Miketz: A Person of Discernment and Wisdom

As we face difficult economic times, we pray that our leaders show the three types of intelligence that Joseph demonstrated: discernment, wisdom, and sensitivity.

Shabbat Hanukah 5769 – December 27, 2008

The story is now quite familiar to us: A hapless leader fails to see the looming economic crisis about to unfold. Perhaps through willful ignorance or just shear incompetence, he cannot read the signs and indicators right before his eyes. His ministers and advisers are also at a loss to interpret the warnings. Despite the enormous power he has consolidated for himself, despite being the ruler of the greatest empire of his era, he now seems powerless to act. He has no clue and no plan. Until along comes a rising star. He is a man from humble roots, a man with foreign ancestry, a man estranged from his father who lost his beloved mother at a young age. He seems to come out of nowhere, but he has an uncanny gift. Despite being a member of a denigrated class, despite having suffered abuses and trials in his early life, wherever this man goes, he seems to rise to positions of leadership. He is smart, ambitious, and eminently talented.

Early on, he was dismissed as a dreamer. His peers mocked him as presumptuous – they said he was too young and too inexperienced, and conspired to destroy him. Some tried to pin scandals on him. But the more they attacked him, the stronger he seemed to become. And now he stands poised to take the reigns of leadership with a bold plan for economic recovery. It involves massive public works projects, investments in infrastructure, and the mobilization of an entire population. If his plan succeeds, he will have saved the country – and indeed the entire world – from devastating poverty.

Of course, the man of whom I speak, the gifted leader, the visionary, is none other than Yosef HaTzadik, our ancestor Joseph. And the ineffectual ruler is the Pharaoh of Egypt. In this week’s torah portion – parashat Miketz – we find the Pharaoh at a loss to interpret his own dreams. First he has a disturbing dream in which seven healthy cows are gobbled up by seven sickly cows. In the second dream, Pharaoh sees seven plump ears of grain swallowed up by seven withered ears. Though convinced that his dreams were a sign, neither he nor any of his advisors could interpret the visions. Finally, the king’s cupbearer remembered the young foreigner he had met in prison. Joseph, you’ll recall, had once been a dreamer himself. He dreamed that he would take power over his older siblings. For this, his brothers hated him and they sold him into slavery. His new master’s wife tried to seduce Joseph; but, when he wouldn’t give in to her, Potiphar’s wife accused Joseph of assaulting her. For this he was thrown in prison. It was during this time, that Joseph began to learn humility and he learned to channel his talents. While in prison, he became known as a gifted interpreter of dreams. In our parsha, Joseph is brought before the Pharaoh to do the same. He tells the king that the dreams foretell a period of seven robust years in which there will be an unusual degree of abundance and wealth. But, they are to be followed by an economic disaster – seven years of drought and famine.

Joseph, however, did not stop at interpreting the dreams. He also offers Pharaoh some sound advice. In Gen 41:33, Joseph says to the king: “Now, let Pharoah find a man of discernment and wisdom, and set him over the land of Egypt.” In Hebrew, “ve-atah ye-re faroh ish navon v’chacham…” As you know, our sages had certain rules for interpreting the Bible. One of the most important is that there are no superfluous words in the Torah. If something appears redundant, the repetition actually comes to teach us something unique. In this case, they look very closely at the phrase navon v’chacham – discerning and wise – and they ask the obvious question: What’s the difference between navon (discerning) and chacham (wise)?

I learned from my teacher and mentor, Rabbi Brad Artson, that the 13^th Century Biblical commentator Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (known as the Ramban), teaches that these two words point to two different qualities of intelligence required in an effective leader. “Discerning”, he says, refers to Joseph’s ability to administer a complex plan in which he would organize the population into regional centers of food collection during the years of plenty (essentially taxing the nation’s wealth) and, during the lean years, distribute the grain throughout the country and the world. Following on Ramban, Rabbi Artson teaches that discerning leadership refers to ability to formulate complex social policy. But, even more so, it is the organizational vision to implement those goals effectively. In other words, this is the skill of the gifted bureaucrat.

