The release of a new documentary about Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, The Darkest Light, has once again opened a discussion that many in the Jewish world thought had quieted down years ago.
Rabbi Harry Maryles recently addressed the subject in a thoughtful post, “The Sad Legacy of Shlomo Carlebach”. Harry goes considerably further than merely acknowledging Carlebach's influence on Jewish music: he compares his lasting musical impact on Jewish music to that of Beethoven and the Beatles on all music. But in light of the serious allegations made by women who say that Carlebach sexually abused or mistreated them, Harry questions the continued veneration of the man.
I understand his position. But as I thought about it, I realized that my own feelings about Shlomo Carlebach are considerably more complicated.
In fact, the most accurate thing one can probably say about his legacy is simply this: it is complicated. Period.
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Carlebach and the Orthodox World
It is worth remembering that Carlebach's standing within the Orthodox world was controversial long before any of the allegations of sexual misconduct became widely known.
I remember very well that during the 1970s and 1980s, in much of the yeshiva world, Carlebach was looked upon with great suspicion. Some of his earliest tunes had already become part of the accepted Jewish musical repertoire, but his later music — and certainly his lifestyle and public appearances — were frowned upon in many circles.
In fact, my Rebbe at the time, Rav Nachman Bulman זצ"ל, who was himself very musically gifted, was quite uncomfortable with much of Carlebach's music. Rebbetzin Shaindel Bulman ע"ה had an intense dislike of the man and would not allow his niggunim to be sung in her home. Much later, after the negative stories about Carlebach became more widely known, I understood that she must have had information about him that the rest of us did not.
There is also a fascinating responsum of Rav Moshe Feinstein from 1959, Igrot Moshe, Even HaEzer I:96, discussed here in Tradition, about an unnamed Jewish singer who had begun performing before mixed audiences of young men and women. The singer is widely understood to have been Carlebach.
Rav Moshe was asked whether the man's music could still be used at Jewish weddings and other occasions.
Interestingly, Rav Moshe's answer was more nuanced than I had remembered. He clearly ruled that music composed while the singer was still considered fully observant did not somehow become prohibited because of his later conduct. But he went further, offering substantial reasons for permitting even the later melodies. A melody itself has no inherent sanctity (would a Chassidic posek agree??😊), and the behavior described to Rav Moshe did not make the composer an apostate or someone who had rejected Torah.
None of this, of course, addresses the much more serious conduct alleged many years later. Rav Moshe was writing in 1959 about mixed performances. But it demonstrates something important: the argument over how Orthodox Jews should relate to Shlomo Carlebach is hardly new.
The range of Orthodox reactions to Carlebach continues even today among the rabbanim who have had the greatest influence on me. My current Rebbe of many years, Rav Michel Twerski שליט"א of Milwaukee (who is also an extraordinary composer of beautiful niggunim - I guess I am attracted to musical Rabbis) knew Shlomo from their years together in Lakewood and has retained a deep love for his music. When I visit Milwaukee, Rav Michel will very often ask me to sing what I consider to be Carlebach's magnum opus, his majestic Mimkomcha (not to be confused with his other Mimkomcha which is sung in every week in many shuls, and used for V'Shomru as well.) I love singing it, and it invariably brings an extraordinary response from the shul.
What I Saw in Portland
But there is another side to him that I experienced firsthand.
I arrived as a rabbi in Portland, Oregon, only a few months after Shlomo died in October 1994. On his first yahrzeit, we decided to hold an evening in his memory. We sang some of his music, spoke about him and repeated some of his stories.
Carlebach was, among his many other gifts, an extraordinary storyteller. He had a repertoire of deeply moving stories, and no one could tell them quite the way he did. He could bring out the emotion and spiritual message of a story and somehow make you feel that it was speaking directly to you.
What I remember most about that evening, however, was the people who came.
They seemed to come out of the woodwork from all over Oregon — including people who would never otherwise have darkened the doorstep of our Orthodox synagogue.
They came because of Shlomo.
Over my years in the rabbinate, I came to understand that this was not unusual. Carlebach had an extraordinary ability to reach Jews whom the rest of us were simply not reaching. People who were uncomfortable around rabbis, synagogues and organized Judaism would listen to Shlomo. He could ignite a Jewish spark in someone who seemed completely disconnected.
