There are moments in leadership when protocol rules the day. There are also moments when something deeper speaks, and instinct takes over.

Directors of Jewish early childhood centers know this well. We are responsible not only for classrooms full of young children, but often for something larger: the emotional and communal center of hundreds of families building their Jewish lives.

On January 7, 2025, the morning of the Palisades Fire, our preschool, the Palisades Jewish Early Childhood Center, was full. Eighty-nine children — babies as young as three months old, toddlers, three- and four-year-olds — filled the classrooms. Teachers moved through the sacred ordinariness of the morning: snack preparation, circle time, diaper changes, songs.

The fire department initially told us not to worry. “Simply stay in place and monitor the situation.” Yet something inside me would not settle. 

I immediately contacted parents and asked them to come and get their children. The difference between safety and catastrophe can be 15 minutes. In moments like these, a preschool director becomes many things at once — educator, crisis manager, community leader and sometimes simply the person who holds people steady when the ground beneath them shifts. I thank Hashem that we all got out alive.

In the days that followed, the scale of devastation became clear. Parents scattered wherever they could. Families moved into Airbnbs and temporary housing. The Palisades as we knew it was suddenly gone.

Five days after the fire, we opened a Zoom room. We did not know who would come, so it was especially heartening to see many faces of current families and alumni who decided to join that meeting. A preschool of 89 children had quietly grown into a network of hundreds of families connected through years of shared mornings, holidays, friendships and Jewish experiences.

The screen filled with faces and with overwhelming emotion. Parents told us afterward that hearing steady voices in those early days mattered deeply.

In a crisis, information is important, but interpretation is essential. People need someone to help them make meaning of what has happened. That is often an unseen role of Jewish early childhood education as well.

For many families, preschool is their first entry point into Jewish life. It is where parents meet their closest friends. Where young families learn Jewish rhythms together. Where community begins. The bonds formed during these early years are powerful — and when crisis comes, those bonds become a lifeline.

We knew our children and families needed to be together again. They needed routine. They needed teachers they trusted. And they needed to feel safe.

We found temporary space at Meor HaTorah in Santa Monica. The synagogue was active, but the preschool classrooms had not been used in years. The space needed significant work: safety upgrades, infrastructure and a playground. A grant from EarlyJ — an initiative that invests in strengthening Jewish early childhood education — allowed us to move quickly. Within weeks, unused classrooms became vibrant learning spaces again. Turf was laid. Swings were installed. Furniture arrived. Plants filled the rooms.

Three weeks later, we held an open house. It was more than an event. It was a declaration.

As families walked onto the campus, they felt something unmistakable: We are still here. The community is still alive. What had been disrupted was already being rebuilt.

Shortly afterward, I boarded a plane to Israel as part of EarlyJ’s Ambassadors program for early childhood leaders, a program designed to strengthen the leadership of those shaping the Jewish experiences of our youngest children.

I was exhausted, but I was also deeply grateful to the funders and supporters who had stepped forward to help rebuild our preschool and invest in the leadership of Jewish educators.

While we were in Israel learning alongside fellow directors and educators from Los Angeles and San Francisco, the summer 2025 Iran war began. We ran to bunkers. We slept there. It was frightening. And yet even in that bunker, we felt something familiar — the strength that comes from shared purpose, shared faith, and shared responsibility.

I returned home steadier. The very next week, we opened our new preschool in Santa Monica.

What was meant to be temporary quickly filled with families. Today, PJECC Santa Monica (the Meor HaTorah location) is at full capacity. New families are joining the Jewish community — families who might never have walked through the doors of a Jewish institution before. And as we’ve seen before, a strong Jewish preschool is often the foundation for a larger, thriving Jewish community. Investing in this new preschool is an investment in the entire Jewish community of Santa Monica, connecting more families to Jewish life there. 

At the same time, we are preparing to reopen the Palisades Jewish Early Childhood Center, now known as PJECC Palisades, restoring Jewish life to that neighborhood and welcoming even more young families. Earlier this month, it was inspiring and exciting to see many prospective families attend an open house last week to learn first-hand about our community.

Out of the fire, two preschools will grow. More children will begin their Jewish journeys. More parents will form lifelong friendships. More families will find their place in Jewish community.

Jewish early childhood education is often viewed simply as the first stage of Jewish education. But it is something far more powerful. It is where community begins. It is where the next generation of Jewish life takes root. And as we learned in the most difficult moment our preschool has faced, it is also where communities find the strength to rebuild.

When communities invest in Jewish early childhood education, they are not only supporting classrooms for young children. They are investing in leaders, relationships and institutions that hold Jewish communities together — especially when the unexpected happens.

Chana Hertzberg is the preschool director at Palisades Jewish Early Childhood Center in Pacific Palisades, Calif.