“Wisdom,” on the other hand, Ramban teaches, refers to Joseph’s ability to devise a storage technique that would preserve produce for up to 14 years. In other words, “Wisdom” is the foresight and knowledge of expertise. A leader needs to be more than a ruler who can figure out the logistics of power. A visionary leader draws on the best available knowledge and finds creative solutions based in facts, state-of-the-art science, and skill.

According the Ramban, Joseph’s greatness as a leader came from being a well-rounded individual who was able to summon both the discernment to devise social policy and the wisdom to create innovative solutions. But, I want to argue that Joseph was ultimately a great leader because in addition to discernment and wisdom he possessed a third type of intelligence. This third quality is what is now called emotional intelligence or intuition.

During the famine, Joseph’s brothers came down to Egypt to purchase food. His brothers, who many years before, had abused him and sold him into slavery, now reappear in his life. And what we see in Joseph’s reaction to them is remarkable and fascinating. In the biblical narratives, the text rarely describes the emotional state of the biblical figures. We are often left to wonder what our forefathers and foremothers were feeling, even at very dramatic moments in their lives. But, in the Joseph narrative – especially in this parsha – the Torah recounts Joseph’s very poignant reactions to his brothers. On several occasions, Joseph is so overcome by his feelings that he retreats to another room to weep. And it is in the midst of these emotional interactions that we observe yet a third kind of intelligence in Joseph. As much as he is compelled to reveal himself to them, he also does not want to be abused by them again. Despite being a man of great power, he remains sensitive and self-aware. He isn’t willing simply to trust; he also wants to see progress. He wants to know if his brothers had remorse for what they had done. His bankrupt brothers come before him (unaware of who he was) begging for a bailout. Joseph could have turned them away or he could have simply given them what they wanted and sent them off – effectively washing his hands of his past. Instead, he puts his brothers through a number of tests to see if they had indeed changed. Pres. Ronald Reagan used to call this “trust, but verify.” In other words, Joseph has a keen understanding of human psychology and social dynamics. A good leader has compassion, sensitivity, and understands people.

As we ourselves face difficult economic times, my prayer for us all is that our leaders show the kind of intelligence that Joseph possessed: the discernment to make sense of a complex situation, the wisdom to implement fact-based initiatives, and the sensitivity to not repeat the mistakes of the past.

Shabbat Shalom

Va'yishlach: Wrestling with Ourselves

Parashat Va’Yishlach 5769 – December 13, 2008

Wrestling with Ourselves

Some of the most valuable learning in life happens when we allow ourselves to confront adversity, experience new situations, and search deep within ourselves.

I’ve been doing a lot of learning lately. This week started out for me with a very important educational experience: on Monday, Rabbi Dollin took me up to the mountains and I had my first snowboarding lesson. I learned how to balance on the board, I learned how to control the board by shifting my weight, and I started making some basic turns. I also fell down a lot. Despite all the protection I was wearing, I took some pretty hard knocks. I also became acquainted with all the muscles I didn’t know I had. By the end of the day, I was completely wiped out. In other words, I loved it!

The reason I’m telling you about snowboarding is not to prove to you that I’m as cool as Rabbi Dollin… though the image of snowboarding rabbis is pretty cool. I want to tell how important this experience is to me because I’ve never done anything like it in my life. Even though I grew up in California, I never surfed or skateboarded. You see, I was a scrawny little boy with asthma and allergies. I wasn’t tall or athletic, I couldn’t jump very high, and I couldn’t run very fast or for very long. I was also very cautious and I avoided getting hurt. The other boys on the playground had names for me – labels that hurt and stuck with me for a long time. The problem was that I believed the names they called me, and I carried with me that image of myself.

