I remember October 27, 2018, very vividly. I received an alert on my phone, immediately ran
home to watch the news, and was glued to the television.
I live four hours away, but as a Jewish Pennsylvanian, pain traveled deeply from Squirrel Hill to
Jewish people everywhere that Shabbat morning. It was initially bizarre to feel so deeply—I
don’t live in Pittsburgh nor have a connection to the Tree of Life Synagogue. But then I
remembered that for the Jewish people, any tragedy requires us by law to be connected to one
another, to share our pain together, and to hold each other through it.
Eleven congregants were shot and killed and six others were wounded, while celebrating the holiest day of the week. The mass shooting is remembered as the deadliest antisemitic attack in United States history.
Since then, my experience has been similar to other Jewish people across the country, we’ve
become cognizant of the severe rise in antisemitic incidents.
I live in southern central Pennsylvania, nicknamed ‘the bible belt’ of the state. And when easy
access to guns mixed with bigotry led the Jewish community at the Tree of Life Synagogue to
become a target for a senseless act of violence, this unsettling pit in my stomach only grew.
Growing up Jewish, it’s commonplace to hear about antisemitism a lot; it’s quite literally woven
into the generational fabric of our people. It’s deeply internalized within us all, but for so long
that is all it ever was for me. Internal. The shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue lit this spark
within me to speak these horrors out loud. These teachings can no longer live within our heads,
strictly at our Shabbat tables, or within Jewish circles—we must share and be vocal beyond our
communities to help others understand the disproportionate effect violence has on our
community.
Since the shooting at the Tree of Life ignited a sense of purpose within me, I have used my voice
to speak out against gun violence in all communities. After the mass shooting at Robb
Elementary School in Uvalde, I held my children tighter that night as I desperately scrolled
online for ways I could get involved in gun violence prevention. Lancaster was majorly lacking
in resources, so I joined a Pennsylvanian statewide call for Moms Demand Action—a grassroots
advocacy group, part of Everytown for Gun Safety—and that’s when my advocacy gained a new
meaning.
Myself alongside three other women on the call figured out we were all from Lancaster and spent
the next year arduously building a Moms Demand Action chapter in our city, where we now
have over 25 people involved in a largely conservative area.
I did not expect my identities as a gun safety advocate and a Jewish person to coalesce as they
have since the morning of October 27, until one evening when our chapter gathered for a
meeting, which we hold at my synagogue’s social hall. Some members got there early and were
both surprised and confused to find that the doors were bolted shut—they noted that their
churches were perpetually open to welcome in congregants.
I am one of two Jewish women in the chapter, and to us, our doors being closed does not mean
there was a recent threat; it is now a part of synagogue security in America and unfortunately
commonplace. This launched an impromptu conversation on gun safety and Judaism that greatly
strayed from our original agenda, but it turned out to be way more necessary than I had
anticipated.
We are a people who pride ourselves on welcoming in strangers, as Abraham and Sarah
welcomed strangers into their tent to rest, so to have our doors previously open to the world, to
now being shut out of fear of shots ringing out, broke my heart in a new and unique way.
But when over 25,000 hate crimes in the US involve a firearm in an average year and threats to
Jews in the United States tripled in a one-year period, with over 10,000 incidents according to
the Anti-Defamation League, locked doors are the new norm for us.
Despite the persistent fear that permeates the air, the past year has made me more proud than
ever to be Jewish and has also made me understand that community is not just a helpful option,
but a necessity. Moms Demand Action has provided me with a community to advocate for safety
through common sense gun reform across our state, and with the election just one week away, a
lot is riding on these results. We must elect Gun Sense Candidates across Pennsylvania: from
Harris-Walz at the top of the ticket, to Bob Casey in the Senate, all the way down the ballot to
our gun sense champions in the General Assembly, city council, and more.
We need lawmakers in our state who will pass common sense gun reform to protect all
Pennsylvanians from gun violence—this election truly is life or death for many of us.
Judaism teaches us that voting is not just a civic duty. In fact, throughout Jewish history, many of
our rabbis and sages have framed voting as a mitzvah.
In the Torah in Deuteronomy 16:20, the famous phrase “Tzedek tzedek tirdof” appears,
translating to “justice, justice, you shall pursue.” We are commanded to strive to establish a just
society with rights and protections.
So as we say the Mourners’ Kaddish for the 11 beautiful souls we lost six years ago, as Jews, as
Pennsylvanians, and as Americans, we have the obligation to vote for candidates this election
who will protect us and disarm hate for all targeted groups. May we also seek justice on
November 5.
Jessica Scott is a Loan Review Officer based in Lancaster, PA, and a reform Jew, balancing professional responsibilities with community engagement as a local election and membership lead for Moms Demand Action Lancaster.