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Topline:
Faith leaders both in the Pacific Palisades and in Altadena and Pasadena — devastated by the pair of fires that tore across Southern California — have relied on interfaith and community partnerships to rally congregants who are picking up the pieces 16 months later.
Why it matters: They’ve had to learn on the fly about insurance coverage and local land use regulations while still trying to keep their scattered flock together and raising money for basic needs. Pastors in Altadena have had to fight to protect the rights of Black people who decades ago found pathways to home ownership in that community despite redlining — but now risk losing their land to outside developers who sense an investment opportunity.
Interfaith relationships: This would have been difficult for faith leaders to handle but for the interfaith relationships that became closer and stronger after the fires, said the Rev. Grace Park, associate pastor at Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church, which burned down.
Read on ... for more on how faith leaders in SoCal are uniting after the fires.
This story first appeared on The LA Local.
Rabbi Amy Bernstein says the wind-whipped fire in January 2025 that scorched much of the Pacific Palisades, destroying her home and damaging her synagogue, “blew everything open” for the community’s faith leaders.
“If our hearts must break, let them break open,” said the rabbi, who leads Kehillat Israel where 300 families out of 900 lost their homes. “This tragedy has really pushed us closer to one another. We’re working to change the things we need changed.”
Faith leaders both in the Pacific Palisades and in Altadena and Pasadena — devastated by the pair of fires that tore across Southern California — have relied on interfaith and community partnerships to rally congregants who are picking up the pieces 16 months later.
They’ve had to learn on the fly about insurance coverage and local land use regulations while still trying to keep their scattered flock together and raising money for basic needs. Pastors in Altadena have had to fight to protect the rights of Black people who decades ago found pathways to home ownership in that community despite redlining — but now risk losing their land to outside developers who sense an investment opportunity.
And throughout this span, faith leaders have had to cater to the emotional and spiritual needs of their communities and think about how they want to rebuild their sanctuaries that were lost or damaged in the fire. More than a dozen houses of worship burned to the ground or were damaged.
This would have been difficult for faith leaders to handle but for the interfaith relationships that became closer and stronger after the fires, said the Rev. Grace Park, associate pastor at Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church, which burned down.
Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics, Jews and yogis have not just found common ground in human suffering and loss, but have learned how to lean on one another in a time of dire need, she said.
“It’s a sense of mutual affection and respect, learning from each other and leaning on one another,” Park said. “We’re sharing the joys and the deep valleys of what it means to lead through a time of tragedy.”
Brother Satyananda, a senior monk at the Self Realization Fellowship, lost his living quarters and belongings in the fire. Much of the campus, started by Paramahamsa Yogananda who brought ancient spiritual practices from India to the West, fortunately survived the fire.
Satyananda recalls one day when Bernstein picked up on his sadness and offered him “motherly compassion.”
“We share the same profession where we’re tuned to people in need,” he said. “Now, our relationship has changed because we’re tuning into each other. There’s a greater level of trust.”
Pastor BJ King, who leads LoveLand LifeCenter, worked with the late Rev. Cecil B. Murray to heal communities and build interfaith coalitions after the 1992 Los Angeles riots.
“Back then, there was a choice whether or not to get involved,” he said. “But with these fires, there is no choice. It has affected everybody.”
King’s congregation has switched to online services after their leased church building in Altadena suffered smoke damage. Twelve families lost their homes. In addition to helping meet people’s basic needs, King has created a program organizing gatherings to connect therapists with those in need of mental health.
“Many people didn’t even know they needed that,” he said.
One of the most powerful roles faith leaders have played after the fire is to “continue to talk with power, people in charge,” said Pastor Jonathan DeCuir, who leads Victory Bible Church in Pasadena. He and others in the region have continued to meet with local officials and even conferred with Gov. Gavin Newsom to keep things moving for their communities.
DeCuir chairs the board of a nonprofit called Legacy Land Project, which provides financial aid, legal support and guidance on building contractors, as well as medical care to those affected by the fires.
