Boulder Aish Kodesh

The ceremony by which the metzorah rejoins the community of Israel is one of the most intricate ceremonies in the Jewish pantheon. As described in the Torah itself, the metzorah must take two birds, a piece of cedar wood, a bundle of hyssop, and a scarlet thread. One of the birds is slaughtered over living waters – a ceremony unique to the entire Torah. The other bird will be dipped in the blood of the living bird, and sent to freedom over the field – reminding us of the two goats of Yom Kippur. The bundle of hyssop, the cedar, the scarlet thread, and the living bird are dipped in the blood of the slaughtered bird, and the metzorah is sprinkled with that blood – an echo of the red heifer. The metzorah then washes his/her clothes, washes himself, and reenters the camp.

The metzorah has, at this point, gained access to the outermost stratum of the Jewish encampment. The torah notes that he ‘shall be pure’ – in 14:8 – but he must remain outside his tent for another seven days. On the seventh day, he must shave his entire body – echoes of the induction of the Levites into their Temple service. Once again he washes his clothes and his body. Once again the Torah notes that ‘he shall become pure.’

On the eighth day, he takes the animals necessary for sacrifice, and brings them to the opening of the tent of meeting. There, the priest would sacrifice a male sheep and put blood from it on the right earlobe, thumb, and big toe – reminiscent of the induction of the priests into their service. When the priest finishes his service, the metzorah is now completely re-inducted into the camp of Israel. Again, the Torah says ‘and he shall be pure.’

Every step of the service is remarkable – both in terms of its echoes of other ceremonies within the Jewish pantheon and in terms of its raw experiential power as a ceremony. The bird, dipped in the blood of another bird slaughtered over living water, flying over the field; sitting outside the tent for seven days; being entirely clean-shaven, twice; the blood on the earlobe, thumb, and big toe. Certainly one who goes through such a series of ceremonies would become an entirely new person.

And that is the power of ceremony – to transform. But this ceremony, like almost every other Jewish ceremony, requires a first step in order to be transformative – the investment of the individual in the ceremony. The ceremony serves as a means by which the individual might insert the contents of his own life, in order that they may be transformed. Without this personal connection, the ceremony may have value in its having been fulfilled, but its value as transformative will be extremely limited.

It is not too difficult to insert the contents of one’s life into many of our daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly ceremonies: lighting Shabbat candles is a moment of transformation in my week. Kiddush is a moment of elevating my week. Shabbat is a time to spend with my family, my community, and my self. The daily prayers are times to contemplate and pray about the contents of the world I live in. But the metzorah will have a much harder time applying his life to the profound ceremony that awaits him – for the his ceremony is one that touches on places of deep shame.

The transgressions by which one is stricken with tzara’at are many. It is usually associated with lashon harah, but it is alternatively connected to libel, murder, theft, and a begrudging eye, among others. Whatever the cause may be, it is inevitably a place of shame. And the metzorah must be capable of admitting that he or she has done wrong. Not only must he admit it to himself, he must admit that he needs help in finding his way back to G-d, as described in the Kli Yakar Vayikra 14:2. Only by realizing the flaws within himself and seeking guidance can the ceremony refine him to such a degree.

This situation carries echoes of the Pesach Seder. The Seder itself takes us through the process from slavery to freedom by many individual steps. Each step of the ceremony is designed to create a real experience of that process. But if we are not forthcoming with the specifics of our own slavery, then the Seder is a context without a content. And in order to provide a sense of content that can be catalyzed by the context of the seder, we must go into places where we may feel deep shame.

But this is expected, and actually demanded, in the Peach seder. As the Gemarra Pesachim 116a, the story of the Jewish people’s exodus from Egypt must start with relating shameful matters, and end in relating praiseworthy matters. The Seder’s ability to make slaves into free people requires that we admit that we are slaves. Only then, can we take these certain steps toward a real and true freedom.