Tree of Life, part one

Wednesday, October 26, 2022. As I write this, it is the day before the anniversary of the Tree of Life shooting.

 

If you know me, you probably know that I am of neighbor of that synagogue. My property doesn’t quite border its land; there is a neighbor’s yard in between. Nonetheless, as I look out onto my back yard, most of what I see is the main temple.

 

I am not a witness to the shooting. I didn’t directly hear or see anything. I am a witness to many of the circumstances around Tree of Life that day and afterwards. My story is ancillary at best.

 

I did not have the trauma of being an eyewitness of the events on October 27, 2018. I am not Jewish and cannot claim it was an attack against “my people.” However, these were my neighbors. I knew one of the people killed (Irv Younger) and would have recognized several of the others.

 

I intend to make several blog posts in the next few days recalling the events on that day and afterwards. It’s fair to ask why, and I can’t give you a definitive answer. I don’t feel like it’s a form of self-therapy. I’ve told story of October 27 many times over, to the point where I just assume anyone I know has already heard the story. 

 

It is the closest I have come to witnessing an extraordinary event. That deserves to be documented, even if I my story is only a small footnote in the larger narrative. 

 

There are other more personal reasons, though. I’ve seen a number of friends and associates die since this time. I don’t ascribe a meaning to this, only that the shooting is a sort of marker in the timeline of my life. I’m nearly sixty years old, and I know that aging means that I will see more of the people I know and love will pass away before me. I’ve been very fortunate that I haven’t lost more than I have. My parents and sisters are all among us, for example. Since the shooting, I’ve lost three people I knew to suicide, two to brain cancer, one to a drug overdose, and I’m probably forgetting others. This is in addition to the crushing reality of the COVID-19 pandemic during this time. 

 

The Tree of Life shooting left me very raw emotionally. It felt that my feelings were very close to the surface most of the time. The sting has blunted since that time, but I am left changed.

 

I love Squirrel Hill. I don’t want to be anywhere else. It’s a wonderful place. I have nice home, good neighbors (mostly). I live on an attractive block in an attractive segment of a lovely neighborhood. There’s a movie theater, used record and CD stores, bookstores, and many places to eat within walking distance. I can walk to work when the weather is fair. I couldn’t ask for much more in a place to live.

 

I do take the shooting a little bit personally. It has been a scar on a place that I love. I don’t want that to sound trivial and self-centered. I didn’t lose any family, and it wasn’t an act of hatred directed at me or any of my relatives. Yet, this is my neighborhood. Those were my neighbors. I feel it, and I’m going to write about it.

 

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Current listening: Morton Feldman, Violin and String Quartet. I’ve been listening to a lot of Feldman recently, mostly his work from the 1980s and some from the 1970s. This piece is particularly long, minimal, and I’d even describe it as “icy.” I recommend locating his work Rothko Chapel and listening on October 18. It seems appropriate.