A View on Emotions in Discourse and Beyond—The Walder Affair (Column 439)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

A few days ago, a post by a man named Daniel Bokovza—apparently himself a victim of sexual assault—was shared on WhatsApp. He addresses the reactions to the Walder affair. The post, and even more so the responses to it, stirred me to revisit the emotionalism of our discourse and its harms, even though I’ve discussed this more than once. I’ll say upfront: you won’t find here a discussion of the affair itself or its various aspects.

The Post

Here’s what Bokovza wrote:

Surely you won’t be surprised that once the post went up in the group, the responses were impassioned. People said it was jolting, chilling, thought-provoking. Someone wrote there:

I have no words… It’s thought-provoking and calls for repentance. I’m sorry…

These are typical reactions and I’m sure you can find many like them, but I must say that they—and the post itself—really annoy me, mainly in two closely related respects: the emotionalism and the attempt to force a position on me on the grounds that I must empathize with someone who suffered.

A First Look

I understand that these words are a kind of cry, an expression of great distress, and one can and should empathize with them and with the writer. But when addressing the content of his words, with all due respect to the distress and the desire to express it, I don’t accept that they dictate to me what I should think/say and what not.

The writer assumes that no one may relate in a complex way to a person who harmed others, and demands that we adopt a simple view with a clear, one-sided condemnation. I fully agree that the fact that someone harmed people deserves every condemnation, as well as treatment and punishment, but that doesn’t contradict the need and importance of understanding the complexity of the situation and the person, when such complexity exists (not every case is necessarily complex, but it can be). On the contrary, I’ve written more than once (see, for example, in columns 5, 29–30, 265–6, and many more) about the importance of understanding the complexity of positions, pictures, or people in order to form a balanced stance toward them and, especially, to draw substantive and relevant conclusions. I’ve explained there why simplistic thinking is very convenient for us but also very misleading and unhelpful.

Here the writer assumes that if someone says the situation is complex, this is merely to leave himself in his comfort zone—as if it were self-evident that no complexity can exist in such situations. How does he know that in Chaim Walder’s case the situation was simple and clear? How does he know there weren’t good sides to him, as his family and friends attest, and that their astonishment and disbelief regarding the acts aren’t authentic? How can he write such things without knowing the case (as I understand it, he isn’t writing from familiarity with the affair or the people involved)? In my estimation, it is precisely the writer’s unwillingness to recognize complexity that stems from his preference for his own comfort (as a victim who enjoys sympathy and compassion). He projects his own flaw.

I don’t intend to claim anything about the Walder affair—whether it’s complex or not—since I don’t know the details. That’s also not important in my view. I’m only arguing that if it isn’t complex, say so and justify it; and if it is complex, then you must acknowledge that. Of course you can express pain, distress, and harm, but don’t use these to force others into simplistic thinking and incorrect conceptions of reality. Even if distorting reality helps some victim feel supported by his environment, and even if a straight grasp of reality hurts him, I’m not prepared to forgo honesty in perceiving reality—that is, to yield to the pragmatist demand to subordinate the true to the useful. The exploitation of victimhood to impose positions and a certain mode of discourse is very common among us, and it annoys me every time; yet again and again it turns out to be effective.

In short: if the situation is complex, then it’s complex—and if not, then not. But that has nothing to do with the degree to which others were harmed. If they were harmed, they deserve proper attention—but that shouldn’t change how we relate to reality and its complexities. These remarks reflect the emotionalism of our public discourse. I’m entirely in favor of condemning offenders and forcefully opposing wickedness and injustice, but that has nothing to do with a complex view of the situation and its importance.

When I see impassioned posts of this sort, I tend to rebel. I feel I’m being emotionally squeezed, and I’m not willing to accept that. So in my initial response I wrote the following there:

With all the sorrow and empathy for Bokovza’s suffering and for victims in general, I disagree. It’s important to understand the complexity of people and situations even in these cases, alongside compassion and solidarity with the victims. The two are not at odds.

The inflammatory tone is understandable as a result of the harm he experienced, but we mustn’t let it take over the discourse. Emotionalism is understandable, but not justified. It’s a common phenomenon in our circles that victims take over the discourse and suppress any other, more balanced voice.

Therefore, there’s really no need to “repent” in light of his words. A complex view is always desirable and important.

The takeover of discourse and judgment by emotion is a malignant disease that appears everywhere in our discourse. Anyone disadvantaged or harmed is necessarily right. A woman who was raped (or even claims she was) is always right. Someone who is gay is necessarily disadvantaged, and one may not speak critically of him or positively of his opponents. You may not see any extenuating side in the perpetrator or in someone who simply disagrees with the victim’s stance. Victims of terror or families of captives are always right. And so too with Mizrahim, Palestinians, women, the disabled, and more—fill in the blanks. In this stupefying discourse, the weak become “made-weak,” and as such we bear total responsibility for their situation, and we are forbidden to express a more balanced view or try to understand the other side.

