Two miles.

That’s about the distance from the Cathedral of Learning to the Tree of Life Synagogue. Just hop one of the #61 PAT buses on Forbes Avenue in Oakland and get off at Shady and Forbes in Squirrel Hill maybe 15 minutes later. Walk half-a-mile up Shady Avenue until you hit Wilkins. And there you are.

Two miles.

A very short drive.

That’s how far away I was yesterday morning. That’s roughly how far anyone on campus at Pitt was yesterday morning.

It’s so close, yet as anyone who attended Pitt or grew up in Pittsburgh knows; it’s another place. The winding hills. Carnegie Mellon in between. Schenley Park if you go another way. It’s part of why so many grad students end up getting apartments up there. Safely away from the distractions on Pitt’s campus. A little removed from the campus distractions. Yet, easy to get quickly to the campus.

We were on Pitt’s campus a little before 10 am. Walking past the Cathedral with my daughter. Heading down Forbes Avenue to put our name on a list at Pamela’s for a late breakfast after driving in to the ‘Burgh. We heard sirens and emergency vehicles blaring from all over. Rushing in the direction of Squirrel Hill or maybe Shadyside with little understanding as to the horror that was taking place.

Just a traffic accident, probably. Maybe a particularly bad one, but nothing that doesn’t happen all the time. Not much else to think of it at that moment.

Angela is a high school junior, starting to think about her college choice. I’m taking her around the campus, not expecting her to seriously consider Pitt; but still walking with pride around my alma mater.  Doing my best to self-censor certain nostalgic memories that are best unshared with her. Just a knowing smile on my face. We wouldn’t have even been in Oakland if not for the late start of the game. It gave us a good excuse to get a late breakfast and wander the campus.

I’m not from Pittsburgh. I came there for school. I left the city 25 years ago. Yet, it still feels more like home then anywhere else to me. More so then even when I visit family where I’m from. So much of it has changed, yet I find a comfort throughout the area.

It was “Family Weekend” on Pitt’s campus. Parents and siblings visiting. It made Oakland much busier on a dreary, damp and cold Satruday then expected. Less the slightly hungover stumble homes and/or find that first coffee; and more the slightly bleary-eyed students who just wanted to stay in bed, but have their parents to show around. Though, at least they get a free breakfast that isn’t from the dining hall.

I started noticing the tweets of something happening in Squirrel Hill around 10:30. Vague reports. Maybe a shooting. Something. Definitely something. Then it was a slow drip of information. Attacking a Synagogue. Unknown how many shot. The name of the Synagogue. Police on the scene. Shots fired at the police.

I’m checking my phone more and more. Becoming more quiet. Not sure what if anything I should be sharing with my daughter. Trying to still show her around. Picking up some Pitt gear.

By the time we get seated at Pamela’s I have to at least tell her some of it. The information is becoming clearer and worse. Any poker face I had was crumbling rapidly. I could feel my eyes starting to burn.

Friends are texting en mass. I texted my wife to let her know we are really no where near what is going on — despite Pitt’s campus looking so close on Google Maps. People are actually calling each other to check in.

I tell Angela what’s going on. About the shooting. About the very clear hate that drove it. Doing my best to keep my voice steady and even. Pushing down the cauldron of emotions that want to spill out, That someone wanted to kill Jews. Just wanted to kill the Jews. Jews like her grandparents. Jews like her father.

The same way a killer outside of Louisville this past week shot only African-Americans — and would have been willing to do it at a church if he had been there a little earlier and services were still happening.

I was both upset and grateful to have my daughter with me. Upset, at the idea of this horror and madness coming anywhere even close to touching her goes against everything I want for her. Wanting to keep her safe physically and emotionally from this. As if I can some how protect her from this world. That instinct.

Yet, I was so glad she was there with me. Part of my family there when I really did need them. More then the plenty of friends I saw and reached out to me. Having my daughter there helped anchor me at that moment.

It’s always easy to compartmentalize what is seemingly becoming commonplace tragedies everywhere else. Sigh deeply at the recurring Onion headline. And we go on with things.

Then it happens where you are. And it is now different. Not here. We think and say. Even though we know better intellectually. Emotionally, it is something else. It is personal. It is somewhere you have passed. Somewhere you visited. Something with which you identify.

Now what do we do, now that it has happened here?