Parshat Ki Teitzei5 min read

When Miriam's Song Became a Warning About Speech

Devarim Rabbah traces Miriam from timbrel at the sea to seven days outside the camp, and Moses from hesitant healer to a man who said he would do it himself.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Prophetess at the Sea
  2. The Problem of Speaking Against a Brother
  3. The Priest Who Could Not Examine His Own Sister
  4. Moses and the Physician's Ultimatum

The Prophetess at the Sea

Miriam took the timbrel in her hand after Egypt drowned. The sea had just closed over the chariots and the horsemen, and Israel stood on the far bank with wet feet and the smell of salt water still on them. Miriam did not wait for the moment to settle. She gathered the women, distributed timbrels, and led the song.

Exodus named her a prophetess at that moment. The title was not honorary. She had already saved Moses as an infant, stationed herself at the river to watch the basket, and arranged his return to his own mother when Pharaoh's daughter pulled him from the water. Prophecy and quick perception and the ability to act at the edge of danger: these were already in her before the sea parted.

Devarim Rabbah used a parable to say what that height meant for what came later. A noblewoman praised a king returning from war and was raised to a high place in the council. Later the same noblewoman caused disruption in the king's administration and was banished. The height of the starting place made the fall more instructive, not more shameful. A great person falling teaches what a small person falling cannot.

The Problem of Speaking Against a Brother

Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses on account of the Cushite woman he had married. The text of Numbers is brief about the content of what they said, but Devarim Rabbah was interested in the escalating logic of what speaking against family members costs.

Rabbi Yohanan read Psalm 50:20 and traced the movement of gossip from the outside inward. If a person gets into the habit of speaking against someone outside the community, it becomes easier to turn that tongue against someone within the community. If it becomes easy to speak against someone in the community, the tongue will eventually turn against a mother's son, one's own kin. Miriam's speech against Moses was not random. It was the end of a movement that began further out and worked its way toward the closest relationship.

The Priest Who Could Not Examine His Own Sister

When Miriam's tzara'at appeared, Aaron had to step aside. Jewish law placed the diagnosis of tzara'at in the priest's hands, and Aaron was a priest. But the same law held that a priest could not examine a relative. He was disqualified by kinship from the very act his office required. His sister's affliction stood outside his ability to evaluate or certify, and so the community had to wait.

Devarim Rabbah found instruction in the disqualification. The command in Deuteronomy to remember what God did to Miriam was not aimed at Miriam's shame. It was aimed at the priest who might be tempted to look away when a relative needed judgment. The law was designed to prevent that looking away by removing the priest entirely from the situation. Remember Miriam meant: remember what happened when speech went where it should not have gone, and remember that even priests cannot exempt themselves or their families from what the law requires.

Moses and the Physician's Ultimatum

Moses cried out to God when he saw his sister's condition: God, now, heal her now. The doubling of the word now was not impatience. The rabbis heard it as a conditional. Heal her now; if You do not, I will.

Devarim Rabbah read this as Moses invoking a role God had given him. Moses said: You have already made me a physician. The ability to heal was not Moses claiming independent power. It was Moses reminding God of a commission already given. If the healing did not come from above, then the healing would come through the channel already designated for it. The ultimatum was not defiance. It was Moses understanding that his role did not end at the edge of his sister's illness.

God answered before Moses had to test the claim. Seven days of quarantine, and then Miriam returned. The people waited the full seven days before moving the camp forward. The prophetess who had led song at the sea and the nation that had followed her had to stand still together until the time was complete.


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Devarim Rabbah 6:12Devarim Rabbah

She was celebrated as a prophetess, a leader, a woman of immense faith. The book of Exodus (15:20) tells us, “Miriam the prophetess took a timbrel…” and led the women in joyous song and dance after the miraculous crossing of the Sea of Reeds. What an image! She was on top of the world. But then… things took a turn.

Devarim Rabbah, a collection of homiletic interpretations on the Book of Deuteronomy, offers a fascinating, almost cautionary, tale about Miriam. It compares her situation to a noblewoman who praised a king returning from war. Impressed, the king bestows upon her the title "Specialist of the Council." However, later, this very woman starts causing chaos in the king's administration. The king, disappointed, orders her banished.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) draws a parallel. Miriam, after the triumph at the Sea, attained the status of a prophetess. But then, she spoke ill of her brother, Moses. The text doesn't specify exactly what she said, but it's clear it was considered lashon hara (לשון הרע), malicious speech.

