![]() Now I know what far too many Americans know - not that it can happen anywhere, but the visceral truth that it happened in a place I consider home. I was not prepared to wonder how close a connection I would have when the names of the dead were finally released. Or to see a childhood friend interviewed on the news. I wasn’t prepared to see a law enforcement officer armed to the teeth standing in front of the house where I grew up memorizing Steelers’ Super Bowl stats. I wasn’t ready to hear the words ‘Squirrel Hill’ uttered by the president of the United States or the prime minister of Israel. And despite how paranoid they seemed on the corner of Shady and Wilkins, I thought I had internalized them. And so we must be ever vigilant and wary - perpetually tensed. Jewish Americans, in particular, are taught pretty much from day one that the veneer of “civilization” is perilously thin and that “It” could happen again. Those expressing such shock have struck me as willfully self-delusional. Until today, it seemed inconceivable to me that any American could, at this point, be shocked by a mass murder, even one in their backyard. For crying out loud, it was literally Mr. People are nice to each other in Squirrel Hill. ![]() ![]() The Jewish Community Center is a beehive of multi-faith activity. ![]() Heavenly corned-beef sandwiches are easy pickings where orthodox, conservative, reformed, and unaffiliated Jews live harmoniously with their non-Jewish neighbors. Synagogues and Jewish shops abound in the hilly little Eden. Squirrel Hill is one of America’s leafiest and loveliest Jewish communities. I grew up in Pittsburgh’s Squirrel Hill - in fact, directly across the street and catty corner to the Tree of Life synagogue. ![]()
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