Implications

Because of the emotionalism surrounding such debates—on all sides, of course—all kinds of irrelevant arguments surface. Someone else wrote in that same WhatsApp discussion:

I think the argument is simple: don’t think that when you say “it’s complex” you’re not taking a stance. You are explicitly taking a stance. After that, of course, it’s up to you what to do with that determination.

That is essentially what Bokovza himself argued. If you think about it for a moment—this is sheer nonsense. And so I wrote there:

Saying “it’s complex” is definitely not taking a stance. On the contrary, it’s clear Walder’s conduct is problematic, but there are additional and complex sides. What stance is there here? This is just being swept along by emotions and identifying with victims.

Again, Bokovza assumes that whoever says it’s complex is really trying to stay in his comfort zone. Perhaps there are people for whom that’s true—but to draw from this a conclusion about everyone who utters the phrase “it’s complex” is vanity and nonsense. It turns out that even a statement that seems balanced and moderate on its face reflects emotional drift.

Blaming the Victim

One of the common claims under the emotionalist dictatorship is accusing those with a certain stance of “blaming the victim.” Try discussing the character or criminal past of Solomon Teka, or his problematic conduct during the incident and prior to it—or the character and past of George Floyd (see column 316)—and you’ve sentenced yourself, and certainly the discussion, to certain death. I addressed this in column 117, and won’t expand here.

I argued there that indeed there are situations in which the victim bears contributory fault, and it’s very important to discuss it. If someone blames women who were raped on the grounds that they conducted themselves provocatively (in those cases where that was the case), you can imagine what he’ll catch on the head. The crescendo of victimhood rises to the heavens. Likewise if someone points to problematic characteristics in Mizrahi society, or Palestinian society, or in LGBTQ groups, and so forth. This mode of discourse leads us to keep getting more and more harmful outcomes and more and more victims. Victimhood distorts discourse and also harms the effort to treat the phenomena in question. These are clear examples of the importance of a complex view and the need not to surrender to the terror of victimhood.

By the way, the law and the courts also take contributory-fault arguments into account in tort and criminal matters. None of this, of course, means that we won’t punish the perpetrator. Of course we will—but together with that, it’s important to clarify and analyze the situation that led to the harm. The fact that someone has contributory fault does not lessen the perpetrator’s responsibility. Even if I oppose provocative dress (or lack thereof), that doesn’t mean that someone who raped a woman dressed that way isn’t guilty or shouldn’t be punished. Both claims are true, and one must not come at the expense of the other.

Rape’s Halachic Status

Another example of emotionalist discourse in the Walder affair: in the public discussion we’re told that in the Torah, rape is a transgression as severe as murder, and therefore it’s astonishing that Haredim don’t rise up against such acts. People repeat again and again the verse “For as a man rises against his fellow… so is this matter,” said about rape. The claims against Haredi silencing and against problematic policies in handling these phenomena are justified. But even when a claim is justified, not every argument in its favor is correct. In the Torah, the rape passage is plainly about the rape of a betrothed maiden. The severe injury is to her marital bond with her betrothed (her monetary value in the ketubah?), not the mere violation of her innocence or sexual autonomy. From the perspective of Torah and halacha—like it or not—rape is not essentially different from consensual relations with a married or betrothed woman. It’s at most a prohibition of illicit relations, but not rape in the sense of violence (that only affects whether the maiden is also at fault—“but to the maiden you shall do nothing”). Some commentators and poskim expanded the scope (in ways I don’t find very convincing), but one certainly cannot blithely say that this is the Torah’s position.

I’m not claiming there’s no halachic prohibition here. There is “Love your fellow as yourself,” there’s the prohibition of injury, and perhaps shame damages—but the extra severity of the act, as we understand it today, doesn’t really exist in halacha. It’s no different from any other assault or injury to another. Dragging in contemporary discourse about rape and its meanings is ignorance or demagoguery.

Here too, as in many other places, moral motivation (usually very modern) influences how the Torah is read. That’s entirely legitimate to me—but precisely for that reason I see no value in recruiting the Torah to your side. As I’ve written more than once: if you want to say something on the moral plane, it’s simply unnecessary to harness the Torah—especially via the moral interpretation you attach to it—to support your view. You’ve decided the Torah sees this as a severe act because morally it seems severe to you, even though that’s not really written there. So just say it’s morally severe—period. Don’t enlist the Torah, if only because it isn’t true. It reminds me of those Hasidim who explain that all the great Torah scholars side with their Rebbe’s position—and when you bring a position of a Torah scholar who disagrees, the response is that he’s not one of the “greats.” Why? Because he doesn’t agree with the position of all the greats.

