Last Saturday morning, on October 27, 2018, I shockingly read an email of a breaking tragedy unfolding at the Tree of Life. Some recessed part of my brain recognized the name. It was immediately familiar. Reading further, my memory was confirmed when it was mentioned that it was in Squirrel Hill, my former home during college. Then I looked up the building and it was very familiar visually, from thirty years ago, having gone by it numerous times for four years while living less than a mile away in the neighborhood.