Parshas Metzorah
The Ugly Truth
of Lashon Hara
What Nice Skin You Have...
It’s not Hansen’s disease. Let’s get that out of the way right now.
The Torah isn’t talking about some medical condition here. Tzaraas, the biblical affliction described in Parshas Metzorah, has nothing to do with bacteria or skin disease as we understand it today. It is not about science—it’s about soul. A spiritual ailment with physical consequences. A miracle, really. A wake-up call from the Heavens that something deep within us is off. That we’ve crossed a line, especially with our mouths.
Where do we first see tzaraas in the Torah? Not in Vayikra, surprisingly, but all the way back in Sefer Shemos, at the Burning Bush.
When Moshe—yes, Moshe Rabbeinu—questions whether the Israelites will believe him, Hashem gives him a sign. He places his hand into his chest, and it emerges white with tzaraas. Why? Because he spoke ill of his brothers. He doubted their faith. He assumed they wouldn't believe in redemption.
That single moment of doubt—of negative speech—was enough to trigger the affliction. Not because God was angry, but because lashon hara makes us ugly. It warps our appearance, literally and figuratively.
When we judge others harshly, when we speak out of cynicism or scorn, we start to rot from the inside out—and the outside follows. That's the brutal beauty of tzaraas: it reveals the moral decay that begins in the mouth and spreads to the flesh.
And what does the Torah say should happen to someone afflicted with this holy leprosy?
They must be sent outside the camp.
Not punished. Not imprisoned. Just… exiled. Not because we hate them. But because they need time out. Time to look in the mirror and ask: how did I get here? Why am I alone?
And this part gets me every time: the metzorah must pull their garment over their mouth and declare “Tamai! Tamai!”—“Impure! Impure!”
Why the mouth? This isn’t COVID.
Because it was the mouth that caused the damage. The mouth that wagged too freely. The mouth that judged. The mouth that tore people down with words. So now the mouth must be covered. And not just that—it must declare itself impure.
And that’s the deepest lesson of all.
Because when we speak negatively about others, when we call others “impure” in one way or another—too annoying, too shallow, too arrogant, too left-wing, too religious, too secular—we’re really just holding up a mirror. It’s the pot calling the kettle black.
We’re projecting. And the Torah sees right through it.
That’s why the metzorah has to be the one to cry out “Tamai!” Not someone else labeling them. Not the Kohen chasing them out. No—the person themselves must acknowledge the truth. “It was me. My ugliness. My fear. My insecurity. My mouth.”
And let’s be honest—it’s painfully relatable.
How often do we say something negative about someone else, only to realize later (if we’re lucky) that it said more about us than it ever did about them?
“I can’t stand how judgmental she is,” we say—while judging.
“He’s so fake,” we mutter—while being dishonest ourselves.
“She just loves drama,” we scoff—while spinning a little drama of our own.
Point one finger out, and three point back.
Parshas Metzorah teaches us that spiritual healing doesn’t begin with prayer or even forgiveness—it begins with radical honesty. With recognizing that sometimes we are the problem. That before we talk about others, we need to spend a little time outside the camp, get quiet, and ask: what’s going on inside of me?
And maybe that’s the path to true purity—not pretending we’re flawless, but owning when we’re not.
Maybe only then can we come back into the community with a clean mouth, a clean heart, and a face that shines with healing.
It’s not Hansen’s disease. Let’s get that out of the way right now.
The Torah isn’t talking about some medical condition here. Tzaraas, the biblical affliction described in Parshas Metzorah, has nothing to do with bacteria or skin disease as we understand it today. It is not about science—it’s about soul. A spiritual ailment with physical consequences. A miracle, really. A wake-up call from the Heavens that something deep within us is off. That we’ve crossed a line, especially with our mouths.
Where do we first see tzaraas in the Torah? Not in Vayikra, surprisingly, but all the way back in Sefer Shemos, at the Burning Bush.
When Moshe—yes, Moshe Rabbeinu—questions whether the Israelites will believe him, Hashem gives him a sign. He places his hand into his chest, and it emerges white with tzaraas. Why? Because he spoke ill of his brothers. He doubted their faith. He assumed they wouldn't believe in redemption.
That single moment of doubt—of negative speech—was enough to trigger the affliction. Not because God was angry, but because lashon hara makes us ugly. It warps our appearance, literally and figuratively.
When we judge others harshly, when we speak out of cynicism or scorn, we start to rot from the inside out—and the outside follows. That's the brutal beauty of tzaraas: it reveals the moral decay that begins in the mouth and spreads to the flesh.
And what does the Torah say should happen to someone afflicted with this holy leprosy?
They must be sent outside the camp.
Not punished. Not imprisoned. Just… exiled. Not because we hate them. But because they need time out. Time to look in the mirror and ask: how did I get here? Why am I alone?
And this part gets me every time: the metzorah must pull their garment over their mouth and declare “Tamai! Tamai!”—“Impure! Impure!”
Why the mouth? This isn’t COVID.
Because it was the mouth that caused the damage. The mouth that wagged too freely. The mouth that judged. The mouth that tore people down with words. So now the mouth must be covered. And not just that—it must declare itself impure.
And that’s the deepest lesson of all.
Because when we speak negatively about others, when we call others “impure” in one way or another—too annoying, too shallow, too arrogant, too left-wing, too religious, too secular—we’re really just holding up a mirror. It’s the pot calling the kettle black.
We’re projecting. And the Torah sees right through it.
That’s why the metzorah has to be the one to cry out “Tamai!” Not someone else labeling them. Not the Kohen chasing them out. No—the person themselves must acknowledge the truth. “It was me. My ugliness. My fear. My insecurity. My mouth.”
And let’s be honest—it’s painfully relatable.
How often do we say something negative about someone else, only to realize later (if we’re lucky) that it said more about us than it ever did about them?
“I can’t stand how judgmental she is,” we say—while judging.
“He’s so fake,” we mutter—while being dishonest ourselves.
“She just loves drama,” we scoff—while spinning a little drama of our own.
Point one finger out, and three point back.
Parshas Metzorah teaches us that spiritual healing doesn’t begin with prayer or even forgiveness—it begins with radical honesty. With recognizing that sometimes we are the problem. That before we talk about others, we need to spend a little time outside the camp, get quiet, and ask: what’s going on inside of me?
And maybe that’s the path to true purity—not pretending we’re flawless, but owning when we’re not.
Maybe only then can we come back into the community with a clean mouth, a clean heart, and a face that shines with healing.