History of Prostitution in Jewish Communities: The Wild West

History of Prostitution in Jewish Communities:  

The Wild West

Jewish Stars in Texas: Rabbis and Their Work
 By Hollace Ava Weiner, Rabbi Jimmy Kessler
 (Reprinted by Permission)

  
BOOK: Cowtown's Front Page
Rabbi G. George Fox - Fort Worth, TX

The red-headed rabbi's pulse shot up—again. Try as he might to distance his flock from Hell's Half Acre, in the autumn of 1913 Rabbi G. George Fox overheard ranchers muttering remarks about "Jew whores." What's more, the Sisterhood at his synagogue of seventy families was scandalized at the gossip. The women—chief among them his wife Hortense, a third-generation American—wanted those tramps gone. 

 

The Jewish prostitutes were Eastern European women who had ventured to Fort Worth's red-light district by way of Galveston, a port of entry for 8,000 Jewish immigrants since 1907. Fox's colleague, the saintly Rabbi Henry Cohen of Galveston, was being lauded from Texas to New York for greeting each refugee at the dock. But as far as Fox was concerned, the refuse were riding the rails from the Gulf Coast to North Texas, bringing social disease and dishonor to Jews in Fort Worth. "As rabbi, I could not and would not escape the responsibility that was mine in this shameful business," the rabbi declared in his memoirs. 

 

With the police commissioner and the mayor, Fox arranged a raid on brothels within "the Acre," a seedy neighborhood of saloons, dance halls, cathouses, and gambling dens. Madams were advised to surrender their Jewish girls on charges of disorderly conduct, or face a shutdown. At the jail, Fox confronted twenty women. Through a Yiddish interpreter, the American rabbi warned them to turn to legitimate pursuits—or else. In response, some tugged at the rabbi's heartstrings with sagas of children in foster homes and hard-luck tales of hunger, violence, and deception driving them into the "sordid business." 

 

One showed me a lavaliere bearing a picture of her father, so she said: an old, bearded, Eastern co-religionist. . . . One asked me whether my rich, fat Jews would take her into their homes and give her a job. . . . A third challenged us, in Yiddish, to give her a job in some store. Of course we were stymied. . . . Two of the lot married the men who were their pimps and went into legitimate business. . . . The rest left town. 

 

When Christian clergymen asked the rabbi why his outrage extended only to Jewish prostitutes, he advised his brothers in the Tarrant County General Pastors Association to round up the gentile prostitutes themselves. But Fox had more legal ammunition at his disposal. The run-of-the-mill harlots were American-born. If arrested, they could be bailed out by pimps and madams, or fined and returned to the streets. The Jewish suspects, many masking their immigrant origins with American aliases, were subject to deportation as "alien prostitutes." And so they were. Eighteen Galveston immigrants—including young women such as Byley Salesky, who went by the street name "Betsy Brown"—were deported to Europe, months before the outbreak of World War I . 

 

"The job made me unhappy, though I could see no other way," Fox wrote. Although an advocate of social work—he was chairman of the Fort Worth Charity Commission and an organizer of a state welfare conference—Fox found it more prudent to remove than to try to reform the women. Truth be told, "Jew whore" remarks stirred anti-Semitism among the general public and insecurity among Jews, who prided themselves on being law-abiding Americans with a family-centered religion. Fox and his generation of upwardly mobile Jews wanted to retain their Jewish identity. Yet they were eager to see themselves as part of the American mainstream, not a remnant of the Old World like their unwashed, uncouth cousins pouring in from shtetls, the small towns of Eastern Europe.  

 

Prostitution among Jews—documented in muckraking magazines and a federal immigration investigation—had prompted Jewish communities nationwide to police their own. B'nai B'rith, the Jewish fraternal organization, had helped the Justice Department apprehend Jewish prostitutes who crossed state lines. Chicago rabbis had worked with the district attorney and vigilantes to round up Jewish madams in the Windy City. Prostitution was such a blot on Jewish morality that little attention was given to its causes, its social solutions, or the men involved in the business. When whispers of Jewish prostitution surfaced in Fort Worth's New York Café, Rabbi Fox had precedents to follow. 

 

Fox was not as bold, or grandstanding, as his Baptist colleague, the Rev. J. Frank Norris, preacher at Fort Worth's First Baptist Church. The year before, Norris had read aloud from the pulpit the names of leading citizens who owned brothels. This led not to arrests but retaliation, as arsonists set fire to the minister's church and parsonage. In contrast, Rabbi Fox's action in ridding the community of Jewish prostitutes was met with sighs of relief. He had distanced Fort Worth's Jewish residents from the taint of immorality. He had gingerly worked with the authorities, without upsetting the status quo. He had correctly gauged how far to stretch his moral authority in a town closer to the frontier than the Bible Belt. Bravado—always applauded in a boisterous western town—masked his ambivalence.

___________________________________________________________________________________

FAIR USE NOTICE

Some of thie information on The Awareness Center's web pages may contain copyrighted material the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. We are making such material available in our efforts to advance understanding of environmental, political, human rights, economic, democracy, scientific, and social justice issues, etc. 

