Fire

 Fire.

It’s a theme in our lives. Woven through our history. Sometimes flourishing with beauty. 

Shabbat candles. Havdala candles. Chanukah candles. 

Miraculous fire that refused to die until our Temple was restored. 

Bon fires on Lag Ba’Omer. 

Yortzite candles to honor our dead.

Other times, there is fire reminding us of the devastation it brings. 

I was 6 or 7 when I learned about the other kind of fire of my people. 

Of course I’m talking about the Holocaust. Images of smoke stacks and ovens were just part of my life. I thought that was it. I had no idea how fire was used against us time and time again.

When I was a tween/teen I learned about the Spanish Inquisition. At least during the Holocaust we were spared the feeling of our flesh melting off of our bones. But during the Spanish Inquisition, we felt every agonizing second until, mercifully, we died at the stake.

But my education didn’t stop there.

I then learned about the Pogroms and the burning of our homes and all of our worldly possessions (I’m looking at you Fiddler On The Roof). I also learned that this was the direct history of my family tree on my father’s side (that’s when I learned of the Pogroms in Lithuania and Latvia).

And of course, a big nod to the South of the USA, for the not-to-be-forgotten sight of burning crosses on lawns. We got to share that one with the Black community. You get a burning cross. You get a burning cross. Everyone gets a burning cross! (Unless you’re white and Christian of course).

But I never felt the flames touch me. I looked at them at a safe distance. 

And then October 7th. Waking up to see my beloved Kibbutz Holit on fire as I scrolled my Facebook feed. Seeing my friend Shir’s cell phone footage of the carnage that was left behind, after she hid for 12 hours. And her retelling of breaking the bars from her neighbor’s Safe Room window, to drag her out and bring her back to life after the smoke from the fire that was set in her house rendered her unconscious.  

And now Boulder. And an 88 year old Holocaust survivor, along with 7 other Jews, was set on fire. And so, it is full circle.

But, you see, we are a mighty and resistant people. When they go low, we go to Etsy and buy every single Judaica-themed accessory we can put on our bodies, cars, clothes and water bottles.

So we still celebrate with fire. We light the candles. And we say the prayers. And we remember those who came before us. And we sit around the camp fire on Lag Ba’Omer, but this time we are the ones who gather the wood and set it aflame. And we are burning baked potatoes wrapped in tin foil instead of people. And we are thanking G-d. Because then there was light. And it was good.