Food for thought: FB post from resident of Squirrel Hill
Oct 29, 2018 14:57:32 GMT
peabay, elaine, and 17 more like this
Post by MorningPerson on Oct 29, 2018 14:57:32 GMT
A friend of mine who lives in Squirrel Hill shared this FB post today. (My friend is not the originator of the post.) Even though I've visited SH countless times, I learned a lot about just how diverse the community is.
Even more important, it gave me much food for thought - Squirrel Hill is a model community for how to be welcoming and accepting, no matter where we live.
Unfortunately I don't think I'm able to share directly from Facebook. Here is a copy and paste:
Even more important, it gave me much food for thought - Squirrel Hill is a model community for how to be welcoming and accepting, no matter where we live.
Unfortunately I don't think I'm able to share directly from Facebook. Here is a copy and paste:
I'd like to tell you about my neighborhood. Because when I finally found the courage to listen to some of the news coverage, it seems like a lot of the media is describing Squirrel Hill as a Jewish community. And that does a disservice to what this neighborhood is.
This neighborhood is diverse. So diverse that the Spanish immersion preschool is housed in a synagogue. The same synagogue, by the way, offers interfaith preschool. So diverse that this neighborhood is often lovingly referred to as Jewish Chinatown because the Asian and Jewish populations here have blended their existence (though, in truth, most Asians here are Taiwanese or Korean). This neighborhood is so diverse that there were children from over 50 counties in our local K-8 school last academic year. This neighborhood is so diverse that our local business district includes the most authentic Asian food in the city, a full suite of delis and a kosher Dunkin Donuts, a Japanese grocery, old school Italian pizza joints that have been here since the dawn of time, two new Mediterranean places owned by first generationers and a macaroon place owned by French transplants. I'm not even touching how diverse our neighborhood is with this description.
This neighborhood is a community. When I go to the library or the JCC or to drop off my dry cleaning, I see and talk to my neighbors. The parents and kids who go to preschool with Lucy Jo. My family who lives within 10 minutes of me. Our local night markets and community days and wine walks are always packed. Middle schoolers still walk home from school here and the community watches out for them.
Our neighborhood is inclusive. At Halloween, those who don't celebrate often leave candy on the sidewalk to support the neighborhood, and those who do celebrate never judge those who don't. At winter holiday time, the menorah minivans roam the streets next to houses bedecked with Santa inflatables. Nobody here has ever lost their mind over what was on a Starbucks cup. Our "All Are Welcome" signs are literal.
But, everything that this community has become was built on top of the lead our our Jewish neighbors. The synagogues and JCC here offer interfaith preschools, child services, family support services, affordable classes, senior services, they are warm zones for anybody without a place to sleep when the temperature here dips below freezing. They are the ones who modeled the inclusion that allowed this place to develop. The touch points of our landscape here are the synagogues. The stretch of Shady next to Beth Shalom. The tricky intersection by Temple Sinai. The Chatham entrance closest to Tree of Life. The Jewish community is how Squirrel Hill was built, and what has always propelled the inclusion here.
And that is why it is extra heartbreaking that the population that served as the foundation for holding together this testament to inclusive living is the one that suffered the most today. A man who doesn't live here, is in no way impacted by the community we're creating here, has no reason to hate anybody here and who knows as much about our community as a random media commentator came in and cut a hole into something beautiful and beloved by many that will take decades to heal, if it ever heals. Now we all know. We are not all welcome, and no bubble we create can change that. And though I know my neighborhood will pull together and be nothing but love, it will never be the same. The ugliness that we had built over has come in. And it is emboldened. And is has changed something magical and hurt our neighbors and friends and loved ones. And there can be no justice for that. We will recover. We will build. We will always be more suspect of each other now no matter how hard we try. Not because of one of us. Because of somebody who feared ... so many things he probably feared.
My neighborhood isn't perfect. The hard remnants years of of red-lining still have their claws in. There are no homes north of Beacon that can be bought for less than half a million dollars, which shuts many families out. There are certainly issues. But my neighborhood is beautiful. And kind. And embracing. And interested in other cultures. It's still all of those things even this evening, but now it is also a victim. And there's no way for victimhood to not change things. I can only hope that we all become more resolved in our commitment to plurality here rather than more suspect of it as we move forward in helping each other to heal.
This neighborhood is diverse. So diverse that the Spanish immersion preschool is housed in a synagogue. The same synagogue, by the way, offers interfaith preschool. So diverse that this neighborhood is often lovingly referred to as Jewish Chinatown because the Asian and Jewish populations here have blended their existence (though, in truth, most Asians here are Taiwanese or Korean). This neighborhood is so diverse that there were children from over 50 counties in our local K-8 school last academic year. This neighborhood is so diverse that our local business district includes the most authentic Asian food in the city, a full suite of delis and a kosher Dunkin Donuts, a Japanese grocery, old school Italian pizza joints that have been here since the dawn of time, two new Mediterranean places owned by first generationers and a macaroon place owned by French transplants. I'm not even touching how diverse our neighborhood is with this description.
This neighborhood is a community. When I go to the library or the JCC or to drop off my dry cleaning, I see and talk to my neighbors. The parents and kids who go to preschool with Lucy Jo. My family who lives within 10 minutes of me. Our local night markets and community days and wine walks are always packed. Middle schoolers still walk home from school here and the community watches out for them.
Our neighborhood is inclusive. At Halloween, those who don't celebrate often leave candy on the sidewalk to support the neighborhood, and those who do celebrate never judge those who don't. At winter holiday time, the menorah minivans roam the streets next to houses bedecked with Santa inflatables. Nobody here has ever lost their mind over what was on a Starbucks cup. Our "All Are Welcome" signs are literal.
But, everything that this community has become was built on top of the lead our our Jewish neighbors. The synagogues and JCC here offer interfaith preschools, child services, family support services, affordable classes, senior services, they are warm zones for anybody without a place to sleep when the temperature here dips below freezing. They are the ones who modeled the inclusion that allowed this place to develop. The touch points of our landscape here are the synagogues. The stretch of Shady next to Beth Shalom. The tricky intersection by Temple Sinai. The Chatham entrance closest to Tree of Life. The Jewish community is how Squirrel Hill was built, and what has always propelled the inclusion here.
And that is why it is extra heartbreaking that the population that served as the foundation for holding together this testament to inclusive living is the one that suffered the most today. A man who doesn't live here, is in no way impacted by the community we're creating here, has no reason to hate anybody here and who knows as much about our community as a random media commentator came in and cut a hole into something beautiful and beloved by many that will take decades to heal, if it ever heals. Now we all know. We are not all welcome, and no bubble we create can change that. And though I know my neighborhood will pull together and be nothing but love, it will never be the same. The ugliness that we had built over has come in. And it is emboldened. And is has changed something magical and hurt our neighbors and friends and loved ones. And there can be no justice for that. We will recover. We will build. We will always be more suspect of each other now no matter how hard we try. Not because of one of us. Because of somebody who feared ... so many things he probably feared.
My neighborhood isn't perfect. The hard remnants years of of red-lining still have their claws in. There are no homes north of Beacon that can be bought for less than half a million dollars, which shuts many families out. There are certainly issues. But my neighborhood is beautiful. And kind. And embracing. And interested in other cultures. It's still all of those things even this evening, but now it is also a victim. And there's no way for victimhood to not change things. I can only hope that we all become more resolved in our commitment to plurality here rather than more suspect of it as we move forward in helping each other to heal.
lol. And that "tricky intersection by Temple Sinai" is pretty tricky. lolol.