Last week I spoke about our forefather Yaakov’s journey of transformation and why I find Yaakov to be so compelling. Yaakov starts out his life with a label too. His name, Yaakov, means the heel. He is born grasping at the heel of Esav, foreshadowing the first part of his life in which he does everything he can to supplant his older brother. He and his brother are also captive to their labels. Esav is described as the rugged outdoorsman, while Yaakov is a gentle homebody. Yaakov faces the challenge of having been born a few seconds after his brother. But instead of confronting the challenge with honesty and integrity, Yaakov takes advantage of his brother’s hunger to extract the birthright for himself and he takes advantage of his father’s blindness to steel the blessing of the first-born.

In this week’s Torah portion, va-yishlach, we find Yaakov hasn’t changed a whole lot yet. After 21 years hiding from Esav, Yaakov decides it is time to go home. Fearing the possibility that Esav is still angry with him, Yaakov falls back on old habits. Instead of direct confrontation, he uses the tactics of his youth: he sends droves of messengers bearing lavish gifts to Esav, he splits up his large clan into columns, and he separates himself from the rest of the group. All alone, during the night before his reunion with Esav, he is confronted by a mysterious figure. Yaakov and this strange being wrestle all through the night. Who is Yaakov fighting? The text is vague, though most traditional commentators understand that this is either an angel from God or perhaps Esav’s own guardian spirit. I prefer the explanation given by the 19^th century Hassidic master known as the S’fat Emet. Yaakov is finally confronting himself, wrestling with his own conscience; flexing moral muscles he didn’t know he had. This time he cannot overcome his conscience. His adversary is too strong now – or perhaps Yaakov is weary from years on the run. The mysterious fighter wrenches Yaakov’s hip at the socket. Despite the pain, however, Yaakov does not give up. Instead of retreating or relying on one of his old tricks, Yaakov prevails by holding on and continuing to grapple. We can change if we are willing to confront ourselves honestly. Despite being physically wounded and morally depleted, Yaakov will not let go. Gen. 32:27 says: “[Yaakov] responded, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.”

What blessing did Yaakov receive? The adversary responds, “What is your name?” He replied, “My name is Yaakov.” The other then says, “Your name shall no longer be Yaakov, bur Yisrael – for you have struggled with God and with men, and you have prevailed.” I want to propose to you that the blessing Yaakov got was not the new moniker. The blessing was the question, “what is your name?” In that moment, Yaakov was forced to consider who he had been for all these years. The blessing of the question is the blessing of introspection. He’s asking, “who are you? What are your limitations? What are your growing edges? Can you be honest with yourself? And Yaakov responds, “I’m Yaakov… I’m the heel… the trickster… this is who I am” But the angel’s response says, “you don’t have to be the heel your whole life. You can be the one who struggles with his conscience.”

Interestingly, Yaakov never becomes a saintly figure. In fact, he doesn’t lose the name Yaakov. He is referred from then on in the Torah by both names – Yaakov and Yisrael. As it is for most of us, the real hard changes in life are a continual struggle. But something fundamental has changed in Yaakov. He has learned how to confront his own conscience. The next morning when he encounters Esav, he demonstrates a new-found humility. He bows low before Esav and shows genuine remorse. The two brothers embraced and wept together.

It’s often difficult to change because we internalize the image we have of ourselves as the way we are. And, we believe that it is the way we always will be. It is often for lack of imagination that we fail to see the possibility of a different future. The perenial question is “do people change? Or, do we have fundamental characteristics that make change nearly impossible? Do we believe in the possibility of repair and transformation? Or, do we resign ourselves to accepting our shortcomings and flaws? Judaism’s answer is that, despite how difficult it can be, we are dynamic beings. We are created in the divine image, which means we have something transcendent in us to which we can (and must) strive. Our relationship to God implies a responsibility to improve. Some of the most valuable learning in life happens when we allow ourselves to confront adversity, experience new situations, and search deep within ourselves.

