In the Torah portion of Miketz, Yosef has been taken out of jail and called before Pharaoh to interpret the ruler’s disturbing dreams. In Bereishis (41:33) Yosef advises Pharaoh to select someone to oversee Egypt who is an “ish navon v’chacham.” Although a casual translation would simply indicate the need to choose someone wise to protect the kingdom from famine, Yosef specifically uses two words, navon and chacham. The Rashbam says that in this context the words mean “knowledgeable” and “possessing foresight.” Rambam explains this as, “possessing technical skills” and “people skills.” Even the pagan Pharaoh recognizes that, while being wise is vital to perform the difficult tasks at hand, Yosef also possesses the Divine “spirit of G-d within him.” Yosef is therefore much more than wise. It is for this reason that Pharaoh chooses Yosef to become the viceroy of Egypt.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the words navon v’chacham. The Talmud, in Tamid 32, refers to a chacham as someone who can ascertain the consequences of future actions. When we meet those rare individuals, who are both a chacham and a navon, we are surely meeting someone who possesses the Divine spirit.
* * *
These days, we toss around the term talmid chacham fairly often. Truth be told, there are many individuals who are quite bright and knowledgeable, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are wise when it comes to discerning the small nuances that can be critical in good decision making. Far too often, I have encountered seemingly brilliant people who give bad advice. Combining the various definitions of navon v’chacham from the Rashbam, the Rambam, and the Talmud – that is, possessing foresight, possessing technical and people skills, and understanding the consequences of future actions – I realize what separates a true gadol (Torah Sage) from a talmid chacham. The gadol possesses the Divine spirit and is a navon v’chacham.
I have had the privilege to be in the presence of gedolim. They are unique in their demeanor and in the extremely thoughtful way that they express themselves. You can sense the Divine within them when you are in their vicinity.
Many years ago, I attended an Agudah convention in New York. The hall was packed and overflowing. A session had just ended, and hundreds of people started chatting to one another. Suddenly the room became quiet. No one had asked for quiet, but a hush fell over the assembly. People, myself included, were wondering what happened. Then everyone stood focused on the entrance to the hall. Rav Moshe Feinstein, zt”l, had just entered. Standing barely five feet tall, his presence was commanding. The avira, the atmosphere in the room, changed. It was evident that being in Rav Moshe’s presence elevated the space we were occupying.
Lehavdil, just as there are Jews who are navon v’chacham, there can also be non-Jews who possess these qualities. Some are among the chasidei umos ha’olam (the righteous gentiles of the world). Others are great and wise leaders in various fields of endeavor. Some might even be seemingly average people who possess solid common sense and are often referred to as “street smart.” These individuals can indeed be very wise.
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My dad, although far from being a gadol, did possess some of the qualities of a navon. On June 6, 1944, he was on a landing craft headed for Omaha beach in Normandy, France. The small craft was packed with seasick soldiers, most of whom were 19 and 20 years old. My dad was almost 30 years old, too old to be drafted at the beginning of the war, but he had volunteered, and in 1944, was a corporal in command of a squad of younger soldiers. There were four squads on the landing craft, averaging 10 to 12 men each, together forming a platoon. As the boat closed in on the beach, German machine gun bullets were whizzing overhead and were bouncing off the front and sides of the vessel.
My dad yelled at his squad to drop their 45-pound field packs, their rifles and extra ammunition, as well as their heavy jackets and helmets and to crouch down and immediately drop underwater upon exiting the landing craft. He said, “Hold your breath and stay under water as long as possible. If you need to breathe, do not put your head up; just turn slightly and grab a quick breath. When you get to the beach, find anything that you can hide behind to use as cover. Wait for a break in the machine gun fire from the pill boxes on the hills, which Army Rangers are in the process of destroying. When the firing subsides, stay down to avoid snipers and find another location to move to further up the beach toward the hills.
Some members of his squad said, “But we were told that we would need our field packs and extra ammunition, and our helmets protect us and we need our jackets for warmth.”
My father replied, “The captain who told you that is not on this boat! Our mission is to stay alive and get to the beach. From there we’ll regroup.”
