Squirrel Hill
Pittsburgh
Pennsylvania
October 2018
What does it feel like? There are tons of clichés available to try to describe the experience: horrible, shocking, enraging, numbing, betraying, confusing, empty. They are all accurate. I don’t know any new ways to describe the horror and the heartache of what this feels like.
If you want the details, if you want descriptions of how horrible, shocking, enraging, numbing, etc that people feel, read the news. Here is my experience.
Our walk on the Wednesday after the incident takes us to Tree of Life Synagogue. It is the previous Saturday that a man came into this Jewish temple just a few blocks from our home and began to shoot his guns, leaving eleven persons dead and six more wounded. More than once, he was heard to shout, “All Jews Must Die.”
A block before reaching the synagogue, we encounter media and emergency vehicles parked at the curb, engines running, flood lights illuminating the 6 a.m. darkness, odd shadows. Noise and smell of trucks. A number of people in uniform and more dressed in street clothes standing around, sipping coffee, chatting, some on this side of the barricade, some on the other. Police are here, medical personnel, FBI, ATF, the coroner. The media. Two handsome people holding microphones stand before the temple, cameras taking in their images and words.
We cross the street to the small yard on the side of the temple, blocked off on street and sidewalk by police barricades and tape. Metal stars with victims’ names are hung with ribbons on one barricade. The lawn overflows with flower bouquets. Messages are written in chalk on the sidewalk…
TOGETHER IN LOVE
WE STAND STRONG
Squirrel Hill
NO PLACE FOR HATE
STRONGER THAN HATE
…this last one the most popular.
Israeli flags placed here and there, photographs of the deceased among the flowers, trinkets and tchotchkes of all types, poems. In the early morning darkness, a woman placing yet another bouquet. A man wearing a yarmulke standing silently, staring, tears in his eyes.
Saint Edmunds school is next door to the Jewish Community Center, a twelve minute walk from the Tree of Life, in the heart of the Squirrel Hill neighborhood. A large sign is hung on the outside of the school building…
WE LOVE OUR JEWISH NEIGHBORS
Under other circumstances, you’d wonder why there would be such a sign. Now it is heart warming.
Our mayor describes Squirrel Hill as the most diverse neighborhood in western Pennsylvania. He describes the Jewish community as the backbone of the neighborhood. Now more than ever.
My friend Jonathan has been stalwart in reporting the news mixed with his own experience, observations and opinions about this event. His first email, on October 27, reads thus…
Active Shooter At Pittsburgh Synagogue In Squirrel Hill
OMG… this is my synagogue. I was just there last month for high holiday services. We heard that multiple people were killed.
The Anti-Defamation League calls the shooting “…the deadliest attack on the Jewish community in the history of the United States.” They also characterize it as part of a pattern of attacks on the Jewish people.
My friend Carrie says, “I’m stunned.” And then she adds, “And yet, I am not stunned. Which is worse?”
I offer, being stunned is the horror and heartache. Not being stunned is the disbelief of yet another attack.
I walk into my physical therapist’s office one morning and she throws her arms around me and sobs. It’s everywhere.
Heartache. Yes. My heart hurts. I have not heard the word heartbreak so much as I’ve heard it in the past ten days. I’m still searching for meaning, my soul is open. I’ve reached the point where I know I won’t get answers, but I still wonder at this wonder-filled, fucked up world we’ve built.
I weep. I weep this past week like I haven’t done in a long time. I spend a great deal of time this week contacting people in my life, being updated, and keeping folks updated. So much time this week with people I feel close to. What else do we do?
My friend Veta says, “I just try to be kind.”
Veta says, “[this] is the saddest — so much hate. I want to know we are better than this.”
People come from all over the country, and from all over the world, to pay respects, to offer advice, to mourn. Several Israeli officials, emergency and resilience teams, arrive to assist the Pittsburgh Jewish community with psychological services and directions for community rehabilitation.
Tradition has it that when a Jewish person is buried, all the remains are buried together. A crew of volunteers spends the week in the synagogue gathering up every spilled drop of blood, all to be sanctified in death, and so buried.
Multi-faith gatherings take place all over the world. Locally, my friend Jonathan’s photos show mourners, like a sea of blue, congregants attending services, the men in their blue suits, the women in modest dresses. Like the ocean, blue waves as the men sway, praying, an ever changing seascape, again the same.
Some years ago, I had some business dealings with one of the victims. I know the son of the 97-year-old woman and I even played volleyball with his wife. We’re all connected. My trainer does part time work at the JCC. He knew all eleven of the deceased.
I am not a member of a synagogue or a congregation. Yet, I feel an undeniable connection. There is plenty enough heartache to go around. Do you feel it too?
A 97-year-old woman? Someone says, “A 97-year old Holocaust survivor was killed for being Jewish yesterday. Let that sink in. This is how she died.”
My friend Patti writes, “I am thinking of you in this terrible moment of chaos and horror at the Tree of Life synagogue. Sending all my love along with hope for healing and a rising up of non-Jewish allies all over the city and the country to repudiate anti-semitism.
