Some 30 years ago, I was living in Greece. Whilst there, I tried to see as much of the
country as I could. As some of you
already know, Greece is a country of rugged and forbidding landscapes, as well
as beautiful and scenic ones.
I was touring Crete,
the largest of the Greek Islands, in a rented car with a companion. The island’s south shore consists primarily
of towering mountains plunging thousands of feet into the sea; along much of that
shore there are no beaches and no protected bays and harbours. On the island’s gentler north shore, in
contrast, there are many bays, peninsulas and islets.
We were on the north
shore, just north of the fishing town of Agios Nikolaos, and came upon the
peninsula known as Kalydon. There was a
narrow isthmus connecting this land to Crete, and there was a narrow road on
the isthmus, on which one could drive onto the peninsula. I drove across it, then north to the end of
Kalydon, which was entirely rural and served as grazing land for a large flock
of goats. At the end of the peninsula
was a taverna, a casual restaurant with a gaggle of fishing boats beached
behind it. Across a narrow strip of
water, little more than a stone’s throw, was a small island which we knew from
the map to be Spinalonga. We could see
that there were ancient fortifications on the island. Since it was not yet lunchtime, we stepped
behind the tavern and enquired as to the possibility of a lift to the island in
one of the boats. We got more than that;
one of the boatmen offered to guide us around the island. We negotiated a price, and the man rowed us
across.
Whilst walking
around the island’s ruined fort, our guide told us that, after the Venetians
left, the island became a leper colony.
Hearing that pronouncement, my companion and I looked at one another and
our faces told it all. The morning was
ruined for us. Not worried about
appearing to be weak-hearted, we ended the tour very quickly and pronounced our
readiness to return to the taverna. But
we didn’t stop to eat. We climbed back
into the car and started driving back from whence we came. Our reaction to the news that we’d been
casually walking around a former leper colony, was so visceral and emotional
that we instinctively felt we needed to put distance between it and us. Whilst crossing back over the isthmus road, I
stopped and we shared a hearty laugh about our behaviour. When we finished our laugh, I shifted the car
into gear and drove back to Agios Nikolaos, where we stopped for lunch.
Leprosy, nowadays
called Hansen’s Disease, is manifest by the formation of hard crusts that
disfigure the skin of its victim. It
destroys the nerve structure underneath the skin, and sometimes the extremities
actually rot away and fall off. It’s a
rare condition and not contagious. But
in the ancient world, it was feared; its victims were shunned from normal
society out of revulsion for the condition and the fear that it would spread. They were consigned to colonies where they
could be quarantined from others. In
these colonies, they would ultimately die horrible deaths with only other
victims of the disease to comfort them.
This week’s Torah
portion opens by prescribing a purification ritual for tzara’at, which
is usually translated ‘leprosy.’ The
person so afflicted is called a ‘metzora’ which is usually translated
‘leper.’
The portion is
almost certainly not talking about leprosy at all. After all, the text telling of the
purification procedure assumes that the person’s condition will be cured relatively
quickly. And to repeat, there is no cure
for leprosy. So it had to be talking
about something that was not only curable, but expected to disappear within a
few days. But the translation ‘leprosy’ stuck.
Whilst ‘leprosy’
is not accurate, perhaps it accurately conveys the ancient man’s revulsion for
those afflicted with diseases of the skin.
Leprosy was rare, but other skin conditions were more prevalent. Just as they are today. Skin conditions, being so readily visible,
cause many people to step back and see the sufferer as an untouchable. They are afraid to be in contact with them.
This attitude
persists even to our day. People
manifesting skin conditions are often seen as embodying evil. I can’t tell you how many films I’ve seen
where a person with bad skin was cast as the villain. Or novels where the bad guy was described as
having bad skin. In the case of leprosy,
the ‘mother of all skin diseases,’ my own reaction serves to remind me of this
revulsion. Even centuries after the
fact, and even though I knew intellectually that Hansen’s Disease is
almost extinct and non-contagious, I reacted quickly and negatively to the idea
that I was treading ground where lepers once were quarantined.
But it’s not just
skin irregularities that cause us to judge others. In general, those displaying such physical
traits as to be considered ‘attractive’ are assumed to be of good character,
whilst those thought ‘unattractive’ are immediately suspect. Think in general about how film and television
cast those fitting the description ‘attractive’ as the ‘good guys,’ whilst the
‘bad guys’ are usually played by ‘unattractive’ people.
Given all that,
it is understandable that ancient man saw skin afflictions as indicative of
character flaws, and why Biblical Judaism prescribed a purification ritual by
the priests. Some of that attitude
persists even to this day, although nobody has recently come to me for help
with a skin condition. If they did, I
would try to help them find a good dermatologist.
We no longer
perform purification rites such as those reflected in this week’s Torah reading. But we can purify our thoughts, and
decide not to judge people based on their outward appearances and
afflictions. Shabbat shalom.
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