I’ve lived in Los Angeles. While there, I volunteered with the Red Cross, helping people after the 1993 Old Topanga Fire. I can still smell the smoke and see the hopelessness in the eyes of those who lost everything. Still, I find the mass destruction we’re witnessing in Los Angeles to be unfathomable. As I’ve heard from people I know and complete strangers who’ve lost everything, it’s so hard for me to wrap my head around their loss.
I had an emergency Zoom meeting today with rabbis all over the country to discuss how we can support our colleagues in LA whose homes have burned to the ground. Once we get a chance to speak with them and get a sense of their needs, we’ll raise funds for and offer emotional support to them, their families, and their congregations. Right now, we just don’t have enough information. As the fires continue to burn and the extent of the destruction is unclear, we’re in a wait and see situation. I know that when we get the information we need, many of you will join us in helping these rabbis and their communities.
As we wait, as I process the stories and images that are coming from LA, I can’t help but focus on all the stuff that fills my home – art, photographs, books, ritual objects, heirlooms, diplomas, tchotchkes, things made by my children. There’s so much, each object capturing a part of my story, my family’s story. I think about all those on the west coast who’ve lost all their objects. Of course, life is more important than any object – and while we mourn the six lives lost at this point – we appreciate that so many people have survived this inferno. But so many of these survivors, left with just the clothing they were wearing when they fled their homes, have lost the tangible parts of their stories, creating a terrifying void of ash. As I’ve listened to interviews of those living in the midst of this terrifying void, I’ve found myself reflecting on my stuff, so many things that are important to me but take for granted. One of the things that kept coming to mind was my grandfather’s watercolor (pictured below), one that captures a scene from the neighborhood he grew up in on the Lower East Side of New York. I realized that I had taken the watercolor off the wall a few years ago to hang another picture and didn’t know where I had put it. So last night, I searched for it and was relieved to find it tucked safely in a closet. I’ll be hanging it back on the wall this weekend.
Each of us will generously find a way to help the people of Los Angeles rebuild their lives. At the same time, I urge us all to let the terrifying void of ash speak to us. What are the objects that tell your story and how do you express your gratitude for these objects? This week, we’ve been reminded that there is nothing that guarantees the permanence of these storytellers. No, they are not more important than life itself, but, as too many in Los Angeles have told us, they make life so much better. Cherish them.
Kehillat Israel (KI), the Reconstructionist synagogue in Pacific Palisades, has survived the fire. All three of their rabbis, however, Amy Bernstein, Daniel Sher and Rabbi Emeritus Steven Carr Reuben, have lost their homes. KI has set up a Fire Assistance Fund to help those who have lost everything. You can donate here.
Tonight, we will gather in support of those who have lost their homes, places of business, schools, and religious institutions Los Angeles. We will hold them all our heart and prayers. Join us.
Shabbat Shalom.