The disaster has brought a level of camaraderie that DeCuir says he has never seen among the region’s clergy.
“Denominational lines have been crossed,” he said. “Even if we have different theological stances or approaches to ministry, we are all now looking at how to care for our people and community. If we don’t come together, Altadena will never ever be the same. The people won’t be there anymore. That, to me, is terrifying.”
While a church is more than a building, physical churches do appear as “beacons of hope” in traumatized communities, said Pastor Mayra Macedo-Nolan, executive director of Clergy Community Coalition in Pasadena. Her group has lobbied for houses of worship to be prioritized on the same footing as businesses in the rebuilding plan.
“When people start seeing churches rebuilding in Altadena, they’re going to feel like it’s going to be OK because the churches are coming back,” she said.
On April 26, the Altadena Fountain of Life Church broke ground to build a new sanctuary after their house of worship, which had stood for over three decades, was destroyed in the fire. Pastor Jonathan Lewis, who ministers to about 75, hopes the church will be ready in time for Easter next year.
“It’ll be a Resurrection Sunday for our church, too,” he said.
Alexis Duncan, who grew up in Altadena attending that church, came to the groundbreaking with her 6-year-old daughter. She lost both her home and her church building.
“It means everything to me that they’re rebuilding because I want the church to be there for my daughter as she grows up,” she said. “This new beginning gives me and my family hope and the encouragement to come back.”
Some churches like Altadena Community Church, a United Church of Christ congregation, are pausing to rethink their future purpose. The Rev. Michael Lewis, who took over in February after the previous pastor retired, said the congregation is looking into several possibilities for the one-acre lot, including affordable housing.
“We know that a church is not intended to be a landlord and the pastor is no property manager,” he said. “But, we’re also thinking about who is able to return to Altadena? How will this rich, economically diverse community that was scattered by the fire come back?”
The church has been around since the 1940s. A haven for actors, poets and musicians, the former sanctuary also served as a vibrant performance space. Lewis said they hope to incorporate a performance stage into the new facility.
“It’ll look different from what we had before,” he said. “Once we figure out how to build community, we can decide what physical structures will help us support that community.”
As for Kehillat Israel, on May 15, members will carry their Torah scrolls back to their sanctuary, marking one of the first returns by a house of worship to the Palisades since the disaster.
Judaism has had “a long history of starting over,” Bernstein said.
“It’s encoded in our cultural approach to the world, that there are things that can always be taken away from you,” she said. “But what you become can never get taken away.”
Topline:
For nearly 60 years, McCabe’s Guitar Shop in Santa Monica — the subject of a new book — has hosted music legends in a backroom that has become one of the West Coast’s most respected venues.
What makes it different: McCabe's offers the artist a space to give an intimate performance before no more than 150 people there to give their full attention with no bar or cell phones in sight.
Accidental venue: The new book "Live at McCabe's Guitar Shop: Santa Monica's Legendary Music Venue," by Peter Lesser, traces the venue's path from simple guitar shop to one that's drawn the likes of Joni Mitchell, Elvis Costello and Beck.
Tucked away in the back room of a Santa Monica guitar shop is an unlikely temple to live music.
There's no bar. No cellphone screens glowing in the dark. Just 150 people, sitting shoulder to shoulder in folding chairs, so quiet you can hear every picked note ring out.
For nearly 60 years, McCabe's Guitar Shop has hosted intimate performances by legends of folk, country, jazz and rock, everyone from Joni Mitchell to Elvis Costello to Beck.
On a recent Saturday night, the audience is here for alt-country singer-songwriter Robbie Fulks, who, flanked on a tiny stage with a violinist and bassist, flashes a smile into the dark.
"I'm glad to be back for my 27th appearance at McCabe's here in Santa Monica," Fulks told the crowd. "That's a guess, but it's pretty close."
