By Dalya Eichler, Photographer and Staff Writer and Emily Goldberg, Editor-in-Chief
While neither of us live in California, we both have reasons to call it home. When tragedy struck thousands of residents just a few weeks ago as wildfires blazed throughout the region, we were both there. Watching our family members pack up their lives was a heartbreaking experience, showing us what is truly valuable in life. Our thoughts and prayers are with everyone who has been personally affected by the fires.
“The Valuable and Valueless” | Dalya Eichler
Once in a while, life knocks on your door and reminds you what you truly cherish most. I experienced this feeling during winter break in California while visiting my husband’s family. I don’t go to California often, but when I do, I always appreciate how much better the weather is there. This trip began the same as always, but that feeling was short-lived.
I grew up in Florida where natural disasters come in the form of hurricanes and flooding. I have never experienced large fires, especially none that are so impactful on many communities. When the news broke, I was far from the chaos. We had just driven up to Joshua Tree. Our trip couldn’t have been at a better time. Where we were staying, the skies were clear, the fires were far and the air quality was perfect. The morning after we arrived back at my husband’s family home was when we were alerted about the Kenneth fire and the evacuation warning.
We rushed to start packing. Packing up a home that is not my own was surreal. Helping box others’ cherished belongings and loading up cars. Trying to decide what to save and what to leave behind. The whole community seemed to be on high alert, having experienced the devastating Woolsey fire years prior. Still scarred and spooked from homes being damaged in that fire, people acted quickly to leave at the first mention of the Kenneth fire.
It was strange to see my husband pack up his belongings, choosing what would make it to the car. It was emotional. He glanced over the items bought and accumulated over time, and went straight to packing things passed down in his family. This is what it was like throughout the home. Decisions of what were most valued, most priceless.
It was scary. In situations like this, I do not run or freeze, but I act. I put my fear and anxiety to the side until I have a moment to breathe. I found myself beginning to deeply value the things that were immensely valued by those I love. After hours of running in and out of the house, packing three separate cars, we paused. The air was clear and the smoke did not seem to be headed this way. I felt nervously aware that I may be in the calm before the storm.
Traffic was bumper to bumper, as it had been for days near the fires, so we figured we would give it some time. As we let it ease up, I sat eager to go as those around me assessed if we even had to leave. Thank G-d the community had the warning lifted, and was completely okay. This was not the case for everyone. The house still held the tension in the days afterward.
Shabbat was spent with a radio on to hear any news. A part of me was relieved to be away from immediate danger, but mixed with that relief was the guilt that others were not as fortunate. I couldn’t fully shake off the feeling. It was not over. I woke up many times in the middle of the night just to check the sky and see if it was clear.
Shul on Saturday was a dose of healing. Community, food and prayer were the essentials in lifting the disheartened tone, and the rabbi’s speech was deeply moving. He shared that the objects people may see as valuable because of their price, in moments of chaos, become valueless. The items no one would want to buy were the ones that became priceless. Old photos, kindergarten art, childhood belongings. When living through difficult moments, leaving them without having found value amidst the hardship diminishes the chance to grow from them. It is integral that one finds meaning in such an experience; it is what one needs to move forward.
The clarity of knowing what is most important in life is essential. Moments you cannot buy, ones from years passed and faces never forgotten, are what I take with me each day. I cried as I saw destruction, and smiled at the beauty in holding on to the memories and values worthy of collecting.
“The Place We Call Home” | Emily Goldberg
Core memories from my childhood are tied to California, the state I once knew intimately. I remember scootering around the sunny streets with my cousins as a child, hiking the desert trails and swimming in the endlessly blue ocean after burying ourselves in the sand.
When I returned a few weeks ago for winter break, to visit my family who lives there, for an instant, I felt utter heartbreak as I heard about homes burned to the ground by the wildfires. I packed a small bag, preparing just in case we had to evacuate, without any idea if we would return to find the community where I spent so many days of my childhood still standing.
That is when I truly realized that California is a place I call home.
When I would visit California when I was little, I felt a happiness I could not experience anywhere else in the world. California became a place I associate with the joy of my childhood, a refuge from my hectic life in my hometown.
When my phone started blaring, informing my cousins and me that we had to pack and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, I rushed to help my grandmother gather her belongings. Her room is filled with pictures and trinkets my grandfather, who passed away when I was in eighth grade, gave to her while traveling around the world during his military deployments. Her walls are covered in irreplaceable family photographs and my grandfather’s military medals.
I felt horrible when I had to tell my grandmother we could not take everything with us. As we sorted through her closet, she began telling me about the places and stories behind each item that she picked up. When I lost my grandfather, reminiscing on the stories that he had told me about his life in the military gave me comfort when I missed him most. They are the way that I connect to him, even to this day. Telling my grandmother we had to leave all those tokens behind felt like losing him all over again.
I have struggled over the past few weeks to put into words the devastation that I feel for the thousands of people who have suffered unimaginably because of the California wildfires. Pictures do not even begin to encapsulate the destruction. The horror. The wreckage. The pain. The heartbreak of those who walked away from everything they have ever known, some returning to find their homes in ashes.
Thank God, my family did not have to evacuate and we are all safe. But being in California while it faced such immense destruction gave me a new definition of the word “value” to carry with me through life. Not only does such a tragedy make materialistic items lose all worth in an instant, it also makes the meaning behind plastic elephant trinkets, feathery bird-shaped keychains and scribbled birthday cards invaluable.
They are more than just pieces of paper or plastic. Rather, it is the moments that these objects remind us of that shape mere places into what we cherish most – into the places we call home.
Photo Caption: The Pacific Palisades Fire
Photo Credit: Emily Goldberg