And the consequence? As (Numbers 12:15) tells us, “Miriam was quarantined.” She was afflicted with tzara'at (צרעת), a skin disease often interpreted as a spiritual malady, and was confined outside the camp for seven days.

Ouch.

What's the lesson here? Is it just a simple "don't gossip"? I think it’s deeper than that. It's a reminder that even those who reach great heights, those who are blessed with talent and recognition, are still fallible. It’s a reminder that even a prophetess must be held accountable for her words.

Perhaps the key takeaway from this passage in Devarim Rabbah isn't just about Miriam's transgression, but about the immense responsibility that comes with leadership and influence. When you have a voice, when people listen, your words carry weight. They can inspire, uplift... or, as in Miriam's case, they can cause harm and lead to consequences.

So, the next time you're tempted to speak ill of someone, remember Miriam. Remember the noblewoman. Remember that even the most celebrated among us are capable of making mistakes, and that our words have power. What kind of power will you choose to wield?

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Devarim Rabbah 6:9Devarim Rabbah

Devarim Rabbah, a collection of homiletic teachings on the book of Deuteronomy, tackles this very issue head-on, using a powerful verse from Psalms: “You sit and speak against your brother; you slander your mother’s son [ben imekha]” (Psalms 50:20). It's a verse about the insidious nature of gossip and slander.

Rabbi Yoḥanan, a prominent figure in the Talmud, takes this verse and drills down into the subtle escalation of negative speech. He suggests that if you get into the habit of speaking against someone who is not one of your own people [ben umatekha] – someone outside your immediate circle – it’s only a matter of time before you turn that critical tongue toward those within your own community. It's a fascinating observation about how easily negativity can become a habit.

Rabbi Yehuda ben Levi offers another layer to this idea. He argues that if you become accustomed to speaking against a brother who shares only your father – a paternal brother, but not a maternal one – eventually, you’ll end up slandering your own full brother, your maternal brother. The implication is clear: the closer the relationship, the more damaging the slander, and the easier it becomes if you've already greased the wheels with lesser offenses.

Here’s where it gets really interesting. The text goes on to say that anyone arrogant enough to speak against someone greater than themselves risks bringing tzara'at upon themselves – a skin disease often translated as leprosy. This isn’t just about being rude; it’s about a spiritual consequence. Why? Because lashon hara, evil speech, is seen as a corruption of the soul, a defilement that can manifest physically.

And if you doubt this, Devarim Rabbah offers a stark reminder: "If you do not believe it, let the righteous Miriam be a model for all who engage in malicious speech. That is, “Remember what the Lord your God did to Miriam.”

Miriam, the sister of Moses and Aaron, a prophetess in her own right, was struck with tzara'at after she and Aaron spoke against Moses (Numbers 12:1-15). It's a powerful and sobering example. The Torah doesn’t shy away from showing even the most righteous figures confronting human flaws. Miriam’s punishment wasn't arbitrary. It served as a very public lesson about the destructive power of gossip and the importance of respecting leadership and authority.

What's the takeaway here? It’s not just about avoiding saying mean things. It's about cultivating a mindset of respect, empathy, and mindful communication. It's about recognizing that our words have power – the power to build up or tear down, to heal or to harm. The Rabbis are teaching us to be mindful of the trajectory of our words. Where are they headed? What kind of world are we creating with them?

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Devarim Rabbah 6:8Devarim Rabbah

Devarim Rabbah reads Miriam's punishment as a warning about speech, kinship, and the priestly power to diagnose tzara'at.

We find ourselves drawn to (Deuteronomy 24:9): “Remember what the Lord your God did to Miriam on the way, upon your exodus from Egypt.” Simple enough. But within those words lies a whole world of interpretation. Devarim Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Deuteronomy, unpacks this verse, revealing layers of meaning we might otherwise miss.

The passage begins with a practical question, a matter of halakha, or Jewish law. Imagine someone has a tzara'at, often translated as leprosy, and a relative who is a priest. Can that relative examine the afflicted area? After all, according to (Leviticus 13:2), the diagnosis of tzara'at falls to the priest. The Sages say that a priest can examine anyone's tzara'at, except his own. Rabbi Meir even extends this, barring a priest from examining the tzara'at of relatives.

