Flames of Karma

Trees Over People: A New Moral Order

A wildfire broke out this week on the outskirts of Jerusalem. For most people, natural disasters—especially ones threatening homes, people, and wildlife—tend to evoke sympathy, concern, or at the very least, silence.

But not when it’s Israel.
Not when it’s Jews.

The comments beneath a New York Times article covering the wildfire were a fever dream of moral rot.

“The Iron Dome doesn’t work against God’s karma.”
“The fire was promised to the chosen people 3,000 years ago.”
“The fire has a right to defend itself.”
“Praying for Palestinians (Muslims and Christians). Hope the plants and animals are ok.”

That last one really gets me—because yes, in the warped hierarchy of today’s morality, flora and fauna deserve more compassion than Jewish civilians in a sovereign state.

And this one hit especially close to home. Just last year, a wildfire tore through our neighborhood. Eighteen homes on our street vanished. We were left with the clothes on our backs as flames engulfed our yard, devoured the cypress trees surrounding our home, and scorched everything in their path. The fire reached our doorstep. It melted some of our windows, shattered others. It burned through our third-floor balcony, destroyed furniture, and miraculously our house remained standing. But I know that terror. I know what it means to pack your life in thirty seconds.

Yet, they cheer for it.
Because the smoke is Jewish.

These comments weren’t fringe. They weren’t anonymous 4chan trolls (a forum known for toxic, anonymous posting—often full of racism, misogyny, and antisemitism). They were posted by users with all sorts of names—there was definitely equal-opportunity hate. Multicultural cruelty.

It is now so fashionable—so frictionless—to mock Jewish suffering that people will literally cheer a wildfire if it’s burning near Jews. They won’t just justify terror. They’ll sanctify it. Personify it. Give fire a right of self-defense, while denying one to the actual people under constant attack.

A fire that rages cruelly and consumes everything in its wake is not feared. It’s welcomed. It’s applauded.
Because to them, if it touches Jews, it must somehow be righteous.

This has felt like an entire cultural unmooring from basic humanity.

When a massacre happens elsewhere, people rush to mourn. When an earthquake devastates a country, aid and sympathy flow. But when disaster touches Israel—even in the form of smoke and ash—people reflexively ask: But don’t they deserve it?

When the morality of a generation collapses, it doesn’t always look like boots and blood. Sometimes it looks like a comment section full of people romanticizing a wildfire. Justifying it with theology. Laughing as the trees burn. Hoping the animals make it out okay—while sneering at the Jews who live there. And it didn’t happen on just any day. The fire, the laughter, the comments—they all came as Israel marked its Independence Day. A day that should be filled with joy, reflection, and pride. Instead, we’re reminded—again—that for some, our very existence is the provocation.

This is what it looks like when fire becomes the hero and the Jew becomes the punchline.

Primo Levi warned us: “It happened, therefore it can happen again.”
Elie Wiesel reminded us: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”

And here we are—in 2025—watching the world prove them both right in real time.

The world isn’t shocked by Jewish pain anymore. It seems bored by it, even annoyed, I think.
Annoyed by Jews asking not to be hated or killed! And that indifference—that casual, performative cruelty—may be even more terrifying than hate itself.

The way Jewish trauma is openly mocked . . . And you know this isn’t hyperbole. Just take a look online, listen to what people around you are saying . . . How the danger around us is easily rationalized . . .

There’s no “but.” There’s no theological clause, no historical footnote, no academic nuance that makes this normal.

Because when fire becomes the hero and the Jew becomes the villain, what you’re watching is the slow, frictionless return of something ancient and cruel.

And the most horrifying part?

It’s already here!