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Ma Neshaneh?
I have often considered the double Parashah, Tazria-Metzora, the most challenging of the Torah readings during the year, especially when following the single year cycle. This is in terms of the length of the reading, the Hebrew text and, mostly, the content. Or, perhaps, it is more unsettling when separated and prolonged over two Shabbatot, as this year?
Among other elements of impurity, we read of various ailments of the skin and of eruptive plagues and streaks of diverse colours on the walls of our homes. The manifestation of these markings on our bodies or buildings is described not as a chance event, but as something that will occur – when, not if – and the Torah offers us ways to cope.
The first task is to isolate the infected individual outside the camp for a period of seven days, and then there is an inspection to determine whether the ailment has disappeared, and offerings to be brought following purification. This is seemingly to protect the camp from what might be contagious, whether the disease itself or the oft attributed cause of the ailment - inappropriate words. The focus is on the person afflicted and the role taken by the priests in restoring that person to the camp/community.
What is not discussed is the impact this sequence of events has on the community and any role taken by other than the Kohanim. There is no mention whether the person is led out of the camp or expected to exit on their own, in the light of day or in the stealth of night, whether observed by others or avoiding such a potentially humiliating spectacle.
And nowhere do we read of those who may not have waited for the decision of a scrutinizing priest but felt the need to leave the camp not because they were the purveyor of gossip or worse, but the victim. And what of those who feel the need to isolate themselves from the camp because the camp has become something unfamiliar, unwelcoming, unsupportive?
The priest has his role in the Biblical context, with clear guidelines and instructions for dealing with the former cases, but what of the latter? And who would have reached out to those beyond the perimeter of the camp during those seven days or longer of isolation? Who would have brought them food, water, change of clothing, company, support? Although nothing is said, I would like to believe that there were no small number of family and clan members and perhaps even those from other tribes who, in grass roots manner and without prompting from any leadership, reached out during those lonely days and nights to whoever may have found themselves outside the camp.
And, of course, the goal was to bring those individuals back into the camp, to welcome them and attempt to assure them of their place. (I imagine there were few choices of other camps out there in the wilderness.) And for that to have relevance and credibility, it would not only have been necessary to purify the afflicted individual, but for some unmentioned process to take place within the camp as well, where the cause of the forced or initiated isolation would be dealt with. That may be an optimistic assumption.
The Beth David camp has changed. I have heard all too often from members that they either no longer feel the welcoming atmosphere which so characterized our community in the past, or worse. We make earnest effort to welcome the stranger – a worthy endeavour - but have forgotten the importance and necessity of respecting and acknowledging the familiar, regardless of difference of opinions. The nature of dialogue and communication among us is not what it should be, and the entire community needs to assume responsibility for that.
In a few days, at the Pesach Seder, most of us will be hearing or asking the question, Ma Nishtanah? What is different? What has changed? Most likely little will have changed in the Seder protocols, but that question also applies to us and our community. Most of us are aware of what has changed and are equally aware that much of that has not been for the better.
We will need to first acknowledge the validity of that question in the context of our community and then remove the final letter of the Aleph Bet, the “Tav,” indicating that our circumstances need not be considered final, and leaving us with the question, Ma Neshaneh? What will we change? What will we individually and collectively have the courage to do differently to ensure that Beth David, however and wherever its future unfolds, is a camp in which people wish and feel proud to remain, as well as return?
Shabbat Shalom and wishing you all an enjoyable, engaging, and relevant Pesach celebration.
Michael Rubin
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