In a music industry dominated by streaming and scrolling, McCabe's offers something increasingly rare: the rapt attention of an audience sitting a few feet from the performer.
Landing a show at McCabe's carries the kind of prestige reserved for far larger stages, Peter Lesser writes in his new book chronicling the venue's history, Live at McCabe's Guitar Shop.
One artist told Lesser, "Look, there's Carnegie Hall. There's the Grand Ole Opry, and there's McCabe's Guitar Shop."
Lesser, who used to manage live music venues in upstate New York, has long been struck by the big names who played such a tiny room in Santa Monica.
"How were they able to attract the same artists in a 150-seat venue that I was trying to fill 1,000 seats with?" he said.
After moving to Santa Monica to be closer to family during the pandemic, Lesser started attending shows at McCabe's himself and set out to answer his own question.
He talked to some 80 people, including artists who performed there like Lucinda Williams, Taj Mahal and Loudon Wainwright III.
It turns out McCabe's road to becoming a music landmark began almost by chance.
Gerald McCabe, a furniture maker by trade who dabbled in guitar repairs, opened the shop in 1958. A place to browse guitars and accessories, it also became a hangout for musicians during the folk boom of the '60s, hosting jam sessions.
And it was where folk singer Mike Seeger turned in 1969 when a planned show with Elizabeth Cotten at UCLA's Royce Hall fell through.
"He came to McCabe's Guitar Shop and said, 'What do you think I should do?'" Lesser said. "And they said, 'Just play here.'"
But there was a problem: The shop didn't have a permit to host concerts.
"They had to put blankets in front of the windows, because they didn't want anybody to see him," Lesser said.
The next month, another folk singer, Ramblin' Jack Elliott, found himself stranded in L.A. after his car broke down. Needing money for a new transmission, he played two shows at McCabe's.
His friend Arlo Guthrie, in town recording an album, joined in on the second night.
"That's really when [the shop] got the idea," Lesser said. "'We can do this every week.'"
McCabe's became a coveted stop for both rising artists and major acts, including those who'd come up through the venue themselves.
Before he was a star, Jackson Browne regularly played McCabe's, including five shows in 1970 alone. After his 1972 breakout album with hits like "Doctor My Eyes," he kept returning for occasional shows.
Then there was Ry Cooder, the Santa Monica-born roots virtuoso and producer behind the Buena Vista Social Club album. He used to hang out at McCabe's after school, where he perfected his guitar licks and went onto teach others his picking style.
Both artists were part of a spectacular night in 1984 held to honor outgoing McCabe's concert director Nancy Covey. They joined a constellation of stars including Richard Thompson, T Bone Burnett and John Hiatt.
Warren Zevon brought down the house with "Werewolves of London," and the evening closed with Elvis Costello leading the room through "So You Want to Be a Rock 'n' Roll Star."
As McCabe's renown grew, Hollywood also came calling.
McCabe's had begun offering lessons, and actors preparing to play musicians in movies studied with its instructors.
Reese Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix were coached for roles as June Carter and Johnny Cash in the biopic "Walk the Line." Christian Bale also worked with a McCabe's instructor so he could channel Bob Dylan in "I'm Not There."
Speaking of the music icon, the actual Bob Dylan sought out McCabe's instructor Fran Banish after hearing him perform blues standards at his son's wedding. In a surreal moment for McCabe's staff, Dylan showed up at the shop to work through a Blind Lemon Jefferson tune with Banish in one of the upstairs lesson rooms.
"Great artists are always learning," Lesser said.
Upstairs by the lesson rooms, the hallway is lined with photos of the giants who've played at McCabe's.
Fulks, waiting in the green room ahead of his performance, marvels at being in the company of heroes like Doc Watson and Norman Blake, even after himself playing at the venue since the early 2000s.
"You look at the pictures on the wall and I don't think I belong in that group of people," Fulks said.
