Pittsburgh

Like most of my readers, I suppose, I have been watching the trial of Robert Bowers, the perpetrator of the massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh, with a strange brew of emotion concocted principally of fascination, horror, pride in our American justice system, and intense personal engagement—the latter despite the fact that I’ve never actually been to Pittsburgh, thus also obviously not to that synagogue, and that I did not know any of the victims personally.

The charges alone were hair-raising enough to consider during the trial, but the verdict feels even worse: guilty of 22 crimes, eleven capital counts of obstruction of free exercise of religious beliefs resulting in death and eleven capital counts of using a firearm to commit murder during and as part of a crime of violence. Of course, none of the above was at all unexpected: even Bowers’ own lawyers did not waste the court’s time by arguing that their client was not the shooter, choosing instead to argue that he was not primarily motivated by hatred of Jewish people in general, but specifically by his hatred of the HIAS, the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society and his understanding that at least one of the congregations housed in the building he attacked worked with the HIAS to assist immigrants in need.

There’s a lot here to unpack. The HIAS has been around for a long time, having first been founded in 1881 to assist Jewish persons newly arrived on these shores in finding lodging and employment, and in developing a sense of belonging in a new place so unlike their countries of origin. That remained its primary focus for a long time too—which is why supporting the HIAS was, in my childhood, as uncontroversial a thought as supporting the March of Dimes or the JNF. And it did its work famously well, establishing an office on Ellis Island itself in 1904 and assisting hundreds of thousands of those who arrived there. They provided translation services for would-be immigrants who didn’t speak English well or at all. They lent the truly indigent the $25 “landing” fee that all who passed by those portals were obliged to pay one way or the other. They provided lawyers to argue before the so-called “Boards of Special Inquiry” the cases of individuals who might otherwise have been sent back to Europe. On top of all that, they found the funds to launch nation-wide searches for relatives of the newly arrived so that the former could provide affidavits of support for the latter to guarantee that they—the new immigrants—would not end up as indigents living off public money. They opened a kosher restaurant on Ellis Island that eventually served more than half a million meals. And they created a kind of charity travel bureau to assist new immigrants in covering the cost of train tickets to wherever it was they were going to settle. Perhaps most useful of all, they opened an employment bureau to help newcomers find work.

All that being the case, what’s not to like? My parents were big supporters, never setting aside an envelope from the HIAS without putting a check or at least a few dollar bills inside before mailing it back. As well they should have: three of my four grandparents came to this country through Ellis Island and all benefited from the presence of the HIAS officials waiting for them to disembark and helping them through what could easily have been a harrowing experience in a foreign language they could barely speak. And that, of course, was without knowing that being sent back to Europe would almost definitely have meant eventually being killed along with two-thirds of European Jewry during the Second World War.

Later, the HIAS was instrumental in saving as many European Jews as possible, famously saving 1400 children the Nazis had incarcerated in French concentration camps and bringing them to America. (Nearly all their parents were subsequently murdered by the Germans.) All in all, about 45,000 Jews were saved by the HIAS during the war, none of whom would otherwise have survived. And then, when the war was over, the HIAS assisted in finding homes for more than 300,000 Jewish souls left in D.P. camps with no place to go. Eventually, the HIAS would also play a major role in helping Jews permitted to leave the Soviet Union in finding new homes in Israel, Western Europe, or the U.S.

It's hard to imagine why Robert Bowers would have cared about any of this. Nor, apparently, did he. But the HIAS also took on another role in the latter part of the twentieth century. In 1975, the State Department asked the organization to assist in the settling of 3,600 Vietnamese refugees here in the U.S. And that constituted a sea change for the organization, which now turned from its original raison d’être of helping Jewish immigrants to helping refugees of all nationalities in need, extending its mission to address the needs of all displaced persons in need of assistance in finding or settling into new homes. And that was the part that Robert Bowers apparently couldn’t stand. “HIAS,” Bowers posted online, “likes to bring invaders in who kill our people. I can’t sit by and watch our people get slaughtered.” And then he famously concluded that post with words that were subsequently repeated a thousand times: “Screw your optics! I’m going in.”

