While in one sense, the Chaim Walder story came to a close with his death early this week, the story of communal and rabbinic reactions is ongoing, and it is not pretty.

Many, including some prominent rabbis, continue to take the overwhelming and verified accusations very seriously, and have drawn important lessons from them, but others continue to minimize or deny these allegations. From the huge turnout at Walder’s funeral and shiva to publications referring to him as “zt”l” (of saintly memory), to rabbis asserting that speaking ill of him is worse than his sexual crimes, to those dismissing all the allegations as a left-wing conspiracy, so many, including leading rabbis and publications, refuse to believe the truth before their eyes.

There is a steep price to this. Shifra Horowitz, who was abused by Walder, put an end to her life earlier this week, after having seen all the adulation unjustly heaped on him. One can only imagine the pain of all the victims who watch this horrific inequity play out. And what of the potential and current abusers who see this unfolding, and know that even if they get caught they will continue to have defenders, backers and adulators in their community.

There are many lessons to be learned from this story, and some good articles have come out in recent days. I would like to take a step back and think more generally about what the Torah’s expectations are for leaders who encounter these situations. Please note that I am not talking about any case in particular; I am talking about every case where the analysis below is relevant.

Abuse generally takes place in situations where a more powerful individual takes advantage of a less powerful one. Generally, leaders are more likely to be acquainted with, and/or to identify with, the powerful party. It can be hard for them to even consider the possibility that their peer is actually an abuser: “I know him, he would never do that” or “My opponents say harsh things about me; I’m sure it’s just his enemies making something up” may come easily to mind.

And if the abuser is a particularly prominent individual, it is even harder to see the abuse that they perpetrated: “Delegitimizing this person would undo all the good they did!” “Who will take their place?” “How can we allow such a big Kiddush Hashem to become a chillul Hashem?”

Given these structural biases, it can be hard for leaders to recognize cases of abuse even when the facts stare them in the face. They are far more likely to see such scenarios as a false accusation or a conspiracy, even if the evidence and statistics point strongly against that.

Chazal are aware of this bias, and charge rabbinic leadership with overcoming it. Kohelet 4:1 describes the realities in this world, where the oppressed lack a comforter, caught as they are in the hands of the powerful:

וְשַׁ֣בְתִּֽי אֲנִ֗י וָאֶרְאֶה֙ אֶת־כָּל־הָ֣עֲשֻׁקִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֥ר נַעֲשִׂ֖ים תַּ֣חַת הַשָּׁ֑מֶשׁ וְהִנֵּ֣ה׀ דִּמְעַ֣ת הָעֲשֻׁקִ֗ים וְאֵ֤ין לָהֶם֙ מְנַחֵ֔ם וּמִיַּ֤ד עֹֽשְׁקֵיהֶם֙ כֹּ֔חַ וְאֵ֥ין לָהֶ֖ם מְנַחֵֽם:

And I turned and saw all the oppression that is done under the son. And behold the tears of the oppressed, but they have no comforter. And the hands of their oppressors hold power, but they [the oppressed] have no comforter.

Kohelet ties the oppressed’s lack of a comforter to the power imbalance between oppressor and oppressed, noting the difficulty of those with the capacity to comfort to see reality for what it is. Kohelet himself *is* able to see the true reality, and his recognition triggers a great despair over this doubly-compounded injustice.

A fascinating passage in Kohelet Rabbah commenting on this pasuk points to a variety of injustices in the world. It points to those who die for their parents’ sins, or the category of the mamzer, who is severely restricted as a result of his parents’ sin. It also identifies the offending group as the Chanifei Torah, those religious imposters who project a public persona of piety but secretly harbor an interior empty of religion.

One rabbi explains that באותה שעה אליהו זכור לטוב יושב ומלמד סניגוריא, Eliyahu HaNavi sits in the Divine court as a defense attorney and advocates on behalf of these oppressed individuals. Another notes that God punishes those religious imposters.

The message of the midrash is clear. We are charged to see through the haze, to overcome the perceptual obstacles of bias, and to see the oppressed and the oppressor for who they truly are. It is upon us to emulate Kohelet’s vision, Eliyahu’s compassion, and God’s judgment in meting out justice, despite the challenges. It is our responsibility to comfort the oppressed, despite the power of their oppressors, even if recognizing how the mighty have fallen sinks us into a period of despair, just as it did for Kohelet.

Rav Ovadia Yosef often cited this midrash, more specifically a parallel midrash at Vayikra Rabbah 32:8 that takes a somewhat distinct, more damning, angle.

ושבתי אני ואראה את כל העשוקים דניאל חייטא פתר קרייה בממזרים והנה דמעת העשוקים אבותם של אלו עוברי עבירות ואילין עלוביא מה איכפת להון כך אביו של זה בא על הערוה זה מה חטא ומה איכפ’ לו ואין להם מנחם אלא מיד עושקיהם כח מיד סנהדרי גדולה של ישראל שבאה עליהם מכחה של תורה ומרחקתן על שום לא יבא ממזר בקהל ה’ ואין להם מנחם אמר הקדוש ברוך הוא עלי לנחמן

The oppressed are once again the mamzerim, but here the oppressors are the great Sanhedrin, who fail to comfort them, fail to take their challenges seriously in attempting to find a Halachic solution. God responds, “It is upon me to comfort them.”

In his career, Rav Ovadia made it his business to see the challenges and suffering of his people, and to do what he could to alleviate their pain. There might not always be a Halachic solution, but he would do his utmost to comfort the oppressed, and, most fundamentally, to *see* them and to feel their tears.

A rabbi who fails to see the oppressed, who holds the power to intervene but is blinded to reality as it truly is, becomes their oppressor. The Midrash tells us that God sees this and takes appropriate action.

What is true for mamzerim is true in other areas of oppression, as well. If a rabbi or religious leader is blinded to an overwhelmingly likely case of abuse, if they can’t see through their biases, they join the oppressors. If they would rather go to a shiva of the abuser than of the abused, they are also an abuser. If they would rather not talk about credible allegations of abuse because it’s uncomfortable or bad for PR, they fundamentally fail to see the oppressed. They fail to do their duty as rabbis and religious leaders.

Now, of course, some cases will be more open-and-shut than others. It is certainly appropriate to be cautious and consider the evidence rather than to rush to judgment. But the key thing is to actually *see* the oppressed person. Upon reflection, it seems that those who rush to the defense of abusers against overwhelming odds are motivated less by epistemic concerns and more by an inability to countenance the possibility of abuse, to see the harmed person in front of them.

But that is precisely what the Torah asks from us—from rabbis, leaders and everyone. To *see* the oppressed and their tears, to comfort them, to take their pain and concerns seriously.

May we all be zoche to have leaders, across all our communities, who live up to this charge.

Shlomo Zuckier, a founder of the Lehrhaus, is the Flegg Postdoctoral Fellow in Jewish Studies at McGill University and a lecturer at the Bernard Revel Graduate School of Jewish Studies.