[AUTHOR’S NOTE: Next Sunday will mark one year since the senseless massacre at Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. Shortly after that happened, I wrote this essay. I am posting the essay, unedited, in commemoration of this horrid anniversary. As we need to say for too many reasons in the Jewish community: Never Forget.]

Last night I went to an interfaith vigil at Beth Or.  It was because of the slaughter of eleven Jews at Shabbat services the previous day.  Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh.  Etz Chaim.  I sat there amongst the standing room only crowd, worthy of High Holiday services, flowing over into the social hall.  I sat there, listening to all the words of support, and thought “it could have been me”.

Etz Chaim in Pittsburgh is a Conservative shul, much like the shuls I’ve attended all my life.  I’ve attended services on and off for many years and when I go it’s usually the Saturday morning Shabbat service.  Let me take you inside for a typical Shabbat.

The Conservative service on Shabbat morning typically runs for about 2 ½ hours and follows a prescribed order.  Unlike in many other religions, most conservative Jews don’t come for the entire service.  I’ll never forget the first time a non-Jew came with me to a service when I was younger.  She was absolutely flabbergasted at how people just wandered in and out, all throughout the service, stopping to greet and visit as they went.  To me, though, that was how the services went:  it was a time for prayer, but it was also a time for community.

The heart of the Shabbat morning service usually comes about an hour or so in:  the Torah service.  This is when the weekly section of the Torah is read aloud, followed by the Rabbi’s sermon.  Most people gauge their arrival to coincide with the Torah service.  I used to arrive earlier because I enjoyed the quiet sanctuary of the earlier parts of the service.  I could settle in, get into the zone, and if I timed things right be able to say the Shema three times.  You see, I’m a little OCD and have a thing with the number three.  The Shema—Hear o Israel, the Lord thy Gd, the Lord is One—is a seminal prayer in Judaism.  It’s the prayer that defines you as a Jew.  It’s the prayer that summarizes the key tenets of Judaism.  It’s the prayer that is on martyrs’ lips as they face death.  The Shema and its attendant prayers are said three times during the Shabbat service.

I would arrive around 9:15.  At that point, we’d be lucky to have a minyan of 10 Jews in the sanctuary.  The cantor would be reciting in Hebrew from Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of our Fathers.  I’d don my tallis and kippah.  I’d grab the Shabbat prayer book and the Chumash–the book with the text of the Torah and related commentary that we’d read from during the Torah service.  I’d whisper “Good Shabbos” to the regulars as I’d settle into a seat not too far forward, not too far back.  Usually on an aisle.  I’d listen to the cantor for a few seconds and usually be able to pick up where he was in the prayers.  I’d search for the page with his most recently recited phrases in my mind and catch up to where he was.

The service is almost entirely in Hebrew.  I can read and pronounce Hebrew but will admit that I don’t fluently understand it.  I can read English translations of the prayers on the facing page, but usually just follow along in the Hebrew, singing softly along with the cantor in the familiar, comforting tunes I’ve known since I was a child.  We’d transition into the different parts of the service, knowing when to stand and when to sit; when to recite and when to listen; when to pray out loud and when silently.  We’d say the Shema.  We’d recite the Amidah.  I’d get into that zone of prayer and sanctuary.

Knowing the timing of when the gunman entered the shul, I’m thinking the service would have been at about this point.  Maybe they were still reciting the silent Amidah, standing in personal prayer, focused on their prayer books.  Maybe they were into the recitation of the Amidah, when the congregation starts to transition from the quiet solitude of the early parts of the service and gets ready for the Torah service.  More people would have been streaming in at this point.  The Gabbi, something of a Director of the service, would be wandering around assigning honors.  Would I get to the hold the Torah today?  Would I get an Aliyah to recite blessings for a section of the Torah reading?

What would I have done?  Would I have run?  Would I have hit the floor and hid?  Would I have tried to be a hero and rush the gunman?  You know what I honestly think I would have done?  I would have stood there and stared.  And I would have been easily dropped by a spray of bullets from an assault rifle.  They say in this day and age that we should all be vigilant.  We should all be ready to jump into action at any time!  The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun!  But FOR GD’S SAKE!  I was in the zone!  I was wrapped in the sanctuary of my community! I was thinking about the service.  I was lulled into song and prayer!  There could be nothing more incongruent with that than a crazy man with a gun shouting that all Jews must die!

No, I would probably stand there, like those eleven probably did.  Mouths open, not understanding what was happening.  I would probably have been killed.  It could have been me.  It could have been me!  And if it could have been me, it could have been you.