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.

Lech-Lecha: "Why be Jewish?"

Parashat Lech Lecha 5769 – November 8, 2008

Why Be Jewish?

Judaism is a spiritual practice that can teach us how to deepen our lives, improve the world, and live more mindfully

Thursday evening, I had the pleasure of teaching this year’s confirmation class. It is a very exciting prospect because – under the leadership of Rabbi Dollin and our very talented educational director, Stacey Wasserman – HEA is reinventing our program for 10^th graders. In the past, HEA’s confirmation program was under the auspices of Hebrew High. This year, we decided to bring confirmation back under our roof and teach the class ourselves. This new program gives us a great opportunity to shape the experience for our students. If last night’s opening session is any indication, confirmation will be a huge success for the Alliance. About 20 of our teens came to the class last night and we are expecting more to join. The curriculum we chose is focused on Jewish ethics and values. We’re going to talk about Jewish responses to the issues and questions that are most relevant to teenagers today. But, before we could launch into discussions about hot topics like gossip, sex, and drugs, we decided that we needed to lay the groundwork for the topic of Jewish values.

You see, talking to teens about Jewish values and Jewish ethics makes a huge assumption. The entire premise of the conversation is that Judaism has something valuable to teach us. As Jewish educators and rabbis, we may take for granted that an ancient tradition has any relevance to young people today. After all, we live in an open and pluralistic society. As Jewish educators, we cannot assume that Judaism matters to our students. So, the first topic of our class was the question of “why be Jewish?” In other words, “why should I care about Judaism and what does Judaism have to say to my life and what concerns me?”

To facilitate this discussion, I devised a simple exercise. I wrote up 6 very different statements about Jewish identity representing common points of view found in our community. I blew these up on to large poster boards and I hung them around the room. I then asked students to read the statements and choose the one they most agreed with. The discussion that followed over the next hour was fascinating. There were kids who identified with a purely religious outlook on Judaism – that is, to be Jewish means to follow the mitzvoth. Other students identified with the social aspects of being Jewish – being Jewish means having Jewish friends and doing activities with other Jews. Some agreed with the need to combat assimilation. Some said being Jewish is about identifying with a vibrant Jewish culture. And still others were drawn to the Jewish people’s long commitment to social action.

The students debated one another beautifully – with respect and thoughtfulness. Some even changed their minds and moved to other corners. And, as the facilitator of the conversation, I did my best to remain neutral. I tried not to tip my hand about which of the statements I agreed with most. But today, from the pulpit, I don’t have to be neutral. I can tell you exactly what I think and even try to persuade you. The sixth poster, was actually the statement that most closely resembled my own beliefs. And, I have to say, that I was secretly gratified to find that a plurality of the group agreed with me. The poster read:

One should be Jewish because Judaism is a spiritual practice that can teach us how to deepen our lives, improve the world, and live more mindfully. While one does not have to be strictly observant, participating in religious life - celebrating holidays and lifecycle events, going to shul regularly, and learning Torah - can bring us great joy and encourages us to ethical behavior.

That more or less sums it up for me. But don’t take my word for it. I didn’t make this up. My commitment to Judaism is inspired by the Torah. My proposition, that Judaism is a spiritual journey, is drawn directly from the example given to us by the first person to take that journey – Avraham Avinu… our patriarch Abraham. This week, we begin reading the saga of Abraham and his descendants. I want to take a few minutes to look at Avraham’s journey because I believe that Avraham provides us with a paradigm for Jewish life that we can still hold on to.

Avraham hears God’s call: “Lech Lecha”, the parsha begins. The traditional commentators are all perplexed by this phrase. The word Lecha is redundant and seems difficult to translate in this context. Translated literally, the phrase means “go for yourself” or “go to yourself.” The Hasidic rebbe known as the Mei HaShiloah teaches that in these words God is telling Avraham “go forth to find your authentic self, to learn who you are meant to be.” The implication perhaps is that the journey upon which Avraham is embarking is as much a journey inward as it is a physical journey to a new land. In other words, Judaism is a spiritual practice aimed at refining our souls.

God tells Avraham: “I will make you a great nation; I will bless you, and make your name great; and you shall be a blessing.” Being Jewish doesn’t happen in a vacuum. To be Jewish means to connect yourself up with the destiny of a people – to belong to a larger extended family – to be part of a nation that strives for greatness.

“I will bless you…” Being Jewish brings us into a relationship with the transcendent… it means to attach ourselves to a tradition that can deepen our lives and teach us to live with a sense of awe and gratitude for the mystery of being.

