For God’s Sake, Get Vaccinated

Should we get vaccinated for the coronavirus? Yes. Absolutely yes. Without a question: Yes. Jewish law gives the highest priority to safety and health and requires everyone to take advantage of this potentially life-saving shot. I wish that this short answer would be enough, and I could stop writing right here. 

Unfortunately, there is a great deal of vaccine hesitancy in the Orthodox community. This surfaced first in Lakewood, New Jersey, in 2008. A school was concerned that a substantial number of their students were not properly vaccinated, and received a rabbinic ruling that they could exclude students who were not vaccinated. This was then followed up with a public letter from a group of prominent rabbis and doctors urging the community to vaccinate their children. Since then, vaccine hesitation in the Orthodox community has led to several outbreaks of mumps and measles, with multiple hospitalizations and fatalities. Despite all of this, anti-vaccination views persist in parts of the Orthodox community; in May 2019, there was an anti-vaccination rally in Monsey, which was attended by hundreds of people. Today, the opponents of childhood vaccinations are now leading the campaign against the coronavirus vaccination, and they have been far more successful undermining confidence in this new vaccine.

The roots of vaccination hesitancy in the Orthodox community come from a skepticism about science in general, and medicine in particular. There is a longstanding opposition to all secular studies, including science; unfamiliarity with science ultimately leads to contempt and suspicion. But there is a second element, which is rooted in a comment to this week’s Torah reading by Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (Ramban), a 13th century Spanish rabbi and commentator.  The Ramban writes that “When the Jewish People are in a state of spiritual perfection...they will have no need of doctors, nor will they have to follow medical procedures even as precautionary measures, `For I, God, am your healer.' ” The Ramban argues that hidden miracles are constantly possible; and if a person truly perfects themselves, they can live in a world of Divine healing, without doctors, medications and health insurance. The Ramban’s misgivings about medicine are misgivings about a natural world which is imperfect, accident prone and random; in his view, these flaws are due to our disconnection from God.

Even so, the Ramban recognizes that to rely on prayer is impractical, and at the end of his remarks counsels that one should not rely on miracles, and see a doctor when needed. (The Ramban was a doctor himself.) However, other rabbis take the Ramban’s view a step further, and say that one can refuse medical interventions and pray instead. Rav Nachman of Breslov, a 19th century Hasidic Master, writes that the only reason why a person would need to chase after medical therapies is because they lack faith, “and God forbid (that they search for therapies), but rather they should place their full trust in prayer and supplications.” The Avnei Nezer, who passed away in 1910, writes that one can refuse to consult with doctors or accept their advice because the opinions of doctors are unreliable, and one would be better off with prayer.

The roots of Orthodox anti-vaccination rhetoric begin right here, with a misplaced understanding of faith. In order to properly respond, one must first grapple with a fundamental question: Why shouldn’t we rely on prayer alone? Well, to start with, ignoring medical advice is impractical. There are religious groups, like Christian Scientists, who have relied exclusively on faith healing and refused medical attention. Sadly, Christian Science cemeteries are filled with children whose lives could have been saved with a simple prescription for penicillin. (Due to dwindling membership, the Christian Science Church reversed itself in 2010, and began to allow adherents to seek medical attention.) Any attempt by humans to live as angels will fail. For this reason, the Torah commands us to fence off roofs to prevent accidents, “so that you do not bring bloodguilt upon your house if anyone should fall from it” (Deuteronomy 22:8). This Torah passage declares: One must not ignore the realities of nature, ever. Even if our souls can soar, our bodies can’t fly.

Maimonides harshly criticizes those who think that prayer can be a substitute for medicine. He writes about those who want to heal with prayer alone that “according to their mistaken and idiotic imagining, if a hungry man assuages his hunger with bread and thus overcomes the “sickness of hunger,” shall we say of him that he has thereby forsaken his trust and belief in God?” Hunger is natural, and so is disease, and both demand a practical response. A man of God must not be a naive fool.

The simple reason to embrace modern medicine, and vaccinations in particular, is because they are effective. But I want to offer a different argument, that these vaccinations are profoundly spiritual as well. Rav Soloveitchik writes that God left creation incomplete so that humanity can fix the world, and thereby become God’s partner in creation. An incomplete world will have disease; it is our God given responsibility to cure those diseases. Medicine is holy work, an act that completes God’s creation. For this reason, Jews have always had a passion for medicine. Many medieval rabbis were also medical professionals, and they saw this as part of their religious calling. Joseph Shatzmiller in Jews, Medicine, and Medieval Society, tells of regions in Medieval Europe where less than 1 percent of the population was Jewish, yet Jews were over 50% of the doctors. There's a long Jewish history to the proud phrase “my son, the doctor,” and in part, this is because of the Jewish yearning to make the world a better place. We don't only connect to God through prayer; we can also connect to God through healing and compassion. The scientists, doctors, and nurses that cure disease are making the world a better place, and doing God’s work.

There is an old joke about a man who prays to God to save him from an incoming flood. Because of his deep faith that God alone will save him, he first ignores a canoe, then a motorboat, and finally a helicopter that offer to save him. After he drowns, the man goes up to heaven. He confronts God, and asks why God didn’t come to his rescue. God responds: “Of course I tried to save you. I sent you a canoe, a motorboat and a helicopter. You just didn’t take them.”

This past December God sent us a vaccine. I have been inspired by the pictures and videos of rabbis around the world saying prayers and blessings right before getting their shot, thanking God for goodness of their fellow man. And those prayers recognize God’s part in this man-made miracle. In the last year, an army of researchers, doctors, and nurses have worked tirelessly to vaccinate the world and save lives. They are doing God's work. So for God's sake, please get vaccinated.

