My otherness was brought to the forefront of my consciousness Saturday morning in the most heartbreaking way possible.

I’m a Reform Jew, and I spent my formative years in Squirrel Hill, a quiet, welcoming neighborhood in Pittsburgh. It also happens to be one of the most Jewish neighborhoods in the country. Synagogues adorn practically every corner, and I was constantly surrounded by a Jewish community brimming with affection and care. It was a great place to grow up.