By Rabbi Zvi Gluck
When I saw that a group of respected rabbonim had sent a letter to Governor Kathy Hochul asking for clemency for a convicted child abuser who has never shown one ounce of remorse, something inside me broke. It was not only disappointment or frustration. It was heartbreak, anger, disbelief, and a deep sadness that words barely touch.
For years, survivors have fought simply to be heard. Families have carried wounds that do not fade. I have sat with children who grew into adults still trembling as they describe what was done to them. So reading a letter filled with compassion for the man who caused such devastation, and absolutely none for the girl he abused, felt like a betrayal of every survivor who has ever found the courage to come forward.
Not one mention of her pain. Not one word about her suffering. Yet there is a plea for mercy for the man who stole her childhood.
The truth is simple. He rejected plea deals. He chose to go to trial. And in New York State, especially in cases involving minors, that choice forces a child to relive trauma in public for days. When a defendant rejects reasonable pleas and is convicted, the maximum sentence is not surprising. It is the consequence of choosing pride over accountability.
But the letter does not speak of her dignity. It speaks only of his. His age, his health, his comfort. What about her life? What about her future?
The irony is painful. Many who signed this letter come from communities torn apart by infighting for years. Yet for this, for a convicted abuser with no remorse, they unite fully. If only they showed this unity when it came to protecting children.
For eleven years, I have watched survivors walk into our office terrified, unsure if anyone will believe them. I have seen parents trying to hold their shattered families together. I have seen bravery that humbles me every day. And I have dedicated my life to making sure no one faces that darkness alone.
This letter does the opposite of healing. It tells victims that their pain matters less than the position of the person who hurt them. It is almost unbearable.
I realize that by speaking out, Amudim may lose donors, sponsors, and supporters. But I did not get into this work to stay quiet in moments like this. I did not build Amudim to protect the institution at the expense of truth. And I will never choose comfort, money, or convenience over the dignity of survivors.
Silence is not neutral. Silence is harmful. Silence tells survivors that their suffering is inconvenient and their voices unwelcome. I refuse to be silent.
And now I want to speak to the bystanders. The average person who reads these stories and shakes their head and then moves on. Your voice matters. Your choices matter. Every parent, every neighbor, every friend, every member of Klal Yisroel decides whether to believe victims or protect abusers. You do not need a title to do the right thing. You need courage, you need compassion, and you need to remember that one word of support can save a life, and one moment of silence can destroy one. Choose the victim. Stand with the vulnerable.
To every survivor watching this. You are not forgotten. You are not invisible. You are not alone. This moment hurts, but it does not erase the progress we have made, and it does not stop the movement that grows stronger every day.
With help from above, we will continue to stand with you. We will continue to build safer communities. We will continue to challenge systems that protect abusers. And we will keep fighting until no child ever has to fear being silenced again.
We will not stop. We will not turn away. And we will never abandon those who have already suffered far too much.
{Matzav.com}
