14 Apr PARSHA IN PRACTICE: SKILLS FOR BETTER LIVING METZORA – THE BIRDS ARE THE WORDS

Think before you
tweet.A most unusual
ritual is performed as
part of the purification
process of a Metzora, a
person stricken with tzaraas as a consequence
of speaking lashon hara. Two identical birds
are brought: one is slaughtered, while the
other is set free (Vayikra 14:4-7).
Why birds?
Rashi explains that birds are a fitting symbol
for someone who has spoken maliciously,
because they, too, chirp and chatter incessantly.
Their constant twittering mirrors the behavior
that brought about the Metzora’s affliction in
the first place: speech that flows too easily, too
quickly, and without sufficient thought.
The message is clear: words, like birds, have a
tendency to fly away before we fully consider
where they might land. By watching this ritual
unfold, the Metzora is meant to recognize how
his own careless speech has taken flight and
caused harm.
But this explanation only addresses why birds
were chosen. It does not explain the deeper
symbolism of the ritual itself. Why are there
two birds? And why is one killed while the
other is released?
The Sefas Emes (5661), quoting the Zohar,

explains that the two birds represent the two
possible directions of human speech. One
bird symbolizes the destructive potential of
malignant words, while the other represents
the uplifting power of positive speech.
Too often we think of lashon hara purely as a
sin of commission – the act of saying something
harmful. But the Sefas Emes suggests that this
is only half the problem. When a person fills
his speech with gossip, criticism, or sarcasm,
he is not only causing damage – he is also
squandering an extraordinary gift.
Speech has the ability to destroy, but it also
has the ability to build. A cutting remark can
damage someone’s reputation or confidence
in a moment. But a sincere compliment, a
word of encouragement, or an expression
of appreciation can elevate a person just as
quickly – sometimes for years to come.
For this reason, only one of the birds is
slaughtered. The Metzora must indeed learn
to silence the destructive impulse that led him
astray. But Judaism does not envision the ideal
person as someone who simply stops talking.
The second bird is released. Because true
purification is not achieved merely by
eliminating negative speech. It requires
learning how to use speech for good. The
Metzora must “kill” one form of speech – but

he must also “set free” the other.
This reflects a broader truth about personal
growth. The most effective way to overcome a
bad habit is rarely through suppression alone.
A healthier approach is to replace the negative
behavior with a positive one.
In recent decades, we have made tremendous
strides in raising awareness about shemiras
ha’lashon – the importance of guarding our
tongues from gossip, insults, and criticism.But
perhaps the next stage of that effort is to focus
not only on what we must not say, but also on
what we should say.
The Torah teaches that when Hashem created
man, He infused him with a ru’ach memalela
– a “spirit of speech” (Onkelos, Bereishis 2:7).
Our ability to speak is not merely a practical
tool; it is part of what defines us as human
beings. If speech is such a central part of who
we are, the goal cannot be simply to shut it
down. Instead, we are meant to channel it
toward life-giving purposes.
Parents and educators understand this
power perhaps better than anyone. A child
can be deeply wounded by a single moment
of humiliation or harsh criticism. But the
opposite is also true: a word of sincere praise or
encouragement from a trusted adult can shape
a child’s confidence and outlook for years.

And it doesn’t stop with children. Adults,
too, crave recognition, appreciation, and
reassurance. In the dozens of interactions
we have each day – with spouses, colleagues,
neighbors, and friends – we are constantly
presented with opportunities to strengthen
someone else’s spirit: A quick compliment;
a note of gratitude; a few words of
encouragement. We rarely know which small
comment will stay with someone long after
the conversation ends.
Shlomo HaMelech captured this truth
succinctly: “Death and life are in the hand of
the tongue” (Mishlei 18:21). The ritual of the
two birds dramatizes that reality. One bird
represents speech that wounds and must be
silenced. The other represents speech that
uplifts and must be set free. Every time we
are about to speak – or post, or comment, or
“tweet” – we stand at that same crossroads.
Will our words become the bird that must be
killed, or the bird that is released to bring a
little more life into the world?