Upon setting out to write this dvar Torah, I had grand visions of talking about the halakhic status of coed toilets. If a woman is ritually unclean, how can other members of her family use the same toilet, for example?
There was going to be a blow-out Foucauldian analysis of the halakhic sources, followed by a lengthy exegesis on Melanie Klein’s partial object; Kohut’s narcissistic transference, and Freud’s paranoia “syllogism” as taken up by Lacan. And then the ground-breaking revelation that we have been/are currently/always will be sinning.
It was going to be fabulous.
Perhaps fortunately for you, Masechet Niddah, Masechet Khullin,  and Masechet Keilim (11:2) took me to school. Once again. We can use the same toilet as someone who is ritually unclean because the toilet is “מחובר לקרקע” (it is connected to the ground)—this is the loophole. (For those following at home, this is the same term used in reference to mikvaot, or ritual bath pools.)  Furthermore, I learned that in our times–i.e. post-Temple times–we are all tamei met already, and thus this is a non-issue.
Now that we’re all breathing comfortably…
I will tell you, instead, about how I first learned about sex. (What does this have to do with tazria metzorah, you ask? Just wait. You’ll see.)
One fine Shavuot, when I was a kid, my mother and I were reading and discussing together the story of Yehudah and Tamar. She was trying to explain to me how the royal Davidic line actually emerges from outsiders and/or deeply flawed characters—and so a reading of the book of Ruth and this Genesis story was in order. Everything made eminent sense to me. That is, until Gen 38:9:

וידע אונן כי לא לו יהיה הזרע והיה אם בא אל אשת אחיו ושחת ארצה לבלתי נתן זרע לאחיו
(the idea here is that Onan, Judah’s second son, would not fulfill his Yibbum duties with his deceased brother’s widow, Tamar; instead he “wastes his seed”)

“Doesn’t that anger you?” my mother turned to me. “Anger me?” I was puzzled. “Because he was a bad gardener?” She looked at me incredulously, “Oh come on. Really.” My genuine confusion was misunderstood as sarcasm until a few more seconds had passed, and the look of honest bewilderment remained fixed on my face. I carefully watched my mother’s face—she was very obviously processing something internally. I wasn’t sure what. “I’ll have Dad explain it. He has a very healthy position on this.” On what?
My father, the physician of over four decades, the scientist of a lifetime. Clearly he was the one who would explain the particulars of what I thought was a grievous horticultural error. We had our supposed ‘talk,’ a talk drenched in complicated scientific jargon. I left armed with a comprehensive knowledge of flower reproduction and was still utterly mystified at the Onan issue. Why would God strike Onan down?
Why were my parents so reticent about this issue? It was then that I decided this must have to do with sex. I was not quite sure what exactly was involved, but I was determined to find out. But I was not going to ask just anyone. I would ask someone who was clearly skilled at the task. Someone whom God would not strike down.
From a biblical perspective, which, in this case, was my primary means of reasoning, the goal of sex is chiefly reproductive. Accordingly, those who ‘succeeded’ were ‘rewarded’ with more children.  It was obvious whom I was going to ask. The wife of my Talmud teacher, mother of 12.
The next week, I figured out when she would be in our primary school building and how I would track her down.  I needed to know about Onan and what I was slowly piecing together must be his sexual inadequacy and/or rebellion.  Part of me was terrified to ask, but I was mostly embarrassed about posing such an intimate question to someone who was  merely a peripheral figure in my life.
Here is the most amazing part of the story: this rebbetzin responded with complete honesty and aplomb. She did not miss a beat. She did not sensationalize anything. Her answer was brief, simple, and honest. No moralizing, no sugarcoating. No mussar even.
Reading this week’s double parasha  brought me back to those halcyon days of my youth because, as was the case with the wise and prolific rebbetzin’s approach to the facts of life,  this week’s double sedra is remarkable for  the conspicuous absence of any contextualizing device, whether moral, emotional, or intellectual in instructing us how to handle various forms of bodily issues which result  in ritual defilement.
Whereas the rabbinic literature that emerges from these laws is rife with sensationalized sexual imagery, dire warnings, loaded descriptions, and stern moral declarations (see for example the aforementioned massechet niddah, and for an even better time, see a more recent discussion of Tazria in this literary tour de force: specifically, go to pages 100-101 and read the part about Rabbi Yochanan) here, in Leviticus 12,13,14, and 15, we are instead presented with an almost manual-like compilation of laws and procedures in handling those afflicted with impurities of the body. Strange bodily discharges and irregularities are to be examined, monitored, if need be isolated, and purified. Beyond the literal description and corresponding treatment of these ailments, there is essentially nothing else here.
Indeed, this week’s double parasha opens by jumping into the tachlis (the practical):