 

We believe this constitutes a 'fair use' of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, the material on this site is distributed without profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving the included information for research and educational purposes. 

 

For more information go to: http://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/17/107.shtml . If you wish to use copyrighted material from this update for purposes of your own that go beyond 'fair use', you must obtain permission from the copyright owner.

 

Severe Animal Cruelty in Ohio Emphasizes Importance Of Felony Animal Cruelty Law

Severe Animal Cruelty in Ohio Emphasizes Importance Of Felony Animal Cruelty Law
American Humane Calls for Citizen Action to Stop Animal Abuse; Urges Prosecution

PR Newswire - September 25, 2002

DENVER –– In response to the horrific abuse case of a young coon-hound mix, now being called Trooper, the American Humane Association today called on authorities in Ohio to take animal cruelty seriously and urged residents to report animal abuse. American Humane, the only national organization dedicated to both child and animal protection, made this call in light of growing research indicating that adults and children who are violent to animals have the capacity to also be violent to humans -- a correlation commonly referred to as the Link.

As reported in the Dayton Daily News, the puppy suffered third-degree burns deep into muscle tissue all over his body after someone viciously attacked the dog with what it believed to be a blow torch. The puppy, which has been named Trooper by Town and Country Veterinary Clinic and the Preble County Humane Society, is expected to recover after weeks of intensive care. A milestone was reached today when the young pup lay down to sleep for the first time.

"Trooper continues to amaze his caretakers by how affectionate and trusting he is despite the horrible betrayal he so recently experienced," said Jodi Buckman, American Humane's director of shelter services. "Knowing that this little dog still trusts people shows his remarkable loving spirit. Our hope is that this crime will spur Ohio into adopting a felony animal cruelty law."

In the event that the perpetrator is found guilty, American Humane recommends the sentence include psychological evaluation, followed by professional counseling and, if age appropriate, incarceration with rehabilitation. Authorities are also asked to immediately take any remaining animals into protective custody and prohibit the abuser from owning or harboring animals in the future.

Historically, animal and child abuse, domestic violence, and elder abuse have been treated as unrelated events. However, research continues to emerge indicating premeditated torture or killing of animals often occurs in conjunction with, or as a precursor to, other types of violent behavior, such as child abuse, domestic violence, gang activity, and even satanic ritual. The evidence is so overwhelming (see attached fact sheet) that 36 states and the District of Columbia currently have felony level convictions for serious acts of animal abuse. Ohio is not one of these states.

"We're not saying everyone who abuses animals will become a serial killer, but animal abuse is a warning that action is needed to stop the cycle of increasing violence," continued Buckman. "Animal abuse must be reported to local authorities. Perpetrators must be held accountable for their actions and treatment delivered. Not only do we owe it to the animals, we owe it to our community."

American Humane urges residents of Preble County to politely urge district attorney Rebecca Ferguson (937 456-8156) to actively prosecute the person responsible for this crime.

Founded in 1877, American Humane is the nation's only national organization dedicated to both child and animal protection. From its headquarters outside Denver, Colorado, and from regional offices in Washington, D.C., and Los Angeles, American Humane provides national leadership in the development of programs, policies, and services on behalf of children and animals who are abused and neglected. For more information on what to do if you suspect animal abuse, please visit www.americanhumane.org .


http://tbutton.prnewswire.com/prn/11690X83354673

SOURCE American Humane Association

CO: American Humane Association

ST: Colorado, Ohio

SU: NPT LAW

http://www.prnewswire.com

09/25/2002 19:33 EDT

Recovered Memory: Unproven Strategy To Find Evidence Of Past Sexual Abuse

Editorial Comment:

Recovered Memory: Unproven Strategy To Find Evidence Of Past Sexual Abuse

By Lisa Goodlin

The Post-Standard (Syracuse, NY) - September 24, 2002


While I am sure it was well-intentioned, I question the choice of Ellen Bass to conduct workshops Sept. 26 and Sept. 27 at Syracuse University and elsewhere for professionals who work with survivors of sexual trauma, and to give the featured address at an evening of healing for survivors.

Bass's book, "The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse," promotes the recovery of repressed memories of childhood sexual abuse. This book encourages women to conclude that they were sexually abused as children, although they lack memories of abuse or corroborating evidence.

In the words of Bass and co-author Laura Davis, "Many women who were abused don't have memories, and some never get any. This doesn't mean that they weren't abused;" and "If you think you were abused and your life shows the symptoms, then you were."

Serious questions have been raised regarding the "memories" recovered in therapy. The American Psychological Association's Working Group on the Investigation of Memories of Childhood Abuse issued a report in 1995 that notes recovered memory is rare. It states that "there is a consensus among memory researchers and clinicians that most people who were sexually abused as children remember all or part of what happened to them, although they may not fully understand or disclose it.

"At this point," according to the APA, "it is impossible, without other corroborative evidence, to distinguish a true memory from a false one."  Thus, says the APA report, a "competent psychotherapist is likely to acknowledge that current knowledge does not allow the definite conclusion that a memory is real or false without other corroborating evidence."

