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As many of you know, Marti and I were recently evacuated along with thousands of Grand County residents from our home near Granby. Those of you who have experienced such an evacuation (such as the one that effected south Evergreen this past summer) know the experience first-hand. In a flash we went from resident to refugee – again. Yes, again. In our collective, cultural DNA, we’ve all done this before. In the stories of our common ancestors recorded in the Bible and in Jewish history, this is a central motif – from Eden to exile, from a secure homeland to an elusive, hoped-for promised land, fleeing torches and ovens for a New World.

In the Torah readings for this season we join Abraham and Sarah on their evacuation story. The written Torah offers few clues as to why the couple left Ur Casdim, the house of their parents, their homeland. We read that God said, “Lech lecha, Go forth, leave your home and go to a land I will show you.” But the written Torah does not explain why they were told to go. As it turned out, the texts we got on our cell phones from the grand County Sheriff didn’t offer any explanation either. There was no mention of the fire that was spreading at an alarming rate. It simply said, “Leave and leave now.” Not that we needed a written explanation. The smoke-filled sky and anxious
animals made the reasons obvious enough. Future generations reading the screenshot that I took of the mandatory evacuation order won’t be able to see the smokey sky I saw. How will they know why we left in such a hurry? Someone will have to tell the story, to explain the whys in a midrash.

Midrash responds to our search for explanations for onset of the spiritual, social, and political journeys we inherited from our ancestors. Noah packed up his family and a few pets and left home because of a flood. But why did Abraham and Sarah (or Abram and Sarai, as they we then called) leave their home? The midrash of the early rabbis tries to close the explanatory gaps in the written text, and their stories feature fire: a young Abram setting fire to his father’s idol shop; the hot-headed king of fiery Casdim, Nimrod, sentencing Abram to burn to death in a fiery furnace; Abram miraculously surviving the furnace flames only to witness his younger brother burn and perish in them. These stories from our oral tradition invoke the symbol of fire to describe the beginnings of a dramatic societal shift from the lies of idolatry under the thumb of a tyrant protecting his power to the ways of truth and liberty (“under God”) and the rule of law protecting our freedoms. The journey continues.

A few days prior to the evacuation orders, as the East Troublesome Fire was just getting started (by humans, apparently), most of our family came together in that now vacant house to watch football, replenish the woodpile for winter, and fill out our election ballots. Who would be elected president in 2021? Which party would control
the Senate and the power to confirm judged and justices, etc.? Could my vote make a difference? Would it matter?

In Hebrew, the word for ‘VOTE’ also means ‘VOICE,’ and sounds identical the word for ‘ALL’. One person, one VOTE can make ALL the difference. The Hebrew word eesh/PERSON’ is spelled using the same two letters that spell the word for aesh/FIRE. Is not a person’s voice, her vote, like a spark that could grow into a fire that can spread and bring dramatic lasting change to the landscape, for better or worse? The midrashic impulse that links our story to that of Sarai and Abram, sees no accident in the confluence of the fire and the election.

Perhaps even more well-known are the midrashic stories about Sarai and Abram that speak about their gracious hospitality. In the wake of our evacuation, we received more offers for housing and support than we can count. Please know that we heard your voices and that they do matter. Thank you! Such generosity and care can spread
faster and last longer than any wildfire. We are so thankful.

As of this writing, the fire line has thankfully stalled a few hundred yards from the house thus far spared from the flames by a fortuitously well-timed snowfall and fabulously well-trained fire-fighters. Even as we grieve the losses suffered by friends and neighbors who we not so fortunate, we are counting our blessings and recounting our prayers for protection from all varieties of viruses and wildfires that threaten our physical, emotional, moral, spiritual, and societal health and wellbeing.

In peace and gratitude,
Rabbi Jamie Arnold