For the first time in my life, I was really down. I didn’t know how we’d move on from the fire and rebuild what we’d lost

Rabbi Benzion Klatzko

Senior Manager and Director of Educator Training, Olami; founder Shabbat.com; director, Akiva Trips

Monsey, NY

Less than a year ago, in November 2020, our house burned down in a fire. This was actually the second fire we suffered in 15 years — this one in the house we had custom-built to accommodate our many guests.

This fire was so hot and so fast, it melted the silver menorah I received from my father-in-law as a chassan. One of the firefighters explained what that meant: most house fires reach a heat of 1100 degrees Fahrenheit; silver melts at 1763 degrees Fahrenheit.

The menorah became our symbol. We comforted our kids by telling them that, baruch Hashem, we were safe, and it was only our possessions that were destroyed. Even the menorah, we said, was just a menorah. We still had the mitzvah of Chanukah — you could make a menorah out of tea lights if you must, and you’d still be doing the mitzvah. And we thanked Hashem that our children were able to absorb the message. We had each other. Stuff was stuff.

But we were homeless. We lived in one place for two weeks, but it wasn’t feasible long term. A friend who lives in Williamsburg and summers in Monsey offered us their home, and we moved in. But it wasn’t our home, and we missed the comforts of having our own place and our mitzvah — hachnasas orchim.