“And you shall be a blessing” – Again, the Hebrew phrase here is very interesting. “ve’h’yeh bracha.” Most translations render this phrase as “you shall be a blessing.” But what does that mean? The classical 11^th Century commentator, Rashi, (drawing on a midrash[1]) says that God granted Avraham some of God’s power to bless. Avraham now has the capacity to bestow goodness upon others. A couple of generations later, Ramban, has a slightly different take. Being a blessing means that the other peoples of the world will invoke Avraham when they bless their children. In other words, for Nachmanides, being a blessing means being the example toward which others strive. Another medieval commentator – known as the Radak (Rav David Kimhi) – dissects this phrase. Radak was very interested in biblical grammar and he points out that the phrase resembles the imperative form. In other words, “ve’h’yeh bracha” is not a description – “you shall be a blessing” – but rather a command “be a blessing!” Picking up on this idea, the 19^th century rabbi, Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, says that in order to earn the promise that God has made, Avraham must transform his life such that his actions will be a blessing and a benefit to the world. Whichever way you understand the phrase, part of being Jewish is being a blessing to those around us. Judaism must be relevant. It must be a source of inspiration and ethics that impel us to fix what is wrong in the world, to pursue justice, and peace.

At the conclusion of the lesson on Thursday night, I told the confirmation students that all of the statements we discussed have validity. And, I really meant it. I think there are, indeed, many valid ways of being Jewish and feeling part of the Jewish people. And, ultimately, each of us makes a decision about how we identify. But this doesn’t mean that every argument for being Jewish is equally strong, equally compelling, or equally enduring. We need to ask ourselves, “upon what is my Jewish identity based?” “Is this a compelling reason to be Jewish?” “is this a Jewish identity that my children will want to cling to?” I have told you what I find compelling. Now it is your turn. I invite you to take up this conversation, perhaps share your thoughts with your friends and family at the Kiddush lunch today. To help you, I have printed up the six statements I created for the confirmation lesson. You’ll find copies on your tables at kiddush. I hope you will find the conversation as fruitful and stimulating as our confirmation students did.

Why be Jewish?

Evaluate each statement. What is the basis upon which each is arguing for being Jewish? What are the strengths and weaknesses of each argument? Which one do you agree with most and why? How might someone who disagrees with you respond? How else might you formulate the answer for yourself?

1. One should be Jewish because God made a covenant with our people. The Torah is God’s law, which we should follow. Being Jewish mean seeking to live by the mitzvot - like keeping kosher, observing Shabbat, and giving tzedakah.

2. One should be Jewish because Judaism is a worldview that promotes ethical living and social justice. The Jewish community has a long history of working to end poverty, uphold equality, and advance the lives of those in need. Judaism can teach us how to improve the world and make it a better place in which to live.

3. One should be Jewish because we are part of a long and distinguished civilization. The Jewish people have survived over four thousand years despite antisemitism and persecution. We must not give those who sought to destroy us a posthumous victory by assimilating and intermarrying.

4. Being Jewish means being part of a people with a unique culture and history. We should be proud that Jews have contributed enormously to the world in the arts, sciences, and leadership. One can feel very connected to the Jewish people without ever going to synagogue or celebrating the holidays and rituals of Judaism.

5. Being Jewish means being part of a larger extended family. Jews share a common outlook and a common destiny. It is gratifying to have Jewish friends and participate in Jewish groups like the JCC, Jewish hiking clubs, Jewish sports teams, and taking classes like Jewish cooking and Jewish art. It is also interesting to learn about Jewish history and culture.

6. One should be Jewish because Judaism is a spiritual practice that can teach us how to deepen our lives, improve the world, and live more mindfully. While one does not have to be strictly observant, participating in religious life - celebrating holidays and lifecycle events, going to shul regularly, and learning Torah - can bring us great joy and encourages us to ethical behavior.

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[1] Bereshit R. 39:11

Noah - "Political Babel"

Parashat Noah 5769 – November 1, 2008

Political Babel

We may not always have the same principles or even the same language with which to express our ideals, but living in a democracy demands that we once again learn to talk to one another.

If only we could stop this partisan bickering and come together as one nation to achieve a common purpose? We hear this sentiment expressed often these days. The pundits, pollsters, and politicians themselves tell us often that Americans are tired of the rancor and maneuvering of “Washington politics as usual” that puts ideology and party above pragmatic solutions to the problems that face us. We don’t want all this ideological fighting; we want leaders who have good ideas, right?

In the abstract, this desire for unity and pragmatism is understandable. Most of us don’t take pleasure in arguing with our friends and neighbors… though watching some of you debate at kiddush, one might think otherwise… we want to get along and work together. Or, perhaps, we just want to be left alone and avoid discord. You might be tempted to throw the remote at the TV every time you see a new political ad.