Shabbat Shalom

Va-yetze: "How terrifying is this place"

Parashat Va-Yetze 5769 – December 6, 2008

We must no longer plead ignorance or powerlessness when it comes to the genocide taking place in Sudan.

I like to think of myself as a person with a pretty well-calibrated moral compass. I try to live with consciousness and with conscience. I read books, magazines, newspapers… I listen to the radio and watch television in an effort to stay informed about the world and its needs. I try my best to live ethically. I’m aware that my behavior has consequences. I care about the poor and the vulnerable, I give to tzedakah. I’m a good citizen: I’ve given a lot of thought to policies and programs I believe our government should pursue, and how our nation should relate to the world; and I diligently vote according to what I think are well-informed and thoughtful positions. In short, I think my heart and mind are in the so-called “right place.” But the truth of the matter is that I have rarely in my life taken a very public stance on anything. I participated in a few protests in college, I’ve done some volunteer work here and there, but I’ve never really had an activist spirit. You won’t find me on the ramparts. I’m even wary of petitions. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I’m cautious by nature. Perhaps – despite my own rhetoric to the contrary – I really am more cynical than I would like to admit. But, I’m trying to change all of that.

It is with these thoughts in mind that I studied this week’s Torah portion. As you know, at this time of year we read the saga of Yaakov. I have always loved Yaakov because – perhaps more than most other Biblical personalities – Yaakov undergoes a profound transformation in his life. You’ll recall that Yaakov starts out his life as a heel. He is born literally grasping at the heel of his brother. He blackmails Esav into selling him the birthright and he then steels his blind father’s blessing through subterfuge. Because of his shortcomings and misdeeds, he is forced to flee into the wilderness. It is in this confused and lonely state that we find Yaakov in this week’s parsha. During his flight into the wilderness he has a powerful encounter with God. These and other experiences in his life lead him to introspection and personal transformation.

As night falls upon Yaakov, he decides to stop. He sets up a stone upon which to rest his head and he soon falls asleep. And then he has a remarkable dream in which angels ascend and descend upon a ramp bridging the divide between heaven and earth. God speaks to him, extending the promise He had made with Abraham and Yitzhak. We then read in 28:16, “va-yikatz Yaakov mi-shnato…” He was jolted from his slumber. He awakes suddenly and declares, “achen yesh Adonai ba-makom ha-zeh, v’anochi lo yadati.” “Indeed, the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.”

The medieval and modern commentators make much of this astounding moment and the unusual language the Torah uses. What is the meaning of Yaakov’s statement? Why is he so concerned over what he didn’t know? The 11^th century commentator, Rashi, draws on a Talmudic midrash when he explains that Yaakov was upset because had he known that this was a holy site, he would not have fallen asleep. Had he known that he would receive such powerful revelation, he would have awaited it with eyes open and alert. And we must also ask, “Does Yaakov make a theological error when he declares, ‘God was in this place and I did not know it’”? Didn’t Yaakov know that God is always present everywhere? But haven’t we all experienced this feeling? Have you ever become aware of some vital truth that you sort of knew was there all along, but you never paid attention to it? That’s how I’ve been feeling lately. I didn’t have a dream, I didn’t have a vision of angels climbing up and down a ladder, and I didn’t hear God’s voice. But, a messenger came to see me a couple of weeks ago. She’s a member of our congregation. Her name is Sara Kornfeld and she advises a group of young people who are working to make a difference in an urgent situation in the world. “Change the World, it Just Takes Cents”™, is an organization started by students at the Rocky Mountain Hebrew Academy that is trying to improve the situation of refugees from the ongoing genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan. “Since 2003, the government of Sudan and their proxy militia, the Janjaweed, have been conducting a counter-insurgency operation against rebel groups in Darfur. Their primary strategy is a scorched earth campaign targeting communities that share the same ethnicity as the rebels. Government forces and Janjaweed continue to terrorize and kill civilians, rape women and girls, burn villages, and drive innocent people from their homes. More than two million people have been displaced and at least 450,000 have lost their lives to this genocidal campaign.”[1]

