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PITTSBURGH – Christians, Muslims and Jews will take a spin on the ice at a new skating rink this fall, after commemorating an antisemitic attack five years ago that left 11 people dead and caused this city and the nation to probe how to tamp out hate and repair ancient wounds.

The seasonal rink project spearheaded by the Pittsburgh Penguins, has transformed a century-old cultural icon, the Hunt Armory, into a place for youth to learn to skate in the city, said the Rev. Jonathon Jensen, rector at Calvary Episcopal Church. It’s also where different faith groups will share space just after Thanksgiving, a month and five years after the Tree of Life synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh.

“In the midst of all the craziness in the world, Muslims, Jews, Christians will come together just to enjoy being together,” Jensen said in an interview inside the century-old church where Jewish congregants from the Tree of Life congregations have held services and events alongside Episcopalians since the deadly attack on the Jewish Sabbath, on Oct. 27, 2018. Together, people from different faiths will laugh, falling on ice, he said, adding “getting to know each other as neighbors.”

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In the aftermath of the Tree of Life tragedy, Pittsburghers forged strong, new relations across faiths, with Muslim communities raising funds for funeral costs for the mass shooting victims, and Christians providing a sanctuary where Jewish congregants could pray. Now, amid an unprecedented conflict in Israel and Gaza and rising attacks against Jews and Muslims in the U.S., the community provides a model of interfaith dialogue and small, meaningful moments of joy that sometimes come as a result.

Sharing a spiritual space has given the congregations “a greater appreciation for how our neighbors see the world,” said Rabbi Aaron Bisno, now rabbi-in-residence at Calvary Calvary Episcopal Church, where he and Jensen offer a biblical study class, exploring scripture from Jewish and Christian perspectives. “And gives us a greater appreciation for the way in which we each see the world.”

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‘We are the canary in the coal mine’

On an unseasonably balmy October afternoon outside the Tree of Life, a chain link fence – decorated with recreations of art shared with this community and survivors of the mass shootings at Columbine and Marjory Stoneman Douglas and other tragedies – provided a barrier around much of the synagogue. Tree of Life is located in the historically Jewish neighborhood of Squirrel Hill, home to famous former resident, Fred Rogers, of "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood." The synagogue remains gutted, as parts of the floor where bodies fell and blood-stained furniture was removed with the dead, in accordance with Jewish tradition. It was the largest antisemitic attack in U.S. history.

Standing alone outside the synagogue, Alan Hausman, the board president for the Tree of Life, said he doesn’t like to use the word "tolerance" when he talks about what it means to be a minority in a multicultural community. He prefers to commemorate the attack with more active language. It's about supporting one another and being stronger together.

“Your blood is red, your bone is broken,” said Hausman, 64, who works as an emergency management specialist for the city. “I’m going to fix it. I’m going to treat you.”

A renovation in the works will replace the shell of the building with classrooms and a museum along with a new religious sanctuary. The plans also include a memorial garden, at the synagogue’s entrance, for the victims.

Michael Bernstein, the interim president of the organization overseeing the Tree of Life transformation, hopes the space will open up meaningful conversations among visitors and congregants.

“When there’s antisemitism, chances are there are all other forms of hate also being felt,” said Bernstein, 56. Rebuilding the synagogue has involved a broader vision to combat antisemitism at every step, he said: “We are the canary in the coal mine, so to speak.”

Bernstein was at his home, just a minute’s walk from Tree of Life, when he heard the shooting and asked his son if someone was hammering next door in their quiet neighborhood, as he recently wrote in a CNN piece. Bernstein was not a congregant at Tree of Life, but he was active in the city’s Jewish community. Two years after the attack, he was so transformed by what his community had undergone, he stepped up to lead the rebuilding of the space for future generations.

Interfaith against injustice

In the days after the 2018 shooting, the city’s Muslim community raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to help pay the funeral costs of Tree of Life victims.

“These are our brothers and sisters,” Wasi Mohamed, the former executive director of the Islamic Center of Pittsburgh, said during a vigil the day after the attack. “These are our family.”

Muslims are required to stand up against injustice, he said.

In difficult moments and with burning questions, it’s about engaging and staying in contact with one another, said Imam Christopher Caras, who now leads the Islamic Center, two miles from the Tree of Life. Caras’ congregation is grappling painfully and openly with the conflict between Israel and Palestine, which has left thousands dead and triggered antisemitic and Islamophobic attacks in the U.S. The war has also opened deep wounds in communities.

Being targeted and scapegoated and enduring in your beliefs, that’s an area where Jews and Muslims can see eye to eye.

“That brings us to points where we agree,” he said. “Or at the very least, even when we disagree, we can understand the values that drive each other’s positions.”

Similar lessons came for students in a nearby neighborhood at the Greenfield Elementary School, where there are benches to honor the people who died in the Tree of Life massacre.

Social studies teacher Samantha Sommer, 45, has incorporated lesson plans to middle-school students to discuss the attack down the street. But, she noted, it was her students, who come from diverse backgrounds, who took the initiative to explore the deeper lessons from the shooting.

On Friday, Greenfield students planned to help in the commemoration ceremony.

“It kind of puts that energy toward something healing,” she said. “It gets us out of the classroom, and has a different experience, but still a very educational one.”

Trees of life

On Wednesday, Ron and Andrea Wedner, who are 67 and 66, looked on as the Greenfield children played at recess. Later that afternoon, three students presented an art piece they’d made resembling trees, as gifts. Three trees — made from toilet paper rolls — represent the three Tree of Life congregations, along with 11 smaller trees representing the victims, with a backdrop in orange, pink and yellow with a silhouette of Pittsburgh’s skyline. 

Andrea Wedner’s 97-year-old mother, Rose Mallinger, was killed in the attack, and Andrea sustained a gunshot wound when the gunman, who was sentenced to death in August, opened fire on the congregants. Her husband hopes young people who meet her, understand her story, and learn from the healing she and others in this community have tackled in its wake.

“If we can get one kid turned around, not to fall down that rabbit hole of hatred, then we’ve done our jobs,” Ron Wedner said, seated on a commemorative bench with his wife.

'Love One Another,' 'Shalom'

Passing on those subtle lessons, about the similarities between people, is what it’s all about.

Back at the Episcopal church’s office entrance, parish administrator Kim Pieratt's desk has photos of her children and grandchildren. She moved to Pittsburgh to be closer to them and started work at the church just two months before the shooting. The attack occurred on her birthday, when the church had a bazaar. She turned 64 on Friday.

Pieratt also keeps metal cups full of candy on her desk. Since the Tree of Life congregants have begun sharing the space, Hausman, the synagogue’s board president, has taken to snagging sweets when he passes her desk. She has bags supplied for him because they're his favorites, Twix and Kit Kat bars.

He took Pieratt on a tour of the synagogue as it was being renovated, Pieratt’s first time inside a Jewish sanctuary, though she said the pews were much the same as the churches she’s known. 

“I wanted to know where they came from,” the 64-year-old said in a southern drawl, by way of Kentucky, distinguishable from the Pittsburgh accent.

Above a monitor showing live security footage around the building, opposite Hausman’s candies, her desk has woven baskets with small wooden crosses that say “Love One Another.” Another basket has wooden Stars of David that read, “Shalom.”

Eduardo Cuevas covers health and breaking news for USA TODAY. He can be reached at [email protected].