10 Mar SILENCE IS COMPLICITY: WHEN A SPOUSE’S WORDS BECOME YOUR RESPONSIBILITY

In the introduction to
a recent episode of
Behind the Bima,
Yocheved and I had a
discussion about the
role of the Rebbetzin.
There is no school or
degree that formally
prepares someone to become a Rebbetzin; it
is a title and position that comes with being
married to the rabbi. It usually comes without
a salary, contract, or formal job description,
but it often comes with significant
expectations. Although the rebbetzin does not
work for the shul and is not paid by it, what
she says and does is often associated with the
rabbi and seen as an extension of him.
While particularly relevant in the case of a
rabbi and rebbetzin, the question arises more
broadly as well. When, if ever, is someone
responsible for the words or actions of their
spouse? Does marriage create a shared moral
identity, or are spouses entirely independent
from one another? Does the answer change
when the couple occupies a public role?
Jewish Insider recently reported that, though
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani
spent his mayoral campaign attempting to

distance himself from the most radical anti-
Israel elements of his leftist movement, an

examination of his wife’s social media
activity revealed she liked multiple Instagram
posts cheering on Hamas’ Oct. 7, 2023,
massacre.
Rama Duwaji, Mamdani’s Syrian-American
wife, liked a post that unambiguously
celebrated the terrorist attack that saw nearly
1,200 Israelis and foreign workers killed,
thousands wounded, 251 civilians and
military personnel kidnapped, and numerous
episodes of assault. Duwaji, an animator and
illustrator by trade, liked this post and others
using a personal account in her own name
with which the mayor has interacted in the
past. She has used it also to directly criticize
Israeli policy. The posts she liked included
captions featuring the slogan, “From the
River to the Sea,” and one included a clip of
the crowd chanting, call-and-response style,
“Every colonized people, every occupied
people has the right to self-defense.”
Additionally, Duwaji liked a social media
post claiming Hamas’ rapes of Israelis during
the Oct. 7, 2003 terror attack were a “mass
hoax.”
The report of the New York City First Lady’s
activity sparked backlash from critics and
women’s-rights advocates. Mamdani
responded by saying, “My wife is the love of
my life, and she’s also a private person who
has held no formal position on my campaign
or in my City Hall. I, however, was elected to
represent all 8.5 million people in the city.
And I believe that it’s my responsibility

because of that role to answer questions about
my thoughts and my politics and my stances.”
Is that answer sufficient? True, Duwaji was
not elected and holds no formal position, but
are her views and positions irrelevant and
entirely unassociated with and separate from
the mayor’s?
In a separate but similar story recently
reported by The New York Times, Democratic
Rep. Dan Goldman faced public scrutiny over
his wife’s social media activity, though the
context and substance differed sharply from
the Mamdani case. According to the Times,
Goldman’s wife, Corinne Levy Goldman,
who also serves as his campaign treasurer,
liked and shared a number of posts on X
(formerly Twitter) following October 7, 2023.
These included posts from right wing
accounts that mocked “Jews for Palestine”
supporters and criticized broader movements
like Black Lives Matter. Some posts used
language that critics viewed as insensitive or

dehumanizing toward Palestinians or pro-
Palestinian activists. In response, Goldman

told the Times that his wife’s likes do not
speak for him and emphasized that his own
record, votes, and statements are the only
reflection of his beliefs.
The Goldman episode differs in key ways
from the controversy involving Mayor
Mamdani’s wife. Duwaji’s likes on Instagram
included posts that celebrate the Hamas attack
itself and dismissed investigations into assault
and violence tied to the Oct. 7 massacre as a
“hoax.” Corinne Goldman’s activity may not
be beyond reproach but at most used rhetoric
that some could find offensive. In addition,
Goldman has a direct role in her husband’s
public life by serving as his campaign
treasurer, whereas Duwaji has no such
position.
And so the broader question remains. Whether
a rabbi and rebbetzin, mayor and first lady, or
congressman and spouse: are couples
responsible for what their partner believes,
says, or posts? Are we extensions of one
another, or entirely separate and independent?
Certainly, individuals must retain
independence even within marriage. There is
room for individuality in thought and
expression. No two people, even spouses, are
meant to agree on everything. Yet Judaism
also understands marriage as far more than
two unrelated individuals living parallel lives.
The Torah describes the relationship between
husband and wife as ezer k’negdo, a helpmate
opposite one another. Our sages explain that a
healthy marriage includes two roles. At times,
it requires offering support and
encouragement, and at other times, it requires
having the courage to stand opposite,
challenging a spouse in order to bring out the
best in them.