For some time, I’ve been vaguely aware of the war in Sudan. It occasionally makes the news and I know that a number of organizations (some of them Jewish groups like American Jewish World Service and Jewish World Watch) are involved in advocacy and relief efforts. But, I must admit to you that I have not taken a very strong interest in the crisis. And, it turns out that I’m not alone. Powerful countries like the United States have repeatedly made declarations labeling the atrocities in Sudan as genocide. The United Nations has passed more than 20 resolutions calling for action to stop the murders. Despite all the rhetorical gestures, however, little has been done and the news media pay scant attention to the conflict. I have to admit to you that what I’m telling you today is only the result of the last two weeks during which I have been doing research on the topic.

And, the feeling I have is perhaps not unlike Yaakov’s reaction to his dream. We read in Gen. 28:17 “va-yirah va-yomer, ‘ma norah ha makom ha-zeh…’” “Yaakov was awestruck and he said, ‘how terrifying is this place…!’” In the context of the Torah, Yaakov is talking about his sense of awe and amazement over his encounter with God. But we could say the same thing about Sudan in the negative sense of the phrase: “what an awful and terrifying place!” And like Yaakov, I feel ashamed that I wasn’t paying attention.

There is a paradox, however, in Yaakov’s reaction. Had he not been sleeping, he would not have had the revelatory dream. He would not have experienced the powerful jolt that propelled him to change. He regrets his sleep because he wonders if he is indeed a worthy vessel for the gift of revelation. But, the truth of the matter is that we are all flawed vessels. Each of us has the potential to be God’s partner in the work of repairing the world, but we fall short because of fear, apathy, cynicism, inertia, or ignorance. Even our guilt can be a hindrance to action. Sometimes, to alleviate our guilt we willfully plead a lack of awareness or power – not unlike Yaakov when he says, “God was in this place and I did not know it.”

When Yaakov awakes and realizes what he had been missing, his first reaction is to take an oath. He immediately commits himself to taking action. A week from Monday, I will be doing something uncharacteristic for me. I will be speaking out publicly as an activist and an advocate. On Monday evening, December 15, a coalition of organizations, including HEA and other synagogues and churches, will be putting on a vigil in front of the state capital building to advocate on behalf of the victims of war and genocide in Darfur. I invite you to attend the rally. There are indeed many barriers to changing the situation in Sudan, but the truth is that there is also a lot we can do to help. I encourage you to find out more by visiting the websites of organizations like AJWS and Jewish World Watch. I want to make a commitment to you today that I will no longer be apathetic about the genocide in Sudan. I hope you will join me in keeping the promise our Jewish community made after the Shoah: “never again!”

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[1] From American Jewish World Service (http://ajws.org/emergencies/darfur/)

Installation Sermon - "Becoming a Rabbi"

Installation of Rabbi Salomon Gruenwald

Cong. Hebrew Educational Alliance

21 November 2008

Do you remember the game HORSE. You had a shoot a basketball from different spots on the court. Each time you made a basket you got a letter: H-O-R-S and E. The first player to spell HORSE won the game. When I was in rabbinical school, there was a commonly known joke among the students. Seeing that the Ziegler School is a five year program and the word “rabbi” has five letters, we imagined that after each year we got another letter. Once we could spell “rabbi” we got our diploma.

My mentor, Rabbi Brad Artson (the dean of the rabbinical school) once taught that a rabbi receives two ordinations. The first ordination comes after years of intensive study, testing, and tutelage under the guidance of teachers. It is a kind of apprenticeship, after which one receives the title of master – in fact, that is exactly what the word “rav” means: master. It means that you have proven to your teachers that you are ready to join their ranks. On may 19^th of this year, I received smicha from the Ziegler School and its teachers. They bestowed on me the title of Rav.

