After living through the deadliest antisemitic attack in American history and leading funeral after funeral for members of his own congregation, Rabbi Jeffrey Myers found that prayer no longer came easily.
“There was this emptiness to it,” Myers, the rabbi of Tree of Life Congregation in Pittsburgh, remembers.
Searching for a way back, he opened the biblical Book of Psalms, drawn to its hymns, poetry and prayers that, as he put it, span “the entire spectrum of human existence and emotion, from elation to utter despair.” Something within him, Myers said, kept insisting that “the inspiration that I need” was there.
So he began reading all 150 chapters from the beginning. When he reached Psalm 121, one line finally broke through: “My help comes from God, maker of the heavens and the Earth.”
“There it was,” Myers says now. “My faith did have the answers. It just took time to be able to find them.”
Myers, 70, is stepping down this month as Tree of Life’s spiritual leader, a role he had held for only a little more than a year when the horrors of Oct. 27, 2018, unfolded.
That Sabbath morning, a gunman forced his way into the synagogue, yelling antisemitic slurs as he killed 11 worshippers from the three congregations that shared the building: Dor Hadash, New Light and Tree of Life.
In the nearly eight years that followed, the congregation has moved through grief, trauma and rebuilding. It faced a long-postponed trial that ended with the gunman sentenced to death, weathered the upheaval of the pandemic and broke ground on a new building.
“My mission has come to a conclusion to the best that I could,” Myers said in an interview. “It was time for the next chapter also for the Tree of Life. It’s time to step aside so that there is space for new voices.”
Myers plans to return to his native New Jersey to be near his daughter and granddaughter. He wants to catch up on reading, do some writing, check off some “bucket list” goals with his wife. He also plans to work more on healing his own inner wounds after prioritizing the congregation’s needs.
“As Mr. Spock says in ‘Star Trek II,’ the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” says Myers, who frequently glides between scriptural and pop culture references.
Myers similarly quoted from the Beatles and Broadway’s “Rent” in a farewell address to his congregation on July 17. He thanked congregants, clergy, public officials, the police officers who risked their lives to rescue him, some suffering serious injuries.
He recalled each victim by name. “May your memories always be for a blessing,” he said. He concluded by having the congregation join him in singing Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend.”
Members, in interviews, pay tribute to Myers and what he achieved.
“He was really just a new rabbi and hardly broken in yet, and we went through the thing that we went through,” says Audrey Glickman, a survivor of the attack. “He has steered a constant ship and taken care of everyone, and I think he has earned himself a rest.”
Myers grew up near Newark, New Jersey, recalling summers at the beach at Asbury Park, where transistor radios were tuned to pop music stations. As a boy, he sang soprano in his synagogue choir. By his mid-teens, he was leading that choir and developing his distinctive high tenor voice — one that, in 2018, was heard worldwide as he sang the traditional Jewish mourner’s prayers for those who fell.
Myers started college as a pre-med student but soon pivoted toward his deep interests in Judaism and music. He went to school to become a cantor or hazzan, a type of Jewish clergy who leads worship.
After several years serving congregations in New York and New Jersey in the middle-of-the-road Conservative denomination of Judaism, he studied for ordination as a rabbi and came to Tree of Life. It was a small Conservative congregation, sharing its building with two others in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood, the heart of Jewish Pittsburgh.
Sabbath services had just begun that Saturday morning. After hearing gunfire in the lobby, he urged worshippers to flee if they were able — and those who were frail to lie down or hide. He took shelter as he heard gunshots ring out.
“I was praying,” Myers recalled on the witness stand during the gunman’s 2023 trial. “I thought about the history of my people, how we’ve been persecuted and hunted and slaughtered for centuries, and how all of them must have felt the moments before their death, and what did they do.”
He asked God to forgive him for being unable to save his congregants. He expected to die but was escorted to safety by police officers.
He was still wearing his prayer shawl.
In the days afterward, the funeral services unfolded. Alan Hausman, a lay leader in the congregation who has long worked in public safety, accompanied Myers throughout that week. Responding to deadly emergencies “takes a toll on you,” Hausman says. “And he kept going.”
With its damaged building a crime scene, Tree of Life began worshipping at a nearby synagogue, Rodef Shalom. For Myers and others, it was crucial to resume their Jewish observances in defiance of the killer’s intentions.
There were uplifting moments. Sam Schachner, the congregation’s then-president, recalls his son’s bar mitzvah a few weeks after the attacks — the first truly joyful event after Oct. 27.
Myers “could have reasonably said, ‘I’ve been through a lot. Can we postpone this?'” Schachner says. “He didn’t. He had this ability to be there for others when he was going through such pain.”
Then the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted the healing. Myers led remote services from his home. But presiding over his daughter’s outdoor wedding helped, fulfilling another Psalm’s promise. “God turned my mourning into rejoicing,” he says.
After resuming in-person worship, the three congregations braced for a long-delayed trial. It began in the spring of 2023, just as Myers’ daughter was expecting her first child.
Myers told prosecutors that if the baby was a boy, he would attend his circumcision even if it conflicted with Myers’ scheduled testimony — unwilling to “let the shooter deprive me” of partaking in a key Jewish rite. Instead, a granddaughter arrived, and Myers was on the witness stand as scheduled.
The lengthy trial concluded with the conviction and death sentence of the gunman, who remains on death row.
Tree of Life began a meaningful relationship with Mother Emanuel AME Church of Charleston, South Carolina, a historically Black congregation where a racist gunman killed nine Bible study participants in 2015. Members visited each others’ congregations, and Myers developed a bond with Emanuel’s pastor, the Rev. Eric Manning.
When Myers testified, Manning was in the courtroom. They understand each other. Manning believes it’s important to speak out against rising antisemitism and other forms of hatred — a word he refuses to utter, speaking only of “H.”
“Antisemitism is the world’s oldest disease,” he says. “It doesn’t require any sort of prescription or inoculation to eliminate. It requires people to honor the worth and dignity of every human being.”
Most of the aging and damaged Tree of Life building has been demolished. Plans for a new building, while scaled back from original designs, call for a memorial to the victims, along with antisemitism exhibits, a sanctuary and event space.
The building is slated to open in 2028, says Carole Zawatsky, who heads the nonprofit, The Tree of Life, which is overseeing the project in cooperation with the similarly named congregation.
“The memorial is there to remember each of the 11 victims. To always ground us,” Zawatsky says.
Myers was “the right guy at the right time,” says Robin Friedman, current president of the congregation. She calls it a “bittersweet” departure.
Recently about 50 Jewish families, many with young children, joined the congregation, bringing their own energy and ideas. That has boosted hopes for the future.
Says Glickman: “We intend not to let the shooter win and not to fade away into history.”
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AP video journalist Jessie Wardarski contributed. She and Smith were among the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette journalists who shared the 2019 Pulitzer Prize for breaking news for coverage of the synagogue massacre.
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