And in he went—to a synagogue housing three different congregations, one of which had indeed participated just a week earlier in HIAS’s annual National Refugee Shabbat. Shouting, by police accounts, “All Jews must die,” he set to his deadly work. It didn’t take that long: Barrows entered the building at 9:50 AM and by 11:08 he had surrendered to police. And so, in just a little over an hour, eleven died. Two were a married couple. Two others were brothers. Six others were injured, which figure includes four police officers. The dead, in alphabetic order, were Joyce Flenberg, Richard Gottfried, Rose Mallinger, Jerry Rabinowitz, Cecil Rosenthal and David Rosenthal, Bernice and Sylvan Simon, Daniel Stein, Melvin Wax, and Irving Younger. They ranged in age from 54 to 97. None was guilty of anything other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

At first, it might almost sound as though Bowers’ lawyers were right, that this was “about” HIAS and its mission to assist refugees of all kinds and points of origin and not “just” about killing Jews. But Bowers didn’t shoot up a HIAS office and neither did he take aim at any of their refugee clients. Instead, correctly understanding that part of the Jewish worldview includes a deep and ineradicable sense of identity with the refugees and displaced persons in this cold, uncaring world we inhabit (a point presented in Scripture not as a good idea or even as a noble one, but as a divine commandment), he took aim at Jews because they had embraced their Judaism and the worldview that their faith calls upon them to adopt. And it was that specific part of Jewishness that Bowers couldn’t tolerate, the sense that it is requisite that all who would call themselves godly or decent feel a deep sense of kinship, not with the masters and rulers of the world, but with the powerless, with those seeing refuge from tyranny or poverty, with the defenseless and the desperate. And it was expressly to express his loathing of that kind of worldview—one so identified with Judaism that it would be impossible to imagine Judaism without it—that Bowers chose to act. He chose innocent victims because they were Jewish, because they were in synagogue on Shabbat morning to affirm their Jewishness, because they were associated—both in Bowers’ mind and probably correctly—with the mission of the HIAS not to turn away from those seeking refuge in the world but to turn towards them and to embrace them as fellow children of God.

And now, the verdict having been handed down, we turn to the next part: the sentencing phase of the trial scheduled to begin on Monday, at which time the jury will have to decide whether to sentence Bowers to life imprisonment without parole or to death.

As always, I find myself unsure where I stand on death penalty issues. On the one hand, who could possibly qualify for execution if not a man like Bowers, a violent extremist who mercilessly executed eleven innocents to make some sort of demented political statement about an issue to which none of his victims had any direct connection? He falls in the same category, then, with Dylann Roof, the young man who murdered nine innocents in 2015 after spending an hour studying Bible with them at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina, and who was subsequently found guilty and then sentenced in state court to nine consecutive sentences of life without parole and in federal court to death. Both men acted willfully and intentionally. Neither had any particular personal animus against any of his victims. Both were angry souls fueled by violent hatred. If the death penalty is the ultimate punishment our justice system metes out, then to whom should it be meted out if not to people who fully intentionally kill innocents specifically because of their faith or the color of their skin?

On the other hand, I see the arguments against the death penalty too. The victims don’t come back to life when their executioner is executed; the death penalty speaks to a need to punish felt by the living but yields exactly nothing at all to the dead. Should it matter if the deceased individuals were on record as being opposed to or in favor of the death penalty? And how should faith itself impact on the way we feel about the death penalty? Do we argue that the Bible itself, which clearly has no problem at all with the notion of execution as the proper response to violent crime, should be our guide? What about the strictures that Jewish tradition places around the death penalty, strictures so tight that it would be more or less impossible for a traditional rabbinic court to sentence anyone to death even if such a court were to have the authority to hand down such a sentence? In the end, do we support the concept of the death penalty in theory because it is, after all, the ultimate in punitive acts at the same time we oppose it in reality because of the possibility of error? Is it relevant in this regard to mention the over 300 convictions that have been overturned based on DNA evidence since the Innocence Project began its work in 1992? Surely that should be irrelevant here—neither Bowers’ own lawyers nor even the defendant himself tried to deny that he was the Pittsburgh shooter. Or is it irrelevant, given that, by supporting the idea of sentencing the man to death, we are saying clearly that we support the death penalty while knowing that that the work of the Innocence Project makes it more or less certain that innocent individuals have been executed in our nation’s history?

All these are the thoughts I bring to the conviction and eventual sentencing of Robert Bowers, the perpetrator of the Pittsburgh massacre. What happens to Bowers will happen without any input from myself. But what I can do, and invite all my readers to join me in doing, is to pray that his victims rest in peace and that their deaths collectively serve as a mass sanctification of God’s name in this violent, crazy world we inhabit.