The rabbi in a mid-sized Pennsylvania city was eager to share his congregation’s wrenching experience — but no names, please.
It’s been nearly five years since the synagogue’s cantor pleaded guilty to sexually molesting two girls he was preparing for their bat mitzvahs. He was sentenced to 15 to 30 months in prison and is now on Pennsylvania’s sexual offender list.
Still, the rabbi wanted the name of his synagogue and of the abuser, whose crimes are a matter of public record, kept confidential.
“We are mindful of not causing additional trauma to those who suffered here,” he wrote in an e-mail.
But the rabbi wanted it known that measures have been instituted to guard against a repeat occurrence. For example, the synagogue now requires that another adult be present during private religious instruction.
In that respect, this synagogue typifies many Jewish institutions, which over the past several years have adopted new policies — or beefed up existing ones — aimed at cracking down on rogue rabbis and others in positions of trust who sexually exploit congregants, students or others.
The issue of clergy sexual abuse has gained increased attention in the 10 years since it was first investigated by JTA.
That earlier investigation, which focused primarily on rabbis who sexually coerce adult congregants, indicated that the problem was more widespread than had been assumed — and that the Jewish establishment was beginning to grapple with it, but not always effectively.
For example, formal denominational policies governing rabbinic conduct were sometimes slow to develop. Although behavioral guidelines are now the norm, some other systemic problems uncovered in that earlier JTA series still persist.
Since that original investigation was published, the Catholic Church has been rocked by a massive pedophilia scandal, while the Jewish community has been buffeted by high-profile cases of sexual impropriety involving rabbis and other authority figures.
The list of offenders includes Orthodox youth leader Rabbi Baruch Lanner, a former regional director of the National Conference of Synagogue Youth, who is now serving a seven-year prison sentence for abusing teenage girls while he was principal of a New Jersey yeshiva. The scandal set off a storm in the Orthodox world stemming from allegations that rabbinic leaders and others had long been negligent in supervising Lanner.
More recently, David Kaye, a prominent 56-year-old Conservative rabbi from Maryland, was ensnared in a nationally televised pedophile sting operation. Kaye, the former vice president for programs of Panim: The Institute for Jewish Leadership and Values, was sentenced Dec. 1 to 6 1/2 years in prison for trying to solicit sex last year from someone posing on the Internet as a 13-year-old boy, a case that was featured on the network television show “Dateline NBC.”
Virtually all denominations, except segments of fervent Orthodoxy, now have formal codes on the books that outline unacceptable clergy behavior and mandate precisely how complaints of sexual impropriety are to be investigated and adjudicated by in-house ethics panels.
In a three-month-long investigation, JTA examined those policies with the help of mental health providers, victims’ advocates, rabbis and others whose assessments reflected a mix of encouragement and skepticism. Among the findings of this five-part series:
The anti-abuse guidelines represent a well-intentioned yet sporadically flawed attempt to address a problem that had once been neglected entirely. One evaluator gave the policies a C-plus grade, another a C-minus.
The system, according to critics, suffers from an institutional fear of lawsuits and excessive secrecy — both byproducts of an ethical quandary faced by decision-makers. They must balance an individual’s right to privacy against the obligation to protect the public from a potential sexual predator.
A symbol of that ethical push-pull is the Awareness Center, a private, 5-year-old Baltimore-based Jewish organization that is devoted to protecting the public from abusers. The center has been both criticized and praised for its policy of identifying rabbis and other sexual predators on its Web site, whether or not they have been tried in court.
Perhaps the most serious impediment to controlling clergy abuse is what Chicago psychologist and psychoanalyst Vivian Skolnick calls “the plague of silence” — the continuing reluctance of victims to report transgressions. “People are afraid of being ostracized if they come forward,” said David Framowitz, 49, who has alleged in a recently filed federal lawsuit that he was abused decades ago by a Brooklyn rabbi.
Like most of the observers contributing to the JTA analysis, anti-abuse activist and author Drorah Setel, a rabbi at a Reform congregation in Niagara Falls, N.Y., lauded the denominational rule-makers for taking steps to undo decades of inaction and denial–but she faulted their specific policies nonetheless.
“They are really well-intentioned, but they just don’t understand the process and the issues involved in sex abuse cases,” said Setel, who has written extensively on the topic of clergy sexual misconduct.
The notion of image-conscious, liability-minded and often male-dominated rabbinic ethics boards policing their own members, she added, is like “the fox guarding the henhouse.”
Secrecy vs. privacy
Although Judaism’s get-tough policies may have their flaws, conclusive proof of their effectiveness — or ineffectiveness — is elusive. One reason is that the pool of sex abuse complaints that have been processed by ethics panels over the past several years is minuscule.
It is an open question, however, whether the low volume of cases indicates that the problem of sexual misdeeds among rabbis and other Jewish clergy is minimal, as some claim, or is simply underreported, as Skolnick and several others contend.
