When we were youngsters, most of us probably had a pet of some kind. And sooner or later it died. Our parents did not want to be callous nor did they want to make us feel bad just because our goldfish passed on, so they allowed us to bury our favorite pet. It is a drama that I’m sure takes place thousands of times a day in this country. Buried in the backyards of America are hamsters, gerbils, goldfish, birds and probably a healthy number of dogs and cats.
To a young child who has a difficult time understanding death or to the child who is just beginning to understand the concepts of “forever” and “dead,” the backyard cemetery is a very important place. For, just like real cemeteries, these tiny plots of land are sacred, for they contain the remains of childhood fantasies and long- lost best friends. Looking back on our little cemeteries may make us chuckle but it does bring back fond memories of a beloved pet from a long time ago.
Our homes are filled with places of important memories, most of these not as tangible as the little cemetery in the backyard perhaps, but just as poignant. There is the staircase that your daughter came down wearing her evening gown for prom night; the floorboards that creak just so, that over the years you learned who was doing what anywhere in the house by listening to which floor made the noise. And there, in the basement, is the very first couch you bought when you got married. Indeed, there is no doubt that old houses begin to be old friends and they, like old friends, know where you’ve been. They stand in silent testimonial, with your history embedded in the very plaster and upon the very beams which support the house.
This is a very romantic picture of the house. It sort of reminds me of “Leave It to Beaver” reruns. While the picture I painted may be true to some degree, I can almost hear you say it now, “Hey, wait a second, Cy, what goes on in the house is not all wine and roses!” That, too, is a truth I am sure all of us know too well.
Mixed in with the love in any home is also the jealousy, the rivalries, the arguments, the silence of anger, the shouts of acrimony and the pain of disappointment. It is the place where our bad report cards were first “made public” and the place where we had to bring the newly dented car to face our parents and the consequences. For some truly unfortunate people home is a place to be feared because of sexual or physical abuse. The mikdash me’at, the little sanctuary as our tradition calls it, has oftentimes been anything but a place of holiness and tranquility.
Our Torah portion this week also speaks of a house which has become tainted. The text reads, “When you come into the land of Canaan, which I give to you for a possession, and I put the plague of leprosy in a house of the land of your possession, then he that owns the house shall come and tell the priest saying, ‘There seems to me to be a plague on the house.’ And the priest shall command that they empty the house . . . and if the plague persists in the house (the priest) shall break down the house, its stones, its timber, and its mortar and he shall take it all out of the city.” (Lev. 14:33-42) Leprosy is a well-known disease that affects the skin. But, since when does leprosy affect a house as the Torah portion suggests? The equivalent would be suggesting that your car caught the chicken pox! Not surprisingly the Rabbis had the same problem.
Our Rabbis teach that a leper, known as metzora in Hebrew, is the Torah’s clever use of a pun. They suggest that we read the word metzorah, leper, as Motzi ra, “He who plants evil words.” (Vayikra Rabba 16, 3) This is their way of saying that the disease of leprosy, metzora, is really the disease of motzi ra, speaking to others in an evil manner, which, like leprosy, can have the effect of tearing a home apart and destroying it to its very foundations.
I am not suggesting that the home can be or even should be an eternally tranquil place. The simple truth is that arguments and disagreements are part of human nature. Indeed, life would be very boring if everybody at home agreed on everything. But how often it happens that a word, an idea or a position, becomes motzi ra, an evil word to be shunned like the plague of leprosy! Anger or disagreement with the idea turns into anger at the person who has the idea. The vicious cycle of argument and counter-argument, accusation and hurt has been put into motion.
In the 1960s and the 1970s this vicious circle was called “the generation gap” and was between the idealistic youth who fantasized that they could make the world one big commune of love and peace, and their conservative parents who were set in their security and were not exactly open to radical change. How many evil words leading to broken homes and torn-up families have littered those decades!
The 1980s was the “Gimme Decade.” American children were born into the most affluent society on Earth and found themselves seduced by cars, jewelry, clothes, and money; seductions that were often filled by well-meaning parents. But for many the bubble burst simply because neither parents nor their children could afford the cost of being cool. The child who was so used to getting after saying “gimme” suddenly found himself stealing clothes, killing for a pair of running shoes, and blaming his or her parents for not caring how they looked to their friends.
Parents of the 1990s had their “Gimme” episodes, too. Many had come to expect miracles from their children and have put enormous pressure on them to succeed in everything after enrolling them in everything. This is beautifully illustrated in the movie “Baby Boom” when Diane Keaton, playing the mother of a one year old, tries to enroll her newly-adopted daughter in daycare only to find that the daycare teaches who Ronald Reagan is, what the stock exchange means, and what Perrier water is. When she asks why they aren’t learning to draw and color, the head of the daycare reminds Ms. Keaton that competition is fierce to get into the right kindergarten (which naturally determines who gets into the better grade schools, junior high schools, high schools and colleges!). The children, she learns, must be prepared for the KSAT, the Kindergarten Student Aptitude Test.
I thought this scene was a wild exaggeration but found out that it is more true than not. With that kind of pressure from parents and the traditional childhood pressures to wear the right clothes and belong to the right clubs and hang out with the right people and go to the right school, is it any wonder that the suicide rate in the United States continues to climb and has presently reached 6,000 teenage suicides a year? God knows how many attempted suicides there have been!
Because of what many parents have come to expect from their children and what many children have come to expect of their parents in this age of acquired expectations, words of disappointment, anger and frustration often fester into words of enmity. The metzora of evil words too often fills our homes and our lives. Unless we break this cycle in our own homes, the family will be a word and a notion out of the ancient past.
Dr. John Baucom writes that, “With the appearance of the two bathroom home, Americans forgot how to cooperate. With the appearance of the two-car family we forgot how to associate, and with the coming of the two-television home, we forgot how to communicate.” The Torah calls the plague of split families metzora and the Rabbis call it motzi ra. But the end result is always the same; the home is rent asunder and the fabric of family life is torn because of unwillingness to talk and unwillingness to listen.
The Jewish home is a mikdash me’ at, a small Temple, and like the Temple of old, should be periodically purified. The words spoken in its holy walls should be supportive and loving. They may be critical but criticism offered in a way which is meant to teach and guide, not ridicule and offend.
Our Rabbis write that when the Canaanites learned that the Israelites were coming to invade Canaan they set to and hid their valuables in their houses and their fields. When the Israelites finally conquered the land, God would send the plague of leprosy to a house which would then have to be torn down. When the Israelite tore down the house, he found the hidden treasure and with that treasure rebuilt a new, pure house. (Vayikra Rabba 17,6)
Our Jewish homes have occasionally been cursed with motzi ra, evil and degrading speech to one another. Sometimes it tears a house down. But, let us remember that under all the rubble of ruined relationships, family feuds, words of jealousy and anger, words regretfully uttered and words intentionally uttered, there lies a treasure buried there long ago. It is a promise that understanding can return to a torn home and it is a hope that freely expressed love can fill the spaces and make them holy. Such a task requires understanding and a sense of direction by the whole family. And in the words of Eubie Blake, “Be grateful for luck. Pay the thunder no mind–listen to the birds. And don’t hate anybody”.
From <https://americanrabbi.com/the-leprous-words-by-cy-stanway/>
