Thazria- Matzorah: expulsion

Most of this week's double parsha deals with Tzorath, a disease with superficial manifestations. It could affect clothing and and dwellings, as well as people,  and it could contaminate other inanimate objects. There is a severe form of the malady ,מַמְאֶ֛רֶת, mamereth, often translated  as malignant. This form of the affliction is limited to cloth and homes.  Mamereth is characterized by  recurrence after excision of the known disease.  These afflicted objects are beyond hope of rescue. Mamerth, malignancy, is treated by destroying the object.  The word is never used to describe an afflicted person. But the leper might grasp the symbolism. 

Tzorath (what the King James committee called leprosy) was not an acute disease. The stricken individual might not feel ill or be be disabled. Apparently a person could live with the condition for months or years. It was a condition reminiscent of cancer or tuberculosis. (The bacteria that cause tuberculosis and leprosy are closely related to each other).  The leper would live, perhaps a normal life span, but every moment was blemished, an extra shadow covered her, he would be tainted and alone. 

I do not know how often people recovered from tzorath, but if I extend the analogy to tuberculosis ( in the absence of antibiotics), it was rare.  Once diagnosed, most people probably lived the rest of their lives with the affliction. They lived as outcasts among pariahs. 

The haftarah  ( which is usually a commentary on the parsha) begins: 

וְאַרְבָּעָ֧ה אֲנָשִׁ֛ים הָי֥וּ מְצֹרָעִ֖ים פֶּ֣תַח הַשָּׁ֑עַר וַיֹּֽאמְרוּ֙ אִ֣ישׁ אֶל־רֵעֵ֔הוּ מָ֗ה אֲנַ֛חְנוּ יֹשְׁבִ֥ים פֹּ֖ה עַד־מָֽתְנוּ׃ There were four men, lepers, outside the gate. They said to one another, “Why should we sit here waiting for death?

אִם־אָמַרְנוּ֩ נָב֨וֹא הָעִ֜יר וְהָרָעָ֤ב בָּעִיר֙ וָמַ֣תְנוּ שָׁ֔ם וְאִם־יָשַׁ֥בְנוּ פֹ֖ה וָמָ֑תְנוּ וְעַתָּ֗ה לְכוּ֙ וְנִפְּלָה֙ אֶל־מַחֲנֵ֣ה אֲרָ֔ם אִם־יְחַיֻּ֣נוּ נִֽחְיֶ֔ה וְאִם־יְמִיתֻ֖נוּ וָמָֽתְנוּ׃ If we decide to go into the town, what with the famine in the town, we shall die there; and if we just sit here, still we die. Come, let us fall upon the Aramean camp. If they let us live, we shall live; and if they put us to death, we shall die.”

What could they hope would happen to them in the Aramean, enemy camp?  They could hope to be slaves involved in some menial, probably unpleasant, work and be fed table scraps.  There was a chance that they would be required to provide service that advanced the cause of the Arameans against their friends and families.   What would they do then? Fortunately for the men ( and for the story), the Aramean army abandoned their  well stocked camp because of a misinterpreted noise, contrasting their cowardice with the courage (? or desperation) of the lepers.  

The four men in the haftarah are in this unique position because they have tzaraath, they have an affliction for which the ancient law prescribes banishment, separating them from the community.  This alienation must have impacted their decisions.   A normal, integrated resident of the town under siege, apparently starving because of the siege, would not  have considered the possibility of seeking the mercy of the cruel enemy.  The expulsion of the  tzoraath affliction, opened these four men to alternatives that included the possibility of betraying the people  ( and GD?) that rejected them.  The bond to their kin had been loosened.  They could present themselves as independent of the conflict. They were facing a harsh, painful, and probably fatal, reality ... alone.  

Once, a man told me  a story from his Holocaust experience.  He was starving.  The only source of food he could identify was in a Nazi work camp.  He surrendered (volunteered?) for the camp to avoid starvation.  On Passover we sing the Song of Songs which includes the phrase: "Love is as strong as death. " Starvation can be stronger than love. 

The metzotah, the leper, the victim of tzoraath, was not considered completely innocent. The story of Miriam's ( temporary?) tzoraath, as a punishment for slandering her brother Moses, points to defamation as the  cause. Tzoraath is an unusually severe  penalty for a very common misdemeanor. It is held up by the Rabbis as a warning to minimize gossip.    

 The purification  ritual of the metzorah begins with a bowl of spring water.  Into the water, the blood of a slaughtered bird is collected. A living bird, of the same species, is dipped into the blood-water mixture and let loose, to fly away.  

There is some correspondence between the birds and the recovered person. One bird died. The killing of the bird reminds  the healed metzorah: this was a possible outcome; be grateful you got the alternative. 

It is the bird that is set free, after dipping it in the blood water of its sister, that represents the celebrant. True, this bird can fly free, but it is marked by the blood of its kin. Its continued life and freedom are bought by dipping into the taboo substance (blood) obtained by the slaughter of another of its kind. 

How did the bird community take to this blood dipped sister? I am reminded of a novel, the Painted Bird  (Jerzy Kosinski), that describes an orphaned boy, begging from house to house in Central Europe. He meets a bird catcher who paints one of the birds. Upon its release, the painted bird  is torn to bits by the other birds. 

Jews live marked by the blood of our ancestors and siblings. the haggada quotes Ezekiel ( 16;6), providing a post hoc prophecy of Israel becoming a great nation:

 וָאֶעֱבֹ֤ר עָלַ֙יִךְ֙ וָֽאֶרְאֵ֔ךְ מִתְבּוֹסֶ֖סֶת בְּדָמָ֑יִךְ וָאֹ֤מַר לָךְ֙ בְּדָמַ֣יִךְ חֲיִ֔י וָאֹ֥מַר לָ֖ךְ בְּדָמַ֥יִךְ חֲיִֽי׃ 

When I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said to you: “Live by your blood.” , I said to you: “Live by your blood.”׃

The liberation from Egypt emerged from the Nile that was turned to blood by the drowned Hebrew infants. The lamb's blood on the doorposts was the sign to let the Israelite firstborn live while the Egyptian firstborn died. The mark of the blood of my ancestors, murdered in the holocaust, anoints me, contaminates me and purifies me. 

This week, we celebrated the transition from Yom HaZikaron, Israel's memorial day, to Yom HaAzmauth ( Independence day) . Last week was Yom Hashoah,  Holocaust memorial day.  We dip the wings and tail (Negaim 14:1), the apparatus of flight to, our freedom in the blood of those who died for it.