They connected in his concerts around the world, in his House of Love and Prayer, in Moshav Me’or Modiim, in subways and virtually anywhere - they were attracted by his unconditional love and off the charts charisma. He radiated a Judaism that was alive and joyous and deeply spiritual with unconditional acceptance of one and all, and it was contagious.
There is no way of counting how many people ultimately became seriously committed Jews because Shlomo first lit that spark. But I would be astonished if the number were not in the hundreds, and probably far more. Some ultimately became fully observant Jews. Many more greatly enhanced their connection with Hashem and Judaism through him. For countless people, their journey began because Shlomo Carlebach touched something in them that nobody else had managed to reach.
That, too, is part of his legacy.
It Wasn't Only the Music
And there is something else often lost when the discussion is reduced to whether we should continue singing Carlebach tunes.
For many people, Shlomo's legacy is not primarily his music at all. It is his Torah.
His Torah emphasized spirituality, joy, human dignity and, perhaps above all, an almost limitless ahavat Yisrael. He could take a verse, a Chassidic teaching or a story and use it to make someone who felt spiritually worthless believe that he or she mattered.
His Torah continues to be studied and published. Rabbi Shlomo Katz, for example, has edited many volumes of The Torah Commentary of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, based upon hundreds of hours of recorded teachings. Those who knew only the singer may not realize how substantial this part of his legacy is.
There was also an extraordinary generosity about him. I have heard numerous stories of Shlomo giving away whatever money he had to someone who needed it.
Rabbi Ya'akov Haber שליט"א, now in Ramat Beit Shemesh, once told me of an unforgettable example from his years in Buffalo, New York. His organization was stuck when a scheduled performer canceled a day before the concert. Reb Shlomo agreed to come to Buffalo and perform, asking only that they give him whatever money came in at the gate after expenses. At the end of the concert, as the story was told to me, someone approached Shlomo in terrible financial distress. Shlomo turned around and gave him every dollar he had just received from the concert, not even keeping enough to pay his own expenses.
And from the many stories I have heard about him, that was hardly unusual. He would literally give the shirt off his back to help another person, including non-Jews and certainly his beloved "sweetest brothers and sisters".
This is why I don't think the attachment many people still have to Carlebach can simply be dismissed as a “cult of personality.” People were profoundly changed by him — through his music, through his Torah, through his stories and sometimes through an act of personal kindness they never forgot.
But Where Do the Boundaries Go?
There is, however, an uncomfortable connection between this very strength and what apparently went terribly wrong.
Part of Carlebach's approach was that since he was reaching Jews who were very far from traditional observance, he apparently believed that he could not approach them in the same way that a conventional Orthodox rabbi would.
Rabbi Chaim Dalfin, in writing about Carlebach's complex religious personality, describes Carlebach's belief that many of the people he was trying to reach were simply not ready for certain halachic restrictions. His hope was that eventually they would come closer to full Jewish observance.
One of his best-known departures from ordinary Orthodox practice was physical contact. Shlomo hugged everybody — men and women alike. To him, presumably, it was part of communicating unconditional love and acceptance to people who might otherwise run from anything that looked like conventional Orthodox Judaism.
The motive may have been noble. But this may also demonstrate precisely why Jewish law places boundaries where it does. Once we convince ourselves that a boundary must be crossed because of the good we can accomplish, the next boundary becomes easier to cross. Chazal understood very well the danger of the slippery slope, particularly in this area. And the allegations against Carlebach describe behavior far beyond an innocent hug.
That is sobering.
The Women Cannot Be Left Out of the Story
I cannot write honestly about this subject without saying something else.
I personally know at least two women who had very negative interactions with Shlomo Carlebach of a sexual nature. Whatever one wants to call those encounters, these women were hurt, and some carry those wounds to this day. That matters to me.
Nothing about the Jews Carlebach inspired, the Torah he taught, the melodies he composed, the money he gave away or the kindness he showed other people can erase the pain of someone whom he hurt.
The allegations are not merely an abstract historical controversy. The new documentary includes women telling their own stories, and Carlebach's daughter Neshama has now publicly said that their voices need to be heard. Her recent essay, “The film about my father is premiering today. I won’t be there,”, is itself a moving attempt to wrestle with the radically different sides of the father she loved.
The allegations were first widely reported by Lilith in 1998, and the magazine has now revisited both that reporting and the new documentary.
We should not minimize those accounts in order to protect someone whose music we love.
What About Teshuvah?