“One of the synagogues here has issued an open invitation to everyone for the Shabbat ceremony tonight. I went to the vigil earlier this week. I’m thinking I will go to Shabbat, too. I know so many Jewish people here in Anchorage.”
Jonathan reports, “[High school] students organized and led the ceremony, which included chanting prayers for the Jewish sabbath, a moment of silence for the victims, and the lighting of memorial candles. It was all very moving… and hopeful. Love and community were on full display, overshadowing the destructive hatred of one, warped man. As an old friend said, ‘We’re still here. We aren’t going anywhere.’ As one of the news anchors said, ‘When the worst of humanity shows itself, the best of humanity shines through.’”
Events like this remind me that, even in quiet times, we must continue to spread the word, keep loving each other and hope, somehow, we can make a difference.
Benjamin Netanyahu, Prime Minister of Israel, writes, “Jews were killed in a synagogue. They were killed because they are Jews. The location was chosen because it is a synagogue. We must never forget that. We are one.”
In a letter to the editor of the local newspaper, a writer passes along this quote from Martin Niemoller, German theologian and Lutheran pastor, best known for his opposition to the Nazi regime…
First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me — and there was no one left to speak for me.
We are all in this together.
I hear from several people who tried to donate blood. The clinic was so busy the waiting line stretched two hours long. Standing room only.
Squirrel Hill Strong
Squirrel Hill is, literally, Mister Roger’s neighborhood. He and his family lived here and attended the Sixth Presbyterian Church at the intersection of one of the vigils, just a ten minute walk from the Tree of Life.
When Lisa and I walk in Frick Park, usually some people say hello and some people are in their own worlds. This week, everyone, everyone, makes eye contact and says hello.
Many businesses located in downtown Pittsburgh light their buildings in blue. Pittsburgh Steelers players stand with community members at memorial services. Pittsburgh Penguins players wear STRONGER THAN HATE badges on their uniforms during a game.
Our excellent Mayor Bill Peduto asks the president to please just let this week be about the families. “Come next week or the week after if you must, but let this time be about mourning.” The president comes anyway.
At the Penguins game, the ceremonial puck drop features the Pittsburgh police chief, the public safety director and two first responders who were on the scene at Tree of Life. One of the first responders is heard to say, “I met the president. This is better.”
To which I say, as should we all, “I love our mayor! I love the Steelers! I love the Penguins! I even like the downtown businesses.”
As you know, we Pittsburghers have always been proud to be Pittsburghers, yinzers. But now, the pride has risen to new heights. So much goodness surrounding such a devilish act.
What else to do? My idea, which apparently didn’t take hold, is for all the National Football League players, before their games the day after the shooting, should take a knee. All of them.
I know it would be easy to misinterpret such an act, but this is how I see it. 80% of NFL players are black. Given that, it would be a large number of black men, taking a knee for a bunch of Jews and a few cops. What could say unity better than that!
We are stronger than hate.
My friend Diana sends this quote from James Baldwin…
I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.
My first reaction when I hear about the shooting is, “I’d like to rip this fucker’s heart out!”
To let the hate go, I, like so many of us, have to let the pain in. This is the first step toward compassion.
The shooter is injured during the attack. He is taken to Allegheny General Hospital where the first medical personnel to treat him, a nurse and a doctor, are both Jewish. I want everyone in the world to know this.
The president of the hospital, Jeffrey Cohen, visits the man in the hospital. Dr Cohen too, is Jewish, a member of the Tree of Life congregation.
He asks the shooter if he is feeling any pain. The doctor might have been inquiring about his physical condition but I choose to interpret it this way: “Are you in emotional pain?” thus showing an impressive degree of compassion, even if directed to the person who committed this atrocity.
The attending FBI agent witnesses this short conversation between Dr Cohen and the shooter and is greatly affected. “I don’t know how you did that, because I’m not sure that I could have.”
Talk about walking the walk: STRONGER THAN HATE.
This morning, I stop by the memorial garden once again. Three firefighters in uniform stand solemnly by for a few moments. Then all three make the sign of the cross. This is a Jewish temple! Think about it: the cross is not the friendliest symbol to the Jews. And yet, such a gesture these days is welcome. To me, it represents the unity everyone is talking about lately. Christians praying for Jews. Now that’s not something you see every day. Today, it doesn’t seem strange at all.
I also see a pregnant woman here, incubating another Jew. Life goes on.
Winston Churchill spoke these words…
Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never — in nothing, great or small, large or petty — never give in…
Or as the Jews say, Tikkun olam. Repair the world.
Tikkun olam.
Why is this column here on this website, a site dedicated to hiking stories? For one, the Jewish massacre of October 27, 2018 in Pittsburgh is a profound event with profound repercussions. The word must go out. I’m willing to cheat a little and put this report on this website, even though the focus isn’t a hike.
But let’s tie it together. On your next walk or hike, please consider this life-changing event and think about what you might do in your life to never give in, and to repair the world.
Tikkun olam.
Today is the eighth anniversary of the shooting.