By Rabbi Josh Wander
There are moments in history that leave scars far deeper than the immediate events themselves. Regardless of where future investigations ultimately conclude, we are currently witnessing an extraordinary chapter in American history as testimony, communications, and government records surrounding Dr. Anthony Fauci and the government’s response to COVID-19 continue to come under public scrutiny. For many Americans, these disclosures have reinforced a belief that some public officials were not always transparent, that mistakes were concealed rather than acknowledged, and that institutional interests sometimes took precedence over complete honesty. Whether every allegation is ultimately proven or not, one consequence is already evident: a profound erosion of public trust.
The damage extends well beyond questions of public health policy. Lives were disrupted, livelihoods were lost, families were divided, and liberties were restricted. Yet perhaps the deepest wound is psychological. Once people become convinced that those entrusted with their welfare have been less than truthful, suspicion begins to replace confidence. Every future statement is questioned. Every recommendation is viewed through the lens of hidden motives. Rebuilding that trust can take generations.
This phenomenon is by no means limited to governments. Religious leadership faces precisely the same danger. The Torah demands extraordinarily high standards from those who teach it because the consequences of carelessness or exaggeration are immeasurably greater. If students conclude that their teachers have knowingly presented opinion as fact, custom as Divine law, or institutional policy as Torah itself, they may eventually begin questioning everything they have been taught.
One of the most widespread examples is the oft-repeated claim that a Jew who gets a tattoo cannot be buried in a Jewish cemetery. The Torah explicitly prohibits tattooing: “You shall not place a tattoo upon yourselves” (Leviticus 19:28). That prohibition is absolute and requires no embellishment. Yet the notion that a Jew automatically forfeits burial in a Jewish cemetery because of a tattoo is simply untrue. Perhaps some educators believed that attaching such a severe consequence would discourage young people from violating a biblical prohibition. But when those same young people later discover that the burial claim is false, many begin asking a dangerous question: “If they misled me about the consequences, perhaps they also exaggerated the prohibition itself.” In attempting to strengthen observance through misinformation, we may instead undermine confidence in the Torah itself.
I have personally met, and heard of many more, young people raised in Torah institutions who were taught that virtually every practice in their community was Torah min HaShamayim—Torah revealed from Heaven. Customs, communal standards, educational policies, and accepted practices were sometimes presented not as traditions or safeguards but as immutable Torah law. A Beis Yaakov student may be told that a skirt above the ankles constitutes an explicit Torah prohibition, or that failing to wear tights—or not wearing tights of a particular thickness—is itself a violation of Torah law. Those may well be standards adopted by a particular school or community, but that is very different from claiming they are explicit commandments of the Torah. Likewise, a yeshiva student may hear that eating food certified by a perfectly respectable kosher authority is tantamount to eating non-kosher food. Again, one may choose to adopt stricter standards personally or communally, but presenting them as though they are Torah law blurs distinctions that the Torah itself carefully preserves.
Such statements may be well-intentioned attempts to strengthen observance, but when young people later discover that these claims were overstated or simply inaccurate, they naturally begin asking a far more dangerous question: “If my teachers were willing to misrepresent this, how do I know they were truthful about anything else?” For some, that question becomes the first step toward abandoning religious observance altogether. The tragedy is not that they rejected an exaggeration. The tragedy is that the exaggeration undermined their confidence in the Torah itself. Instead of strengthening faith, it weakened it.
The problem extends beyond educational institutions. We also encounter it when religious leaders minimize the dangers of prolonged exile despite the Torah’s repeated emphasis on the Jewish people’s return to Eretz Yisrael. The prophets consistently describe the ingathering of the exiles as a central element of redemption, yet this theme is sometimes treated as peripheral or ignored entirely. When students later discover how prominently these passages appear throughout Tanach and the classical sources, they understandably wonder why they were seldom emphasized.
