What the Pittsburgh Shooter Hated: Squirrel Hill Values
If a conspiracy theory about the role of Jewish groups in immigration is the lie, then what is the truth that got stuck lacing up its boots on Saturday morning while Bowers was allegedly killing worshippers at Tree of Life?
The truth is that communities are stronger, and people become better, when they are exposed to people who are different, and compelled to learn about them, live alongside them and engage them in dialogue in the hopes of developing an understanding and empathy for them and their ways of life. And to me, that truth is best exemplified by the neighborhood of Squirrel Hill.
You feel this sense every day in Squirrel Hill, a place teeming with first- and second-generation immigrants, a place where families of all backgrounds are welcome, a place that feels inviting and refreshingly unconcerned with the things that make people different: race, wealth or social status. It’s a neighborhood that has taken on the character of its most famous denizen, the late Fred Rogers—who lived just three blocks from the shooting.
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At Taylor Allderdice High School at the southern end of Squirrel Hill, I sat in classrooms with students who were of white, black, Indian, Korean, Chinese, Jewish and Christian heritage. They were the children of Russian refuseniks who lived in settlement housing at the foot of Murray Avenue and the kids of wealthy doctors and documentary filmmakers who lived in rambling Tudor houses on Beechwood Boulevard and the leafy lanes north of Forbes Avenue.
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“For me, Squirrel Hill values are not just live and let live, but that people who are different have something really interesting to bring to the conversation,” he said. “We’re interested in each other.”
Squirrel Hill values. Maybe that’s why a white supremacist would choose to gun down people in a house of worship—maybe that’s what bigots hate about places like my old neighborhood.
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“I don’t think the fundamental calculus of Jewish life in the neighborhood has changed as a result of this terrible thing, but it was a terrible thing,” Rabbi Gibson said. “If we become armed camps in our own synagogues, it will defeat our very purpose to exist.”