Something special happens after a storm. It begins with the chaos of the rains, the damage from the winds, and the harm it leaves in its wake. What is special is how we come together to support one another amidst all of that.

You might think that, as separated as we all are, managing our homes and our loved ones, without power, we’d all just focus on ourselves. But we don’t. Our bonds to each other supersede that inclination, and we help.

When we feel divided from our community, it can be particularly painful. A common saying is to be “treated like a leper.”

In Parashat Tzaria–Metzora, the TorahRefers to the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, the Tanakh, also called the Five Books of Moses, Pentateuch or the Hebrew equivalent, Humash. This is also called the Written Torah. The term may also refer to teachings that expound on Jewish tradition. Read more deals with purity and impurity in the form of a skin affliction called Tzara’at, which is often translated as something similar to leprosy.

But this seemingly physical ailment isn’t just about the physical symptoms.

Ramban, the mystically focused medieval commentator, says it’s not a natural disease, but a spiritual sign from G-d. Rabbeinu Bachya writes that while the affliction is external, its roots are internal, reflecting a spiritual imbalance. 

But let us focus on the actual human involved. 

The Torah states, “He shall dwell alone; his dwelling shall be on the outside of camp” (Vayikra 13:46). The person afflicted with tzara’at is not only marked, but isolated, pushed away from the community. Aristotle notes that man is a social animal. We need community. So, to be pushed from the community can be particularly painful, even if it was the individual’s choice. 

Sforno suggests that this isn’t meant as a punishment but as an opportunity for introspection and growth, a way to repair the spiritual disconnect. And I think he is on to something. Sometimes, we need time and space to rebalance ourselves. 

The Torah then does something important here. It makes a very sharp turn from a discussion of this skin disease that isn’t a skin disease, into a portion about the conception of a child and the resulting birth. 

However, the Torah is silent on what happens when that conception or that birth DOESN’T happen the way we expect. 

The Torah is silent. 

I have been less present in my usual community activities. Many have noticed, reached out, or made sure I was okay because I haven’t been at services like normal. This is because I and my family are going through IVF. 

And IVF is isolating. It is difficult on every. Single. Level. 

Emotionally, excruciating: a never ending cycle of hope and heartbreak. And that heartbreak is not a single point in time, it is every time we have a setback. Every old wound reopens,  and the grief starts anew. 

Physically, it’s draining and difficult. Financially it is stressful. There is a huge amount of pressure to make something work, when its success is out of your own control. But you want to feel some control, you want to avoid a cancelation in your cycle, especially when you’ve already paid for it. 

So you avoid risks — like getting sick. This means avoiding people. All of these factors combine: physical exhaustion, emotional fragility and social isolation. 

For many, infertility is a silent source of pain, unlike tzara’at, the skin affliction, it doesn’t leave a physical indication for others to see, but it isolates the same. We see this echoed in the Torah itself with Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Hannah all experiencing the anguish of infertility. 

Those undergoing IVF or infertility often feel like they are outside the camp, maybe not physically, but disconnected from “normal life” and “normal community.”  While they are not physically removed the same way, the ultimate need for community in both cases is shared.

In the case of tzara’at, the healing isn’t just physical, and it doesn’t happen alone. The Kohen, the priest, comes back to our afflicted, checks in, offering spiritual guidance, and ultimately an invitation back to the community. 

The community doesn’t close the door — it leaves it open, waiting and ready for the afflicted to return. 

This is a model for us today. 

When someone is suffering — from illness, loss, infertility, or anything else that might cause isolation — we must be their Kohen. We, as individuals, and as the community, must walk with them. To acknowledge their pain and keep the door open, ready to welcome them back. 

Just as our community came together after this week’s storm, we must come together on personal, individual levels. Support can take many forms. Sometimes it is as simple as a text, “how are you doing?” Sometimes it can be a quick stop during shabbat to say hello, or even the addition of someone to a whatsapp group. These acts are a lifeline to someone who is isolated. 

When someone is hurting, asking for help can be the hardest thing to do. This is when we must pay attention, reach out, and help one another find their way back to connection.

Pittsburgh’s favorite non-Jewish Rabbi, Mr Rogers said, “Look for the helpers.” This was advice he gave to children, so they wouldn’t be afraid. 

The task for us is to BE the helpers, to be the Kohen. 

Resources About Infertility: 

https://jewishfertilityfoundation.org/
https://iwassupposedtohaveababy.org