Another example is the prominent sign displayed at the entrance to the Temple Mount declaring that ascent to the Temple Mount is forbidden by Torah law. This statement has been issued under the authority of the Chief Rabbinate. One may certainly argue, based on halachic policy, that Jews should refrain from ascending the Temple Mount today. That is a legitimate halachic position. Likewise, there are unquestionably areas of the Temple Mount that remain forbidden according to Torah law because of the sanctity of the site and the laws of ritual purity. But that is very different from declaring that ascent to the entire Temple Mount is categorically forbidden by the Torah. Those who study the relevant sources recognize that this is a far more nuanced halachic discussion. There are well-known halachic authorities who permit entry to designated areas after the appropriate preparations and precautions, while others prohibit ascent as a matter of policy or out of concern that people may inadvertently enter prohibited areas. One may agree or disagree with either position, but presenting a policy decision as though it were an explicit Torah prohibition blurs distinctions that the Torah itself carefully preserves. When public declarations fail to distinguish between Torah law, rabbinic enactments, longstanding custom, or contemporary policy, thoughtful students notice the discrepancy. Once they do, confidence in religious leadership is weakened.
The Torah itself warns us against precisely this danger. “Midvar sheker tirchak”—“Distance yourself from falsehood.” Truth is not merely one virtue among many; it is the very foundation upon which Torah education rests. Likewise, Avtalyon teaches in Pirkei Avot: “Chachamim, hizaharu b’divreichem, shema tachuvu chovat galut, vetiglu l’makom mayim hara’im, v’yishtu hatalmidim haba’im achareichem v’yamutu, venimtza Shem Shamayim mitchalel.” “Sages, be careful with your words, lest you incur the penalty of exile, be banished to a place of harmful waters, your students drink from them and die, and the Name of Heaven be desecrated.” The Mishnah is not merely warning against careless speech. It is warning that inaccurate teaching, even when well-intentioned, can have devastating consequences for future generations.
Ironically, the Torah itself is remarkably comfortable with complexity. The Talmud preserves minority opinions alongside majority rulings. Great sages openly disagreed with one another. Halachic authorities acknowledged uncertainty when it existed. The Torah does not require its teachers to pretend that every question has a simple answer. On the contrary, intellectual honesty has always been one of its greatest strengths.
Rabbi Ken Spiro often quotes Israel Zangwill as saying, “Either the author of the Bible was God, or he was a rabid antisemite.” The observation is profound. No human author attempting to glorify his own nation would have written a book that so relentlessly records its failures, rebellions, moral shortcomings, and punishments. The Torah repeatedly exposes the weaknesses of its greatest heroes and of the Jewish people themselves. That relentless honesty is itself one of the strongest arguments for its authenticity.
Our tradition has never feared self-criticism. It demands it. The prophets rebuked kings. The Mishnah records disputes. The Talmud challenges assumptions. Honest introspection has always been a defining characteristic of authentic Torah.
That is precisely why we must never permit what might be called the “Fauci Syndrome” to infect our own religious institutions. When leaders, educators, or rabbis blur the line between Torah law, rabbinic enactment, custom, stringency, personal preference, or institutional policy, they may achieve short-term conformity, but they risk long-term catastrophe. Once trust is broken, it is extraordinarily difficult to restore.
Our children deserve the truth. If something is a Torah commandment, let us proudly say so. If it is a rabbinic enactment, let us identify it as such. If it is a minhag (custom), let us proudly call it a minhag. If it is a chumra (stringency), let us honestly identify it as a chumra. If it is a school policy or community standard, let us present it as exactly that. None of these lose their value by being accurately described. On the contrary, honesty gives them credibility. The Torah is powerful enough to stand on its own. It does not need exaggeration, invented consequences, or embellished claims to command our loyalty. In fact, those are precisely the things that ultimately undermine it.
In an age when confidence in every institution is increasingly fragile, the Jewish people cannot afford to sacrifice truth for convenience. Governments may eventually recover from broken trust. Religious traditions often do not. Our sacred chain of transmission has endured precisely because, even when the truth was uncomfortable, it was preserved. As the Torah commands, “Midvar sheker tirchak”—“Distance yourself from falsehood.” If we hope to pass the Torah faithfully to the next generation, then truth must never become negotiable.