The Torah verse that makes the case for journalism
Can a Torah-observant Jew report on rabbinic corruption, a shul expelling a gay congregant or even write a mixed review of a Jewish film?
This Torah was transported from Russia after World War II and eventually made it to Los Angeles, where it has been restored by a scribe and donated to Chabad. Photo by Bryan Chan/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images
By Louis Keene August 15, 2025
When I’m not working for the Forward, one of the ways I spend my time is as a gabbai at a Modern Orthodox synagogue in Los Angeles. It’s the perfect role for a busybody, or a shmoozer, or a grammar pedant. Or, I’ve decided, a journalist.
The gabbai’s job is to facilitate and mind the details of the prayer service, assigning ritual honors and assisting the people doing them. The most visible aspect of this work comes during the Torah reading. As the reader chants from the scroll — which lacks cantillation, vowels or punctuation — the two gabbais, flanking him, follow along to catch and correct any errors.
That’s the pedantry part, but also the aspect that reminds me of journalism. When we stop the reader, we’re revealing their slip to the congregation — some of whom will have noticed it themselves — but we’re also displaying accountability, in a way that increases their trust in the undertaking. Kind of like the Fourth Estate.
I’ll admit that I’m a sucker for analogies that connect my religious life to my vocation. That’s partly because of the predisposition Judaism seems to have against it — especially in the Orthodox spaces I often cover, where the biblical prohibition against lashon hara, or slander, is deeply ingrained. Can a Torah-observant Jew report on a rabbi’s financial corruption or a shul expelling a gay congregant — or even write a mixed review of a Jewish movie?
You might think that someone asking this question is already in the wrong field. But the answer, or at least the way I think about the question, informs my approach to journalism and nourishes my enthusiasm for it. It comes straight from the Torah, via the first journalism teacher I ever had.
“You shall not go about as a talebearer amongst your people; you shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor. I am the Lord.” The verse, Leviticus 19:16, appears in a rapid-fire series of commandments that form the backbone of Jewish values to this day — love thy neighbor as thyself; don’t put a stumbling block before the blind; save your leftovers, but not forever.
For centuries, Jewish biblical commentators have tried to reconcile the tenuously related precepts of the verse. The late Rabbi Yehuda Henkin, an eminent Israeli scholar who died in 2020, reads them as cause and effect: Spreading falsehoods about people leads one to see them less as intrinsically worth saving. The 13th-century French commentator known as Chizkuni writes, “What started out as being ‘only’ words, is liable to wind up as complicity in murder.”
With due respect to these holy men, I’ve long been partial to the understanding of this verse revealed to me by Joelle Keene, Jewish journalism nonprofit founder and noted mom. She teaches these two commandments as competing values of journalism held in tension. Don’t be a talebearer — absolute truth is paramount; recognize that even true things have the power to cause harm and that not all knowledge merits publication. But also: Don’t stand idly by — act to prevent harm; report what you see. Say something, even if some people might not like to hear it.
As for “I am the Lord”? That’s a reminder, Mrs. Keene says, that only God knows the full truth of the story. Getting as close as humanly possible to the full truth — seeking a range of perspectives, looking at the information from every angle — is the sacred work of a journalist.
But for every two Keenes, there are three opinions, so I’ll add one more. So far I’ve been talking about how Judaism shapes my journalism. It’s also the case, though, that this work is constantly enriching and expanding my identity as a Jew.
The imperative to find new perspectives has brought me into synagogues I might not otherwise enter and introduced me to Jews I’d otherwise never meet. In the pursuit of facts, well, I’ve learned a lot. It’s a good job for a busybody, or a shmoozer, or a grammar pedant. Or, I’ve decided, a gabbai.