“But what will we do without our rifles, ammo, helmets, field packs, and jackets?” some of the men asked. My dad said, “There will be plenty to choose from on the beach from the unfortunate soldiers who followed the captain’s orders.”
On that fateful morning, the majority of the platoon, loaded with gear, never made it to the beach. Nine of my father’s guys (including himself) did. Tragically, there was plenty of equipment, including helmets, ammo, rifles, and field packs, from fallen soldiers, which were picked up and used by my dad’s squad.
It took my dad almost 50 years after the war to share this information with me. We were having a discussion about the importance of common sense and street smarts versus philosophies and “brilliant” theories that all sound good but, as my dad said, “can get you killed.”
My dad had a very simple, but clear understanding of how people are supposed to behave. “It’s either right or wrong – good or bad.” If something is wrong or bad, don’t do it. If it’s objectively stupid, definitely don’t do it.
* * *
Getting back to gedolei haTorah, those unique rabbis who, in addition to being navon v’chacham also possess a touch of Divine brilliance. I had the privilege of being very close to the (now retired) av beth din of South Africa, who during my years in Cape Town was Rav Moshe Kurtstag, may he live and be well. In the first month of my new rabbinate, a nice young couple, planning to get married, came to see me. It quickly became apparent that they were already living together and had been for some time.
For those unfamiliar with the Aramaic wedding ketuba, there are only four choices when we refer to the bride. She’s either a betulta (virgin), an armalta (widow), a metarachta” (divorcee), or a geeorta” (convert). I phoned Rav Kurtstag and said, “I’m struggling emotionally with writing betulta on this ketuba.
Rav Kurtstag said, “What would you like to write?” I said, ha’isha (the woman). I went on to say that none of the guests nor the bride and groom would know the difference, and that way I’m not being untruthful.
There were a few moments of silence, then Rav Kurtstag said, “Recently, what did you tell me was your primary reason for becoming the rabbi of your shul?”
I replied, “I hoped to succeed in being mekarev (bringing closer) many the non-observant members to mitzva observance.”
The Rav then said, “Is that your goal with this young couple?”
I replied, “Absolutely.”
Rav Kurtstag then said, “Let’s hope you succeed, and assuming you do, imagine what might happen 25 years from now. Maybe this couple will have a frum son in yeshiva in Israel who meets a lovely frum girl from seminary, and they decide to marry. In Israel they will need to present official copies of their parents’ ketubas to the beth din there. What do you imagine would happen if your ketuba would be presented? Is it fair to say that there may be some uncomfortable questions asked? Is it possible that the prospective chasan would be shocked and embarrassed when reading your reference to his mother?”
Now it was my turn to be silent. The Rav continued and said, “When a couple comes to you to be married (and the woman is not a convert), you are required to ask the woman a simple question: ‘Have you ever been married before?’ If she says no then you may assume – for the purpose of the ketuba – that she is a betulta. You are not required to do a formal investigation.”
When the call ended, I realized that I needed to learn a lot from Rav Kurtstag, especially from his ability to see way beyond the present.
* * *
Among the many lessons I learned from Rav Kurtstag, another one remains fresh in my mind. One summer afternoon, he phoned and asked to see me right away. He arrived and said, “Is your wife okay if you miss dinner tonight?”
I said, “She’s out.”
He continued, “Are you busy this evening?”
I said, “Not yet.”
He said, “Good. Do you have any lightweight folding beach chairs?” Upon my positive response, he said, “Put two in the boot [South African for trunk] of your car while I pick out a few sefarim from your library.”
I said, “Where are we going?”
The Rav answered, “To a treif restaurant; I’ll explain on the way. Maybe bring some snacks and some water – and be sure to wear your black hat. You need to look like a rabbi. ”
The av beth din was quite an imposing figure. He was a lanky six-feet-four-inches tall, his Homburg hat added a few inches, and his kapota and long grey beard increased his stature. Even with the passenger seat all the way back, he squeezed into my car with his knees almost shoulder high. The Rav said, “You are no doubt familiar with (name withheld) who continues to refuse to give his wife a gett?”
