Three years ago, an anonymous letter to the Hebrew University of Jerusalem accused one of my colleagues of sexual misconduct. Soon three former students complained to the police that he had made indecent proposals to them. The police decided not to recommend prosecution, but a year and a half later, in February of last year, the university suspended him for two years. He appealed the ruling and, having considered his appeal, the university fired him last week. The appeals board found that he had exploited his position to have sex with a student and that he had proposed to other students that they share a room with him when they were abroad.
The university took its time to demonstrate that such conduct is intolerable, but at long last it did make it clear. One wonders how widespread such conduct had been in the past but at any rate one hopes that henceforth instructors who might be tempted to abuse their position will remember the university's uncompromising position in the matter.
When I heard of my colleague’s dismissal, my first reaction was not sympathy for his victims, which they abundantly deserve, but sorrow for him. This is perverse, I know. He preyed on young women over whom he exercised power; he violated their trust. He's as guilty as a priest who molests an altar boy. Even so, I feel sorry for him. I remember him as a tall, hearty, cheerful young man, good looking, smart, and always pleasant to talk to. I liked him very much. It's hard to square this promising young man, as he was when I knew him, with the blighted person that he is today. So I view his sexual misconduct as a tragedy not only for his victims but also for him. People are complex, neither all good nor all bad; who among us has not done something for which we are ashamed? He has many good qualities, but a flaw in his character, however it is to be explained, led to the injury of others and to the ruin of his career. It’s unlikely he’ll be able to work any longer as a university lecturer in Israel and it’s doubtful that he can do so abroad either, since it will be difficult to conceal the reason for his having left his professorship.
"Serves him right," I can hear most of my readers muttering to themselves, "he's lucky not to have gone to jail." And I agree. But since I can hold two contradictory ideas in my head at the same time, I also feel bad for him. I examine my own weaknesses and thank whatever gods may be that they have not led to disgrace, at least not yet.
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