Metzora Sermon: Making Reform Halachic Decision

One thing I’ve always loved about Nathan Englander’s writing is his use of tragedy and irony. Here’s a great example from his novel, The Ministry of Special Cases. Taking place in Argentina in 1976, the novel tells the story of one family during the countries “dirty war” when 30,000 students disappeared and were murdered at the hands of the government. In it, Englander tells the story of Kaddish Poznan, an outsider who makes his money wiping clean the tombstones of prostitutes and gangsters. One day on the job, Kaddish takes his son Pato with him. In a moment of distraction, Kaddish slips and chisels his son’s ring finger along with the gravestone. After a brief visit to the emergency room, he disposes of the severed finger, embarrassed about his slip up.

While this encounter seems inconsequential, it will come up later. After the government kidnaps Pato, Kaddish approaches his rabbi seeking closure. However, when he asks his rabbi to make his son a grave the rabbi responds, “You can’t dig a grave without something to put in it. Beyond Jewish law, it’s basic logic. A grave must hold something if it has to be a grave. Otherwise it’s just a hole filled in.” When Kaddish pleads with the rabbi the leader responds, “To have a funeral, to dig a grave, one would need something to put in it. Not even a whole body. Even a finger is enough.” In an ironic twist of fate, Kaddish’s slip up is the exact thing that would have led to his closure. However, without this finger his wound would always remain open. As the scene comes to a close, the rabbi holds Kaddish in his arms, brushing his hair with his hand as Kaddish bemoans disposing of the finger in the hospital trash can.

I’m not sure if Englander realized it but this tragedy appears in a similar vein in rabbinic discussions about this week’s Torah portion. After spending time in isolation away from the camp, the Metzora or person afflicted with the biblical ailment, Tzra’at must undergo a series of purification rituals. The Torah explains each of these in detail but in essence they boil down to the sacrifice of a bird, and the release of another dipped in the first’s blood, the laundering of clothes, the shaving of the metzora’s head, and the immersion in a ritual bath. After waiting a few days, he again shave his head, and get’s ready to slaughter three animals. However after the first of these three is slaughtered the metzora must first undergo a strange ritual. The priest takes some of the blood of the first offering and dabs it on his right ear, right thumb, and right big toe. Only then can the metzora continue with the rest of the ritual and be fully cleared to continue his life in the camp.

Simple enough! But the rabbis ask an interesting question: what happens if the metzora lacks either a right earlobe, right thumb, or right big toe? What does that mean for him? According to our classical commentators, failure to finish the purification process means one cannot be cleared to have marital relations with their spouse. If you are childless it means you remain childless. No matter what, it means losing an important part of an intimate relationship. Because of these high stakes, the rabbis naturally disagreed on the answer.

Imagine you’re in a study hall during the time of our Mishnah and this question gets asked. From one end of the hall comes the booming voice of Rabbi Meir . “If has no right thumb, earlobe, or big toe he can never attain purification.” Rabbi Meir is like Englander’s rabbi. Just as a Jewish burial needs a body (or body part) the metzora ritual needs these three elements. No thumb, no ear, no toe, no entry into the camp. The answer may be painful, but it is also elegantly simple and conisistant.

However, just as it was tragic for a grieving father like Kaddish, so too is a simple answer like this painful for the metzora and his family. Therefore, Rabbi Eliezer jumps in “He may daub the blood on the spot where these appendages uses to be.” For Eliezer, the answer is not to condemn the metzora but to accommodate him. Whether Eliezer means to daub the air or the stub is not clear. What is clear is that he informs us that we should act “as if” these appendages are there. For Kaddish this answer means digging an empty grave for his son and marking it with a tombstone. It means reaching outside of the law and embracing the idea that in a person’s time of need sometimes what seems absurd is actually the best answer for them.

However, no sooner does Rabbi Eliezer finish than Rabbi Shimon jumps in, “If he substitutes the left ear, thumb, or big toe, it is sufficient.” For Shimon its not about the ritual but about the meaning associated with the ritual. Meir demanded that one must have each of the right appendages. Eliezer was able to suspend disbelief. But for Shimon the letter of the law was less important than the spirit. If Shimon was the rabbis who talked to Kaddish he would not have answered him with a simple yes or no as Meir and Eliezer would have when asked if he could dig an empty grave. Rather, he would have asked, “what can we bury that will give you closure?”

The wonderful thing about this Mishnaic discussion is it gives us three paradigms to deal with difficult questions in our Jewish life. Will we demand a standard as Meir has? Will we overlook a difficult situation and pretend that everything is alright such as Eliezer has? Or will we find a close approximation like Rabbi Shimon did?

In every situation we will have make these choices and most of the time there is no right answer. A person needs to say Kaddish and you do not have a minyan. Do you not say it? Do you do it even with only five people? Do you have an alternative like Psalm 23 that do you instead?

A parent of another faith background asks for an Aliyah during their child’s bar mitzvah. Do you allow them to bless the Torah? Do you refuse? Do you dispense with the blessing for that particular aliyah and give them an alternative that shys away from the themes of chosenness and divine election?

A grieving Kaddish Poznan wants to bury his son who has disappeared. Do you say no? Do you allow him to dig an empty grave? Do you permit him to bury his son’s book or favorite shirt?

There is a time to be Meir, a time to be Eliezer, and a time to be Shimon. In fact, I’m not sure that anyone can privilege one approach over the other. They are simply manifestations of different priorities. Do you privilege the individual’s story or the continuity of law? Creativity or consistency?

We can’t predict how we will act in a given situation. Would I have let Kaddish dig an empty grave for his son? Would my answer change if he was standing, weeping in front of me? What I do know is that at that point in the story I would have been his priest. I would have been his gateway back into the community, back into wholeness. There may be no right answer in this situation and others like it, but there is something more important. Whether I side with rabbis Meir, Eliezer, or Shimon, it is crucial to be present in my decision and deliver it with love, honesty, and commitment. And whether good news or bad news I must emulate Kaddish’s rabbi and hold him, whoever he might be, even after my answer seeps in.