At a recent Shabbat table, our family found ourselves immersed in a thoughtful discussion about leadership. Specifically, our discussion was about the Jewish view of what makes a true leader and what responsibilities are entailed in assuming that sacred role.
As the conversation evolved, a few key characteristics were agreed upon. Foremost among them was the importance of humility. A leader, we concluded, must not be arrogant. Arrogance is a corrosive trait, one that alienates rather than unites. Our Sages teach, “G-d and an arrogant person cannot dwell in the same place,” underscoring how destructive such a characteristic is in the realm of spiritual and communal leadership. In contrast, a humble leader recognizes the weight of responsibility and approaches the position with reverence and care, ever aware of the influence they hold and the expectations placed upon them.
From there, our conversation naturally shifted to the concept of responsibility. A leader must not only be humble but must be deeply committed to the welfare of their constituents. Leadership in Judaism is not a status to be enjoyed, but a mission to serve, and that service must include being a role model of moral and ethical behavior. A leader who fails to live up to that expectation not only weakens their own position but risks damaging the very values they were chosen to uphold.
It was at that point that my son, with the honesty and clarity of youth, asked a question that struck at the very heart of our discussion and shook me to my core.
“Aba,” he began, “how can we believe in the decisions of our Gedolim (our great Torah leaders) when there are so many cases of corruption or abuse among them? How can anyone follow the p’sak (halachic ruling) of a rabbi who was once highly respected but is now accused of child molestation or financial fraud? Don’t their actions reflect on our religion? And if so, how can we separate the two – the leader and the Torah he represents?”
It was a difficult and painful question. But it was also an essential one.
After evaluating his words, I realized that this is a question many of us shy away from, but it must be faced directly. How do we respond when a Torah leader, someone held in high esteem by the community, fails morally or legally? Do we then call into question the entire system, or even the faith itself?
My answer to my son was this: No one should ever reject the truth and beauty of Judaism because of the failures of individual leaders. While leadership may falter, Torah remains pure. A rabbi or Torah scholar may be wise, learned, and revered, but he is still a human being, and human beings are fallible.
The Torah itself accounts for this. In Sefer Vayikra, the Torah outlines a special offering, a korban that a Nasi, a prince or leader, must bring when he sins. The very existence of such a commandment implies an important truth: Leaders can, and do, make mistakes. Their elevated status does not exempt them from judgment or accountability; in fact, it heightens it.
Another striking example comes from the story of the twelve spies sent by Moshe to scout the Land of Israel. Ten of the spies, all respected leaders of their tribes, returned with a disparaging report that sowed fear and rebellion among the people. As a result, the entire generation was condemned to wander the desert for forty years. Here too, we must ask: Why were the people punished? They were simply following the advice of their leaders. Shouldn’t the blame lie solely with the spies?
The answer is profound: No. The Torah is teaching us that while we may look to our leaders for guidance, we are never absolved of our own personal responsibility. We are endowed with bechira chofshit, free will, and must make our own decisions. Blind obedience, even to great leaders, is not a virtue in Judaism when it overrides our conscience and our core understanding of right and wrong.
This doesn’t mean we should approach every rabbinic ruling or communal leader with suspicion or cynicism. Our Sages, past and present, have guided us with wisdom and devotion for generations. But it does mean that we must not conflate the fallibility of leaders with the infallibility of the Torah itself.
“So,” I told my son, “Yes, you may question the actions of our leaders. You may be disappointed, even disillusioned, when those who should serve as moral compasses lose their way. That is allowed, even necessary. But you must never let their shortcomings shake your commitment to the Torah and our mesorah, our sacred tradition. Judaism is not dependent on the perfection of its leaders; it stands on the eternal truth of the Torah.”
We must distinguish between the messenger and the message. Leaders are crucial to our spiritual lives, but they are not the embodiment of our faith. The Torah does not crumble because a rabbi fails; the mitzvot do not lose their meaning because someone who taught them behaved hypocritically.
True leadership is a tremendous gift, but it is not immune to corruption. As Jews, we are obligated to honor our leaders, but we are never commanded to follow blindly. In an era when questions of integrity and abuse of power have become sadly common, we must hold fast to the eternal truths of our Torah, even as we hold our leaders accountable.