There are few more beautiful lookouts in the country than the one from Pepperdine University’s campus, where you can see the Pacific Ocean in Malibu. Years ago, I remember standing on Pepperdine’s campus and looking out over cliffs with my jaw dropped to my chest. Stunning vistas of blue water and mountainsides adjoining winding roads.
Today, the area around Pepperdine is no visual oasis. Malibu, like so much of Los Angeles, has been devastated by uncontrollable wildfires that are disinterested in protecting the most beautiful of areas from their fiery wrath.
I remember learning when I visited Yellowstone a few years ago that forest fires are nature’s way of dealing with overgrowth. Fires offer nature the chance to rejuvenate and give back to the soil, creating new opportunities for light to reach the forest floor. In a sense, fires have the power to act as nature’s great equalizing force – allowing for the cycle of life to continue in a balanced way.
But these LA fires are no balancing act – here nature is in a fury, taking lives and destroying homes and livelihoods. The fires that have erupted in California have caused destruction to an area equal to the size of the city of Washington D.C. Twenty-four people have died. Eighty-five thousand people are displaced. Billions of dollars are needed to rebuild.
These fires are a stark reminder that nature does not have a moral code—no matter how beautiful and awe-inspiring the natural world can be, no matter its ability to balance and rejuvenate, nature does not bend to our ethical will. Nature, in its rawest form, is indifferent to human suffering. It operates on its own terms, regardless of the devastation it might cause. Wildfires, like the ones that have ravaged Malibu, strip away the illusion that we can control the forces around us.
In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Shemot, we meet Moses, the humble leader who, despite his remarkable achievements, is deeply aware of his own limitations. When God calls him to free the Israelites from slavery, Moses responds not with pride or certainty, but with hesitation and self-doubt, saying, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”
Moses’ humility comes from an understanding of his own smallness in the grand scheme of things. He knows he cannot do it alone—he relies on God’s guidance and strength. Similarly, in the face of nature’s untamable power, we must acknowledge our own limitations. The wildfires in California are a painful reminder that no matter how much technology and human effort we devote to controlling nature, we cannot master it entirely. It is only when we accept our vulnerability and humbly recognize that we are part of a much larger system, that we can begin to act responsibly and with wisdom.
It is in this humility that we find the space to care for what is entrusted to us—our environment, our communities, and our futures—with respect, stewardship, and compassion. It is by humbling ourselves before nature’s forces that we truly begin to understand the magnitude of our responsibility to protect and preserve the world around us.
As Shabbat enters tomorrow evening, may we all think of those affected by the LA fires.