In Britain, the Royal College of Psychiatrists has officially banned its members from using therapies designed to recover repressed memories of child abuse.

Bass also presents information on "body memories" and "satanic ritual abuse," the existence for which there is no evidence. By evidence I mean data that has been obtained using scientific methods.

Bass's book is filled with heart-rending and gut-wrenching stories, but it is important to remember that anecdote is not evidence. In response to first-person accounts like those found in "The Courage to Heal," FBI Special Agent Ken Lanning investigated more than 300 cases of alleged satanic cult activity and found no evidence of the existence of such cults. He wrote, "Until hard evidence is obtained and corroborated, the public should not be frightened into believing that babies are being bred and eaten, that 50,000 missing children are being murdered in human sacrifices, or that Satanists are taking over America's day-care centers or institutions. While no one can prove with absolute certainty that such activity has not occurred, the burden of proof is on those who claim that it has occurred."

Should this not make us question other "findings" of this type of therapy? In the "Investigator's Guide to Allegations of Ritual Child Abuse," Lanning goes on to say that "it is up to the mental health professionals, not law enforcement, to explain why victims are alleging things that don't seem to have happened."

In the mid-1990s, after books like "The Courage to Heal" began to appear and therapists started "training" in these methods, there was a rash, some would say an epidemic, of abuse allegations by women who had recovered memories in therapy. Many of these women later retracted their stories - but not before many lives were destroyed.

It is because of these destroyed lives that it is imperative to provide alternative information about recovered memory therapy so that Bass's ideas may be tempered by the findings of scientifically conducted studies.

To learn more about recovered-memory therapy, I recommend these books: "The Myth of Repressed Memory: False Memories and Allegations of Sexual Abuse," by Elizabeth Loftus, a well-regarded researcher of memory and professor of psychology; "Making Monsters: False Memories, Psychotherapy, and Sexual Hysteria," by Richard Ofshe, professor of psychology at UC Berkeley and a Pulitzer Prize winner; and Carl Sagan's chapter on therapy in "The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark."

On the Web you can find critical information at these sites: The False Memory Syndrome Foundation (www.fmsfonline.org/) and The Skeptics' Dictionary entries on repressed memory therapy (skepdic.com/repress.html) and repressed memories, (skepdic.com/ repressedmemory.html).

------------------------------------

Lisa Goodlin, of Syracuse, is president of Central New York Skeptics, a nonprofit organization dedicated to the promotion of science and reason, the investigation of paranormal and pseudoscientific claims, and the improvement of standards for science education and critical-thinking skills.

 

After long denial, Orthodox world begins to grapple with sexual abuse

After long denial, Orthodox world begins to grapple with sexual abuse

By Julie Wiener

JTA - August 9, 2002

NEW YORK, Aug. 9 (JTA) —The Borough Park section of Brooklyn is one of America's most visibly Jewish neighborhoods.

On several residential blocks of one- and two-family brick homes, almost every front door has a mezuzah. Modestly dressed women push strollers, while girls in dresses and boys in tzitzit and yarmulkes play on the sidewalks.

Sixteenth Avenue, one of the main drags, is lined with religious study centers and yeshivot, a Jewish high school for girls, small synagogues and Judaica stores.

And in the middle of it all is an agency that runs a treatment program for Orthodox Jewish pedophiles.

Orthodox pedophiles?

For years, most people in the Orthodox world assumed their religious way of life and tight-knit communities insulated them from problems rocking the larger world, like sexual abuse.

There is still a great deal of resistance to discussing the issue, and a lingering feeling among many victims and advocates that Orthodox institutions are more concerned with protecting the reputations of men accused of sexual abuse than with believing or helping victims.

But fueled by a combination of factors — recent scandals, a growing cadre of Orthodox psychotherapists in whom Orthodox Jews feel comfortable confiding, and American society's growing openness about sensitive social problems — that sense of insularity is eroding both among the fervently and centrist Orthodox communities.

Just as it has begun to acknowledge that there are Orthodox child abusers and Orthodox drug addicts, the community is gradually coming to grips with the fact that it, too, has sexual abusers in its midst.

Through Jewish agencies like Borough Park's Ohel Children's Home and Family Services — whose sex offender program is believed to be the only Orthodox program of its kind — it is starting to confront the problem.

Among the indicators of change:

• In the wake of public allegations last year that a high-ranking professional in the Orthodox Union's National Conference of Synagogue Youth had sexually abused more than 20 teen-age girls, sexual abuse has become a household world among centrist Orthodox Jews. The O.U., which had been accused of protecting Rabbi Baruch Lanner, the alleged abuser, underwent an investigation by an independent commission, made some key staff changes and has vowed to implement policies to prevent future abuse.

• Four years ago, at the request of the Brooklyn District Attorney, Ohel — which already treated Jewish survivors of sexual abuse — created the first- ever treatment program specifically for Orthodox sex offenders. More than 30 people, half referred through the criminal justice system and half through rabbis and Jewish communal leaders, have received evaluation or treatment through the program; more are on a waiting list.

