Metzora: 3 Iyyar 5767

I want to talk about leprosy.

Not actual leprosy, but metaphorical leprosy. In this week's parsha, we read about the affliction called tzora'at, commonly translated as "leprosy." The sages describe this affliction as the punishment for lashon ha-ra, an evil tongue. Karmically speaking, of course.

You know what I'd like to see? A renewed interest among Jews, to be sure, but really among everyone, to think more about gossip.

Most of us seem to think that there's nothing wrong in spreading negative information about others as long as the information is true but a lot of Jews take a different view. Perhaps that's why the Hebrew term lashon ha-ra (literally, "bad language" or "bad tongue") has no precise equivalent in English. Unlike slander, which is usually condemned as wrong because it's false, lashon ha-ra is, or at least can be, true. It's the spreading of information that will lower the status of the person to whom it refers.

Technically speaking, halacha forbids spreading negative truths about anyone unless the person to whom you're speaking needs the information. Two centuries ago, Jonathan K. Lavater, a Swiss theologian and poet, said thia on the topic: "Never tell evil of a man if you do not know it for a certainty, and if you know it for a certainty, then ask yourself, 'Why should I tell it?'..."

Intention has a great deal to do with when one could, in theory, speak negative truths. The same exact sentence, depending on the context, can be a compliment, harmless gossip, or irreversible hurtful words. Unfortunately, this doesn't matter to enough people to dissuade them. Getting the good dirt is often so interesting that many of us completely the Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you." Although we'd probably want similarly embarrassing dirt about ourselves to be kept quiet, many of us refuse to be equally discreet about others' sensitive secrets. I think were all guilty of that. I know I try hard everyday to only pass information along if it's necessary, but sometimes I really get caught up with friends and know I could be doing a better job.

The catalyst, you see, is that I came to realize just how sensitive I am to it. It's downright hurtful to hear about anyone, but especially about oneself. I've had plenty of things in my life that have been gossipped about and every time, it hurt. It really did. And, perhaps the most frustrating thing about gossip is that when gossip is heard, all too often, it is accepted as truth and never questioned. I wonder how many friendships are denied before they ever begin simply because nobody ever bothered to ask the gossip target if any of it was true?

I have been thinking of this a lot lately because it's remarkable just how much I was hearing in a day. And, I'm far from perfect, and yet so irritated by gossip anymore that I had to make sure I wasn't contributing. So, I have a jar in my cupboard that will get a dollar plunked into it if I think back over my day and realize that I have gossipped. I find it so hurtful, for whatever reason, that I understand why gossip is on par with murder. Both are terribly hurtful offenses and neither can be taken back once they are comitted.

Even the passive listener who doesn't utter a word is guilty.

Tazria: 3 Iyyar 5767

This week's parsha turns us onto the word tzaraat, meaning a sort of spiritual illness.

Chassidism hints that our soul-mojo is driven by two opposing forces: the inclination to flee or move (ratzo), and the inclination to just be or to settle in (shov). In moments we are struck with excitement, love, lust, ambition, desire, and such, we are in ratzo-mode. We feel the need to change something about ourselves or our situation or environment to get our goal, to strive for something better or more beautiful. When we have a moment of humility, loyalty, commitment or awe, we are in shov-mode. We feel like tucking in, affirming ourselves or our existences or environments just as they are, as good enough, we are accepting our current standing in the world, or the path we walk along and just taking the moment to exist within as it is. Ratzo drives us to run a marathon, shov to relax in the tub just because; ratzo to plant trees, shov to enjoy the sunrise.

The disruption of this balance is Tzaraat. The will escapes the self and fails to return, leaving behind a state of being where we risk succumbing to all sorts of issues and pains taking root like weeds in an forgotten garden.

In a spiritually healthy soul-mojo, we vacillate between ratzo and shov, back and forth. No urge to pick one over the other, but to fluidly exist as the two inclinations rise and fall. The in and out of breath. In contraction and expansion of the beating heart.

Shmini: 26 Nisan 5767

From MeaningfulLife.org:

In the terminology of Kabbalah and Chassidism, soil and water are analogs for materiality and spirituality. Aside from the usual association of soil with earthiness and mundanity, and of water with purity and sublimity, the difference between soil and water expresses one of the basic distinguishing characteristics between matter and spirit. Soil is comprised of distinct granules, while water forms a cohesive expanse. When two types of soil (or any two solids) are combined, they remain separate entities, however thoroughly mixed; liquids, on the other hand, blend to the point of indistinguishability. (This mechanical fact also has halachic implications--see Shulchan Aruch and commentaries, Yoreh Deah, 109.) Indeed, the way to fuse solid particles to an integral whole is either to introduce a liquid element (as in the kneading of dough), or to heat them to the point of liquidity (as in welding).

By the same token, materiality tends to plurality and divisiveness, while the hallmark of the spiritual is unity and oneness. The material world presents us with a great diversity of creatures, elements and forces, each bent on the preservation and enhancement of its individual existence. The material being is egocentric in essence, striving to consume whatever it needs (or merely desires) for itself and resisting all attempts to be consumed. While there are instances of cooperation and symbiosis in the material world, these are always toward the aim of mutual benefit rather than altruistic unity; furthermore, even this usually represents a triumph of mind over matter, and must be enforced upon a resisting egocentric instinct (witness the clash of egos in a marriage, or the race and class-related tensions in a society).

On the other hand, spirituality, like water, is characterized by unity and cohesiveness, and, like water, is an agent of unity when introduced into the soil of the material. The soul amalgamates a diversity of cells and limbs into a life; the idea connects a myriad of disjointed facts into a cogent whole; love supplants the instinctive me with a common we. And when man shifts the focus of his life from the pursuit of material gratification to the service of his Creator, the diverse and belligerent granules of material life coalesce to a singular flow, as his every act and endeavor becomes an exercise in bringing harmony to the world and uniting it with its supernal source.

Pesach: 15 Nisan 5767

For this week, I want to direct you to a wonderful resource, Open Source Haggadah Project. I found this on their site, and thought it was something to consider while seated at our seder tables this week.

(from Jews for Racial & Economic Justice)

"We break the middle matzah in two, wrapping one portion in a napkin and hiding it. This division reminds us of the forced division of communities and families due to disappearances, detentions, and deportations of immigrants that are carried out in the name of public safety. The portion of matzah that remains visible becomes our bread of affliction, lekhem oni, the suffering of those who do not know where their loved ones have been taken. The hidden piece of matzah, the afikomen, represents the horror hidden from our view - the treatment of those detained and prevented from speaking with their families, friends, or even lawyers. The disappeared are doubly blocked from our sight, physically separated in jails and detention centers, but also wrapped in a blanket of fear of further disappearances and legal attacks, fears intended to silence their communities. Until these divided parts are made one again, our seder cannot truly be ended. Until these families and communities are reunited, we have not yet achieved our freedom."