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Tazria: Isolation, Difference, and the Metzora
He is a tzaraat-man, he is tamei; the Kohen shall
declare him tamei; his plague is in his head. And the tzaraat-person,
whose plague is within him: his clothing shall be torn, and the hair
upon his head shall not be shorn; he shall wrap himself up to his lips,
and Tamei, Tamei he will call out. All the days the plague is within
him, he is tamei; he shall sit alone, his dwelling-place outside the
camp.
The issue of isolation of people with social
disabilities is a troubling one to me, and I think it is manifested
clearly in this parashah--the person with tzaraat -- and in the commentary
around it. Specifically, the deliberate isolation of someone who is
unable to socialize normally seems to me to be what this parashah, seen
through the lense of traditional commentary, advocates. And that is
both deeply troubling and saddening to me.
We are told: Tzaraat is a punishment for slander, lashon hara, because
Mir’yam was punished with tzaraat when she spoke against Moshe,
and “Metzorah” can be seen as MoTZi shem RAH—the one
who brings forth an evil name.This is the traditional interpretation
of metzora. So the ‘metzorah’ is removed from the community,
achieving two goals: he is isolated because he isolated others ( and
presumably, since his speech/actions caused him to be outcast, he would
reform) and his poisonous speech/ actions are removed from the community.
Well, who could have a problem with that? Who wants to defend the Metzorah—the
perpetrator of the worst sort of lashon hara?
The Metzorah as Autistic
I am going to ask you to look at the Metzorah, the one who is isolated
and sent outside the camp, who has been called at fault for his own
isolation for generation after generation, through different eyes:
Look at the metzorah as a person: In the text it refers to an ish, a man, but it could be a man or woman, a child even. This person doesn’t speak well: maybe this person says things which are odd or inappropriate. Maybe he’s seen as antisocial, tactless. Maybe he does things that seem odd to people around him. Maybe he seems off in his own world to others. Maybe he doesn’t make eye contact, or look at people when they speak, and thus is seen as deliberately avoiding contact. Or perhaps he cannot speak at all, and does not seem able to grasp the most basic social abilities—and is reduced in the eyes of some to not fully human.
My description here is of a variety of
ways an autistic person may appear, and (if you know me) you may see
me in some of those descriptors as well. And I see the person with tzaraat
here as a parallel to autistic people: perhaps the metzorah is, in fact,
an autistic person. Many autistic people are isolated in society. It
may seem to some that such a person “wants” to be isolated;
they don’t get along with people (at one end of the spectrum)
or don’t seem to realize that other people exist (at the other
end.) But isolation is as damaging to an autistic person as anyone else.
His plague is in his head
In these verses, we see the “tzaraat-man” as he has come
to/ been brought to the Kohein. We can see, perhaps, this person as
someone who is struggling to connect, to belong, to understand—and
is not succeeding. This is where we see him, when he has become metz’orah:
I see him as desperate, embittered by his constant struggle to connect,
to be ‘social’—who maybe can’t understand why
he fails—and in his anger and pain has turned both outward, hurting
the community around him, and inward, causing his pain and struggle
to be physically manifest in his body. And something must be done.
This phrase can be seen as “His plague is on his own head” –meaning he brought this down on himself. In this particular instance, it could also be seen as “The affliction is on his head—a literal statement, since the tzaraat in this instance is a skin-affliction which is manifested on the head. But my translation here is an attempt to see it somewhat differently. “The problem is in his head”. Meaning: He is further isolating himself, separating himself from the community. It’s a sad, vicious spiral down: First his speech or actions ---even entirely unintentional and unknowingly—estrange him from others, even as he remains within the society. Perhaps he sees this estrangement, doesn’t understand it. Maybe he is unable to see how his own actions contribute to his estrangement, and so he blames others, becoming angry, embittered, and stops trying to act appropriately.
Or perhaps he tries to fix himself, to repair his actions, but fails, or his efforts are unnoticed, and he blames himself, decides he is unworthy. He drives himself further away from others. His sense of isolation becomes so great that it is manifested physically in his body. His plague—which is his isolation and not-belonging—started from a seed which he himself has helped to grow and nourish and so in the end the extreme extent of his isolation and separation—so great that he is physically removed from the camp—is something that has grown in his own head.
“All the days that his plague is
within him—he will be tamei”. In other words, as long as
he continues to see himself as irreparably broken from community, incapable
of being part, and drives himself further away—the difference
which makes him not-normal will be a plague to him, and he will be unable
to see himself as part of the community. When we become isolated—for
whatever reason—we often start to turn inward, withdrawing further.
Some of us blame ourselves: “If I wasn’t this way I wouldn’t
be alone”. Some blame others. “People don’t try to
understand me.” This anger and blame only serves to increase the
separation and anger. In this state whatever has caused the isolation
can begin to feel like a plague, a punishment, to us.
