Flames and Fury: How Fire Connects the Suffering of California to the Forgotten Pain of Gaza

 

The skies over Los Angeles and California are choked with smoke, a suffocating reminder of the wildfires raging uncontrollably. Thousands of people have been displaced, their homes reduced to ash. Lives have been lost, dreams obliterated, and the financial toll is staggering—billions of dollars gone in the blink of an eye. The flames devour everything in their path, leaving behind a trail of despair and heartbreak. It’s a tragedy that feels almost apocalyptic, a force of nature that no one can tame.  

But as I watch the news, my mind drifts to Gaza.  

Gaza, where the fires are not born of nature but of human hands. Gaza, where bombs and missiles—manufactured by American companies, funded by American tax dollars—rain down on homes, schools, and hospitals. Gaza, where children grow up knowing the sound of explosions more intimately than the sound of laughter. Gaza, where the air is thick not with smoke but with the dust of rubble, the remnants of lives shattered by violence.  

The people of Gaza have endured this for decades. They know what it means to lose everything. They know what it means to wake up to a world on fire. And yet, their suffering is often ignored, dismissed, or forgotten. They are not headlines; they are footnotes. They are not tragedies; they are statistics.  

When President-elect Donald Trump warns that “hell will break loose” if hostages are not returned, I can’t help but think of the hell that has already broken loose in Gaza. The hell of occupation. The hell of blockade. The hell of endless war. And now, as fires consume California, I wonder: is nature paying us back for the crimes we’ve committed? Is this the universe’s way of reminding us that fire, whether born of nature or human hands, consumes indiscriminately?  

It’s a painful thought, but one that lingers. The people of Gaza have lived through hellfire for years, and the world has largely looked away. Now, as flames engulf California, we are forced to confront the raw, unrelenting power of fire. We are forced to feel, even briefly, what it means to lose everything. But when the fires in California are finally extinguished, when the news cycles move on, will we remember Gaza? Will we remember the countless others who have endured similar devastation, not because of nature, but because of us?  

The truth is, fire does not discriminate. It burns through forests and through homes, through American suburbs and Palestinian refugee camps. But while nature’s fires are inevitable, the fires we ignite are not. The bombs, the missiles, the violence—these are choices. And choices can be unmade.  

As we mourn the losses in California, let us also mourn the losses in Gaza. Let us remember that fire, in all its forms, leaves behind the same scars. Let us remember that while nature’s wrath is uncontrollable, our own is not. And let us ask ourselves: when will we stop setting the world on fire?  

For the people of Gaza, for the people of California, and for all those who have endured the flames, may we find the courage to extinguish the fires we’ve started. May we find the compassion to rebuild what has been lost. And may we never forget those who have burned while the world looked away.  

Because fire, no matter where it burns, is always a tragedy. And humanity, no matter where it suffers, is always worth saving.

                                 Written by Japhta 0202185001