ybvdadminuser(RNS) — I write these words primarily for my many friends and colleagues in Los Angeles, who are now living through a disaster movie beyond their wildest imaginations.
We see the visual images of the flames that are engulfing so many areas. We see the pictures of people who have lost everything — including some who have lost their lives — images of the injured, of those who had been secure now transformed into refugees, of some of the most expensive and opulent homes in America — some of them the homes of prominent celebrities — burned to the ground, reminding us the forces of nature have no respect for wealth, fame or notoriety. In the face of those forces, we are all vulnerable.
And, of holy places, as well — among them, the Pasadena Jewish Temple & Center, which has served its community for more than a century — reduced to ashes. Their leaders are determined to carry on their sacred work — which is, itself, the best Jewish response — and a time-honored response to the horrific losses of Jewish sacred spaces.
And, of sacred objects, as well. My friend Peter Himmelman writes that he knew he could only choose two beloved guitars to take, and his computers, some artwork, necessities, passports and…
The only items I ever gave any serious thought to bringing in a case like this were my ritual objects: two pairs of tefillin, my tallit, and a siddur (prayer book). They’re not overly expensive, nor would most people consider them particularly beautiful. But far different from any other physical item I own, these ritual objects — these simple things I’ve used every day for almost forty years — are my lifeline to ideas, sensations, emotions, and thousands of years of my people’s history, and to God. I have poured my heart out in pain and in joy while wearing them …
A rumination, then, on the Jewish meanings of fire.
In the Hebrew Bible, fire has ambiguous meanings. Sometimes it is destructive: the inferno that devoured Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 18:24); the deaths of Aaron’s sons by fire (Leviticus 9).
But far more often, fire appears as something sacred, awesome and transcendent — the fire on the ancient altar, for example, an offering of its own, even as it also consumes the sacrifices.
And beyond that:
- The bush that Moses saw, that burns but cannot be extinguished, a symbol of the Divine Presence (Exodus 3:2)
- During the wilderness sojourn, God’s presence as a pillar of fire (Exodus 13:21 and other places)
- God’s descent upon Mount Sinai in fire (Exodus 19:18)
- The prohibition against kindling fire on the Sabbath (Exodus 35:3)
- The fire on the altar that will never be extinguished (Leviticus 6:6)
And, not to mention how fire appears in other mythical traditions — like the phoenix that burns, and rises again from its ashes.
And this: “When a fire is started and spreads to thorns, so that stacked, standing, or growing grain is consumed, he who started the fire must make restitution” (Exodus 22:5). “He who started the fire” — in the “rounding up of the usual suspects,” that would be the forces of climate change.
To quote David Wallace-Wells in The New York Times:
A decade ago, this kind of disaster seemed unthinkably rare. In retrospect, Canada’s 2016 Fort McMurray disaster, which formed the basis of John Vaillant’s book “Fire Weather,” was the beginning of a frightening new era. Then came Santa Rosa, Paradise, Boulder and Lahaina — the deadliest North American fire in more than a century …
Many of us are feeling like Moses, whom the Torah describes as aral sefatayim, of impeded speech; k’vad peh u’kvad lashon, slow of speech and slow of tongue. With Moses, it was a combination of being unable to speak the language of the Israelites (remember, he had grown up as an Egyptian) and some kind of speech disability.
That is not how it is with us. As fire consumes houses, businesses and nature, so, too, worry, concern and fear consume us. The typical “thoughts and prayers,” which we usually reserve for humanly manufactured evil, like school shootings or terror, do not work here. We experience the temporary muteness of Aaron, who witnessed his own sons consumed in fire, and who was silent: Vayidom Aharon — a silence that was a silence in the face of death.
What is giving me meaning at this time? What can I possibly offer?
It is, once again, a biblical moment. We find it in 1 Kings, Chapter 19. The Prophet Elijah has fled from the murderous wrath of Queen Jezebel. He makes a journey to the Sinai Desert and finds himself at Horeb, which is actually Sinai. He enters a cave, spends the night and hears God asking him: “Why are you here, Elijah?” — ma l’cha po, “what’s up with you, what’s wrong with you, that you are here?”
Elijah responds that he feels himself to be radically alone. God responds by bringing him outside and offering him a sound and light show — somewhat, but not entirely, reminiscent of the original sound and light show that accompanied the divine revelation to Moses on Sinai, generations before. Perhaps Elijah had come to Sinai, expecting the same kind of thunder and lightning Moses experienced. Elijah must have come to Sinai looking to be inspired to continue his prophetic mission.
And lo, GOD passed by. There was a great and mighty wind, splitting mountains and shattering rocks by GOD’s power; but GOD was not in the wind. After the wind — an earthquake; but GOD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake — fire; but GOD was not in the fire. And after the fire — a soft murmuring sound — kol d’mamah dakah.
We sometimes translate that last phrase as “the still, small voice,” as opposed to the Cecil B. DeMille effects of God’s thunderous voice the first time we were at Sinai. Rashi says it means “a voice coming out of the silence.”
Where is God in all this? Like Moses, I hesitate to offer words; I am not there. I have had my own encounters with the forces of nature — Superstorm Sandy in New Jersey, several hurricanes in Florida, loss of electricity, water coming up to the edge of the house — but nothing, nothing at all like this.
I can only think God will not be in the fire, but in the kol d’mamah dakah — voices coming out of silence. God is present, in the courage of the firefighters, the selflessness of first responders, the generosity of those who will give of themselves, and the resilience of all.
As for those of you who want to do some godly stuff — I would urge you to give here.
May the faith and resilience of those who are affected be like the bush Moses encountered: a bush that burns, but is not consumed.