Having moved to L.A. from Chicago during the pandemic, Fulks is now able to attend concerts at McCabe's himself, and being on the other side of the stage, he knows the reverential attention given to performances.
"There's a sort of slightly museum-like respect built into the situation of being in the dark and looking up at somebody like it's a movie screen, and the sound is always wonderful," Fulks said.
But Fulks, whose wry, self-deprecating sense of humor shows up in his darkly comic lyrics, likes to keep things loose. Later, when he takes the stage, he brings the jokes.
"I don't look like a country singer exactly," he said to the audience. "But I feel like I look like a humanities professor at a small community college."
Despite changes over the years — including new owners and different concert directors bringing their own distinct tastes — McCabe's has maintained a fiercely loyal following.
"Even though we say, 'Yes, we're the owners of McCabe's,' we're not really," said Walt McGraw, who now runs the shop with his wife, Nora. "It's the community, it's the musicians, it's the artists."
The couple took over the business from Nora's father, Bob Riskin, who started working at McCabe's as a teenager in the early 1960s before eventually becoming owner and moving the store to its third and current location at 3101 Pico Blvd.
When an L.A. Times story reported during the pandemic that Riskin was retiring, longtime patrons feared the venue itself might disappear.
"We got inundated with cards," McGraw recalled. "People sent flowers to the shop saying, 'You can't close.'"
But for McGraw, that has never been an option.
"It just seemed too important to sell or close up shop," he said.
On the night of Fulks' performance, patrons file through the shop to get to the backroom, weaving past walls lined with guitars, mandolins, ukuleles and banjos.
While no alcohol is on tap, there is self-serve coffee, water bottles and chocolate bars for sale.
Travis Prine wanders the store, pausing to admire the Martins and Collings.
"I can't afford most of the guitars in here, but it's a really cool place," said Prine, who drove from Hesperia in the high desert to see Fulks.
It was his first time at McCabe's, and he can feel the history.
"Almost everybody who's anyone has played here over the years," he said. "Jackson Browne has played here. Townes Van Zandt, I believe — just about everyone."
And now it was Prine's turn to get the McCabe's experience.
For an hour and a half, Fulks runs through an acoustic set that at one moment was classic country, the next, spiky bluegrass, mixing virtuosic picking and storytelling, with a nod to forebears.
"This is slightly embarrassing about the set list, but there's three mentions of Hank Williams over the course of the set," Fulks said to cheers and clapping. "The third one comes much later in the set, so we'll give you a free jelly bean if you spot that one."
It's the kind of night that keeps them coming back to McCabe's, show after show.
Topline:
Gov. Gavin Newsom announced Friday that he has requested a yearlong extension of FEMA funding for L.A. fire survivors. Without the extension, the money will run out July 9. Now the decision on FEMA support lies with the federal government.
Why it matters: The funds have allowed many survivors to afford temporary housing and other daily needs.
The backstory: Most survivors have yet to return home — 2 in 3 survivors who were living in Altadena or Pacific Palisades at the time of the fires are still displaced, according to the latest survey of more than 2,100 survivors by the nonprofit Department of Angels.
Read on ... for more on why fire survivors are calling on the feds to extend the funding.
Gov. Gavin Newsom announced Friday that he has requested a yearlong extension of FEMA funding for L.A. fire survivors. Without the extension, the money will run out July 9.
Now the decision on FEMA support lies with the federal government.
The funds have allowed many survivors to afford temporary housing and other daily needs. Most have yet to return home — 2 in 3 survivors who were living in Altadena or Pacific Palisades at the time of the fires are still displaced, according to the latest survey of more than 2,100 survivors by the nonprofit Department of Angels. Nearly 40% of respondents reported they will either soon run out of temporary housing insurance coverage or have already.
The situation is particularly dire for low-income households: Nearly 80% of respondents making $50,000 or less said they didn’t think they could afford housing for three months once coverage ended.
