As an attorney representing several victims of sexually predatoryCatholic priests, Mark Itzkowitz has witnessed the church's pedophiliascandal from an almost too-close-for-comfort vantage point.
"Some of the details are absolutely horrifying," said Itzkowitz, 49,who lives in the Boston area. "I've seen things that have made my bloodrun cold."
Not long ago, Itzkowitz's life took a surreal turn when hefound himself confronting clergy sexual abuse from a differentperspective: The problem had come home to roost in his own synagogue.
Robert Shapiro, the esteemed, longtime cantor of Temple BethAm, a Conservative synagogue in Randolph, Mass., was accused ofrepeatedly molesting a mentally challenged congregant, a woman in herlate 20s and early 30s when the incidents allegedly occurred between2001 and 2003.
When the news broke in early February 2003, Beth Am was within days of again renewing the then-70-year-old Shapiro's contract.
"The people in the synagogue would have followed him to theends of the earth," Itzkowitz said. "He had been there longer than therabbi -- more than 20 years."
Once the shock of the disclosure wore off, Beth Am leadersregrouped and tried to figure out how to manage the situation. Thatinvolved not only ensuring that criminal, civil and moral justice wouldprevail but also preventing the congregation from disintegrating.
In-house guidelines were nonexistent. And attempts to findadvice from officials at the Conservative movement's headquarters wereunsuccessful, according to both Itzkowitz, the synagogue board'sattorney, and its rabbi, Loel Weiss.
While Jewish morality is founded on the Torah and other sacredtexts, "synagogues aren't Coca-Cola or IBM churning out specificpolicies and procedures on right and wrong," Weiss said. "There is acertain expectation that in a religious institution, people will actproperly. But what could have been written on a piece of paper? My minddoesn't think in those terms."
Weiss said the little practical information he found thathelped guide him through "this hell," as he put it, was contained in abook about a suburban New Jersey congregation whose rabbi had becomeinvolved in a major crime.
"It confirmed my instincts that we needed to give people inthe congregation a chance to share their sadness," Weiss said."Remember that even before the allegations had been confirmed, peoplewere basically sitting shiva for a longtime cantor who was in manycases a friend of theirs."
The task faced by Beth Am was daunting: While the case wasbeing investigated internally -- and by the police -- the rights of thealleged perpetrator and the victim and her family had to be preserved.Meanwhile, the congregation had to be protected. So Shapiro wassuspended with pay pending completion of the police investigation.
That probe ultimately revealed that the victim had beenassaulted at the synagogue, at Shapiro's home, in his pool, in a carand elsewhere. Shapiro was allowed to be alone with the woman becausehe was a trusted friend of her family, who eventually sued Shapiro, aswell as Beth Am, Weiss and the former congregation president.
The latter three defendants were dismissed from the suit afterthe judge determined they could not have known that Shapiro posed arisk, according to news accounts.Regarding damage control at Beth Am, Itzkowitz said he resolved to dothe opposite of what the Catholic Church had done when its priestsbecame embroiled in controversy.
Rather than circling the wagons, stonewalling and failing toacknowledge the community's anguish, Beth Am officials would beforthcoming, compassionate and responsive, he said.
Since Shapiro had privately tutored many bar and bat mitzvahstudents, several parents were concerned that their children might alsohave been victimized. Synagogue representatives were able to assuagetheir fears, however, noting that there was no evidence of otherincidents involving the cantor -- at Beth Am or elsewhere.
"This was not a case where somebody passed the buck to us," Weiss said.
Shapiro originally was charged with seven counts of rape, butas part of a deal with prosecutors, he pleaded guilty in September 2005to 14 counts of indecent assault and battery on a mentally retardedperson. He was sentenced to one year of house arrest and 10 yearsprobation.
Last year, a civil court jury ordered Shapiro to pay $5.2million to the victim and $750,000 to her parents -- an award that willtotal $8.4 million, including interest, according to the lawyerrepresenting the victim and her family.
"If there is such a thing as a victory in this case," Itzkowitz said, it is that Beth Am remained intact.
The 400-family synagogue lost no congregants during the ordeal, except the victim and her family.
"And until they come back," Itzkowitz added, "we haven't really won."
An attorney representing the family did not respond to a JTArequest for comment, and an attorney representing Shapiro said hisclient would not comment.
In the wake of the incident, the synagogue has instituted apolicy aimed at preventing another one. Beth Am clergy are nowprohibited from being alone in the synagogue with any individual, childor adult.
"It's good in theory," Weiss said, "but it doesn't work from a practical standpoint."
That is one of the many lessons -- practical, moral and spiritual -- that have been learned in the wake of the Shapiro case.
Weiss and Itzkowitz came away with a renewed sense of affectionand admiration for the Beth Am community, which they said respondedwith courage, restraint and cohesiveness.
But because of his vocation, Itzkowitz encountered the ordeal from aunique perspective. As an attorney, he had already seen his share oflives ruined and houses of worship shattered by sexually predatoryclergymen.
And as a result, he offered this sobering advice to any congregation: "Don't think it can't happen to you." |