Tamei, tamei he shall call out
The tzaraat-person is required to hide themselves: literally, to cover
themselves up to their lips, and to call out “Tamei, tamei”.
Therefore, even as he still walks through the camp, he is required to
at once make himself not-there (by covering himself) and call attention
to himself (by calling out.) What is tamei? It may be useful to note
here that tamei is interpreted as unclean or contaminated, “ritually
impure”. This gives the impression that the state of being tamei
is universally bad, a punishment. But being tamei is simply a spiritual
state that is not appropriate for regular life or normal ritual. It
is not dirty or unholy—indeed some deeply holy and sacred actions
can result in tamei. (As in the first verses of this very parashah:
childbirth makes both a woman and her child tamei for a period of time.)
So what does it mean that the tzaraat-person must identify himself as tamei? It is easy to look at this and translate it as “Unclean!” or “Contaminated!” and see this as a punishment. But Tamei in this instance is not so much a punishment but a result of his inability to connect. He has become someone who can no longer function normally in society. Perhaps we can see it as the Metzorah—who is different, whose very difference has caused isolation so great it is shown in his body—is required to declare his difference to everyone. Not “I am being punished”, or “I am unclean, contaminated, don’t come near me”. But “Tamei”: “I am different. I am in a state which makes the common rituals of every day, the intricate ins and outs of the social world, removed and difficult for me.”
And why tamei, twice? The first is a call to himself. In being forced to declare his difference, he must face it head-on, and this is the beginning of his path out of isolation. For those who struggle with isolation, with being different and thus in some way separated from others, recognizing the source of our struggle is a vital step to finding ways to connect and reduce our isolation. If we don’t know ourselves, we may struggle to belong, to be like everyone else, and not understand why we don’t succeed.
The second tamei is a call to the society around him. Not a warning to stay away, nor even a call for help, but a declaration of his difference. It is easy to see something which causes us to feel, or to literally be, separated and “left out” to be entirely bad, something to be covered up and be ashamed. But in calling out, he is forced to take the first steps to a genuine connection: he is revealing himself (symbolically) so that others, who have perhaps rejected him in part out of misunderstanding and fear, can begin to understand who he is and the way he moves through the world.
He shall sit alone, outside
the camp…
In this parashah, separated from its usual companion, we are left with
the Metzorah outside. Next week we will find out how he is brought back
into the camp, how he ‘re’joins the community. This week,
the image of him separate, isolated, alone, lingers. It’s an image
that fills me with fear and anxiety: What if he must be always alone—never
belonging, never a part of the community? There is no healing, no reconciliation
this week. I want to tell you, “And then there is a happy ending,
the outcast is brought back in, no longer tamei, and he is healthy and
a member of the community once more”. I could do it—just
read a little farther, into next week’s parashah. But that is
not Tazria, and I feel there is a reason why it is cut off here, why
we have the isolation in one parashah and the healing-reconciliation
in the next. We are faced with a very sad truth: that there is not always
healing for people who become isolated: that isolation and loneliness
and feelings of separation and never-belonging can feed on themselves
and eat at the souls of people who suffer from them. We see it in those
who, isolated, turn on themselves in suicide and depression and self-hatred.
We see it in those who turn their isolation on others, in anger and
violence and blame.
And yet…. This imposed separation “sitting alone outside the camp” should be looked at more softly. For someone who is overwhelmed in social situations, removing oneself temporarily is vital to being/ remaining healthy. Perhaps this alone-ness should not be seen as punishment—not truly isolation but solitude. There is a key difference here. Isolation is corrosive, damaging: it feeds on itself and the more isolated one becomes, the further you are driven away. Solitude, on the other hand, is healing. There is great value in “sitting alone outside the camp”—for a time. The metzorah is sent out—not because he is bad and society cannot contain him: but because he has become so overwhelmed and unhealthy that he is in desperate need to separate himself, temporarily, so that he can heal.
And I think that healing comes not in his being made “normal”—no longer different—but in understanding and accepting that difference. It is in realizing who you are, and the unique way you are in the world—in both ways that are difficult and beautiful—that we can find the path through our struggles. In Tazria we are shown the beginnings of the path to that healing. There is hope.
This was a very difficult drash for me
to write. As most/ all of you know, I struggle a great deal with issues
of isolation and loneliness. And I found this parashah very painful.
But I truly believe that in every bit of Torah, however painful or upsetting
or even simply removed from us, we can find a blessing. Even if we must
wrestle with it first. Years ago, when I wrote my very first drash,
it was again on a difficult portion: the issue of homosexuality in Acharei
Mot/ Kedoshim. And at that time, I thought of a verse from Vayishlach,
of Jacob wrestling the angel: “I will not let you go until you
bless me.” And I was brought back to that again, wrestling with
Tazria. And in it I found blessing.
Lo ashaleykhakha ki im beirakhtani.
I will not let you go until you bless me.