Perhaps this yearning for unity and mutual understanding is natural in us. Indeed, it seems like a universal impulse. So much so, that we find this theme in the most ancient stories known to humanity. Many of us know the story of the Tower of Babel. Similar stories can be found in other ancient Mesopotamian cultures as well. In the Torah, it comprises just nine short verses and it is often overlooked by commentators. But, I find the story of Babel fascinating because the people of Babel also express the human yearning for unity. Verse 4 of chapter 11 states: [The people] said to one another, “come let us build a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; lest we be scattered all over the world.” On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with their desire. They just want to put aside their difference and be unified.

At the beginning of the chapter we read that “everyone on earth had the same language and the same words.” But this seems odd in light of the chapter that precedes the story. The account of the generations after the flood clearly states that Noah’s descendants spread out over the earth, forming nations, each people with their own language. In fact, God explicitly commands Noah and his sons to “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth” (Gn. 9:1). God, it seems, favors diversity and difference. God wants us to speak different languages and live in different cultures. But, in 10:8ff we read about a very obscure biblical character. His name is Nimrod and he is the first ruler of Babylonia. The Torah says he was the first “man of might” in the world. And that’s all we hear about Nimrod. Some commentators pick up on this thread of connection between Nimrod, the king of Bavel, and the story about the tower of Bavel. How, they ask, did we go from diverse people and languages to all the people of the world coming together in single-minded unity? The answer, they speculate, is that Nimrod was a totalitarian ruler who convinced everyone, through persuasion or force, to be the same and speak the same language. Therefore the sin of Babel is the sin of too much unity. That yearning for unity and agreement is perhaps natural and understandable – we long for a single social order and imagine that in the good old days there once was a simpler and clearer morality. But that desire for unity is also the impulse behind totalitarianism.

The Torah says that “Adonai came down to look at the city and the tower that man had built, and Adonai said, “If, as one people with one language for all, this is how they have begun to act, then nothing that they may propose to do will be out of their reach.” There are a number of interpretations possible to explain this story. I want to propose to you that the problem of the tower of Babel is the problem of totalitarianism and the worship of power. In the midrashic collection known as Pirkei de Rebbi Eliezer (24), the sages hint at this problem. The Midrash says that the tower reached so high into the sky that it would take a year to carry one brick up to the top. Therefore, a single brick became more precious than a human being. If a worker fell off the tower and plummeted to his death, no one would even pay attention – people were replaceable – but if a brick fell off, the people would sit and weep because they knew it would take a year to replace it. The tower, you see, the symbol of the people’s own might and unity had become an end in itself. When power is more important than people, when symbols of unity take precedence over the immeasurable worth of each human being, when diversity of thought and ambiguity is not tolerated, we call that totalitarianism and fascism.

Therefore, God’s solution was to force diversity upon the people of Babel by confounding their language. Now people spoke many different languages and thus they could no longer cooperate. They abandoned the project and dispersed throughout the earth. Perhaps this was a necessary corrective, but God’s solution also brought with it other challenges. In his book Ethics After Babel, philosopher Jeffrey Stout writes:

We disagree with each other on matters of moral importance--matters like abortion, nuclear weapons, the treatment of dying patients, and the distribution of wealth--and these disagreements can be painful. At times, failure to resolve them rationally leads to bloodshed. We, therefore, have good reason to be concerned with obstacles to rational persuasion. Yet, all too often, we fail even to understand what others are saying to us. Our differences go deeper than mere disagreement over propositions. Their concepts strike us as foreign. We do not speak the same moral language. Our capacity to live peaceably with each other depends upon our ability to converse intelligibly and reason coherently. But this ability is weakened by the very differences that make it necessary. The more we need it, the weaker it becomes, and we need it very badly indeed.

In the world we have inherited, disagreement and differences are necessary. No one has unmediated access to universal truth and absolute morality. Yet, we are faced with real problems. There are needs in our communities that we cannot solve as separate individuals. We need to draw together and use our combined intelligence and power to solve these problems. And, there is no way to solve these problems without ideologies – after all, ideology just means a set of principles and a worldview that informs your decision making. It is a core set of values based on a thoughtful analysis of how the world works. But, the problem, Stout notes, is that we often lose the ability to even communicate with one another. We don’t share even a common language with which to discuss these important questions.

The problem with the politics of the day is not that it is too ideological, however. The problem is that it isn’t ideological enough. When politics is cleansed of principled discussion and ideological debates, it descends into the trivia and personal attacks we all detest. We can’t have total unity and single-mindedness. That would be totalitarianism. We also can’t afford to talk past one another. What we need is thoughtful, principled conversation. Sometimes we don’t have the same principles or even the same language with which to express our ideals, but living in a democracy demands that we once again learn to talk to one another.

Shabbat Shalom.