On Pittsburgh

"Charity will save from death." Jewish cemetery in Prague, August 2014

I am a Jew if I am anything. I was born in Toronto and I live in Israel. I have red hair. But I am a Jew if I am anything. Witnessing the murders of eleven Jews on Saturday morning, part of a congregation that was welcoming a new life into the world at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, has been devastating. 

I've never been to Pittsburgh and I only know a few people from there, but I feel that the community that was shot up on Shabbat is also my community. I find myself connected to those destroyed human lives.

I am far away, but I'm angry and afraid. My heart and my brain can't keep up with one another. I am the grandchild of survivors of, and refugees from, the Shoah. I carry those stories and traumas with me. I am cautious and anxious because of that history and I work for justice and equality because of that history. 

I am angry and scared and though I have carried the heavy lessons and collective understandings of our history for my entire life there is no sufficient preparation for this feeling as white supremacists take up arms against us. 

I am sickened. Trump's lies helped this terrorist in choosing to target "a traditional, progressive and egalitarian congregation." Trump's words have been instrumental in shaping the atmosphere in the United States. 

Trump's counterparts in Israel who work tirelessly to seek the expulsion of those seeking asylum and push racist politics and policies pretend that Trump's dog whistles and outright lies have nothing to do with rising hate, whether antisemitic or otherwise. I am sickened by the amount of power he holds. 

In the whirlwind of oppressive policies and outlandish statements it is sickening to actually pause and think about the impact he's had on all of us.

I am in grief. I am far away from Pittsburgh, but I wonder about each person I encounter today if they know someone from the Tree of Life. I find myself wondering whether the traditional week of mourning will be enough for anyone. 

Perhaps nothing will be able to replace the mourning that is taking place now. I am also mourning something that never really existed, but that I have felt safe at any time, anywhere is a testament to my family and community. I am mourning each of those killed in the breaths I take today. 

I am mourning my people.