• At its convention this year, the Rabbinical Council of America, which represents 1,100 mainstream Orthodox rabbis, held an open and detailed discussion about sexual abuse led by Dr. Susan Shulman, a pediatrician who served on the O.U.'s commission investigating the Lanner scandal and lectures frequently about sexual abuse.

• According to the RCA's immediate past president, Rabbi Kenneth Hain, the rabbinic group is in the "embryonic stages" of creating a system for dealing with members accused of sexual misconduct.

• In the aftermath of two publicized cases of pedophilia — one concerning a rabbi teaching at a day school and another concerning a kosher butcher — the Chicago Rabbinical Council recently created a special Beit Din, or rabbinical court, to address sexual abuse. The court, which has four rabbis from different sectors of the local Orthodox community, consults with a team of psychologists, social workers and lawyers. It is believed to be the only permanent North American Beit Din focusing on this issue.

• According to David Mandel, chief executive officer of Ohel, Orthodox schools and other institutions increasingly are hosting workshops educating parents and teachers on how to prevent abuse against children and identify the symptoms indicating that a child may have been abused. In the past year, Ohel participated in more than 12 seminars or conference sessions on the topic, about twice as many as in previous years.

Sexual abuse is hardly unique to the Orthodox community, and many who work in the field say there appear to be far fewer incidents in the Jewish community than in American society as a whole.

Problems like victims' reluctance to come forward, difficulty proving cases, and a tendency of people not to want to believe accusations are vexing issues in any community. Even when caught, sexual abusers are difficult to treat, and many experts say they must be watched vigilantly because they never fully recover.

But there are certain aspects of Orthodox life that make such problems uniquely challenging.

Perhaps the biggest obstacle is the wall of silence and denial.

"We're a community that would like to believe that our religious lives prevent these problems," said Rabbi Yosef Blau, a spiritual guidance counselor at Yeshiva University's rabbinic seminary and someone known as an advocate for victims of sexual abuse.

Samuel Heilman, a professor of Jewish studies and sociology at the City University of New York, said the presence of sexual abuse "calls into question some of the deeply held values of Orthodoxy — mainly that if you maintain a strict attachment to Jewish tradition and values, somehow that would insulate you from all that is evil in society."

In addition, there is a historic Jewish tendency, particularly acute in the Orthodox world, to keep quiet about sensitive issues for fear of publicly scandalizing the community.

Many Orthodox Jews also fear that embarrassing information could jeopardize future wedding matches for individuals and their families.

Another obstacle is that the many demands of an Orthodox lifestyle — and the fact that Orthodox Jews must live within walking distance of synagogue — make Orthodox communities tight-knit. That can make it hard for a victim to come forward, particularly if the abuser is prominent or well-liked.

When the perpetrator is a rabbi or other respected member of the community, victims have an even greater difficulty, given Orthodox Judaism's reverence for rabbinical authority figures.

"If a kid goes to a parent and says, My rebbe did something to me, the parents tend to believe the rabbi, not the child," Blau said.

Perhaps the greatest challenge is that most Orthodox institutions lack a formal system for preventing or reporting abuse.

Exacerbating the situation is the fact that Orthodox Jews generally are more reluctant than liberal Jews to go to the police for crimes committed within the community.

Instead, Orthodox Jews tend to rely on rabbinical courts. But most such courts are ill-equipped to handle sexual abuse cases, and many — according to victims' advocates and Shulman — refuse to hear such cases.

Chicago's Beit Din is one of the few actively dealing with sexual abuse. So far, it has found three people guilty of abuse, alerting community leaders so they can keep an eye on the offenders and not hire them for jobs where they will be alone with children.

Rabbi Gedalia Schwartz, chief presiding rabbi of the Chicago Rabbinical Council and the Beit Din of America, a national rabbinical court under RCA auspices, urges victims to go to the police as well.

"Some might say, send" the abuser "to another community," Schwartz said. "That's no good because if he goes to another community he will do the same thing."

However, some communities do just that.

In her RCA speech, Shulman told of an anonymous rabbi who impregnated a student while he was principal of a school for Jewish girls with learning disabilities. When he was fired, he moved to another community where he is "still a prominent rabbi."

Despite the remaining challenges, some in the Orthodox world find solace in the fact that the topic is now on the table and that some treatment programs are out there.

Because of the Lanner case, "people who in the past would've said, ‘I'm sure he couldn't have done that and Just let it go are now saying, I heard about this and we can't let this happen again,' " Blau said.

According to Mandell and others, the changes are deeper than a mere reaction to Lanner.

In fact, sex abuse is being discussed and addressed not just in centrist Orthodox circles but in fervently Orthodox communities where many people — who do not read secular or even mainstream Jewish newspapers — have not heard of the Lanner scandal.

David Pelcovitz, director of psychology at North Shore University Hospital in Manhasset, N.Y., and a clinical professor of psychology at the New York University School of Medicine, said he increasingly hears rabbis frame the issue by talking about the concept of ha'alamah, the biblical injunction not to look the other way.

