Tazria-Metzora 5781
When my siblings and I would get out of line as kids—particularly when bad language was concerned—my mother had a go-to reproach: “Imagine you were standing in front of Rabbi Gottesman.”
Rabbi Moshe Gottesman, zt’’l, served as the Dean of HANC for the entirety of my 14 years at the school, a position he held from 1985 until 2002. He was a paragon of decency and menschlechkeit and was the natural image for my mother to try plant in our heads when our behavior needed shoring up. The problem (one I would point out when I was feeling particularly snarky), was that Rabbi Gottesman was not in the room; I was not in his presence. I would, of course, behave quite differently if I was standing before Rabbi Gottesman. But that was school, and this was home.
The parshios of Tazria and Metzora provide us with a glimpse into the world of tzara’as, a metaphysical affliction that appeared as various discolorations on the body. Chazal point to a number of sins that would serve as catalysts for a tzara’as affliction, though it is most commonly associated with transgressing lashon hara.
The determination that the discoloration was bona fide tzrara’as as opposed to anything else—that the affliction was spiritual and not dermatological—rested with the Kohanim. A kohen would pay a visit to the patient and make the pronouncement one way or another. If tzara’as was declared, the afflicted would remove himself from his home and live in isolation outside the camp until the Kohen, upon additional inspection, determined that he had been healed.
That it is specifically a Kohen who is tasked with the assignment makes clear that this process demands more than knowledge alone. Had a member of the Sanhedrin, proficient in all the relevant halachos needed to determine what is and is not tzara’as, arrived at the door of the patient, he would have no authority to make a pronouncement. What is it about a Kohen that grants him unique jurisdiction in matters of tzara’as?
Pehaps the explanation for this obscure function of the Kohanim lies in the more traditional one. The Kohanim are entrusted with administering the Bais HaMikdash; to ensuring the sanctity of the space and the vessels used therein. As with tzara’as, though there may be no shortage of scholars well-versed in the halachos governing the avodah in the Bais HaMikdash, this is simply not their role. Matters of the Mikdash are the jurisdiction of the Kohanim.
Is the metzora irreligious? Certainly not. He keeps kosher and Shabbos and davens three times a day. He makes the pilgrimage to the Bais HaMikdash at each of the Shalosh Regalim, and at other times to offer additional korbanos. He is no stranger to the Bais HaMikdash or to the sanctity that permeates its environs. But this is not the Bais HaMikdash, it’s his home. The tzara’as developed when he was having a beer in his backyard with his buddies and the conversation turned to some people in the community that he doesn’t care for. Or when he sat at the dinner table with his family and had some choice words to share about another family or his son’s rebbe or a colleague at work. Shortly thereafter, white blotches appeared on his neck.
When the Kohen comes to the door for his examination, something strange happens. The distance between the Bais HaMikdash and this man’s home suddenly collapses. He is being examined by someone whose role it is to scrutinize sacred objects fit for the holiest place on earth, and here he is now examining his very skin. Those fateful words had tumbled out of his mouth in the comfort of his home, where he expected less of himself and his own behavior than when he makes those visits to Har HaBayis. The Kohen now sitting beside him is a potent reminder that he expected too little of himself in that context; that the discrepancy between the Bais HaMikdash and his home is not as great as he presumed.
The error of the metzorah is an error we all commit. It is an error of constructing two different personas for ourselves that we pass between at different times. There’s the holy persona of how we act in the Mikdash—in the presence of the Kohanim, and, indeed, in the presence of Hashem—and the home persona of how we act when we are at rest and the expectations for sanctity are lower. The Kohen appears at the front door and reminds us that those two personas should be more closely linked. Sure, sit on the couch, put on your slippers, and relax. But don’t abandon the holy persona—the one reserved for the Mikdash or shul or the Bais Medrash—in favor of an altogether different one.
Had this fellow simply envisioned a visit from the Kohen, perhaps he would not have faltered. Had he grown mentally accustomed to the Kohen being in the room, his home persona would have been more closely aligned with his holy persona. Envisioning yourself in the presence of someone who expects more of you can be a powerful tool in expecting more of yourself—no matter where you are. Home is not exactly the Mikdash, nor is it even school. But imagining yourself in the presence of Rabbi Gottesman is sage advice, and not just for kids. Thanks, Mom.