We must admit that the modern attitude toward rape is a product of contemporary morality. I’ll stress again that I fully identify with it and see rape as a very severe act—but deriving that from halacha or Torah seems absurd to me. This is part of the emotionalist brainwashing we all undergo.

By the way, that’s probably also why Haredim aren’t particularly alarmed by such acts. They know it’s not written in the Torah, and in their view what isn’t written in the Torah has quite limited standing (especially values they see as inventions of modern society). In their eyes, such acts are severe when they concern boy-children, because then it’s male-male intercourse (and unrelated to pedophilia, which the Torah doesn’t negatively address either; on the contrary, it seems indifferent). But harming girls is not such a severe halachic prohibition, and whether it’s rape or not doesn’t really matter. I assume no one here intends to teach Rabbi Gershon Edelstein or Haredi rabbis the Torah’s rape passage. What all those speakers who so learnedly quote the above verse know—surely they know as well.

Here you have yet another piece of complex thinking that is illegitimate when speaking about such topics. One can reject the act because of identification with modern values—without being secular on the one hand, and without recruiting the Torah on the other. Simply because it is a shocking moral injustice; and I, as a religious person, am appalled even by acts that do not contradict halacha—or at least are not very severe from a halachic standpoint.

Other Aspects of the Affair

Several discussions arise regarding this affair: Was it right to publish the allegations, and when? Is this not lashon hara (defamatory speech)? Can one render judgment without evidence tested in a court of law? Should the risk of prompting a suicide weigh in publication? And many more. Here too, one senses that the debate is very emotional, and each side expresses a very predictable stance. The opposing side of course rails against him, paints him as a vile villain, and presents the duty to publish as self-evident, with the victims naturally recruited to support it. But each such question must be addressed on its merits in a complex and balanced way, as befits hard questions. (On publication and causing death, see my very brief remarks here.) In this column I chose not to enter these questions, because their principled dimensions are fairly straightforward (contrary to what the discourse suggests—again, emotionalism skews it), and I don’t know the particulars of this specific case.

On Emotionalism

Emotionalism does not necessarily express moral sensitivity. In most cases it’s simply superficiality. Conversely, a cold discussion does not necessarily express indifference. It’s conducted coolly because it’s important to analyze complex issues in a cold and rational manner, which can sometimes seem alienated and detached. I’m entirely in favor of detached, non-emotional discussion. But that doesn’t mean extinguishing emotions or being uninvolved; rather, it’s a demand to try to detach emotions for the sake of the discussion. Afterwards, when we meet the victims, it’s indeed appropriate to express empathy and feeling—but not at the expense of a complex presentation (as Bokovza demands).

Despite—and perhaps precisely because—we’re dealing with sensitive and emotional phenomena, and people feel that emotional involvement is a condition for understanding the situation, in my view an emotional approach and discourse usually hamper understanding. The better path is to employ empathy that helps us grasp what happened and people’s feelings, and then detach from it to discuss the situation with coolness and reason (a discussion that takes into account, among other things, the insights we gained from our empathy).

I’ll bring a few further examples to sharpen the point.

Halachic Coolness

I’ve often said that one of the least understood aspects of halachic and religious practice in secular eyes is its coolness and rationalism. Contrary to the image that secularism is rational and religiosity emotional, on the ground the situation is quite the opposite. The secular world is very emotional, and the halachic world is generally cold and rational (even if it rests on assumptions not always understood by those operating within it).

A prime expression of this is the cold halachic treatment of infuriating situations. For example, according to halacha, a father may marry off his minor daughter to whomever he wishes, including a man with severe boils, or sell her as a maidservant. As is known, halacha assigns the status of mamzerut to children born of prohibited incestuous relations, even though these children did nothing—condemning them to a lifetime of misery. Halacha permits intercourse with a captive woman in war, and more. Usually, when one comes to study these topics, voices of great outrage are raised. By the way, this happens mainly when studying them with women (yes, yes, I know this is not politically correct, but as noted, I don’t tend to capitulate to dictates about discourse). In such cases I try to explain that the halachic discussion must be conducted coolly, and the general judgment postponed to afterwards.

The halachic discussion doesn’t address what is fitting to do, but what is permitted, obligatory, or forbidden to do. On top of that, one can add layers of “fitting,” “moral,” or “immoral,” and the like. When dealing with questions of prohibition, obligation, and permission, everyone can understand that the debate must be cold. In my personal view, even questions of what’s fitting and moral should be conducted in that way.

