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The courage to begin again: from chiddush to kiddush

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It’s the first month of 2025, so it’s appropriate to start this piece with another new beginning. Of a different magnitude, going back a few millennia.

When Noah stepped off the ark, he most certainly didn’t walk into a new paradise. The flood had swept away everything. Homes, communities, and life itself. What greeted him wasn’t lush fields or thriving cities but a barren world, drenched in utter silence.

And yet, we’re told, Noah’s first act wasn’t to build a shelter or a storehouse of supplies. He planted a vineyard.

It’s an extraordinary choice when you think about it. A vineyard isn’t about survival; it’s about hope. Grapes take years to mature, and even then, the work is only beginning. Vines need pruning, grapes need fermenting, and wine needs time to develop its character. In this small act of faith, Noah wasn’t just rebuilding his world, he was renewing its purpose.

This is the Jewish concept of chiddush – the act of renewal. Not a quick fix or a return to what was, but a courageous step toward what might be. Today, as we face our own floodwaters – the rising tides of antisemitism yet again; economic challenges; wars; climate crises; and global uncertainty. Noah’s vineyard offers us a timeless lesson. Renewal isn’t about instant results; it’s about planting, pruning, and believing in what’s possible, even when the soil feels entirely barren.

The wisdom of grapes

Every vineyard starts with soil, but not all soils are created equal. Interestingly, the world’s greatest wines often grow in rocky, arid, and seemingly inhospitable conditions. These brutal environments force vines to dig deep, searching for water and nutrients, producing grapes of extraordinary character.

In life, as in wine, challenge is what shapes greatness. Fertile soil may seem ideal, but it often leads to abundance without substance. Rocky soil, by contrast, yields fewer grapes, but each one is rich, concentrated, and resilient.

After World War II, Europe was a barren vineyard of another kind – its cities bombed, economies shattered, and millions of lives uprooted. And yet, in that devastation, renewal took root. Countries like Germany and Japan didn’t rebuild what was; they imagined what could be. They pruned away their deeply destructive ideologies and resultant, self-imposed carnage, and planted new seeds of collaboration, peace, and innovation.

The result? A vintage the world still drinks from today. Vibrant economies and cultures, and decades of a lasting peace. They learned and grew from their floods.

South Africa, too, is standing in its vineyard moment. Decades of criminal oppression, followed by recent years of systemic corruption, ongoing inequality, and dysfunction have left our soil rocky and barren. But barren soil, as any winemaker will tell you, often can yield the richest harvests. Renewal doesn’t demand perfection; it requires courage and the willingness to dig deep for better solutions.

Painful pruning

Planting is only the beginning. In vineyards, pruning is essential. Cutting back overgrowth allows the vine to focus its energy on producing the best fruit. It’s an act of discipline and faith, trusting that what you remove will make room for something better.

In behavioural economics, this principle echoes the concept of loss aversion. We cling to what we have, even when it’s holding us back. Pruning, whether in a vineyard or in life, is counterintuitive because it means letting go of what feels safe.

For South Africa, pruning means facing hard truths. It means cutting away the deadwood of corruption, rethinking broken systems, and refocusing our collective energy on education, innovation, and unity. It’s painful work – pruning always is – but it’s the only way to produce a harvest worth celebrating. And our miraculous GNU (government of national unity), imperfect as it is, has allowed new and fragile buds of growth to start reappearing.

On a personal level, we’re all faced with pruning decisions. What fears, habits, or grudges do we need to let go of to grow? Renewal demands focus and courage, not just to start over, but to trust that what we remove will make room for something better.

Fire, flood, and resilience

Vines are surprisingly resilient. Even when fire scorches their surface, their deep roots often survive, ready to regenerate when the rains come. Much like fynbos requires fire in order to propagate. For seeds to burst from their pods. Devastating as that can be at the time.

This resilience mirrors the human spirit. After the Holocaust, survivors who had lost everything planted vineyards of their own, both literal and metaphorical. They built families, businesses, and communities, many of which stand as testaments to their courage and vision. And this was after enduring unimaginable horror. They had every reason to give up, and they, like Noah, chose hope.

In Los Angeles, where wildfires have been raging and blackened landscapes stretch for miles, vineyards will endure. Renewal doesn’t erase devastation, loss, and pain, but it ultimately transforms it. The vineyard reminds us that no matter how inhospitable or dire the conditions, the possibility of renewal is always present. This observation, in no way undermines the visceral tragedy those poor families are currently going through. But it does somehow remind us of the enduring truth that “this too shall pass”.

Wines of 2025

Not all grapes are meant to age. Some wines, like some ideas or efforts, are best enjoyed in their youth. Vibrant, full of energy, and immediate in their reward. Others need time to lie down and mature, deepening in complexity with each passing year.

As we step into 2025, we must ask: what in our lives needs immediate attention, and what can afford to rest?

South Africa’s challenges, like those of the world, won’t be solved overnight. Some pruning, like addressing corruption and inequality, need to be tackled urgently. Others, such as cultural healing and generational change, requires the longer, patient, and deliberate work of maturation. Renewal asks us to embrace both timelines, balancing urgency with the wisdom to wait.

From chiddush to kiddush

In Jewish tradition, wine is woven into our moments of renewal and celebration. Kiddush, marking the Sabbath or a festival, is an expression of gratitude, faith, and hope in the potential for better days.

The journey from chiddush to kiddush is never easy. It takes time, patience, and courage. An inherent belief that today’s rocky soil can become tomorrow’s fruitful vineyard. As we enter 2025, let’s plant carefully, prune courageously, and nurture faithfully.

And when the time is right, let’s celebrate – not just what we’ve achieved, but the promise of what’s yet to come. And let us share this fruit.

Blessing for 2025

On the note of wine, pun intended, I feel compelled to offer my own prayer. May this year bring us the courage of Noah to plant vineyards in barren soil; the resilience of vines to endure fire and flood; and the insight to know which fruits to harvest and which to let mature.

May our lives be infused with renewal; and may we drink deeply from the possibilities of chiddush, believing that the best vintages are yet to come.

L’chaim! To life! To chiddush. To the vineyards we will plant and future we will build. Both individually and collectively.

  • Mike Abel is the founding partner and executive chairman of M&C Saatchi Abel and The Up&Up Group, South Africa.
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1 Comment

1 Comment

  1. Michelle

    January 17, 2025 at 1:53 pm

    That’s not going to close the curtain on jewish life.Michelle Belladonai SG MM 2610

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