Mandel, Pelcovitz and Shulman all say that invitations are increasing to speak on the topic at conferences and to lead training workshops.

Pelcovitz, who teaches a pastoral psychology course at Yeshiva University's rabbinical school on dealing with sexual abuse complaints, said Orthodox rabbinical groups such as the RCA and the National Council of Young Israel also are starting to offer continuing education on sexual abuse.

Mandel noted that after almost every speech he and his staff give on sexual abuse, at least one adult privately comes forward to say he or she, too, was victimized but never before felt comfortable telling anyone.

"People are discussing a topic that truly wasn't discussed," he said.

A Jewish Survivor Reflects on the Meaning of Forgiveness

A Jewish Survivor Reflects on the Meaning of Forgiveness 

© (2002) By Harriet Lane Baggett, PhD, LCP

AdvocateWeb - September 6, 2002

L’Shana Tova!

That is, Happy New Year! The evening of September 6th, 2002 marks the beginning of the New Year in the Jewish calendar, 5763. It is the beginning of a ten day period that we usually call “The High Holy Days,” marked at the beginning with Rosh Hashanah (New Year) and at the end with Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). The entire ten days are referred to as The Days of Awe, or sometimes, The Ten Days of Repentance. Tradition holds that during these initial ten days of the year, God considers who will live through the year to see the next. Those who are clearly righteous will be written into the Book of Life on the first day, while those who are clearly wicked will be written into the Book of Death that day. For the rest of us, who fall somewhere in between, the Days of Awe are a time to make it all up, so to speak, so that God might finally write us into the Book of Life before sealing it on Yom Kippur. It is a time for us to closely examine our behaviors in the prior year, to evaluate our ethical and moral and religious standing, and to make repairs and repentance. Even those of us who do not really believe that God is up in heaven determining our destinies take seriously the basis of this tradition: that in order to have a sweet new year, we need to deal justly with the things we have done to sour the years that came before. Thus, the High Holy Day period is all about repentance and forgiveness, a topic that is so much at the core of the pain felt by victims/survivors of professional exploitation.

My very first Jewish service was the eve of Yom Kippur 15 years ago, which I attended with several Jewish friends. I did not consider myself to be a very spiritual person; I was not practicing the religion in which I was raised, and was not inclined to seek out other paths. I went in order to support my friends, and perhaps with a bit of anthropological interest.

But I was deeply moved. What most stands out in my memory is the part of the service in which the congregants recited what I now know to be Al Khet; this prayer is essentially a confession to a litany of sins committed during the prior year. Everyone in the congregation names every sin; some prayer books are more specific than others in the naming of the sins, but the implication is that we are all part of a community that has sinned against God in each and every one of these ways. So, on this first Yom Kippur, I stood with my friends as they set pride aside and spoke aloud all of these sins against God and asked for God’s forgiveness. This was an awesome contrast, for me, to the secret shame of the confessional on which I was brought up. What freedom, I thought, to let go of the chains of silence and secrecy and to say the shame out loud, as a group, acknowledging that we all have sinned.

It took a lot of years and a lot of thought and finally a lot of courage before I started attending synagogue services with the idea that I might actively participate, not just observe. Now I lived in a small southern town with not many Jews, and a neighbor, friend and synagogue leader took me under her wing. For more than a year I was almost like a member of her family, celebrating holidays, studying Torah and the prayers, enjoying traditional music and food, learning the rituals and language, and developing meaningful appreciation of Jewish theology. So much of the theology speaks to me. But the part that was most healing for me, that brought me closest to my spiritual center, was the theology around repentance and forgiveness. For me, it all went back to that first Yom Kippur: the healing power of open acknowledgement of wrongdoing.

But, there is a catch in Judaism, a big difference from Christian theology: Yom Kippur only allows atonement for sins we commit against God. God does not grant forgiveness for sins that we commit against other people. For that, we must approach and make repentance to the person whom we have wronged; then it is up to that person to grant forgiveness. I took to heart this teaching, often explained by my friend and then reiterated by rabbis during High Holy Day sermons. I searched inside myself, I let go of my pride, I faced my shame and I sought out people, some of whom I hadn’t had contact with in years, and I acknowledged my wrongs. Some responded favorably, some did not. It was a gift to me when they responded with acceptance and forgiveness, but regardless of their response, I was free of the binds that had held me from authentic relationship with those people. I felt more relaxed, more at ease in all my relationships than I had in so many ages. With each reminder of this important piece of Jewish theology, whether sermon or reading or discussion, I remembered again to handle my current relationships with equal authenticity and clarity. It was a sweet and joyous time in my life, a time of connection with people and with God, the kind of connection and authenticity that I imagined must permeate the relationships of all people who are serious about their spirituality. Especially rabbis.

