Threatened by Fire, Neighbors and Strangers Pull Together

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Dozens of messages between our community: “That fire is in RB!” “Are you in the evacuation zone?” “Do you have everything you need in case…?” It was the Bernardo fire. Stress levels started rising. Is the wind blowing here? Are we the next front cover story on the news? I stood there, frozen.

But then the sight of the smoke brought me back to another moment just a few weeks earlier—the fire in Pacific Palisades that had displaced dozens of families. I remembered what we’d learned then, and it gave me hope. When the Palisades fire broke out, I got a call from a friend at Chabad of the Pacific Palisades. Families who had lost everything were being sent to us—parents with babies, elderly grandparents, kids clutching whatever they’d grabbed on their way out. Entire lives had been reduced to the contents of a few garbage bags.

I felt helpless at first. What could I do? I didn’t have extra homes to offer or thousands of dollars to donate. But I couldn’t just sit there either. So, I turned to the one tool I had: social media. I posted on our Chabad RB Facebook and Instagram a simple message: “We have displaced families coming to our area. They need clothes, food, toys, anything you can spare. Pm if you can help.” I hit send, unsure if anyone would even respond.

Within minutes, the post took on a life of its own. People I have never met reached out, asking what they could do. Someone offered gift cards for groceries. Another brought a carload of clothes. A mom showed up with bags of toys for the kids. The incredible community of Chabad Rancho Bernardo and beyond stood up. It wasn’t perfect. We spent hours sorting donations in a flurry of chaos, trying to make sure the right items got to the right families. But the outpouring of kindness overwhelmed me. People I never expected to care showed up. And that’s what I thought about as I stood on that hill, staring at the smoke from the Bernardo fire.

The incredible San Diego Fire Department worked quickly that morning, containing the flames before they could destroy homes. It was over before it began, in some ways. But the fear—that moment of helplessness—stayed with me. I kept thinking, “What if the wind had been a bit stronger today?” And yet, I knew exactly what would have happened if it had. The same thing that happened in Pacific Palisades. People would have stepped up. Strangers would have become neighbors. Everyone would have done what they could, no matter how small.

Witnessing the outpouring of support from our community was truly awe-inspiring. It was in those moments of shared vulnerability, when fear and uncertainty loomed large, that the true beauty of community shone through. Neighbors, friends, and even strangers came together, driven by a shared sense of responsibility and a desire to help. Similar to when the Jews were in Egypt and the deep struggle is what transformed them into a nation. It was a powerful reminder that when we face challenges together, our collective strength emerges. Vulnerability, in this instance, didn’t weaken us; it ignited the best within us, revealing the profound capacity for compassion and kindness that resides in each of us.

It’s easy to think we live in a disconnected, jaded world. We’re surrounded by stories of selfishness and apathy. And sometimes, we believe them. We scroll past suffering because it feels too big, too impossible to fix. What can I do? we tell ourselves. Does it even matter? But it does matter. We’ve seen it. We’ve lived it. The truth is, most people want to help—they just don’t always know how. When the Palisades fire hit, all it took was one post to give people an opportunity to do something. That their small act of kindness could make a difference. And in Rancho Bernardo, even though thank G-d the fire was contained, we saw the same readiness. Neighbors calling each other. Strangers offering to help. People didn’t wait for instructions—they were already moving.

That’s the lesson I want to hold onto, the one I hope you will, too. When we feel helpless, we’re not as alone as we think. When we step up, others will follow. So, the next time you see a pillar of smoke—whether it’s a literal fire or someone in need—remember, there’s always something you can do. Maybe it’s practical, like offering a meal or a place to stay. Or maybe it’s spiritual, like doing a mitzvah or saying a prayer. What matters is that you embrace that caring, empathetic side of yourself—the part that wants to help—and act on it. However small it seems, it matters. It always matters.

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Rabbi Hershy Weinstein is spiritual leader of Chabad of Rancho Bernardo.