Lori Falce: Lighting candles for the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting

I am known among my friends for my common response to times of pain and trouble.

I will cry with them. I will hold their hands and hug them close. But, more than anything, as my friends are scattered across the map, I light candles.

As the product of a Catholic home and a Catholic school, one of the greatest lessons I took from my faith is that something about the simple act of touching a flame to a waxy wick aids the intention of asking for help and ease and comfort.

It helps me focus on the problem and my call to God. I like to think the wispy way the flame thins into barely perceptible smoke mimics the way my prayer floats toward heaven.

I love that candles are a universal symbol that shares similar meaning across religions. They are a light against darkness; the parallel of faith being a beacon is unmistakable. It is why I feel my tiny fires of hope are nondenominational.

And, today, I burn 15 candles.

I burn one each for Joyce Fienberg, Richard Gottfried, Rose Mallinger, Dr. Jerry Rabinowitz, brothers Cecil and David Rosenthal, husband and wife Sylvan and Bernice Simon, Dan Stein, Melvin Wax and Irv Younger. These are the people who lost their lives in the Pittsburgh synagogue shootings Oct. 27, 2018.

I burn one for each of the three congregations that worshipped in that house of God — Tree of Life, Or L’Simcha, Dor Hadash and New Light.

And I burn one for the pain felt by everyone else. For Pittsburgh. For the Jews who didn’t know where Squirrel Hill was before that day. For others who have lost loved ones to bullets — including the latest victims in Maine. For those losing loved ones in Israel and Gaza.

After years of waiting, synagogue shooter Robert Bowers was convicted this year. This anniversary had potential to be a healing time, moving forward after finding some justice. That was wrenched first by antisemitic threats during the trial that prompted charges against Hardy Carroll Lloyd and a subsequent September guilty plea.

Then, just two weeks later, the always simmering kettle of Middle East conflict bubbled over with a Hamas attack and Israel’s response.

I don’t know how to help this any more than I know how to help when a friend faces chemotherapy or heart surgery or mental health challenges. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a therapist. I don’t have enough hands to hold everyone in pain.

But I can hope for healing. I can strive for peace. I can say a prayer.

And I can light a candle.