There is one more piece of the story that deserves mention, although it must be handled carefully.
I have heard stories over the years from people who knew Carlebach that he regretted at least some aspects of his earlier behavior and changed in some ways during his later years. These accounts are difficult to document, and I don't want to claim more for them than I can establish.
But there is one particularly striking story that has been recorded. Rabbi Chaim Dalfin's book The Real Shlomo recounts a remarkable encounter reported to have occurred on the very day Carlebach died.
According to the account, a religious Jew named Yossel encountered Carlebach and refused to shake his hand because of Carlebach's conduct. He challenged Shlomo directly: You have made so many Baalei Teshuvah. Why haven't you made one more — yourself?
Carlebach reportedly became very serious, acknowledged the criticism and asked what he needed to do. When told that he needed to regret his behavior and accept upon himself to stop doing what he should not be doing, he publicly accepted upon himself to do teshuvah, and went through a Yom Kippur like confessional and prayer.
A few hours later, Carlebach boarded a plane at LaGuardia bound for Toronto. While the plane was still taxiing for takeoff, he suffered the heart attack that took his life.
It is a remarkable story, if accurately reported. But it cannot be used as a magic eraser. Teshuvah for sins against another person requires addressing the person who was harmed and seeking forgiveness. We have no basis to say that happened with the women who say Carlebach hurt them.
Still, the story belongs in the record. If we are insisting upon a complicated picture rather than a one-dimensional one, we should not selectively leave out the parts that complicate it in either direction.
So What Do We Do With Shlomo?
I don't have a satisfying answer. Some people are pleased that The Darkest Light has brought the allegations back into public discussion, believing that women who felt silenced for decades deserve to have their stories heard. Others feel that a painful wound had finally begun to scab over and question what is accomplished by ripping the scab off yet again, more than thirty years after Carlebach's death. I can understand both reactions.
For me, the question is intensely personal. From my earliest memory, Shlomo Carlebach's music was central to me. My mother ע"ה told me that the first tune I sang, even when I was still in my crib, was Carlebach's Esa Einai. In fact, that melody became so precious to me that many years later it was the tune to which I walked to my chuppah. Carlebach would interpret the words עֶזְרִי מֵעִם ה׳ — “my help comes from God” — as an allusion to the עֵזֶר כְּנֶגְדּוֹ, the helpmate whom God sends a person. I could think of no more meaningful melody with which to approach my own marriage.
The handful of personal interactions I later had with Shlomo were inspiring, and I saw with my own eyes, particularly during my years in Portland, the extraordinary ability he had to touch Jewish souls that few others could reach. His music has accompanied me virtually my entire life; his Torah and stories have moved me; and people whom I respect deeply continue to find great spiritual meaning in what he created. At the same time, I personally know women who were hurt by him and who continue to live with that pain. I cannot honestly allow everything that was beautiful about Shlomo to make those women disappear, any more than I can pretend that what happened to them somehow erases the enormous amount of good that he brought into the Jewish world.
Moreover, it is common knowledge - and I see it within my own family - that his Torah and niggunim continue to inspire new generations of seriously committed Jews to greater heights of prayer and Avodas Hashem, eclipsing anything he accomplished during his lifetime. The many "Carlebach minyanim" are only a small part of that. There are so many beautiful young serious Torah Jews who owe a great deal of their inspiration to the sweetness and deep meaning he taught.
In Conclusion (not really)
Perhaps that is why I resist any simple verdict on Shlomo Carlebach. Human beings do not always fit comfortably into the categories in which we would like to place them. The same person can bring extraordinary music, Torah, ahavat Yisrael and generosity into the world, can ignite Jewish souls whom almost no one else knows how to reach, and can at the same time cause real and lasting hurt. Acknowledging one side of that story does not require us to deny the other.
I have often thought that I would give a great deal to be a fly on the wall to see how he is judged in the Heavenly tribunal (along with some other controversial great people like Rav Meir Kahane הי"ד). It is only there that they can properly sort out the complicated narrative of his life.
That leaves me without a neat conclusion, and perhaps that is as it should be. I am not prepared to forget the women who were hurt, nor am I prepared to pretend that the music, Torah, kindness and Jewish lives transformed by Shlomo Carlebach never happened. Both are part of the record. Both are part of his legacy. Living honestly with that tension may be uncomfortable, but it strikes me as far more truthful than reducing a very complicated human being to either a saint or a villain.
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