As Purim approaches, the question on everyone’s mind is the same: What are you dressing up as this year?
Will you be an Israeli soldier? A lifeguard? Maybe you’ll go with something classic, like Where’s Waldo?

Dressing up is one of the lighthearted traditions of Purim, adding to the joy and festivity of the holiday. For one day a year, we get to step into someone else’s shoes, disguise ourselves, and embrace the spirit of the season. Then, when the day is over, we put our costumes away and return to our normal lives.
If only that were always the case.
At Amudim, we deal with people who wear costumes every single day of the year—not for fun, not for Purim, but to hide the truth about who they really are. On the outside, they seem like upstanding members of our communities—respected professionals, neighbors, even trusted figures in shuls and schools. But the persona they project is nothing more than a well-constructed disguise, one that masks a much darker reality: they are abusers.

The greatest tragedy is that these abusers count on their “costumes” to protect them, and time and time again, we fall for it. Instead of standing up for the victims, we make excuses for their abusers:
• “How can you say that about him? He has done so much good for the community!”
• “It’s not a big deal—it happened so many years ago.”
• “Just leave it alone. If people find out, his family will be ruined.”

These statements, whether spoken outright or whispered in the shadows, are all part of the same problem: they prioritize the comfort of the abuser over the suffering of the victim.
Many people believe there is a certain “look” an abuser has—that somehow, evil is visible on the outside. But there is no universal dress code for those who prey on the innocent. The truth is, they could be anyone: the friendly face next to you at a simcha, a well-liked teacher, a community leader. Their disguise is their respectability. Their costume is their credibility.
Every year, we emphasize mishloach manos, matanos l’evyonim, and countless acts of kindness. But what about kindness to those who truly need it—the victims?

Abusers do not deserve our sympathy. They are not worthy of our protection. Our compassion and support should be directed toward the people whose lives they have shattered—the survivors who are often left alone in their pain, their voices silenced by a community unwilling to acknowledge the truth.
It is heartbreaking that the families of abusers will suffer when the truth comes out. But that suffering can never take precedence over the pain of the victims. We must be clear: protecting abusers means abandoning those they have harmed.

Purim is a day of hidden miracles, a time when masks come off and the truth is revealed. This year, let’s carry that message beyond Purim. Let’s take off the blindfolds and stop pretending that abuse only happens somewhere else, to someone else, by someone else.
It is happening here. It is happening now. And it is happening by people who seem like everyone else.

It’s time to stop making excuses.
It’s time to remove the costumes.
And most importantly, it’s time to stand with the victims.
Because while Purim costumes come off after one day, the pain of abuse lasts a lifetime.