It has now been almost five years since the beginning of my sexual exploitation by the woman who was my rabbi during the course of my conversion. The ensuing years have witnessed numerous additional betrayals by rabbinic and synagogue leaders as I have sought the kind of justice that I had been taught was at the heart of Jewish tradition. The High Holy Days have taken on a new, and confusing, significance. It is impossible for me to understand how these rabbis, with their flowery sermons urging us toward repentance to other people and not just to God, are able to face the High Holy Days, “The Days of Awe,” year after year without making honest repentance to me for the abuse and the collusion and all of the heinous consequences of these betrayals.

There have been a few supportive clergy (Jewish and Christian) who have helped me to hold to my faith and my theology, and to continue to hold the rabbis accountable for their sins against me. Ironically, the rabbi “supporters” have been more likely to tell me to “forgive and forget,” that phrase so dreaded by victims of clergy sexual abuse. Or they might say, “forgive but don’t forget,” in the mixed up belief that somehow that meshes better with our theology.

But I cannot forgive. Repentance has not been made and, in Jewish tradition, my tradition, there is no context for forgiveness when there has been no repentance. (A corollary to this Jewish teaching is that another cannot forgive the offender in my place; in other words, in the absence of meaningful repentance, the synagogue or rabbinic leadership cannot forgive my perpetrator even though I don’t. This is an important point for many clergy abuse victims, who have seen their congregations “forgive” their perpetrator while the victim is left to hang in the wind.)

To be honest, I’m not sure I even know what forgiveness would look like. How can I know when there has been no repentance? There seem to be so many definitions of forgiveness; it is very subjective. Based on my experiences in other situations, I think forgiveness would mean that I can verbalize acceptance of, belief in, the regret expressed by the offenders’ gestures of repentance if they made them; this, in turn, would mean more open and authentic relationship with them, a potential for growth. Perhaps forgiveness would be my “gift” to them of lifting the pain of their guilt and shame by allowing for future meaningful, healing relations…meaningful relationship that can only come from both parties being open and honest with themselves and each other, which can only come when repentance has been made.

The dictionaries I’ve looked at all seem to include “to pardon” in the primary definition; to me “to pardon” implies letting go of the expectation for justice. The second definition often includes “letting go of anger.” In the absence of repentance, I just don’t think I can do either of these things without compromising my personal ethics or diminishing my experience and feelings. I cannot in good conscience “pardon” the rabbis, excuse them from doing what their own ethical guidelines demand; I continue to expect them to adhere to their ethics and morals, to care about the justice on which their religion is based. Neither can I put a lid on my feelings of hurt and anger; they betrayed me, they have made promises not kept, and to “let go of my anger” would be to diminish the importance of the experience and the injustice. That is not to say, however, that I can’t grow.

But first, while I’m not completely certain what forgiveness would look like, I do think I have an idea of what it would not look like for me. It would not mean forgetting, as the astute rabbis pointed out. It would not mean compromising the expectation for justice; justice is required for forgiveness in my theology. It would not mean becoming friends with the offender. But most important for me, one who has not received a just response, forgiveness does not equal “acceptance,” it does not equal “understanding” the perpetrator/colluders, it does not equal “moving on.” I can do these things without repentance or forgiveness. I have found that I am better able to accept that this has happened and that the rabbis are not who they claim to be. I am better able to understand their humanity, and the fact that in the unconscious (if not conscious) minds of almost all organizational leaders, the preservation of the organization’s image (and thus the leaders’ power) becomes more important than the ideals upon which it was founded. And, finally, I am becoming able to “move on” in many aspects of my life, even my spirituality.

With the help of so many wonderful people (almost all of whom I’ve connected with through AdvocateWeb, directly or indirectly!), I have moved through the initial confusion and self-denial, through the raw pain of all the losses, through the desperate and angry attempts to claim justice and reclaim faith, through the excruciating moments of disillusionment and outrage, and through so many complicated feelings of wondering where God is in all this. I’m not done with these feelings; they are not all gone, and I don’t think they will ever go away completely, particularly not in the absence of justice. But neither are they as overwhelming nor as constant as in the first years. Now I can focus on acts of charity, I can paint a room in my house, I can savor a day on the water, I can converse meaningfully about topics that are not at all related to the exploitation. I have been able to meet new people, even to date. And now not a day goes by that I am not compelled to thank God for all the good things in my life, especially even those I’ve found through this nightmare: compassionate family, friends and advocates; moving new prayers and music; eye-opening new perspectives on life and God and all faith traditions; and even restful new vacation destinations where retreats were held. I am learning how to pray again by myself, and have even joined another synagogue (albeit 50 miles away). Perhaps I’ll even attend services there someday soon; maybe I’ll be able to do some of the home rituals in coming years…probably not this High Holy Day season, but maybe the next, or the one after that. And I am learning constructive ways to use this experience and the bad feelings it has caused; if I suppressed my angry feelings with premature “forgiveness,” there are so many good things I might not be motivated to pursue (such as writing, or supporting other victims). What I’ve finally discovered, by hanging on to my truth and surrounding myself with people who will hear it, is that THERE IS HOPE for claiming a new joy in Judaism and in life. The experience of hope is among the many blessings that I have learned again to count every day.

