The announcement of the death sentence handed down to Robert Bowers, the antisemitic, hate-mongering, right-wing extremist who attacked the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh in 2018, can be characterized as justice served.
However, five years after that horrific act of domestic terrorism—killing 11 worshipers and perpetrating the deadliest antisemitic attack in U.S. history—that massacre has been enshrined as a watershed moment for the American Jewish community.
At the time of the attack, I was an executive at the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), a 110-year-old Jewish organization with the mission to combat antisemitism and secure justice and fair treatment to all.
To me, that horror represented not only an unprecedented act of violence against the American Jewish community, but also one that created a permanent before and after moment that we as a community will forever tell time by.
Before the Tree of Life Synagogue attack and after.
I believe the attack permanently transformed the American Jewish psyche in ways we are only beginning to understand. Personally, it presented a deeply altered sense of reality.
Before the Tree of Life massacre, I traveled the world and met with Jewish communities, representing a revered American organization committed to advocacy for the safety and security of Jewish communities around the globe.
I represented the ADL with the full confidence and sense of security that American Jewry had achieved through decades of life in North America. I met my counterparts in São Paulo, Paris, and Budapest, and my question to them was always: "How can we be of assistance?"
Observing their Jewish institutions guarded by metal detectors and machine gun-armed security professionals, what that question really meant was: "How can we the 'safe and secure' American Jewish community be of assistance to you, 'the vulnerable and insecure Jewish community'?"
I remember the confidence—what I would now call arrogance—with which I offered our expertise, our know-how, and our best practices.
After the Tree of Life massacre, my reality and narrative shifted overnight. I met with those very same Jewish communal leaders with a lump in my throat.
"I'm here because we need to learn from you, to understand how you keep your synagogues, community centers, and schools safe. I'm here to understand what steps we need to take to keep our community safe."
The outpouring of notes of support and condolences from around the globe gave us comfort, but reflected a reversal of roles we had never known.
That watershed moment continues to reverberate five years after the massacre. Bowers attempted to shatter the sense of confidence, safety, and security American Jews had felt for decades.
We have faced many challenges over time, just as many other immigrant groups that have immigrated to the U.S. have. The trauma of World War II—the U.S. government's initial reluctance to get involved in entering the war and later bombing the death railroad tracks, and its refusal to accept European Jewish refugees to America—are all blemishes our community cannot forget.
But the decades since the end of World War II also presented a golden age for American Jews. A period of not only safety and security, but also socio-economic and political confidence and growth.
Bowers, along with those holding tiki torches at Charlottesville chanting "Jews will not replace us," attempted to weaponize and normalize their hateful and extremist ideology based on the "the great replacement theory" and other conspiracy theories arising from such pernicious views.
I am a Iranian-American immigrant whose family escaped the Islamic revolution in Iran and took refuge in the United States in the late 1970s because of Islamist extremism and antisemitic ideology.
Facing the post-Tree of Life massacre realities carried with it a double sting: escaping my homeland and seeking safety in a country revered for its liberties and protection of minorities, only to be faced with serious threats to that safety by right-wing extremists.
My life was forever altered by both Charlottesville and the Tree of Life massacre. My career took an unprecedented turn toward a dedication to combating antisemitism and all forms of extremism.
Recently, I met with an Israeli government official who was discussing the toll the Tree of Life massacre has taken on the American Jewish psyche. In his own possibly unconscious assessment, he referenced his recent visit to the synagogue five years after the terror attack, and he shared how he could not believe that the synagogue was still shut down.
He said: "In Israel, when an act of terrorism takes place, by the very next day, everything is back to normal. We must go on with life as usual, or else the terrorist has won."
What he couldn't understand is the sad regularity of acts of terrorism in Israel, and the unprecedented shattering of normalcy for American Jewry after the Tree of Life synagogue attack.
Bowers being found guilty and condemned to death surely presents some sense of closure for the families of the victims and for the Pittsburgh Jewish community. It is now up to us, the professionals, the communities, our government and legislators, to bring back that sense of security.
We now have a new north star: reclaiming our pre-Tree of Life attack confidence, opening the doors of the Tree of Life Synagogue, and acquiring the best know-how there is to keep our institutions safe.
Dr. Sharon Nazarian is currently the president of the Y&S Nazarian Family Foundation and a member of Nazarian Enterprises.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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