This week in Chutz L’Aretz (and last week in Eretz Yisrael) we read the Parsha of Tazria Metzorai. In it, we learn about tzora’at, a spiritual malady that afflicted people and their clothes and houses in the times of the Beit Hamikdash. Tzorat was a spiritual affliction, a consequence of sinning (including sins such as lashon harah and geiva, pride). Only a Kohen was allowed to diagnose the symptoms and proclaim that the affliction was indeed tzora’at.
If one found a mark on their house, one would have to inform a Kohen and ask them to come and inspect their house. Specifically they needed to report to the Kohen that:
“it seems to me that something like a plague has appeared in the house (“knega nira li babayit)” (Parshat Metzora, Vayikra 14:35)
In his parsha sheet this week, Rabbi Ledder brings from the Artscroll commentary a number of lessons about the correct way to speak from this passuk. One such lesson is that it is advisable to speak softly and modestly rather than emphatically, taking care not to contradict or argue with another.
Another lesson we can learn from this hesitant phraseology is that it reveals our recognition that we never really know the whole truth. Only Hashem does. Speaking emphatically or definitively may smack of geiva or a G-d complex.
Support for this lesson comes from the parsha itself. Rashi teaches that those who did have tzora’at on their houses were forced to knock down the walls, only to find treasures hidden inside that had been hidden there by non-Jewish previous owners. Thus, a seeming punishment turned out to be a wonderful reward. The Piasezno Rebbe takes this lesson one step further.
In an email drasha sent by Zemira Ozarowski (summarising a shiur given by Rabbi Sam Shor) she cites the Piaseczno Rebbe, Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira who wrote a sefer called the Aish Kodesh in secret in the Warsaw Ghetto. In this work, he asks – if the tzaraat on the house was really a bracha, why is it given through tzaraat which is a form of tumaa? He goes on explain that the phrase “it seems to us” teaches us a powerful lesson about the concealed nature of goodness in this world. Though things look bad, we must realize that not everything is as it seems. Things might seem bad, but in truth we have to understand that Hashem has our good in mind and ultimately everything is for the good, no matter what it seems to us at the time.
The way we speak reveals our thoughts, and the way we think reveals our beliefs. Thus, speaking with words such as “it seems” or “it looks like” or “it appears” or “I presume” suggest that we do not know everything in this world, that only Hashem sees the whole picture. In righteous anger we may presume something is unfair or unjust or just plain bad, but in truth, this represents our false belief that we know the whole story and lack the belief that everything Hashem does is for our best and is all good. Though something might appear to be an affiction or a punishment, it is actually “gam zu l’tov”. We in our mortal finiteness and position in this World of concealment only see the back of the tapestry. In the World to Come we will IY”H see the front – and the rich, intense and confusing colors and patterns will finally make sense.
In her book G-d Winked, Sarah Yocheved Rigler reinforces the idea that knowledge is overrated in the Western world. In relation to interactions with other people, she advices:
“If we could quell the negative judgment by telling ourselves “I really do not know the whole story”, we would save ourselves and others so much grief.” (p. 130).
But as she points out, even more than in the interpersonal sphere, the most destructive negative judgments occur in the arena of judging G-d. How could He? But really, how could we? According to Rebbetzin Tzipporah Heller, we are in the middle of the story and only Hashem has “read” to the end.
In an honest and revealing way, Sarah Yocheved Rigler admits that when she started learning Torah, her greatest obstacle to knowing G-d was ironically her “insistence on her ability to know.” She adds that Rebbetzin Heller taught her that this world is mainly hidden (the Hebrew word world, ‘olam’ is related to the word ‘ne’elam’ meaning hidden). She asks “Would you really believe in an infallible G-d that was no bigger than your mind’s ability to grasp?”
Being infused with egos but knowing deep down that we are truly not in control; we may find it very difficult to admit we do not know. But practising saying things in an indirect, gentle and uncertain way (I think, I hope, it appears, I am not sure) may gradually train us to think and accept this truth more easily. Until we reach a point where we can become confident in being unsure, we can feel strength in our weakness, secure in our insecurity. Until we can feel blessed that He, not we, is fully in charge of the show and has the full picture.
How can we relate this message to our parenting practice this week?
It is healthy for a child to grow up thinking that his parents are in charge. But at a certain point, it is also healthy for them to hear us say “I don’t know.” Sometimes, this simple phrase stops a precocious questioner in their tracks. “Oh…what do I say to that?!” he may wonder.
And we can utter these three words with more confidence if we have managed to successfully train our children that only Hashem is All Knowing. Our children will then know that’s it is okay for parents not to know. Because there is One who does know. The only One who truly does. And that is all that really matters.
Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas infused with the knowledge that we really do not know. And that, Baruch Hashem, He does!
With bracha