If the core isn’t solid, the integrity of a structure suffers. This is true for homes and commercial buildings as well as the structure of the human body or even the “structure” of a community. When we were doing renovations on our house a few years ago, I was very interested in the steps the builders took to make sure we had a sound structure. Naturally, I wanted our house to be strong and remain standing, but it went beyond that. I noticed the places where they used reinforced materials. I noticed where they pointed out a little bit of wood rot or gaps in insulation from old construction. All of that information was helpful to understanding the core strength of our home. 

On a personal and very physical level, it was around this time when I also started exercising regularly and often with my coach. As we cycled through the strength exercises, I would notice that some days worked muscles I didn’t know I had, resulting in incredible soreness, while other times, I hardly felt anything the next day. The muscles I used frequently were already strong and didn’t feel the strain, while the muscles I used less often made themselves known. The key to it all was building and maintaining a strong core. When my core was engaged, my body was more stable.

The idea of identifying the core of a structure, a person, or even an organization is at the center of this week’s Torah portion. This week’s portion, Metzora, is a pause in the narrative of the death of Aaron’s sons, his mourning process, and his rejoining the community. The text details the healing and purification processes of physical buildings and our nation of Israel. As you might imagine, these processes require different actions for different circumstances.

There’s a focus on literally scraping apart buildings and looking at materials to find the source of an impurity. Find the brick, scrape the mud, cut a hole, etc. When all else fails, the Torah asks the community to tear down the building altogether, because at its core, it isn’t sound and must be rebuilt. The commentators read these verses and liken the idea of building strong physical buildings to that of building strong communities.

In chapter 14, verses 43 through 45, the question we’re to ask is whether or not the building as a whole has superficial issues or “wounds,” or if it is the entirety of the building that is broken and must be torn down. In the commentary, we’re asked to use this same lens on our own organizations when there are problems, struggles, or stumbles. Is it the entirety of the institution that is failing, or are there individual boards that need replacing or screws that need tightening?  

Not every problem can be solved with a repair. Sometimes what you really need is an overhaul. Parshat Metzora reminds us that to be problem solvers means knowing the difference.

A year and a half ago, Duncan and I decided to move forward with a major renovation of our home. We were desperate for more space for our growing family and wanted our house to fully function for our daily needs. As we started the process, it became clear that given the age of our home we needed to test for lead and asbestos. Chances were slim, but better safe than sorry. Different people came to our house and took what you might call biopsies of our walls to determine if there was anything that would be poisonous to the people who would come in contact with the inside of those walls as they reconstructed our space.

Even though we believed our house was pretty low-risk (it was built in the 1980s), was it possible we had been living in our house for four years while our son and daughter were being exposed to dangerous substances? Was our house suddenly no longer this safe space we assumed it was to raise our family? And then if they started construction, would the dust particles spread and contaminate everything? We couldn’t be 100% sure until the tests all came back safe.

Asbestos and black mold might be the modern dangers of the past few decades, but concern about the safety of our living spaces goes back as far as the Torah. This week’s Torah portion, Metzora, is a pause in the narrative between the death of Aaron’s sons and his mourning process and then rejoining the community. The text details the healing and purification processes of physical buildings and our nation of Israel. These processes require different actions for different circumstances.

Chapter 14, verses 33-53 deal entirely with construction. That is to say that this section of text is entirely devoted to making sure that we are aware that our homes and buildings are holy vessels that help to sustain life, and if they are not safe spaces, then our community is at risk.

It is a Torah mandate to make sure that our living spaces are safe. Whether this means making sure we are lead free or asbestos free, or that our homes have safety measures in place for fires or other destructive forces, it is imperative that we are creating warm, loving, and safe environments for our children to grow in. While doing the construction served a much bigger purpose than checking for harmful toxins in our sacred family space, I was still glad to know that our home was and is as safe as we can make it for our children and all who come to play there.

Big transitions leave you changed forever. Sometimes they leave you feeling as if it would be impossible for life to continue the way it had before. For me, I can pinpoint two such transitions: one was the death of my father, and the other was birth of our daughter. When my father died almost nine years ago, my entire world stopped. Then after shiva, when it was time to rejoin the world, the world felt different. It looked different. Something as seemingly insignificant as how I used my phone was turned completely on its head for me. I was no longer tied to my cell phone for constant health updates. I also didn’t have him calling to bless me on Shabbat anymore. Instead, the new normal was me listening to several of his old blessings that were left as recordings on my voicemail and making sure to call and check in with my mom on a regular basis.

With the birth of our sweet Shiri, my world was also turned upside-down. Our hours and days were no longer our own; they were shared with her and largely based on her schedule. Travel and vacations were suddenly limited by when and how it was appropriate to travel with an infant. Transitions are an integral part of life, but the big ones bring with them new definitions of normal in abrupt and not-so-subtle ways.

The Torah has keen insights into the transitions we face and the changes they can bring to our world, especially where death and illness are concerned. At the macro level, this week’s Torah portion, Metzora, is a pause in the narrative between the death of Aaron’s sons and his mourning process and rejoining the community. The text details the healing and purification processes, and the steps include different actions for different circumstances.

Chapter 14, verse 4 begins this reintegration process with the step-by-step approach to rejoining community. The “afflicted” may move from their home outside the camp to inside the camp, but not yet return to their home in the camp. These are the baby steps, the slow reintegration approach that allows for the marking of time and space as a person comes out of a life-changing illness.

In this approach the text recognizes the “new normal” that comes after a major life event. It is in the recognition of change that we are able to emerge and move forward. The Torah recognizes that although a transition can happen quickly, adjusting to change doesn’t happen in the blink of an eye. Rather, as a community and as individuals it takes time to move forward as well as the support of those around us to reenter society. The Torah reminds us that it is not only OK, but normal and natural to have time for a transition, and that we should embrace that space as sacred before moving forward.

One thing Judaism does exceptionally well put meaning behind transitions. From Shabbat and Havdalah we get the transition from week to weekend and back. From Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we get yearly check-ins with ourselves as a way of transitioning from one year to the next. From a bat mitzvah, we get the ceremonial beginning of the transition into responsible Jewish adulthood. From shiva and shloshim, we get time specifically set aside for mourning and transitioning back to the world. All of these experiences, even the death of a loved one, are part of Judaism’s life-affirming tradition of celebrating the moments in between and really living the transitions.