Thus, for example, a discussion once arose about a Kohen’s wife who was raped, and the poskim obligated her and her husband to separate. They added tragedy upon tragedy, and the public discourse was so emotional that it was impossible to conduct it. Time and again people asked me: “Tell me, don’t you have a heart?!” And time and again I explained that those poskim certainly do have a heart—and in fact I suspect it was far harder for them than for the armchair moral knights, since they had to rule the halacha for this couple and bring about the tragedy with their very words. But it’s not that they’re indifferent to the moral and emotional dimensions of the situation. They have halachic considerations beyond feelings and morality (and in general, equating feeling with morality is itself an emotionalist bias). Again, there is room for criticism and disagreement—but the emotionalism of the discourse doesn’t allow it to proceed. The sense was that there are things one is not allowed to say.

For example, halacha can permit a father to marry off his daughter to a man with severe boils and at the same time say that it is not fitting to do so (and in practice a court will sometimes compel him not to). This is the difference between permitted and fitting. Why would halacha permit it? Several possibilities can be raised—for instance, the need to allow a father to secure his daughter’s economic and social situation after his death. In the ancient world, an unmarried woman—especially one without property from home—could find herself in a very difficult economic and social position. Think of a young girl being told to marry such a man, and of course she rebels against it—and quite rightly from her perspective. But the father sees and understands her interest better than she does and knows what will happen if she doesn’t marry. Of course, in modern eyes it’s very hard to explain this to people. The discourse becomes emotional, and the curtain falls.

In some cases emotionalism leads to errors on the moral plane; in others, to errors on the halachic plane (because people illegitimately mix it with morality). I assume you all understand I have no problem with critiques of halacha—but gut-level discourse is always harmful. The halachic debate is conducted rationally and coolly, without empathy and without emotional involvement in the situation—and in my view, it’s very good that way. Of course, when ruling on a specific case, it’s important to understand the emotional dimensions; but even there, the debate should be cold. By the way, the same goes for legal discussion—just like in halacha.

Rulings from Outside and from Within

In the third book of my trilogy I discussed two approaches to halachic ruling. Some argue that the decisor must be involved in the situation and aware of its emotional aspects. Other approaches favor his detachment from the situation. It seems to me both sides are partly right. The decisor must be aware of these aspects, but detach from them when rendering judgment. Such detachment doesn’t mean ignoring them; it means taking them into account in the decision-making process, but making the decision with the intellect rather than the heart.

I once mentioned a question a student involved in matchmaking asked me: should he follow his heart or his head? I told him that decisions are always made with the head; making decisions with the heart is, to me, like making decisions with the ears, the feet, or the fingernails. It’s simply not the right organ for deciding. The intellect should of course take the emotional dimensions into account when deciding—but the heart’s role is only to pass data to the intellect, not to decide in its place.

There are cases where a young rabbi serves a young, liberal community, and a halachic question arises regarding his community. He goes to consult his teacher, an elder who sits in a yeshiva. In such cases, in my opinion, the elder rabbi should advise him but leave the decision to him. He doesn’t know the situation and doesn’t necessarily understand it. He doesn’t know the consequences of each decision; therefore, he shouldn’t be the one to make it. In this sense, involvement matters. But at the same time, it’s certainly important to go consult the elder rabbi and hear what he has to say. Precisely because of the distance, he has considerable advantages in making such a decision. For a detailed discussion, see my article on Halachic Rulings in the Holocaust.

From this perspective, one can understand why the model of a “Council of Torah Sages” that makes strategic decisions for a political party has great advantages. Knesset members are, by nature, inside the cauldron and the situation—but precisely for that reason they’re tainted and don’t think coolly and logically, and especially not in a way detached from personal interests. Those who sit far away have a cooler and more balanced view; they’re not involved in the situation, and precisely because of that they can make considered decisions about it. The MKs should bring the question, present the arguments and different sides, and of course the implications of each decision—but the decision itself is better made by someone sitting at a remove.

In the article cited above, I noted the limits of this approach. In situations where it’s clear the decisor cannot understand the situation and its meaning even if it’s described to him (as in extreme situations during the Holocaust), it’s indeed not right to leave the decision to him. Thus, for example, it’s more appropriate that a rabbi in the ghetto make the decision, rather than someone outside who cannot truly understand what’s happening and the implications of his ruling. But the rabbi who’s there and making the decision must do so with his head, not his heart. His advantage lies in understanding the facts—but he must not let the heart decide. The consideration should be logical and cool.