The True Value of Sefarim
If I were asked how much I cared about my possessions and their whereabouts, I wouldn’t say that I’m obsessively concerned about them. That assumption, however, was put to the test a few weeks ago after one of the largest snowstorms New York City had seen in several years. The extreme weather caused a pipe to burst in the Glueck Beit Midrash, resulting in significant flooding in the back of the beit midrash. Although we had initially gone outside the building, some of us went back in to see what was going on. However, the moment I became aware of the flooding, an alarm bell went off in my head: I need to move all of my sefarim so they don’t get drenched.
Admittedly, I should have just left the building immediately upon realizing that there was flooding. Though I did not fully follow that instinct, I at least realized that my initial reaction may have been a bit overblown. My sefarim were located far away from the areas most affected by the water, and even if they were damaged, would it really have been so terrible? If they were affected by the flooding, I could probably just dry them off and continue learning from them, even if they would be a bit wrinkled. And in the event that they were damaged beyond use, I could, thank G-d, easily get new ones. In that initial moment, my thinking was irrational. Why was I so fixated on these sefarim, which were ultimately replaceable? Why couldn’t I just let go and exit the building?
My attachment to my sefarim troubled me on philosophical and theological grounds as well, as this incident made me consider that I already have many sefarim, but I have only chipped away at learning a few of them so far. Sefarim are not meant to function as decorative objects collecting dust on a shelf, but as a means to study, challenge and internalize the ideas within them. Although I am fortunate to possess many sefarim, acquiring them is much easier than actually absorbing the wisdom they carry. The panic I felt as a flood approached the beit midrash only highlighted this deep tension, forcing me to consider whether I have been truly relating to and engaging with my sefarim in the proper way. They are more than just books to own and tote around; they are sources of truth I am supposed to dive into.
This also made me think about the Mishnah in the second perek of Pirkei Avot, which tells us, “marbeh nechasim, marbeh daagah,” which translates to “one who increases their possessions increases their worry.” While the statement is multifaceted, its straightforward meaning offers tremendous insight into our lives, especially in our materialistic society. It is easy to think that accumulating more possessions will make one feel more secure, when in reality, it will achieve the opposite effect. True security comes not from owning more physical items but from internalizing ideas that truly matter and imbue our lives with meaning. When this is how we perceive the world, knowledge can be carried anywhere and is no longer tethered to physical books.
The idea behind this reflection resonates deeply with me since I have a tendency to overestimate what I can accomplish in a limited amount of time. Even on a short excursion when it is unlikely to open up more than one sefer, I feel compelled to stuff my bag with as many sefarim as possible even if taking one would be more productive. That impulse reflects how I feel during a sefarim sale. When I look at rows upon rows of sefarim, I feel like a kid in a candy shop, driven to splurge and make my pile of sefarim as high as I can. However, the point of any sefarim sale is not to merely see who can amass the biggest pile of books, but to bring wellsprings of knowledge within reach. The silver lining of the flooded beit midrash is that it presented me with an important reminder, reinforcing that sefarim cannot just be sheets of paper bound together, but guides to great reservoirs of knowledge for their owners.
Photo caption: The author’s sefarim
Photo credit: Adir Abramowitz
