The Dangers Of The Social Mirror, No Matter Which Way It’s Facing
Parshas Tazria 5784
“If the only vision we have of ourselves comes from the social mirror—from the current social paradigm and the opinions, perceptions, and paradigms of the people around us—our view of ourselves is like the reflection in the crazy mirror room at the carnival.”
– Stephen Covey, “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People”
We need to be on guard against judging ourselves through the eyes of other people, lest we emerge with a distorted, unrealistic, and damaging view. But the reverse is likewise true. When we interpret the behavior of others through the lens of our own lives and experiences, we’re guilty of using that same funhouse mirror, rather than a clear pane of glass.
Any child knows the punishment the Torah holds in store for the sin of speaking lashon hara. Tzara’as. The metaphysical skin-disease that the Torah discusses in this week’s parsha is understood by Chazal as afflicting a person who has spoken disparagingly of his neighbor.
We know that lashon harah leads to tzara’as. What we spend less time considering is what tzara’as leads to in turn.
All the days that the affliction is upon him he is impure. He shall sit in isolation; outside the camp shall his residence be.
(Vayikra 13:46)
Tzara’as is not the ultimate consequence of speaking lashon hara, isolation is. Why is this so? Rashi comments that when someone speaks lashon hara, he is driving a wedge between that person and those around him. Those who hear the disparaging remarks think less of him and the close bonds they once shared are now frayed. The subject of the lashon hara has been isolated from those once close to him; the one who spoke those words now experiences the same.
We have undoubtedly witnessed such situations firsthand. A person disparaged by another suddenly doesn’t know who his friends are and aren’t. Who ignored the gossip and who believed it? Who’s still on my side and who isn’t? Perhaps giving the slanderer a taste of isolation—a sense of what the slandered is going through—could lead to corrected behavior in the future.
Yet there is a well known example of lashon hara—and consequent tzara’as—that doesn’t fit this bill. At the end of Parshas Beha’aloscha, Miriam is punished with tzara’as for having spoken lashon hara about Moshe, questioning his decision to leave his wife to be fully available for any incoming Divine message. Miriam pointed to her own marriage, as well as that of Aharon’s, as evidence that one can both serve as a prophet while still maintaining a proper marriage.
Miriam’s lashon hara wasn’t an attempt to marginalize Moshe. Her claim was that Moshe was unduly marginalizing himself. Why was the self-imposed rift necessary? Why couldn’t Moshe be more aligned with the behavior that she and Aharon demonstrated? Why couldn’t he be closer to his family, rather than choosing to isolate himself from them? If tzara’as and the isolation it brings is meant to simulate the experience of the person spoken about, how do we understand it as a consequence of Miriam’s lashon hara, speech that attempted to draw Moshe closer, rather than push him further to the fringes?
Perhaps, then, there is an additional message conveyed to the metzora by their imposed isolation. Namely, to avoid the temptation to compare oneself to others. Miriam’s error was in assuming that what held true of her held true of Moshe. That if she could serve as a nevi’ah and also a wife, then Moshe could be both a navi and a husband. Yet Miriam and Moshe were not alike. Moshe had to be at the constant beck and call of Hashem in a way that no other navi did and could therefore not be bound by the natural constraints of a normal life and marriage.
When we compare ourselves to others, it is natural that lashon hara will follow. Why do they act in a way that I never would? Why aren’t they as dedicated, sensitive, or charitable as I am? Why aren’t their priorities in order the way that mine are? Seeing the shortcomings of others as compared to our behavior—or, at least, the impression we have of our own behavior—opens the door to speaking unkindly of them.
It is turning the funhouse mirror not on ourselves, but on others. It is using a lens distorted by our own subjective personalities and experiences in an effort to see others clearly. And it doesn’t work.
Isolation, then, becomes a corrective measure in this regard as well. The metzora is removed from the rest of society as if to say, “See yourself as different and apart. See the great distance that divides you from everyone else. Make no assumptions about the struggles, challenges, and difficulties the other faces based on your own. Do not presume that the advantages and privileges that have led to your accomplishments are shared equally by others and that they should be held to the same standard. Don’t judge others as compared to yourself. See yourself in isolation from them, and them in isolation from you”
What if before we spoke about another person, before we sized up their behavior and their character, we attempted to think of them apart from us? Perhaps they struggle more than I do? Perhaps they didn’t have the role models I have? Perhaps they are more limited in their resources—emotional, financial, or social—than I am? If I think of them in isolation from me, does that change my perspective?
Attempting to see a person independent of ourselves can lead to a complete paradigm shift. We can go from being judgmental to being compassionate. From making unfair assumptions to attempting to understand the full picture. How much more clearly might we understand those around us if we learned to question the very lenses through which we view them?
