Three men walk into a bar.
The first, a German, says to the bartender, “I’m thirsty, pour me a beer.”
The second, from France, says to the bartender, “I’m thirsty, pour me a glass of wine.”
The third, a Jew, enters the bar and says to the bartender, “I’m thirsty, I think I have diabetes.”
It’s a classic Catskills joke, reflecting the legendary Jewish paranoia that life is fragile, and that we must pay crucial attention, not only to our communal survival, but also to our individual health and well-being.
And, perhaps, there is nothing more fundamental to that obsession with personal health, than the Jewish attention to hand washing.
During the dark ages, Jews were suspected of causing the Bubonic Plague because we were often observed drawing water from the well, and because we survived in higher numbers than our non-Jewish neighbors.
Why?
Perhaps the answer is contained in this week’s Torah portion Tazria-Metzora, which takes aim at matters rarely discussed in “mixed company,” never mind at Shabbat morning services.
In today’s parlance, this week the Torah speaks about a variety of “ewww topics,” including skin diseases, circumcision, monthly cycles, discharges, quarantine, and mold on our walls.
What does this have to do with anything holy or spiritual?
For years, many rabbis chose this week to speak about Israel, antisemitism or any other topic—anything but ugly skin blotches discussed this week in the Torah.
Twelve-year-olds and their parents often panic when they learn this will be the topic of their bar or bat mitzvah portion.
But let’s pause for a moment and give credit to the divine writer, who places—within the mainstream of Jewish practice—the idea that human health is intertwined with a long and meaningful life.
More specifically, our tradition has taught that without obsessive attention to hygiene and human health, we potentially forfeit our capacity to serve and praise God.
More simply stated, we die.
This week, the Torah shares that anytime our ancestors came in contact with something impure—death, disease, bodily fluids, etc.—they were told to cleanse ourselves.
The Torah says that a person who has encountered such a situation should, “wash their clothes, bathe in water, and remain isolated until evening.”
Handwashing is basic to who we are as Jews. We do so before meals, after meals, before the Passover Seder, before eating bread. Priests—Kohanim—have their hands washed before they bless the people.
Some speculate that the reason we dip vegetables in salt water during the Pesach Seder is not only to recall the tears of our ancestors, but also to rid the egg, parsley, or potato of any impurities.
There is, of course, a spiritual side to handwashing. Ritual bathing is part of Jewish practice. A convert submerges three times to signify ritual rebirth.
We are told to wash our hands when coming home from a cemetery, cutting our hair or nails, and completing our stay in the bathroom.
These topics are a bit cringe worthy, but wise, as the Torah reinforces the importance of not only ensuring or own health, but also that of those with whom we come into contact.
And in so doing, we adhere to one of the most important Jewish principles known as Pikuach Nefesh—preserving and protecting human life.
For years in my reading of this section of the Torah, I skipped over the paragraphs that talked about these uncomfortable topics.
But that changed in 2021 with the arrival of Covid.
This week, the Torah shares that the Priests—Kohanim—were charged with examining those who presented with symptoms.
If an individual received a positive diagnosis, that person was required to announce their illness loudly in the presence of those with whom they had come into contact.
Face coverings were prescribed. And the person who was ill was sent to the edges of the community, quarantined until recovery was confirmed.
How emboldened I am by a Torah that not only provides personal stories and moral lessons but also devotes itself to the preservation of our bodies—the masterpiece of God’s creation.
How progressive the Torah was in highlighting these topics—launching a trajectory of doctors, nurses, researchers, and others, which extends to this day.
Jews often bristle at the thought of stereotypes. But none is perhaps as well suited as medicine, health and cleanliness that revolve around Jews.
It is perhaps one of the reasons that in Yiddish, the traditional farewell greeting is, “Zia Gezunt,” which simply means, “Be Healthy.”
Can we really extend a more meaningful blessing than a blessing for health of mind and body?
Maybe your mother was right:
“Wash your hands before you come to dinner.”
Indeed, that instruction begins this week with a Torah reading reminding us that so much our health is in our own hands.
It has and always will be central to our survival as a Jewish people—taught by the Torah—well ahead of its time.
Shabbat Shalom, v’kol tuv.
Zai Gezunt.
Rabbi Irwin Huberman