March 9, 2026|כ' אדר ה' אלפים תשפ"ו Silence Is Complicity: When a Spouse’s Words Become Your Responsibility By Rabbi Efrem Goldberg

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.