The storm surge was less than what had been predicted by authorities, because the eye wall of the storm passed just east of the city. Still, it weakened the levee structures along the borders with St. Bernard and Jefferson Parishes. Water from Lake Pontchartrain began pouring in and drainage canals that emptied into the lake overflowed their banks. In just a few hours the water levels in old neighborhoods like Gentilly and in outlying areas like the Ninth Ward and Arabi were substantial.

Water rose so fast that occupants riding out the storm had to take refuge in their attics. Still the water kept rising. Some were able to perch themselves on rooftops. Others clawed at their ceilings trying to poke holes in the roofs to allow them to escape. Many of them were literally entombed in the rush of waters; their pitiful lives snuffed out because they had not or could not heed the warnings to evacuate. At this time estimates of the dead run into the thousands, but the focus of authorities has been to rescue and restore order rather than account for and bury the dead.

As much as I can tell, the major damage to my home was done the day after the storm had passed as another levee was breeched and the water level began to rise in my neighborhood to a “significant level,” according to news reports.

Immediately before the storm hit, I was on the Internet warning every one of its ramifications and asking for prayers on my city’s behalf. I feverishly phoned friends and checked on relatives who, because of ill-health or recent surgery, elected to stay. I posted several messages on bulletin boards and checked the progress of this monster.

As the storm made slow and steady progress, I phoned relatives and friends and watched streaming television newscasts in real time on the Internet. This hurricane was the first instance where a federal disaster area was acknowledged prior to its landfall.

The video reports came to a screeching halt about midday as the first of the floods began to pour into the city. News operations were hurriedly moved to Jackson, Mississippi and Baton Rouge and I watched in abject disbelief as people were rescued from raging waters by boats and helicopters as they waved from their roofs. The Jewish community was especially hard hit at my Orthodox synagogue, Congregation Beth Israel, located only six blocks from Lake Pontchartrain. It recently celebrated its 100th anniversary and was the home of the only daily minyan both morning and afternoon in New Orleans.

Rabbi Yisroel Shiff and his family of five, including a two-month old infant girl, took refuge in Memphis, Tennessee. He carried as much as he could, but was unable to rescue the eight Torahs residing in the Aron Hakodesh in the main sanctuary and the Beis Hamidrash. It may take months before it can be ascertained if they sustained damage, but the likelihood that they were soaked in putrid waters may have rendered them unholy.

The tale at Metairie synagogues Gates of Prayer (Reform) and Shir Chadash (Conservative) was strikingly different. Concerned Jews rescued the Torah scrolls and had them stored on the third floor of the newly-built Jewish Community Center next door and at a fifth-floor office building without windows. The fate of Orthodox Congregation Anshe S’Fard and the two uptown Reform houses of worship, Touro Synagogue and Temple Sinai, seem well off. All they appeared to have suffered is some wind damage and slight flooding downstairs, although reports are sketchy at best.

No reports have been received about how the Chabad Center and Torah Academy run by Chabad of Louisiana fared. Like Gates of Prayer and Shir Chadash, they are located next to one of the major drainage canals along West Esplanade Avenue and probably suffered significant water damage. Chabad also maintains its older Chabad House near Tulane University. I have seen pictures that suggest that the flooding there was brief and, because it is a raised structure, they might have been spared major damage.