What causes this affliction in the first place? Here, the discussion shifts from legal specifics to moral considerations. The text suggests that tzara'at arises from tzarut ayin – parsimony, or stinginess.

Rabbi Yitzḥak paints a vivid picture: a neighbor asks to borrow an axe, but is refused due to the owner's unwillingness to share. Or perhaps a sieve is requested, only to be denied despite being readily available. Such stinginess, we’re told, can bring tzara'at upon the house. This idea is derived from (Leviticus 14:37): “He shall examine the leprous spot, and, behold, the leprous spot is in the walls.”

What happens then? Well, everything is removed from the house, based on (Leviticus 14:36): “The priest shall command, and they shall empty out the house.” The community sees the emptied house, the axes and sieves exposed, and understands: this is the consequence of refusing to share.

But there's more to the story. Rabbi Ḥanina offers another interpretation: tzara'at is a direct result of lashon hara – malicious speech. And here's where Miriam re-enters the narrative.

The Rabbis connect tzara'at directly to Miriam's actions. Because she spoke ill of her brother Moses, she was afflicted with tzara'at. Hence the verse: "Remember what the Lord your God did to Miriam." It's a potent reminder that our words have consequences, not just for those we speak about, but for ourselves as well.

So, what are we left with? A fascinating intertwining of legal considerations, moral teachings, and biblical narrative. The story of Miriam serves as a powerful illustration: a reminder that both our actions and our words have profound consequences. It pushes us to examine our own tendencies towards stinginess, both with our possessions and with our tongues. Are we willing to share? Are we careful with our words? Perhaps the most important question is this: what kind of legacy will we leave behind?

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Devarim Rabbah 6:13Devarim Rabbah

The story revolves around Miriam's affliction with tzara'at, often translated as leprosy, after she and Aaron speak critically of Moses. When Moses witnesses his sister's suffering, he cries out to God: "God, now, heal her now" (Numbers 12:13). But there's more to this simple verse than meets the eye.

The Rabbis, in their insightful way, offer a compelling interpretation. They suggest Moses is saying something profound: "Master of the universe, You have already rendered me a physician… If You heal her, that is fine. If not, I will heal her." This isn't arrogance, but a deep understanding of his role and abilities, which were, of course, granted by God. The midrash (rabbinic commentary) is cleverly expounding on the doubling of the word "now," implying a contingency: "God, heal her now, and if not, I will heal her now."

Rabbi Abba bar Kahana further illuminates this with a parable. Imagine a skilled apprentice, trained by a master physician. A sick woman seeks help, and the apprentice brings her to the master. The apprentice says, "Master, you've taught me everything. If you heal her, great. If not, I'll use my skills to heal her myself." Similarly, Moses, having learned the intricacies of dealing with leprosy from God, essentially says, "If You heal her, wonderful. If not, I'll use the knowledge You've given me."

Why such a fervent and, seemingly, confident plea? Another interpretation in Devarim Rabbah compares Moses's cry to that of a man who once wore a heavy chain. Having freed himself, he understands the pain when he sees the same chain around someone else's neck. People ask, "Why are you so upset?" He replies, "You don't understand the agony that chain inflicts. I know it intimately."

So, too, Moses understands Miriam's suffering because he, too, has experienced a similar "chain." Remember when God afflicted Moses's hand with leprosy, turning it "white as snow" (Exodus 4:6)? He knows the fear, the isolation, the pain. This shared experience fuels his empathy and intensifies his prayer.

After Moses prays, God heals Miriam. The Torah tells us, "The people did not travel until Miriam's readmission" (Numbers 12:15). This pause in their journey serves as a powerful reminder of the consequences of lashon hara (malicious speech) and the importance of remembering Miriam's ordeal. As Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews, the delay was a mark of respect and a evidence of Miriam's significant role in the community.

This passage from Devarim Rabbah is more than just a story about healing. It's a profound exploration of our relationship with God, the power of empathy, and the responsibility we have to use our gifts, whether divinely bestowed or learned, to alleviate suffering in the world. It challenges us to consider: How can we be more like Moses, recognizing the "chains" that bind others and offering our heartfelt prayers and skillful actions to help them break free?

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