The Torah’s vision of marriage is not simply
one plus one equals two. It is two halves
becoming a whole. The pasuk (Bereishis 5:2)
describes, “He created them male and female,
and blessed them, and He called their name
Adam.” Adam and Chava were originally
created as one being, fused together, before
Hashem separated them. The search for a
spouse and the act of kiddushin are, in a
sense, an effort to recreate that original unity.
The Talmud (Berachos 24a) expresses this
idea even more explicitly with the phrase
ishto k’gufo, a person’s spouse is like their
own body. This relationship is not purely
symbolic. It carries real Halachic implications
in areas ranging from lighting Chanukah
candles to financial obligations to family
minhagim.
Of course, being two halves of a whole does
not mean thinking, speaking, or posting
exactly alike. Spouses can have different
tastes, preferences, political views, and
priorities. Healthy marriages allow space for
individuality. But there must also be shared
red lines, a moral vocabulary a couple holds
in common.
A husband and wife might vote differently,
emphasize different issues, or express
themselves differently. But when it comes to
fundamental moral truths, good and evil,
justice and cruelty, and the value of human
life, silence or neutrality is not a real option,
and a spouse cannot dismiss the other’s
position as “that’s just their opinion, not
mine.”
When the Torah describes marriage as two
becoming one, it is not speaking only about
companionship or romance. It is describing a
moral partnership. A spouse is not a random
bystander. A spouse is the person closest to
us, the one with the greatest access and the
greatest potential influence over who we
become.
That is precisely the meaning of ezer k’negdo.
Sometimes the role of a spouse is to support
and stand beside. Sometimes it is to stand
opposite. If someone we love embraces a
position that celebrates murder, excuses
terror, denies violence against innocent
people, or dehumanizes others, the most
loving response is not silence but moral
clarity, the courage to say this is not who we
are.
Jewish tradition has long recognized that
silence in the face of evil carries moral
weight. The prophet Yeshayahu rebukes those
who see injustice and remain silent. The
Torah commands, Hocheach tochiach es
amisecha, we must speak up when someone
close to us is going down the wrong path.
That obligation certainly applies within the
most intimate relationship we have. Just last
week we read the famous words of Mordechai
warning Esther in no uncertain terms about

the consequences of staying silent: Ki im
hacharesh tacharishi.
This is not about controlling a spouse or
denying their independence. It is about
recognizing that marriage creates a shared
moral space. When one partner publicly
embraces something morally reprehensible,
the other cannot entirely hide behind
technicalities of independence. The world
reasonably assumes that if you strongly
oppose something outrageous said by the
person closest to you, you would say so.
If you do not object, if you allow it to stand
unchallenged, dismiss it, or pretend it has
nothing to do with you, then you are no longer
merely an observer. In some measure, you
become complicit.
Ishto k’gufo cuts both ways. Just as a spouse’s
kindness and goodness reflect on their partner,
so too does cruelty or moral blindness when it
goes unchallenged. To be married is to share
not only a home and a life, but also
responsibility for the moral atmosphere you
create together.
In the end, the question is not whether spouses
are identical or independent. Of course they
are individuals. The question is whether we
take seriously the covenant of becoming one.
When someone we are one with celebrates
evil and we say nothing, we have allowed that
evil to live in our shared space, and others are
justified in concluding we tolerate it.
For that reason, the issue raised by the reports
about Rama Duwaji cannot simply be brushed
aside as the private views of a private person.
If posts that celebrate the October 7 massacre,
deny the assault of Israeli women, and glorify
terror truly do not reflect the values of Mayor
Mamdani, then the moment calls not for
distance but for clarity. Leadership demands
the courage to say clearly that celebrating the
murder of innocent people and denying the
suffering of victims is morally abhorrent.
If a spouse publicly embraces such a position
and we remain silent, we share responsibility
for allowing it to stand. But if we believe
something is wrong, we must say so. In this
case, the appropriate response is simple. If
those posts do not represent his values, Mayor
Mamdani should say so plainly and
unequivocally and object to them.
Silence is not neutrality. Silence is complicity.