The film about my father is premiering today. I won’t be there - Most of all, it reminds us that protecting the image of a leader should never be more important than protecting people.
My father, Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, profoundly shaped Jewish life through his music, teachings, and ability to touch people’s souls. He also caused profound harm. The new documentary The Darkest Light portrays both of these truths with care and precision. It celebrates the transformative impact he had on Jewish life and music while giving voice to the painful testimony of three women who were victims of his harmful actions.
Director Simon Mendes and his team spent years making this film, and I was honored to be one of the subjects. They approached an extraordinarily difficult story with compassion, courage and nuance. To tell only one side of my father’s story would have been untrue.
After much reflection, I have decided not to attend the premiere.
This was not an easy decision. I believe in this film. I believe it deserves to be seen, and I intend to continue supporting it as it travels through the world. But today should not be about me nor about my grief or my struggle to reconcile the father I loved with the man others experienced. Today belongs, first and foremost, to the women whose voices have too often been ignored, questioned, minimized, or dismissed.
For decades, women shared stories of experiences with my father that left them feeling violated, manipulated, and deeply harmed. Some spoke publicly. Others carried their pain quietly. Some were believed. Most were not.
To each of them, I say: I believe you. I see you. I hear you. I believe your pain deserves attention, compassion, and respect. Once again, I apologize for not having had the courage to see it and stand with you sooner. My absence from the premiere is a small gesture of deference to your courage. This moment belongs to you.
I love my father deeply, and I continue to wrestle with the pain he caused. Both truths are important. Believing the testimony of the women who came forward has never required me to stop loving my father. It has required something much more complicated: refusing to let my love for him become an excuse for silence.
I have spent years carrying all of it: I miss him and wish he had lived to know my children. He shaped my life in countless beautiful ways, and he also caused profound pain to others and – in different ways – to me. Those truths are not mutually exclusive. They are the burden, and the responsibility, of being his daughter.
Whenever my father’s name is mentioned, the conversation often turns quickly to his music. Should we continue singing his melodies? Should we stop? I understand why these questions arise, and I respect the sincerity and pain behind them. I continue to wrestle with those questions myself.
But if our response begins and ends with the question of whether we sing Carlebach niggunim, we risk missing the deeper moral challenge before us.
The Darkest Light opens the door to a bigger conversation, challenging us to engage with the complexities of the realities it reveals. The film requires more from us than deciding which melodies to include during Kabbalat Shabbat.
It asks us to build communities where people feel safe enough to come forward – and where those who do are believed, even when what they say is painful. It calls upon us to educate our children about healthy boundaries, consent, and the responsible use of spiritual authority. It demands systems of accountability – rabbis, educators, boards, and institutions willing to place the dignity of human beings above the reputation of charismatic leaders and major donors.
Most of all, it reminds us that protecting the image of a leader should never be more important than protecting people.
If this film leaves us arguing only about my father’s legacy, it will have accomplished far less than it should. If it helps our communities become more willing to hear survivors, respond with integrity, and prevent future harm, then it will have accomplished something far greater.
The conversation provoked by The Darkest Light should not end with my father. Every faith community, every institution, and every movement must ask itself difficult questions about power, accountability, and the ways we respond when beloved leaders fail. We must honor survivors by changing the culture that too often allows harm to go unaddressed and even deliberately ignored.
The film does more than tell a story about the past. It lights the way to a different future, one in which survivors know they will be heard, communities choose truth over denial, and our love for Torah is measured not only by the songs we sing, but by the courage with which we protect one another. This is the future I pray I can help to build.
May this film open our hearts. May it deepen our compassion. And may it move us beyond debate toward healing, accountability, and lasting change.
https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-film-about-my-father-is-premiering-today-i-wont-be-there/
