bodily autonomy: our right to interstate travel; our right to marry whomever we want regardless of their biological sex, gender identity, race, religion, or ethnicity; our right to choose with whom, when, and how we are physically intimate; our right to family planning, contraception, and fertility treatments. If these rights vary from state to state, and the federal government is unwilling or unable to adjudicate between them, then no person’s rights, indeed no person’s body, will ever be safe. Reproductive freedom, and beyond it bodily autonomy, is inseparable from other questions of freedom, and the move to restrict it represents the tyranny of the minority and is intertwined with the larger shift to authoritarianism that currently threatens us all. 

We as Jews must do everything we can to stand against it. 

Yes, tzara’at is not, technically speaking, leprosy. And the metzora is not, technically speaking, a leper. But if you’ll indulge me with a bit of poetic license, and permit me to use those English terms for the sake of alliteration, let me say this: In taking a stand today as Jewish Americans for bodily autonomy, we ought to look to the leper; we must point to the priest.

Our parashah, and Jewish tradition broadly speaking, insists that we all have the right to and decide what is best for our own bodies, and instructs us to establish structures and systems to prevent such dangerous chaos and tyrannical repression – not by adopting the most restrictive possible policies and applying them uniformly on the entire population, but rather by facilitating the most freedom for the most people most of the time, limiting and centralizing scenarios in which people’s freedoms could be restricted, enabling us to live our lives free from infringement.  

As we mark this Repro Shabbat in the looming shadow of abortion bans and encroaching authoritarianism, let us look to the leper, and let us point to the priest, to inspire and guide us toward a future where all are free.