I have not forgiven, I have not forgotten, I have not ceased my effort for justice, and in many ways I am still affected by the betrayals and the losses, as I always will be. But, I am moving on, healing and growing, learning to put my feelings to helpful purpose. I may not receive repentance, and thus won’t be able to grant forgiveness, but I will still find sweetness in this New Year. And so, I pray for L’Shana Tova for all of us.

A Jewish Survivor Reflects on the Meaning of Forgiveness

Harriet Lane Baggett, Ph.D., LCP
Staunton, Virginia

Originally Published on AdvocateWeb.org

L’Shana Tova! 

That is, Happy New Year! The evening of September 6th, 2002 marks the beginning of the New Year in the Jewish calendar, 5763. It is the beginning of a ten day period that we usually call “The High Holy Days,” marked at the beginning with Rosh Hashanah (New Year) and at the end with Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). The entire ten days are referred to as The Days of Awe, or sometimes, The Ten Days of Repentance. Tradition holds that during these initial ten days of the year, God considers who will live through the year to see the next. Those who are clearly righteous will be written into the Book of Life on the first day, while those who are clearly wicked will be written into the Book of Death that day. For the rest of us, who fall somewhere in between, the Days of Awe are a time to make it all up, so to speak, so that God might finally write us into the Book of Life before sealing it on Yom Kippur. It is a time for us to closely examine our behaviors in the prior year, to evaluate our ethical and moral and religious standing, and to make repairs and repentance. Even those of us who do not really believe that God is up in heaven determining our destinies take seriously the basis of this tradition: that in order to have a sweet new year, we need to deal justly with the things we have done to sour the years that came before. Thus, the High Holy Day period is all about repentance and forgiveness, a topic that is so much at the core of the pain felt by victims/survivors of professional exploitation. 

My very first Jewish service was the eve of Yom Kippur 15 years ago, which I attended with several Jewish friends. I did not consider myself to be a very spiritual person; I was not practicing the religion in which I was raised, and was not inclined to seek out other paths. I went in order to support my friends, and perhaps with a bit of anthropological interest. 

But I was deeply moved. What most stands out in my memory is the part of the service in which the congregants recited what I now know to be Al Khet; this prayer is essentially a confession to a litany of sins committed during the prior year. Everyone in the congregation names every sin; some prayer books are more specific than others in the naming of the sins, but the implication is that we are all part of a community that has sinned against God in each and every one of these ways. So, on this first Yom Kippur, I stood with my friends as they set pride aside and spoke aloud all of these sins against God and asked for God’s forgiveness. This was an awesome contrast, for me, to the secret shame of the confessional on which I was brought up. What freedom, I thought, to let go of the chains of silence and secrecy and to say the shame out loud, as a group, acknowledging that we all have sinned.

It took a lot of years and a lot of thought and finally a lot of courage before I started attending synagogue services with the idea that I might actively participate, not just observe. Now I lived in a small southern town with not many Jews, and a neighbor, friend and synagogue leader took me under her wing. For more than a year I was almost like a member of her family, celebrating holidays, studying Torah and the prayers, enjoying traditional music and food, learning the rituals and language, and developing meaningful appreciation of Jewish theology. So much of the theology speaks to me. But the part that was most healing for me, that brought me closest to my spiritual center, was the theology around repentance and forgiveness. For me, it all went back to that first Yom Kippur: the healing power of open acknowledgement of wrongdoing. 

But, there is a catch in Judaism, a big difference from Christian theology: Yom Kippur only allows atonement for sins we commit against God. God does not grant forgiveness for sins that we commit against other people. For that, we must approach and make repentance to the person whom we have wronged; then it is up to that person to grant forgiveness. I took to heart this teaching, often explained by my friend and then reiterated by rabbis during High Holy Day sermons. I searched inside myself, I let go of my pride, I faced my shame and I sought out people, some of whom I hadn’t had contact with in years, and I acknowledged my wrongs. Some responded favorably, some did not. It was a gift to me when they responded with acceptance and forgiveness, but regardless of their response, I was free of the binds that had held me from authentic relationship with those people. I felt more relaxed, more at ease in all my relationships than I had in so many ages. With each reminder of this important piece of Jewish theology, whether sermon or reading or discussion, I remembered again to handle my current relationships with equal authenticity and clarity. It was a sweet and joyous time in my life, a time of connection with people and with God, the kind of connection and authenticity that I imagined must permeate the relationships of all people who are serious about their spirituality. Especially rabbis. 

It has now been almost five years since the beginning of my sexual exploitation by the woman who was my rabbi during the course of my conversion. The ensuing years have witnessed numerous additional betrayals by rabbinic and synagogue leaders as I have sought the kind of justice that I had been taught was at the heart of Jewish tradition. The High Holy Days have taken on a new, and confusing, significance. It is impossible for me to understand how these rabbis, with their flowery sermons urging us toward repentance to other people and not just to God, are able to face the High Holy Days, “The Days of Awe,” year after year without making honest repentance to me for the abuse and the collusion and all of the heinous consequences of these betrayals. 

