The massacre occurred in my city. In my house of worship. The Tree of Life Congregation.
It could have happened anywhere. But it happened in the very sanctuary where – when I reached the age of 13 – I stood at that podium, voice quivering slightly, chanting a portion of the Holy Scriptures in Hebrew, marking my passage into manhood.
Some of the dead will be buried in the old Tree of Life Cemetery on a hillside in Sharpsburg where my Mom and Dad and my little brother and my grandparents and extended family rest. And that’s where I will end up, as well.
When something like this happens, it’s a tragedy for everyone. But when it hits this close to home, it becomes surreal, and everything is in slow motion, in a continuous loop.
And yes, I knew – or knew of – some of those who died.
Yes, it happened in Pittsburgh, but what took place in those awful moments is not who we Pittsburghers are.
We are the first responders who risked everything to save lives. Some were wounded saving the lives of others. We are the people of all faiths who cry out and share our pain, the people who reach out to comfort, the people who grieve, the people who become the helpers, because that’s what we’re taught to do. We don’t just look for the helpers. We become the helpers. We are stronger than hate.
This happened at the corner of Wilkins and Shady, and if you head down Shady Avenue to near the bottom of the hill, and look to the left, you’ll see Steeler Coach Mike Tomlin’s house. If you had down Wilkins a block or so, you’ll see Beechwood Boulevard, where Fred and Joanne Rogers lived and raised James and John. This happened in Mister Rogers neighborhood. A few blocks away from where rapper Mac Miller had the Best Day Ever. Just down the street from Blue Slide Park. Other places preach diversity. Squirrel Hill lives it every day.
We have our disagreements, but usually over things like whether Mineo’s Pizza is better — or Aiello’s.
Squirrel Hill is a truly wonderful place. Its soul is Jewish, but, like Mother Pittsburgh, its heart is open to everyone. It is one of America’s great urban neighborhoods, a peaceable place where all are welcome. That won’t change.
A single deranged gunman brought unspeakable horror to our nation, to the city that I love, murdering innocent people gathered to pray in my own house of worship. It could have happened anywhere.
But what happened during Shabbat services at Tree of Life was not who we are. It was the exact opposite of who we are.
We are the Steeler fans and Penguin fans who redrew our team logos to include the Star of David to defiantly tell the haters who we are. And I can’t look at those redesigned logos without feeling the love we all share, and without crying. There are tears in my eyes as I write this.
I have always loved my city and fellow Yinzers, but I’ve never been prouder of the ‘burgh or loved them more than I do right now.
We are Pittsburgh, and we are as strong as steel. We proclaim to the world a single message: that we are stronger than hate.
“It is a tree of life to all who grasp it, and whoever holds on to it is happy; its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace.” (Proverbs 3:17-18)