I really had no idea what was in store for me. It was last fall and I was on the tail end of a long drive from Teaneck to Pittsburgh. I was looking forward to my internship in “child life” at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh at University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. I was planning to spend several months living in the Jewish enclave of Squirrel Hill. But, as I got closer to my destination, I kept thinking, “I really don’t know anyone in this community. Why have I come all this distance? Why am I going?” Little did I realize that I was driving to events that would be broadcast around the world, that would have special impact on American Jews and that would teach me some critical lessons that I hope I will never forget. I write now to help me clarify what I saw and what I learned, hoping my experience and observations might be of interest or use to others.
Growing up in Teaneck, I knew little of what it meant to live in a real “out of town” community. Teaneck seemed like a friendly place, but then again I had never experienced Squirrel Hill. From the moment I drove into town I was welcomed with open arms. I didn’t have to think about where I would eat a single Shabbos or Yom Tov meal throughout the months I was there. The invitations were constant and so very much appreciated. I was a stranger, without a single family member in the community, but those invitations and friendly meals made me feel “connected” and part of a beautiful community.
On October 27 came the cruel and senseless attack on the Tree of Life Synagogue. I was just a few blocks away in a nearby shul. But the shock and the sadness instantly blanketed the entire community. From then on, no one was a stranger. Simply walking on the street or riding on the bus, people came together to get to know one another. To learn who their neighbors were.
For a long time following the attack, things felt a little “off,” as you can imagine. I was not part of the community, but I still felt affected by what had happened. There were times I felt awkward. I was uncomfortable not knowing what to do or what to say. But the power of a smile, the “knowing smile,” and simple acknowledgment really helped me stay on track. Seeing that someone cared about how you were doing made you feel a little better and put you at ease.
I was not from Squirrel Hill; I lived there for just a few months prior to the attack and I didn’t really have a lot of local history to offer to the conversations that took place at Shabbat meals thereafter. However, I learned so much just by listening to stories about the victims, about the graciousness of the nearby communities, about the heroic acts of the officers during and after the attack, about the way in which various members of the community had been affected. There was so much to listen to and learn from. I truly feel as if I knew some of the victims personally after hearing so many great things about them.
The Tree of Life Synagogue is not an Orthodox institution. However, everyone in the greater Pittsburgh area, religiously observant and not, Jew and gentile, held hands through the aftermath. Anywhere you went, whether it was down the block for a walk, to the grocery store or to pick up your dry cleaning, you felt the empathy and camaraderie. The posters on the storefront windows, the open doors to anyone in need, the arms waiting to give a hug—the tragedy was shared by everyone. I had noticed the strong sense of community even before the attack, but the events of October 27 seemed to strengthen those bonds. This trait of the community is what kept it going and what helped the families and friends of the victims begin to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.
I had never given much thought to the Av Harachamim prayer that we say after Torah reading right before Ashrei every Shabbos, but I certainly do now. It is up to those who remain to remember those who were taken from us, no matter the circumstance. It seems harder somehow to get over the losses that occurred al Kiddush Hashem, which is why I think we are given the words to help us remember. Each Shabbos since the attack I have taken extra time while reciting this paragraph to remember those innocents, who one year ago went to shul on a Shabbos morning for the last time, having their lives suddenly and brutally ended.
Despite the fact that I was an outsider living temporarily in the Squirrel Hill community, after I returned to Teaneck I realized how affected I was by my experience. I tried to be more open and welcoming. I consciously smiled when I met people or I sensed someone needed support or encouragement. Whether it was the thoughts I had to share from my time in Pittsburgh, or the way I reacted to a security training at work, I took with me the idea of joining with others in a time of need, because no one should have to experience suffering alone.
Each of these lessons remains with me as we approach the yahrtzeit of the 11 people we lost on that fateful Shabbos back in October. The four months I spent there, marked halfway through by the terrible attack, are filled with fond memories of times spent with a remarkable group of people I came to know very well. I hope that you too can learn from my experience and take these simple but important lessons as we enter this new year.
Leora Zomick, a lifelong Teaneck resident, is pursuing a master’s degree in developmental disabilities/child life on her way to certification as a Child Life Specialist.