In addition, the administrative proceedings aimed at meting out justice are typically cloaked in what critics call excessive secrecy and advocates of the system maintain is an environment of prudent and compassionate privacy. The denominational hearings are generally closed to the public, and in some cases, public access to the results of those hearings is severely limited.
Proponents of this approach say it is warranted to avoid unnecessarily tainting the reputation of the accused while sparing the accuser additional shame and embarrassment.
“It’s not easy for someone to institute an ethics complaint; it’s frightening,” said Rabbi Rosalind Gold, chair of the ethics committee of the Reform movement’s Central Conference of American Rabbis. “There are repercussions in the community, and people are not stupid about that.”
Victims are typically traumatized by the fear of being ostracized if they publicly challenge a respected, and often charismatic, communal authority figure such as a rabbi, according to Skolnick and others.
That fear is not always illusory. As this JTA investigation demonstrates, victims are indeed sometimes shunned and even harassed by fellow congregants. Consequently, other victims fail to report transgressions.
Despite encouraging inroads in the area of reporting sexual abuse, the reticence of victims to come forward continues to be a major problem across all denominations. However, anecdotal evidence suggests that under-reporting may be more prevalent in the fervently Orthodox community–the type of neighborhood where denial runs rampant regarding clergy sexual misconduct, according to Framowitz.
“Growing up in that frum world, it was thought that things like this couldn’t be; it was too much of a black mark on the community,” explained Framowitz, who was raised in part in the Flatbush and Borough Park neighborhoods of Brooklyn, which are described in his lawsuit as “tight-knit Orthodox Jewish” communities.
Framowitz, who now lives in Israel, told JTA that even his parents did not initially believe that he had been repeatedly sexually abused. “For several years,” he said, “nobody protected me.”
When asked by JTA about that episode, Framowitz’s mother, Naomi Framowitz, said: “I was too naive to understand that such a thing could happen. I lived in my own little world. At that time, it wasn’t spoken about like it is today.”
The denominational policies examined by JTA, which were developed by both the congregational and rabbinic wings of the major religious movements, have several similarities. For example, they address a vast range of prohibited deeds, from criminal acts such as rape and child molestation to sexually charged conduct that is exploitive but not necessarily criminal. That includes sexual harassment, adultery and other forms of “seductive” or coercive behavior that is grouped under the broad heading of “boundary violations.”
In many instances, boundary violations are an outgrowth of pastoral counseling that rabbis and other clergymen are often called on to provide for congregants who, for example, are grieving, undergoing religious conversion or experiencing personal problems, such as marital crises. Explicitly banning even sexually suggestive behavior, most of the denominational guidelines recognize that the inherent power imbalance between clergyman and congregant makes otherwise consensual sexual contact unacceptable.
The codes of professional conduct promulgated by both the Conservative and Reconstructionist movements go as far as to warn of possible pitfalls that may arise when an unmarried rabbi dates a congregant.
Some regulations aim to foster gender balance among those who investigate or rule on sex abuse cases — an important consideration in these matters, according to several sources. Other provisions are geared to raising the level of expertise and independence among denominational investigators and adjudicators.
For example, the Rabbinical Council of America, a primarily modern Orthodox organization, specifies that whoever initially assesses complaints not be a member of the RCA, that the organization’s fact-finding team include one mental health professional and that all members of that team “have appropriate training in the area of sexual abuse.”
The CCAR guidelines, meanwhile, require that its three-member fact-gathering team include a lay person in addition to two rabbis.
Another key provision of the denominational codes focuses on an issue that gained prominence during the child-molestation scandal in the Catholic Church. That is, the problem of sexual predators who escape apprehension by relocating to another institution or community where they repeat their conduct.
In the case of the church, pedophile priests were aided by superiors who routinely shuttled them from one parish to another where they continually had access to children.
“This is an area of great concern in the Jewish community as well,” said Alison Iser, director of The Jewish Program at the FaithTrust Institute, a Seattle-based nonprofit devoted to combating sexual and domestic violence. “The Jewish community has viewed with disdain that sort of behavior elsewhere, and as a result, has felt a sort of smugness that it was not happening here.”
Whether segments of the Jewish community do in fact have a “Catholic-priest problem” is debatable. And yet Yosef Blau, a modern Orthodox rabbi, focused on a similar concern in the July 2003 issue of Nefesh News, the journal of the International Network of Orthodox Mental Health Professionals.
“Even when the pattern of abuse is clear,” Blau wrote, referring to the situation in the Orthodox community, “the question remains how to effectively deal with the abuser in a way that at least limits his ability to move elsewhere and continue to abuse new people.”
If progress has been made on that front, it is in part because of denominational regulations that govern how much background information about a clergyman is to be divulged to interested parties, including prospective employers. The guidelines generally place a premium on confidentiality, but they vary in terms of how much discretion movement officials have to release personnel information. For example:
Declaring that “confidentiality is crucial,” the Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association guidelines — which predate Blau’s article by nearly four years and are now being revised — say the chair of the association’s Ethics Committee may only disclose that a member is under investigation, the investigation “has been resolved but is confidential,” or that the member has been suspended or expelled. “No other details are to be revealed.” Rabbi Richard Hirsh, executive director of the association, elaborated: “In the abstract, the default position would be that the more serious the violation, the more imperative it is to disclose as much information as possible.”
