In my 20s I was lucky enough to participate in a young adult leadership development course with Reform Judaism, which culminated in a residential weekend away as a cohort. Whilst the long term reverberations of the course are still manifesting in my life today (I remember the interview for the programme being the first time I vocalised that I wanted to become a rabbi), the lasting memory I have of the residential was that it was held at a Quaker Meeting House. No matter how much we tried to be quiet, understanding the Quaker custom of silence, we kept being asked to keep the noise down! No matter how careful we were of respecting the space, our natural enthusiasm for words and speech kept bubbling up out of us, and seeping into the space outside.
Jews having a lot to say is not so much a stereotype as a truism, just as much as the old adage “two Jews, three opinions” is. This week’s Torah portion perhaps speaks to that more than any other, although not necessarily explicitly. The discussion of the law of the leper is explained in Midrash Vayikra Rabbah (16:1) to be seven things that God despises, with the seventh being the worst of them all. And what are these seven things? Drawing upon Proverbs (6:17-19), the rabbis say that they are “Haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a mind that hatches evil plots, feet quick to run to evil, a false witness testifying lies, and one who incites siblings to quarrel.”
It feels uncomfortable as a modern, progressive Jew to extrapolate what our ancestors might have – that leprosy (or any sickness or disability) might be a punishment for, or manifestation of our sins. However, the social isolation that we may face as a repercussion for our speech or actions can make us feel so ostracised that we may as well be lepers. There comes a point where other people are just not willing to tolerate a haughty, lying person in their midst. Indeed, perhaps we could read this week’s Torah portion as advising us that we should be more willing than we currently are to ostracise those who are willing to shed innocent blood and to incite siblings to quarrel. But, that’s not our way. Firstly, I don’t believe that pushing people out of community spaces makes them more likely to listen to us. If we believe that our siblings are quick to run to evil, surely it makes more sense to close in around them with love than to release them to the world to run their evil wherever possible? But also, it is much harder for a person to return to our midst if they have been pushed out, than if we embrace them in all their painful wrongness and work with them to bring them back into the fold.
However, that’s not to say that we should tolerate the intolerable; that we should be trusting of someone known to hatch evil plots or to bear false witness without seeing some evidence that they have changed their behaviour. Rather, it’s about acknowledging that even when a person’s behaviour is deeply upsetting to the majority of the community, they are still one of us. Indeed, it may even be the case that what the majority perceive to be haughtiness, false witness or incitement to internal strife was intended as humility, speaking truth to power, and was born of a desire to create greater internal unity. In times of deep communal rifts, it is important to acknowledge that this week’s leper could be next week’s priest and that our positions on the inside are not guaranteed or eternal. By holding space for different voices and opinions, and by assuming that those with whom we disagree are acting with honesty, integrity and in good faith, we can expand the possibilities for reintegration and greater community harmony.
But for the true leper, the one who did run their mouth and spread lies around, there is also a way back in. Writing for My Jewish Learning, Rabbanit Alissa Thomas-Newborn describes the redemptive sacrificial process in Leviticus 14:4-7 as ‘the toothpaste sacrifice.’ Like toothpaste cannot be put back into the tube, words of lashon hara cannot be unsaid. Undoing what has been put out into the world is impossible, and what is necessary is to clean up the mess as best we can. Drawing upon Rashi’s explanation of the items required for the ritual she explains that two birds are required because their tweets and chirps sound like lashon hara; cedar trees are tall, symbolising ego and haughtiness that may have led us to lashon hara; crimson wool is symbolic of the tongue that spoke the lashon hara; and hyssop is an unassuming plant that here reminds us of the need for humility to overcome the temptation of lashon hara.
The symbolism of two birds being required, however, is given a different meaning in the midrash. In explaining why Leviticus 14:5 says that the priest shall slaughter one bird, but later let the other one go, the rabbis expound that this is so we shall say “Just as it is impossible for the slaughtered one to return, so it is impossible for the leprosy to return.” The implication, therefore, is that the living bird flies off to be a distant but not dead reminder that we all have the capacity to lapse back into our evil speech. But perhaps even more than that, the bird that is not sacrificed and is able to fly out of the camp, is a reminder to the person who is absolving themselves of this sin that they had the opportunity to take themselves away from here. They could have chosen to be as free as the bird, to make their own way and to continue to chirp in the wilderness. By watching this bird take flight, the person who has returned embraces the choice they have made to re-embed themselves into the community, acknowledging that they too could have chosen differently.
Emily Carp, LBC rabbinical student
The views expressed in this D’var Torah do not necessarily reflect the position of Leo Baeck College.