וידבר ה’ אל משה לאמר. דבר אל בני ישראל לאמר אשה כי תזריע וילדה זכר וטמאה שבעת ימים כימי נדת דותה תטמא
And God spoke to Moses saying that he should speak to Israel accordingly: when a woman at childbirth bears a male, she will be tmeyah (for lack of a better word, unclean) for seven days as at the time of her menstrual infirmity

In biblical Hebrew, the word ki holds different meaning, depending on the context: its possible renderings include ‘because,’ ‘when,’ or  ‘if.’  Additionally, very often “ki” is used as an emphatic (which, if one absolutely had to translate, one might translate as “indeed”).  Elsewhere in the Torah, we see similar constructions as the opening line of this week’s double-feature. For example, at the outset of Parashat Mishpatim, we read of the laws regarding a Hebrew slave. “…כי תקנה עבד עברי”  The parasha goes on to explain the conditions of his release in the seventh year. Importantly, the sedra also allows for the possibility that he may love his master and wish to stay. In the event that such is the case, Mishpatim clearly illustrates what is to be done (Ex. 21:2-5). Even in such technical dealings, there is an emotional component which creates a more fluid and arguably human sense of contingency.
As we learn in Deut. 21, (… כי ימצא אדם בחלל) if a person is found dead, there is an elaborate rite in which the leaders of community openly declare their innocence in this matter.
In parashat Ki Tezte, the first ki (…כי תצא למלחמה על אויביך) (in Deut. 21) is commonly translated as “when”—when you set out to war, whereas the ki in the following clause about a man have two wives, one he loves and one whom he does not, is commonly understood as “if.” The idea here being that we can safely expect the reality of war, whereas the scenario with the two wives is a possibility, but not an automatic expectation.
In nearly all of these cases, what is stipulated in the ki clause invariably includes some explicated moral/emotional/spiritual component. A prime example: In Deut. 20, another  כי תצא למלחמה על אויביך, and this time you see a horse and chariots, etc…do not fear them.
Even in explaining the mechanics of the people-wide census (Ex. 30:11-16), כי תשא את ראש בני ישראל, the idea of a ‘reminder’ is invoked in the taking of the expiation money from all of Israel. (Whereas in Tazria Metzora, the kinds of sacrificial offerings are named, but not further explicated—no rationale is proffered beyond the very names themselves).
Returning to this week’s parasha, the various ki’s must be understood as “when.”  Despite what, at first glance, may appear ‘other’ (for example, the menstrual blood of a woman), ‘impure’ (for example, the man’s semen), or generically unhealthy (such as leprosy), these afflictions are presented in a rather routine matter, as physical issues which must be properly addressed. What may seem most personal and exceptional is, in fact, collective and widespread. Instead of stigmatizing, moralizing, or even explaining, all that is proffered here is the ‘how to’ of the times. It seems that these issues, being ones of the flesh, are addressed as such.  In Platonic terms, we are dealing here with the element of man which is “matter” – the physical, the “soma;” there is no inspirational engagement with “form.” These passages deal with physical issues which must be corrected (just as in Leviticus, physical flaws in a house that has become “impure” have to be dealt with in a specific manner).  It may be assumed, however, that underlying these procedures is the idea that by “repairing” the flaws in the “matter” which is the physical container of the “form” (which, in the case of man, is his spirit or “soul”), the form contained therein is thereby elevated or honoured as well.  Thus the proper “treatment” of bodily afflictions  would ultimately lead to the sanctification of the spirit, although this is certainly not explicit in the purely mechanical instructions found in this week’s double parasha.
Shabbat Shalom.
(Bonus: For an entirely different approach to bodily impurity, see the “Dope Hat’ video in which Marilyn Manson revels in a literal sea of grotesque bodily discharge. “My bag is in the hat, it’s filled with this and that / My vision’s getting fat, the rabbit’s just a monkey in disguise.” What could I possibly add to that.)