News of a rabbi’s expulsion from the RCA, the modern Orthodox organization, must be disseminated throughout the RCA, and the rabbi’s current employer must also be notified. Beyond that, though, RCA officials shall determine “who else, if anyone,” is to be informed that such an action took place. The RCA’s executive vice president, Rabbi Basil Herring, said that policy enables officials to consider relevant factors such as the seriousness of the offense as well as possible complications posed by pending lawsuits.
The CCAR, the Reform rabbinic arm, mandates that a prospective employer be provided with a fairly detailed report of disciplinary action taken against a CCAR member. But “after an extended period of time,” a single non-criminal infraction doesn’t have to be reported at all. Attorney Anne Underwood, who helped write the CCAR code, noted that before the decision is made to withhold information, it must first be reviewed by several senior CCAR officials in conjunction with the organization’s legal counsel. “I don’t like secrecy,” Underwood added, “but there is a difference between secrecy and privacy, and this provision honors that.”
Not everyone views that distinction in precisely the same way. As a result, the proper role of transparency in the adjudicative process is a controversial topic, highlighting the tension between maintaining the public’s right to know and enabling an individual to keep his or her reputation intact — especially in the absence of criminal charges or civil allegations.
“If you act on a false accusation, you’re killing a guy and his family; the responsibility is awesome,” said Rabbi Abraham Twerski, medical director emeritus of the Gateway Rehabilitation Center in Pittsburgh. “Plus, you can be sued for defamation of character. And boy does that ever hamper the system.”
Concern over litigation “causes people to get very frightened,” added David Pelcovitz, a suburban New York psychologist who has treated many victims of sexual abuse. “It certainly tests the limits of their idealism.”
Some victims’ advocates are transparency absolutists, insisting on full disclosure of virtually all details of sex-abuse cases involving religious authority figures that have been ruled on by denominational ethics panels. They feel that such information should be released not only to prospective employers but to the public at large to protect the maximum number of people.
“There has been so much secrecy for so long that victims are rightfully distrustful,” said rabbinic activist Setel of Niagara Falls. “They have a desire to overcompensate and I can totally understand that.”
Responding to those who advocate maximum transparency, Rabbi Joel Meyers, executive vice president of the Conservative movement’s Rabbinical Assembly, said: “They’re not crazy and they’re not wrong. It’s a dilemma we struggle with. The question is how high up do you put that billboard?”
The underlying issue, added Meyers, who said the R.A. has not been influenced by fear of lawsuits, is “what do you do in these cases to restore equilibrium between the rabbi, the victim and the community? That is really the Jewish challenge.”
Due in part to concerns over civil liability, the RCA generally limits the public release of details regarding sex abuse cases, even those that have resulted in a rabbi’s expulsion from the organization, said Herring.
“The threat of liability hangs over you,” he added. “The chill factor is significant.”
The RCA guidelines, however, do have an emergency clause that recommends informing a wide range of individuals, including neighbors and civil authorities, if a rabbi might pose an immediate danger to “alleged or potential victims.”
Sources within the other movements said that regardless of official policy, an expansive disclosure stance would likely apply in similar circumstances.
The ethics panel of the Reform movement’s CCAR does not ordinarily publicize its findings, even in expulsion cases, according to Gold of the CCAR ethics committee.
“I don’t know for sure why,” she said. “I’m not sure that question has ever been discussed as that question. It’s not a desire to keep things secret. It might be an interesting thing to discuss.”
Commenting on the transparency issue, Minneapolis psychologist Gary Schoener, whose office has consulted on hundreds of clergy sex abuse cases, both Jewish and non-Jewish, said there is such a thing as “hurtful honesty” that can needlessly trash the perpetrator — who might be a good risk for recovery — while inadvertently exposing the identity of the victim. Otherwise, Schoener added, full disclosure is always the best policy when responding to inquiries from would-be employers.
Due in part to extensive First Amendment protections enjoyed by religious organizations, the keepers of clergy personnel records have “lots of leeway” in terms of what information they can release without being successfully sued, Schoener said.
Simple morality and common sense are usually effective decision-making guides in these situations, he said.
“Let’s say you’re hiring a rabbi,” Schoener explained, “and he had done something wrong, and somebody later finds out about his history. How would the congregation feel if he goes out and does it again?
“The issue here is knowing the truth. It does set everyone free. The prospective employer should know both the good and the bad,” he said. “There should be an accurate description of the full person, including his recovery plan and how it is being monitored.
“The idea is to know exactly what kind of situation we’re dealing with.”
The Archive of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency includes articles published from 1923 to 2008. Archive stories reflect the journalistic standards and practices of the time they were published.