FROM THE ASHES, GOD'S PRESENCE IS SEEN

Night had fallen on the Pasadena temple.

The community had braced for high winds; Hebrew school had been canceled earlier. But no one had prepared for a fire to erupt and tear their synagogue apart.

Laurence Harris and his wife Ruth, the longtime cantor, raced to Pasadena Jewish Temple & Center as embers started to rain down, attempting to rescue what they could. They saved 13 Torahs before they had to flee.

When Harris returned the next day, fire still smoldered as he approached. The roof of the synagogue had collapsed and most walls were destroyed. The fruit of charred citrus trees clung to their branches.

But at the banquet hall, one wall still stood.

Climbing atop bricks and nails, Harris took in the scene: A mural was etched into the wall, spanning its width. It had been hidden by a brick wall that covered it for decades. Semitic men and women walked the desert with animals. Some played instruments. In the center was a lone palm tree — a symbol of triumph in the Bible. Though the imagery was faint, it shone bright in the sun.

“I don't know how, but the fire took away the stucco, took away the sheet rock, and has left this mural undamaged,” Harris said. “And nothing else in this entire [area] is left except for that mural.”

"I think it's trying to teach us a lesson," member Monica Levine said about the mural and her belief that it's a representation of overcoming hardship.

The synagogue has served the Pasadena area for more than 100 years and moved to Altadena Drive in 1941, taking over a former warehouse space. Kristine Garroway, a longtime member with an archaeological background, believes the mural could date to the 1920s and may have been transferred to the wall via tapestry. But its origins remain a mystery. So far, no member has been able to recall its history.

“How in the world could this have survived?” Garroway, 48, said in disbelief. “The scene is so hopeful and joyful … and it's just in the middle of all of these ashes.”

Garroway, a professor of Hebrew history, and others believe the depictions are supposed to evoke a Biblical scene, such as the exodus from Egypt, but don't know for certain what is displayed.

The loss of the synagogue weighed on Garroway and her family. But the discovery of the mural offered solace in one of the community’s darkest times.

“It feels like this is a phoenix that's risen up out of the fire,” she said.

“Our community is shattered, both spiritually and physically. It’s OK not to be OK.”

Days after the fire, Amy Whitman Richardson brought her daughter Quinn to see what was left. Whitman Richardson, 45, grew up at the temple — part of a third generation family of devotees. At her daughter’s bat mitzvah last year, she reflected on her own celebration years before, and envisioned what it would be like to see her child’s future children there in years to come.

“I've been at the temple since birth and the same with my children,” she said, surveying the wreckage. “I still haven’t processed it.”

Sunlight had begun to fade, casting a shadow on the space. But the mural remained illuminated. With arms wrapped around each other, the mother and daughter made their way to the spectacle.

In awe, Whitman Richardson took in the sight.

“It’s a small miracle.”

Colleen Shalby   L.A. Times