But this is only the first half of the smicha process. There is a second smicha. And it is perhaps harder to earn and easier to lose. It is the ordination that a community bestows upon the person they call “rabbi”.

Today is my second ordination ceremony. I stand before you today with the same sense of sacred awe – a mixture of hopeful ideals and holy terror. It is the enormity of recognizing that I have been embraced by a community of Jews who consider me their rav. For this I am deeply grateful and humbled.

After being here now for five months, however, I’ve come to learn something new to add to Rabbi Artson’s wisdom. I’m learning that this second act of ordination – the smicha a rabbi’s community bestows, is not granted at one discreet event. As wonderful as this evening is, this second kind of smicha cannot be contained in a ceremony. It is, in fact, an unfolding and continual process of becoming.

The Mishna in Pirkei Avot admonishes: “Assei lecha rav; u’kne lecha haver.” This is generally understood to mean that one should find a teacher who will be a mentor, and one should find a study partner with whom to learn. But tonight I want to read this differently. Asse lecha rav literally means, “make for yourself a rabbi.” That is to say that you – the congregant in the pews, the religious school student, the adult learner, the grieving spouse, the nervous bride, the proud father – you make us into your rabbis every time that you entrust your soul to our care.

Every time you open your heart to me and allow me to accompany you in your spiritual journey, you honor me and make me into your rabbi. But this honor and privilege, and the power that is implied, must be earned and it comes with great responsibilities. Thank you all for the opportunity you’ve given me to grow and learn with you and your families.

Coming here to serve you at the Alliance was a monumental decision in my life. And the journey that brought me to Denver was long and difficult. It was not only a challenge for me, but I know that it was also a challenging process for you as well. This journey started over a year ago. Rabbi Dollin, Neal Price, Evan Klein, Bob Rottman, Rick Rubin, and all the members of the search committee put a lot of thought and work into finding a new rabbi. I also worked very hard preparing myself to interview at congregations and find the best fit for me and my family. We all know there were great disappointments along the way. I had my disappointments too. But, looking back now, I know that it was all worth it. Everything turned out as it should and I come to work every day grateful for this shiduch. I know that this is exactly where I belong. I have been embraced by a wonderful, friendly, warm community that is serious about Judaism and Torah. My family is also very happy here and we love living in Denver. Thank you to all the members of the search committee, the board of directors, and to all of you who participated in the search process.

I also want to thank all the members of the clergy and staff –Cantor Marty, Neal Price, Debbie Lagerborg, Gail Kessel, Sharon Anderson, Joyce Perlmutter, Janet Purvis, Leah Marcus, Naomi Kirshner, Stacy Wasserman, Karen Kirk, and Michelle Nikolayevsky. You are all a pleasure to work with and I am so grateful for your talents and support.

When I was applying for assistantships, I asked one of my teachers what I should be looking for in a senior rabbi. He told me, “your senior rabbi doesn’t necessarily have to be your mentor, but he does have to be a mentch.” Well, Rabbi Dollin, you are certainly a mentch – you and your family helped me and my family through our transition to Denver, you have taken a personal interest in me and have been very supportive and kind. And, you are also a great mentor as well. You give over your time and wisdom to me. I have a tremendous amount to learn from your years of experience and I look forward to many years of learning. Thank you.

Finally, I want to thank my family who made the trip out to Denver to be with us tonight – Melanie’s mom Sheila, my father Willie, my mom Sonia, My grandmother Rebecca, my uncles Israel and Mendel, my Sister Judy and her husband Steve with their son Jonah, and my brother Daniel. Each of you has, in your own ways, been instrumental in bringing me to this day.

I want to thank my children, Koby, Hannah and Micah, who are my joy and inspiration every day. And last but not least, Melanie. You more than anyone are the reason I am here today. If it had not been for your love, support, and incredibly hard work, I would not be a rabbi. Your happiness is more important to me than anything. Thank you.

Thank you all for this lovely evening. Shabbat Shalom.