A secular Israeli taxi driver once told the following story to a religious passenger:
While a soldier in the IDF, a member of his unit went missing during a routine patrol. They hadn’t heard from the soldier for a number of hours and a search party, of which the taxi driver was a member, was dispatched to find the missing soldier. They found him alive, but in a precarious situation. He stood froz
en, face to face with a venomous desert snake that threatened to strike at the slightest provocation. He had been standing in the same position for hours, rightly afraid to move, but was losing his poise and feared the end was near. Upon seeing his comrades he called to them, “What should I do?” They knew not what to answer him, nor would they dare approach lest they cause the snake to strike the trapped soldier and thereby bring about his early demise. Finally, one soldiered called back, “Say Shema Yisrael!” Although these secular Jewish soldiers knew not much of the Jewish way of life, they knew how a Jew was meant to meet his death. Accepting his fate, the soldier cried out, “Shema Yisrael, Ha-Shem Elokenu Ha-Shem Echad!” Suddenly, the snake dropped its threatening stance and slithered quickly away. The Jew was saved.
“After that miracle, he became a very religious man,” the taxi driver concluded to his religious passenger.
The passenger quizzically replied, “And what about you? Why didn’t you become religious after that?”
“What do you mean?” answered the secular man, “Weren’t you listening? The miracle happened to him, not to me!”
Tazria-Metzora speaks of three types of tzaraas: tzaraas of one’s body, tzaraas of one’s clothing, and tzaraas of one’s home. Tzaraas manifests as a physical discoloration, but tradition teaches that although it appears as a physical affliction, it in fact reveals a malady of the soul. Tzaraas on one’s body then makes sense, as the person guilty of a spiritual misstep suffers a personal consequence. But why are inanimate objects such as clothing and houses afflicted with tzaraas? What spiritual shortcoming could be present in a heap of bricks or an admixture of thread?
Rabbi Avigdor Miller זצ"ל explains that one of the chief purposes of suffering is to rehabilitate an evil-doer, motivating him to abandon his perverse ways and return to the proper path. But the Almighty is merciful, and to the extent that He can limit retribution He will. Therefore, if but a small measure of suffering would serve to motivate reform, only a small measure is invoked.
For some people, merely hearing news of another’s suffering motivates them to reevaluate the meaning of life and take steps to improve themselves. For example, if such a person sees a man walk down the street with the aid of a seeing-eye dog or a seeing cane, the viewer immediately realizes the great kindness bestowed upon him that he has eyes that see, and this appreciation motivates him to serve the Almighty more enthusiastically in thanks for His beneficence toward them.
For others, such motivation cannot be achieved without at least a fear that calamity may befall them. Once while living in Jerusalem, I was bitten by a cat at a time when authorities warned that a number of street cats had 
been found to have rabies. My medical insurance had just expired and I was sure I was to meet an early and rather unsavory end. You can be certain that in those first few minutes as I ran home as fast as I could and thoroughly cleaned the wound while searching the Web for home remedies for rabies I did way more teshuvah than a whole day in shul on Yom Kippur had ever accomplished. Thank G-d, the cat was clean and I didn’t actually have rabies, but it still took a personal scare to get me moving up the spiritual ladder.
Still others cannot be moved until they heave under the weight of their own genuine suffering. I heard from Rabbi Dovid Orlofsky שליט"א that once when he taught this idea, someone asked, “Why couldn’t G-d just make me stub my toe then instead of getting into a car accident and breaking my arm?” Rabbi Orlofsky replied, “The last time you stubbed your toe, did you stop to think, ‘What’s G-d trying to tell me?’” Even small doses of inconvenience can be tools for change if we would think to utilize them.
This is the lesson of tzaraas of the home or of one’s clothing. If one sees tzaraas on his home, one should interpret it as “the writing on the wall” and understand that although the affliction is yet far removed from one’s person, a positive spiritual reaction is mandated. The next step is for the tzaraas to encroach closer to the person, manifesting in his clothing. This is a more urgent warning of necessary change. Finally, the tzaraas afflicts the body itself, leaving the victim with no recourse but to rectify his deeds.
Let us learn the lesson of tzaraas, and by quickly identifying and rectifying our internal flaws, may we merit the visitation of no external symptoms.