What Gossip Destroys

  

Gossip is wrong. We shouldn’t reveal embarrassing secrets about others, and we certainly shouldn’t repeat slanders that will hurt their reputation. The Torah prohibits lashon hara, “negative speech,” including gossip and slander. In the past century, thanks to the publication of Sefer Chofetz Chaim by Rabbi Yisroel Meir Kagan, the laws of lashon hara are very much a part of the ethics curriculum in Jewish schools.

It is easy to see the laws of lashon harah as a form of domestic ethics, a way to make sure that friends don’t hurt friends. But Maimonides offers a revolutionary insight into lashon hara. He sees within gossip and slander a malignant perspective on life, one which is corrosive to the speaker’s character and detrimental to society.

Maimonides himself was the subject of many personal attacks in his lifetime. Several of his letters offer glimpses to how he responded to these controversies. In a letter to Yaphet, the judge of Acre, Maimonides writes that through the years, informers plotted against his life. In another series of letters to his student Joseph ben Judah in Bagdad, Maimonides instructs his student on how to respond to a local controversy about his recently published Mishneh Torah. The Gaon of Babylonia, Samuel ben Eli, had disparaged Maimonides and the Mishneh Torah; he and his son-in-law Zechariah had issued a series of criticisms, and claimed that they could have written a much better book than Mishneh Torah in a very short period of time. As Maimonides notes in his letters to Joseph, the Babylonian leadership was threatened by his stature. Samuel ben Eli still clung to the dream that the Gaon of Babylonia would be the Rabbinic leader of the entire Jewish world; the presence of other great rabbis like Maimonides was a threat to his dream. Samuel and his cohort had ample motivation to belittle Maimonides and his works. But Maimonides explains that he himself is not concerned by these attacks, that he remains silent in response, and when he meets his attackers, he speaks to them politely. Maimonides advises Joseph to be “among the insulted and not among the insulting,” and to hold his tongue. 

These letters remind us that Maimonides was not just a brilliant author; he was also a communal leader. He lived his life in the public eye, and despite - or perhaps because of - his extraordinary brilliance, he attracted more than his fair share of controversy throughout his life. It is for this reason that what Maimonides has to say about slander, rumors, and disparagement is very significant.

Lashon hara is a topic in this week's Torah reading. The Torah describes the regulations surrounding the afflictions of tzaraat, skin lesions that have a similarity to leprosy. Included in the regulations is that the person afflicted with tzaraat is sent to live far away from the camp or city. Later in the Bible, there is a strong hint that these afflictions are a punishment for speaking lashon hara. Miriam speaks ill about her brother Moshe, and is immediately punished with tzaraat. This connection is further developed by the Talmud, Midrash and a legion of later commentaries. At first glance, the connection between tzaraat and lashon hara is obvious. Speaking gossip creates ill will between people, and exiling the one who speaks lashon hara protects the community from a divisive personality who slanders others.

It is fascinating that Maimonides took a very different approach to tzaraat. In the Mishneh Torah, at the end of the laws of leprosy, he offers a lengthy explanation of the prohibition against gossip. (This is one of the longest non-halakhic digressions in the entire Mishneh Torah.) Maimonides explains that lashon hara is not always about spite or animosity; even Miriam, who loved her brother dearly, spoke lashon hara about Moshe. Rather, lashon hara reflects an attitude of disrespect; they are the words of the cynical, people who lose sight of the true value of everything. Maimonides explains this has far reaching implications, and lashon hara can lead to a loss of faith in both God and humanity. He writes: In this vein, Psalms states: "They set their mouths against Heaven and their tongues strut on earth." What caused them to "set their mouths against Heaven?" Their tongues, which previously were given free rein on earth. This is the speech of the wicked that is caused by loitering on the street corners, frequenting the assemblies of commoners, and spending time at the parties of drunkards. Slander and gossip reflect a mindset of irony and sarcasm, a mindset that flourishes in the boozy gatherings of callous and uncaring fools. To Maimonides, the great evil of lashon hara is that it degrades the intellect and undermines values. Lashon hara begins with ones’ neighbors but then proceeds to the mockery of everything, insulting and undermining even that which is holy and wholesome.

Maimonides offers a very different understanding of the prohibition against lashon hara. In his view, the true harm caused by lashon hara comes from negativity and cynicism. It destroys our virtues by mocking nearly anything and forgetting the value of everything. (It should be noted that this cynicism is very different than criticism. It is not interested in evaluation, just denigration.)

We live in a dark age of lashon hara, facilitated in large part by the internet and social media. The first time I got attacked on the internet was back in 2001. I had written an article that was later posted to a Jewish law website. It was an in-depth, nuanced exploration of Rabbinic sources on the controversial issue of rabbis writing letters to parole boards on behalf of convicted criminals. It quickly received a scathing comment. This comment really bothered me; its language was nasty, its tone dismissive, and it questioned my character. From the looks of it, it was pretty clear the commenter hadn't read the article, just the headline. Over the years, I have come to realize that such comments are pretty ordinary, and that thoughtless, nasty, and harsh criticism is very much a part of internet culture. There is an entire vocabulary for the online bullying that takes place in social media, such as dunking and trolls. Respectable people get on Twitter and lose their minds; they engage in virulent attacks against strangers with whom they have political disagreements. An ugly subculture of people who look to embarrass and mock others has flourished; remarkably, many of those people are quite nice in person. Reasoned debate and civil discourse have been replaced by 140 character insults.

It is this type of criticism to which Maimonides is referring when he speaks about the ills of lashon hara. This type of negative speech is much more than a social ill. It actually is an intellectual pollutant, a noisy screech that prevents the small, still voice of goodness from being heard. Maimonides reminds us that a society built on gratuitous abuse will spiritually collapse. That's something to think about next time you read a snarky remark on Twitter.