By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — On the surface, Parshiot Tazria and Metzora seem to focus on arcane rituals, skin conditions, and purity laws. But a deeper reading reveals a profound spiritual map for emotional wellbeing, self-reflection, and compassionate community living.
Who among us is so pure as to never speak lashon hora? Who among us doesn’t exclude others? Yes, even our religious and political leaders stoop to this weakness. Who among us is so out of touch with oneself as to naively believe that s/he always promotes achdus within our community? Studies show that up to 90% of our conversations involve gossip and celebrity gossip is a 3+-billion-dollar industry. We all know that gossip destroys relationships, impedes morale, harms the targeted individual’s friendships and financial status, and weakens their overall mental health.
Rav Yisrael Salanter famously said the reason Tazria-Metzora follows the laws of kosher eating (in parsha Shemini) is to teach that what comes out of our mouths is even more impactful than what goes in. Lashon hara—destructive speech—is not a niche issue; it’s a spiritual pandemic. It fractures relationships, damages reputations, and breeds emotional isolation
This week’s Torah readings bring profound, overwhelming, and weighty lessons for living a healthier, more mindful, genuinely caring, and authentically considerate life.
Rabbi Abraham Twerski tells the story of a young man who came to the chief Rabbi of Vilna, Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinsky, with a request. As this young man’s father was applying for a rabbinical position in a town that the sage was familiar with, he asked the Rabbi for a letter of approbation on his father’s behalf.
Rabbi Grodzinsky felt that the candidate was not worthy of the position, but instead of flatly refusing, he just said that he would rather not mix into the rabbinical affairs of another city and was sure that the council of that city would make a fair and wise decision. Rabbi Grodzinsky did not realize the tirade that would be forthcoming. The young man began to spew insults and aspersions at him. The sage, however, accepted them in silence. After a few minutes of hearing the abusive language, Rabbi Grodzinsky excused himself and left the room. Students who witnessed the barrage were shocked at the young man’s brazen audacity. They were even more surprised that the Rav did not silence the young man at the start of the barrage.
Rabbi Grodzinsky turned to them. “You cannot view that onslaught on its own. You must look at the bigger picture. This young man was defending the honor of his father, and in that vein, I chose to overlook his lapse.”
The Torah prescribes solitude for the metzora—the one afflicted with tzara’at. But this isn’t punitive exile; it’s an invitation to pause. The forced quiet gives space to consider: What tone do I take with others? With myself? What are the invisible wounds my words leave behind?
The person with tzara’at does not self-diagnose. They are seen by the Kohen, a spiritual figure trained not just to assess the affliction but to regard the human being behind it. Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetsky teaches that the Kohen must weigh more than symptoms; he considers timing, emotional context, and impact. A groom before his wedding, for example, is spared public declaration of impurity.
We see the very sensitive, caring, connection between the one who examines and the one who is afflicted. We learn in this week’s reading to see the potential for extending our own community to include those ill in body, mind, or spirit, and are charged with fully welcoming them back after whatever diagnosis and treatment they receive for the “disease,” that does not, after all, alter their essential humanity. The Torah directs us to welcome and comfort the afflicted instead of solely expelling them. For the Sages, “visiting the sick,” bikur cholim, is a form of “walking in Hashem’s ways” (Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 14a).
Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi notes, “…in regard to stating something is absolutely [nega] or doubtfully [k’nega] a ritually pure (tahor) or impure lesion (tamei)…it is really addressing a matter of derech eretz (ethical behavior). That is, a person [should never declare a lesion to be tamei,] even if the matter is crystal clear in their eyes (vadai), instead, they must always state that the lesion is only perhaps (safek) tamei [and leave the determination to the kohen]. This is in congruence with Chazal’s dictum: ‘One should always teach his tongue to say: ‘I don’t know’.” (Talmud Bavli, Berachot 4a, Sefer Ha-Mizrachi, Vayikra 14:35). Imagine what life would be like if we all held to this.
As Rav Yishmael bar Rav Nachman famously said: “Derech eretz preceded the [giving of] the Torah by 26 generations.” (Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 9:3) The underlying meaning of this concept was given voice in Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah’s far earlier aphorism: “If there is no Torah, there is no derech eretz; if there is no derech eretz, there is no Torah.” (Pirkei Avot 3:17)
Genuine learners apply the words of the Talmud (Shevuot 30a) which teaches the obligation to judge others positively. “Judge your comrade righteously, you must judge your fellow favorably.” Perhaps this week’s readings will serve as a prompt for all who believe they are completely spiritually pure, and those who recognize they are far from that, to do a spiritual check-up, much like a physical check-up. Search your soul for what’s healthy, free from lashon hora, that brings people closer, that avoids judging others. In Jewish thought, greatness comes not from perfection, but from owning our flaws and striving to grow. Becoming truly human—adam—means facing our spiritual setbacks and choosing to heal and improve. The Torah calls us not to avoid failure, but to rise from it with purpose.
After healing, the metzora is gradually welcomed back with rituals of return. This teaches us: recovery isn’t just physical; it’s social and spiritual. There’s no switch flipped from “impure” to “pure.” Rejoining life takes time, patience, and care. Healing is not only internal—it is affirmed by community. Too often, modern culture rushes people to “bounce back.” But the Torah insists: honor the process. Make space for reintegration. Give dignity to the one returning.
The Hebrew word for affliction, nega, shares letters with the word for joy, oneg. When rearranged, what festers can become what nourishes. What isolates can ultimately reconnect. The “plague” becomes an opportunity. This is not naïve optimism—it’s spiritual realism. The Torah believes in human transformation. As Rabbi Yisrael Salanter said, it may be easier to study all of Talmud than to change a single trait. But change is the point. Growth is the goal. And kindness is the method.
These parshiot are not about excluding the impure. They are about finding a pathway back to wholeness—through compassion, speech, patience, and deep seeing. They ask us to stop assigning moral failure to illness or struggle, and instead respond with honor, empathy, and care.
Ultimately, Tazria-Metzora is a journey from affliction to connection. From being outside the camp to rejoining it with dignity. From broken speech to sacred speech. From hiding our wounds to having them gently seen. The Torah isn’t just asking us to scrub the surface. It’s inviting us to tend to the soul underneath.
So perhaps these “strange” ancient laws are not so strange at all. Perhaps they are quietly, tenderly reminding us: when something is festering beneath the surface, don’t ignore it. Step away. Speak kindly. Let yourself be seen. Take your time. Then come back home—not just to your people, but to yourself. Let’s use these Torah readings as a mirror and a guide. To ask ourselves: Who have I isolated with my words? Who have I judged instead of understood? What in me needs healing?
And then—let’s take a step toward becoming the kind of people, and building the kind of communities, where every soul can feel seen, safe, and sacred.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.