“The data is clear: This recovery is not over,” said Angela Giacchetti of the Department of Angels at a news conference organized by the Eaton Fire Collaborative in Altadena on Thursday. “If you are a survivor, you know this in your bones. For many families, it has barely begun. People have just begun to stabilize. We need federal support that reflects the scale of this disaster and systems that survivors can actually navigate and access over time.”
The FEMA Individuals and Households Program can provide funding for survivors of disasters to pay for temporary housing, repair their homes, and respond to other challenges that insurance may not cover. It can also help cover costs if a survivor has no insurance.
Gil Barel has been relying on FEMA funds to pay rent on a small back house for herself and her son for the last year. She said they still haven’t been able to return to their rent-controlled Pasadena apartment because of smoke damage, though she still has to pay the rent for it.
Barel doesn’t know what they’ll do if the FEMA funding runs out.
“ I'm really stressed out,” she said. “I think I'm just kind of trying to put that thought aside and hope for the best.”
But in the 15 months since the fires, most survivors have not accessed FEMA funding. About 60% have received no FEMA assistance beyond the initial $770 payments dispersed in the immediate aftermath of the fires, according to the Department of Angels survey.
Many have faced denials, according to disaster case manager workers with Catholic Charities of L.A. and lawyers with Legal Aid Foundation of L.A.
That’s the situation for Gayle Nicholls-Ali and her husband, Rasheed, who lost their Altadena home of 15 years in the Eaton Fire. They’ve relied on their insurance to pay for a rental in Montrose, but that’s rapidly running out. And because they have that insurance, FEMA has denied further support.
“A lot of our ALE [Additional Living Expenses insurance] is going to run out before we even are able to get into a house,” Nicholls-Ali said.
Without FEMA or insurance support, they’ll have to find a way to pay rent on top of a mortgage. They also face a big gap in the cost of their rebuild versus how much their insurance covers. Nicholls-Ali said without the help of FEMA and other sources of funding, recovering feels further out of reach.
FEMA funding extensions have been routine in past disasters, including the 2023 wildfires in Hawaii and after devastating flooding in North Carolina in 2024.
But the agency has faced significant cuts during the second Trump administration, and there are indications that disaster aid is becoming increasingly political. For example, President Donald Trump has approved aid for just 23% of requests from states with a Democratic governor and two Democratic senators, compared to 89% for states that with Republican governors and senators, according to an analysis by Politico.
The state has also not received more than $33 billion for long-term recovery, which can help pay for infrastructure upgrades and repairs, as well as help rebuild schools, parks and homes. That money was requested by state and local leaders shortly after the January 2025 fires and hasn’t been appropriated by Congress.
Topline:
The sky above Los Angeles State Historic Park in Chinatown will be dotted with color on Saturday with the annual Kite Festival.
The background: The festival had its beginnings as a joyful protest in 2021, back when a proposal for a Dodger Stadium gondola included cutting through the airspace above the park.
What to expect: This year’s programming includes a kite-making station where you can build your own flying art for a donation of $5, along with art workshops and the unveiling of a large floating, inflatable sculpture by Guatemalan kite artist Francisco Ramos.
The sky above Los Angeles State Historic Park in Chinatown will be dotted with color Saturday with the annual Kite Festival.
Clockshop's Kite Festival
Los Angeles State Historic Park
Saturday from 2 to 6 p.m.
The festival had its beginnings as a joyful protest in 2021, back when a proposal for a Dodger Stadium gondola included cutting through the airspace above the park. Organizers say last year’s Kite Festival drew a crowd of about 7,000.
“The Kite Festival, [for] some people, it’s their favorite day in Los Angeles,” said Sue Bell Yank, executive director of Clockshop, the nonprofit arts org that runs the festival. “It’s the time when they really feel connected to their city. More so than any other time.”
This year’s programming includes a kite-making station where you can build your own flying art for a donation of $5, along with art workshops and the unveiling of a large floating, inflatable sculpture by Guatemalan kite artist Francisco Ramos.
