Don’t Build. Refurbish!

Chanukah 5780

Our dishwasher broke. More precisely, a single button on our dishwasher broke. A few decades ago, the appropriate course of action would have been overwhelmingly clear: call a repairman, and have him fix it. But cheap, mass production of appliances compared with increasingly expensive physical labor makes a tough decision out of what would once have been an obvious choice, so that we’re now stymied. Do we repair, or do we replace?

This is a phenomenon that extends beyond my own dishwasher. We live in a disposable generation. Appliances, furniture, and clothing are more often worthy of replacement rather than repair. Media is produced rapidly and consumed in ever-shrinking nuggets, with the next song, clip, or highlight available immediately for near-mindless consumption. We produce, we consume, we discard, we move on. 

All of this aligns with a basic human tendency that we naturally possess: a desire for the new and novel. The allure of a sparkly new building exceeds even a finely renovated one. Beginning a new Sefer is more enticing than diving back into an old one from wherever it was that the bookmark was last placed. A new hobby, a new craft, a new pursuit animates our imagination in ways that turning to one previously engaged in ever could.

Yet we give something up when we engage in the new and jettison the old: depth. True depth of knowledge, genuine mastery of a subject or discipline can occur only when we take the time to reengage in that which we’ve already done. Hopping from one interest to the next provides stimulation that can only come through novelty, but leaves us bereft of truly comprehensive and enriching experiences. By skipping to the next Sefer we never make a siyum. By picking up the next hobby, we lose the chance to truly master the previous one. By jumping from friend to friend, we fall short of ever really getting to know a single one.

The Gemara in Chagigah (9b) stresses this point when it states, “אינו דומה שונה פרקו מאה פעמים לשונה פרקו מאה ואחד”, “One who reviews his chapter 100 times cannot be compared with one who does so 101 times.” Though the draw towards the novel is great, there is immense value in returning to the old for another round.

Chanukah is a holiday that demands that we stop. Chanukah commemorates not a rebuilding, but a refurbishment. How interesting that the anniversary of the building of neither the first nor second Bais Hamikdash—nor the original Mishkan—is commemorated with its own holiday, yet the mere refurbishment of the Bais Hamikdash is celebrated on Chanukah. The ability to refurbish—to breathe new life into that which has already been created—is a critical lesson that Judaism demands we learn. Old enterprises, limudim, and relationships can be returned to and made to shine once more.

Refurbishment and rededication is precisely the cause that the Maccabees had fought for from the onset of their revolt. In increasing numbers, the Jews of Israel turned from Judaism in the interest of hellenization. Greek culture was novel and enticing compared with the ancient practices of Judaism that many found stale. The answer to this impulse is not to insist upon Judaism by rote, no matter how unstimulating it may feel. But rather, to reengage with new enthusiasm and vigor. To become excited by the prospect of mastering that which we’ve already done so many times. To become expert in that which we’ve already studied, and to complete that which we’ve fallen short of finishing. 

Rosh Hashana tends to be a time of accepting new “kabbalos”—new enterprises and practices that we can add to the current repertoire. Adding something new in anticipation of a new year may well be appropriate. But as we celebrate Chanukah, let’s consider something more aligned with the message of this holiday. Don’t just add; refurbish. Go back to the masechta you never finished, recommit to a relationship that’s stalled, rejuvenate a positive practice that’s gone cold. Chanukah reminds us that we need not start over, we need only breathe new life into that which has already been started. 

Writing a blog is something I’ve been meaning to do for some time, and it comes with the thrill that all new enterprises do. But it also makes me consider all that I’ve laid out in the lines above. New ventures are new and exciting, but can also turn our lives into a reckless blur of novelty, as we abandon other important projects whose loose ends have never properly been tied off. Thank you for joining me in the new; I hope to take the time alongside you to reinvigorate the old.