There have been a few supportive clergy (Jewish and Christian) who have helped me to hold to my faith and my theology, and to continue to hold the rabbis accountable for their sins against me. Ironically, the rabbi “supporters” have been more likely to tell me to “forgive and forget,” that phrase so dreaded by victims of clergy sexual abuse. Or they might say, “forgive but don’t forget,” in the mixed up belief that somehow that meshes better with our theology. 

But I cannot forgive. Repentance has not been made and, in Jewish tradition, my tradition, there is no context for forgiveness when there has been no repentance. (A corollary to this Jewish teaching is that another cannot forgive the offender in my place; in other words, in the absence of meaningful repentance, the synagogue or rabbinic leadership cannot forgive my perpetrator even though I don’t. This is an important point for many clergy abuse victims, who have seen their congregations “forgive” their perpetrator while the victim is left to hang in the wind.) 

To be honest, I’m not sure I even know what forgiveness would look like. How can I know when there has been no repentance? There seem to be so many definitions of forgiveness; it is very subjective. Based on my experiences in other situations, I think forgiveness would mean that I can verbalize acceptance of, belief in, the regret expressed by the offenders’ gestures of repentance if they made them; this, in turn, would mean more open and authentic relationship with them, a potential for growth. Perhaps forgiveness would be my “gift” to them of lifting the pain of their guilt and shame by allowing for future meaningful, healing relations…meaningful relationship that can only come from both parties being open and honest with themselves and each other, which can only come when repentance has been made. 

The dictionaries I’ve looked at all seem to include “to pardon” in the primary definition; to me “to pardon” implies letting go of the expectation for justice. The second definition often includes “letting go of anger.” In the absence of repentance, I just don’t think I can do either of these things without compromising my personal ethics or diminishing my experience and feelings. I cannot in good conscience “pardon” the rabbis, excuse them from doing what their own ethical guidelines demand; I continue to expect them to adhere to their ethics and morals, to care about the justice on which their religion is based. Neither can I put a lid on my feelings of hurt and anger; they betrayed me, they have made promises not kept, and to “let go of my anger” would be to diminish the importance of the experience and the injustice. That is not to say, however, that I can’t grow. 

But first, while I’m not completely certain what forgiveness would look like, I do think I have an idea of what it would not look like for me. It would not mean forgetting, as the astute rabbis pointed out. It would not mean compromising the expectation for justice; justice is required for forgiveness in my theology. It would not mean becoming friends with the offender. But most important for me, one who has not received a just response, forgiveness does not equal “acceptance,” it does not equal “understanding” the perpetrator/colluders, it does not equal “moving on.” I can do these things without repentance or forgiveness. I have found that I am better able to accept that this has happened and that the rabbis are not who they claim to be. I am better able to understand their humanity, and the fact that in the unconscious (if not conscious) minds of almost all organizational leaders, the preservation of the organization’s image (and thus the leaders’ power) becomes more important than the ideals upon which it was founded. And, finally, I am becoming able to “move on” in many aspects of my life, even my spirituality. 

With the help of so many wonderful people (almost all of whom I’ve connected with through AdvocateWeb, directly or indirectly!), I have moved through the initial confusion and self-denial, through the raw pain of all the losses, through the desperate and angry attempts to claim justice and reclaim faith, through the excruciating moments of disillusionment and outrage, and through so many complicated feelings of wondering where God is in all this. I’m not done with these feelings; they are not all gone, and I don’t think they will ever go away completely, particularly not in the absence of justice. But neither are they as overwhelming nor as constant as in the first years. Now I can focus on acts of charity, I can paint a room in my house, I can savor a day on the water, I can converse meaningfully about topics that are not at all related to the exploitation. I have been able to meet new people, even to date. And now not a day goes by that I am not compelled to thank God for all the good things in my life, especially even those I’ve found through this nightmare: compassionate family, friends and advocates; moving new prayers and music; eye-opening new perspectives on life and God and all faith traditions; and even restful new vacation destinations where retreats were held. I am learning how to pray again by myself, and have even joined another synagogue (albeit 50 miles away). Perhaps I’ll even attend services there someday soon; maybe I’ll be able to do some of the home rituals in coming years…probably not this High Holy Day season, but maybe the next, or the one after that. And I am learning constructive ways to use this experience and the bad feelings it has caused; if I suppressed my angry feelings with premature “forgiveness,” there are so many good things I might not be motivated to pursue (such as writing, or supporting other victims). What I’ve finally discovered, by hanging on to my truth and surrounding myself with people who will hear it, is that THERE IS HOPE for claiming a new joy in Judaism and in life. The experience of hope is among the many blessings that I have learned again to count every day. 

I have not forgiven, I have not forgotten, I have not ceased my effort for justice, and in many ways I am still affected by the betrayals and the losses, as I always will be. But, I am moving on, healing and growing, learning to put my feelings to helpful purpose. I may not receive repentance, and thus won’t be able to grant forgiveness, but I will still find sweetness in this New Year. And so, I pray for L’Shana Tova for all of us.