I replied that most of the community was aware of the situation. Rav Kurtstag continued, “This man owns a very well-known upscale treif restaurant directly across from the beach in Seapoint. Unfortunately, more than half of his customers are Jews. It’s the height of the season, and lots of tourists are here. We’re going to sit on the sidewalk adjacent to the path leading to his restaurant. We’ll do some learning and take in the ocean breeze.”
I found parking and followed the Rav with the beach chairs. He carried the sefarim and the water and snacks. As we sat opposite each other, on either side of the path to the restaurant, numerous Jews who were planning to dine saw us sitting there and made quick U-turns. (It must be noted that, unlike their American counterparts, non-frum South African Jews by and large respect rabbanim.)
After about 90 minutes, the owner came out screaming at us to get off his property or he would call the police. Rav Kurtstag calmly said, “I checked your property boundary. We’re not on your property.” The livid restauranteur said, “I’ll have the police arrest you for loitering.”
Rav Kurtstag said, “I checked that also; it seems that this area where we’re sitting is considered municipal beachfront; people can sit wherever they please. We’re here enjoying the lovely sea breeze.”
At that point, the owner noticed that a small crowd of patrons were now staring at him yelling at the rabbis. Rav Kurtstag smiled warmly at the Jews and non-Jews in the crowd, introduced himself and made small talk. The owner retreated into his mostly empty restaurant. I was witnessing a master performance from the Rav.
For the next two hours, the scene repeated itself with Jewish (and non-Jewish) customers, many of whom had reserved tables, making U-turns. At 10:00 p.m., the owner came out and said, “Is your objective to ruin my business?”
Rav Kurtstag replied, “Is your objective to ruin your wife’s life?”
The owner, now on the verge of a full-blown conniption, said, “And how long do you think you can sit out here?” The Rav, looking deadly serious, replied, “We’ll only be here during your lunch and dinner hours, and I have a roster of rabbis who are available to assist me with this righteous project. By the way, have you met my colleague Rabbi Dr. Lerner?”
The guy stormed back into his restaurant. Rav Kurtstag looking at me said, “Savlanut (patience), Reb Ivan; he’ll be back soon.”
Twenty minutes later, the fellow returned and said, “Okay, you win. What happens now?”
The Rav said, “Well, if you’re at the beth din office tomorrow at 11:00 a.m., prepared to graciously offer your wife her gett, that would be helpful.”
By 12:30 the following day, the gett was delivered, and the woman’s status as an aguna ended.
* * *
But, the story doesn’t end there. A couple who were members of my shul came to speak to me a few days later. The wife said, “Rabbi, did you see us the other night in Seapoint?”
I said, “Possibly.”
The woman continued, “We keep a kosher home but we eat fish and pasta out. When we were about to enter the restaurant, we saw you and Rabbi Kurtstag, and we felt so ashamed. Then we went to Marrakesh (a kosher Sefardi restaurant in Seapoint). We had a nice dinner and realized that we needed to make a commitment to upgrade our kashrus. We had no idea at the time why you two were sitting there, but we took it as a sign that we needed to do better.”
I said, “I’m so proud of you both, and I am touched by your sincerity. Maybe one of the reasons Rav Kurtstag and I were sitting there was to quietly assist you with your religious journey.” I immediately called Rav Kurtstag, who said, “Wow, baruch Hashem – two for one. It looks like you are already succeeding in your kiruv efforts.”
* * *
Sadly, we are living in a time when too few leaders are chachamim. And even fewer are nevonim and chachamim and fewer still who have the “spirit of G-d within.” It is my sincere prayer that just as the miracle of Chanukah brought about a spiritual awakening, and delivered the many into the hands of the few and the wicked into the hands of the righteous, may it be G-d’s will to grant victory to His children in Eretz Yisrael, resulting in a return to His Torah. In addition, I pray that America will be blessed with an end to the woke liberal left’s insane embrace of crime and criminals, immorality, and corruption. May there be a restoration of core values, basic common sense, and decency in our states and cities. May our country be governed by those who are navon v’chacham. And may the United States of America once again be “One nation under G-d with liberty and justice for all.”
