The BUILDING STANDS

A Pacific Palisades temple miraculously survived the wildfires that torched much of the surrounding area. With his own residence destroyed, Associate Rabbi Daniel Sher contemplates the meaning of home, the significance of "stuff," and the resilience rising from the ashes.

- ALAN SILFEN

THE THINGS IN MY OFFICE here are everything I now own in the world. All the stuff my wife and I negotiated and argued over-Does it stay in the house? Can't it go to the office? whatever ended up in the office is what survives.

We had some amazing Judaica that we bought in Israel. On one trip, I ran her all around the country trying to find an Israeli typewriter.

So, now we have an Israeli typewriter.

After the fires, we made contact with every family in our congregation that could have been impacted. My first question was, "Are you safe?" They would ask, "Rabbi, what about you?" And the next question, every single time, was, "What about KI?" And we were able to say, hundreds of times, "The building stands." I heard audible gasps. I heard people start to cry.

These walls are a physical manifestation of love. The teal seats, the hidden corners the little kids knew the ins and outs of from running around, the funky parts that a month ago we maybe didn't love-it's all just stuff, but those are all a part of the comfort and peace of a community. Because of that, these walls are more important than ever.

The people who lost their homes have to recognize they're in mourning. They're trying to be strong and say that, at least in the vast majority of cases, it's not as if they lost a loved one. But a home is also a physical manifestation of love. All the decisions you make, the things you hang on the wall, the tchotchkes you choose to display, the mess you choose not to clean up-it's all love.

Now that the homes are gone, this building becomes a tether between what was the Palisades and what will be. A bridge.

Because right now? The Palisades is a nightmare.

There is devastation all around outside.