The fire that licked the mountains of Jerusalem has layers and bite.
I think back to the fires across California not so long ago and the devastation that engulfed houses and neighborhoods. My cousins lost their homes. Homes built with years of hard work and dreams, filled with memories. Gone.
The fires in Israel carried the same potential toll on people whose homes stand in proximity to the forests of the Jerusalem area.
But there’s more to it, sadly.
The flames burned on Yom Hazikaron, a day meant to be solely dedicated to mourning, remembering, grieving and honoring the heroes who died in defense of the country. While their families live with the hole in their heart all hours of every day, this is the one day of the year that the nation joins them in this space with total focus. Either directly through military action or indirectly as victims of terror, the ultimate price we pay for having a Jewish state. The news channels carried footage of the swirling flames and roads full of people abandoning their cars to escape to safety.
Nobody doubted that this matter of immediate public safety is where the media should focus rather than reflective video portraits of the fallen but how devastating that it must be so.
Then there was the obvious flashback to October 7th. Our trauma was triggered at first from whispers of people calling desperately for help to the authorities, and being turned away. We feared that the fire department, police and ambulance services were all overwhelmed, unable to help each individual calling for rescue. Of course, the magnitude of the fires could not be compared to the brutality of the Hamas infiltration but it carried our fear of a failure to respond in real-time to the citizens of Israel in a moment of despair. When faith in the institutions that promise security has deteriorated since October 7th, and slowly, shakily returning ever since, these images and stories were a blow to our confidence that our national systems can pull off emergency minute-to-minute disasters, not only sophisticated missions planned for months or years.
I then saw the image of a helicopter flying above the fires.
A relief, it was also impossible not to wonder, “Where was this on October 7th?”
It’s on days like this that I’m reminded just how small this country is. I live in Raanana, a town about twenty minutes north of Tel Aviv. We’re considered “far” from the fire, just as Raanana was considered “far” from the Gaza Envelope on October 7th. In such a small country, a forty-minute drive can feel like a protective buffer, enough to convince us we’re out of harm’s way. But coming originally from Australia, I know what real space and distance look like. Everything is close to home, literally and emotionally.
A third layer is speculative and this must be emphasized. Immediately circulating formal and informal networks were whispers and shouts that these fires were intentional. Time will tell if there is a case of arson in the Yom Hazikaron fire and, if so, whether it is driven by nationalistic intentions. Whether this is true or not, Israel lives in a complex reality where a devastating fire comes with these added questions and possibilities, inevitably inflaming the discourse further among ourselves and with our neighbors.
For now, we feel immense relief for everyone living near the fire zone, those almost caught in its path, and the firefighters doing everything to contain the flames.
