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Michael McLeod
news of the day is frightening as hell, see below
It's a touching message, though a sad one, and beautifully written. can't imagine what this would have felt like.
my heart goes out to him and his loved ones
By Josh Shapiro
Mr. Shapiro is the governor of Pennsylvania.
I woke up to yelling in the hallway.
A few seconds later, there was a bang on the door.
It was just after 2 a.m., and a state trooper in the hallway of our private living quarters at the governor’s residence said there was a fire in the building. We needed to evacuate immediately.
My wife, Lori, and I ran to the bedrooms where our kids and two dogs were sleeping. We got them up quickly and followed the trooper down a back stairwell to the driveway.
At that point, standing in the cold, damp air, knowing that all the kids were accounted for, we began to wonder what had happened.
We thought it must be some kind of accident — perhaps a candle had been left burning and tipped over, something had short-circuited or there had been a malfunction in the kitchen.
But once the fire was extinguished — and firefighters were tackling the last few hot spots — the chief of the Harrisburg Bureau of Fire took me back inside to see the damage.
As I walked through the doorway, my nose burned from the smell of smoke. It was eerily quiet, but I could hear water dripping from the ceiling. My feet sloshed on the soaked floor.
The beautiful state dining room — where my family and I celebrated our Passover Seder with family and community just a few hours earlier — was completely destroyed.
Windows were smashed in, and there was glass everywhere. Some tables were turned over, and others had just melted away. Artwork from the New Deal era that had hung on display for visitors to enjoy had disintegrated into the walls. Plates we had eaten our Seder dinner on were broken and covered in soot. The Haggadah — our prayer book for the Seder — was burned so badly, only a few short lines of text were recognizable.
The devastation was shocking, and to me, it did not appear to be an accident. The damage was too extreme. It looked like a bomb had gone off in the middle of our home.
As I looked around in horror, I found myself picturing where each of my kids and our guests sat the previous evening as we prayed and recounted the story of our ancestors escaping bondage thousands of years ago.
As we moved our family to a secure location, I began receiving updates from the Pennsylvania State Police on what had happened: I was told with certainty that the fire was a deliberate, targeted attack by an arsonist.
As we would learn in the coming days, the alleged arsonist had intended to beat me with the hammer he carried with him when he broke into the governor’s residence, had he found me there.
As our kids woke up that morning after a traumatic night, Lori and I thought it was important to tell them honestly what we knew and what we didn’t.
I was focused on being a good dad, a good husband and a good governor — in that order.
We shared with them that the fire hadn’t been an accident, that someone had done this intentionally.
That the police were searching for who did it.
That we were safe where we were.
And that I was confident we would get the person — or people — who had done this.
We tried to be there for them and answer their questions as best we could.
And 13 hours after the arsonist invaded our home, I stood at the window that he had climbed through, receiving an update from the Pennsylvania State Police, and then made clear to the people of my state that nothing would deter me from doing my job — and nothing would deter me from practicing my faith openly and proudly.
And I meant it. After I concluded my remarks, I rejoined my family to celebrate our second Passover Seder.
That day, the police arrested the suspect, but as the investigation continued, people began to ascribe their own beliefs onto what they thought happened — and why.
I believe in the rule of law, and for the rule of law to work, prosecutors and law enforcement officials need to be able to do their jobs and investigate without fear, favor or political pressure. It is not my job to opine on what the motive was or what the charges should be.
As has become typical, people rushed to assert their uninformed opinions to get likes or make a headline or suit their own narrative, seeking some solace or validation that whatever motivated the arson suspect and his actions would suit their view of the world.
Ultimately, prosecutors will determine what motivated this act of violence, and we trust them to do their important work.
But as I said in Butler after the attempted assassination of Donald Trump and as I said in Altoona after the police captured the individual who has been charged with the murder of the UnitedHealthcare C.E.O., this type of violence has no place in our society, regardless of what motivates it.
It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from one side or the other, directed at one party or another or one person or another.
This level of violence has to stop. It is our shared responsibility to do better.
As elected leaders, we have an additional responsibility to speak and act with moral clarity. To not just call out what’s right and what’s wrong but also to do the hard work of bringing people together to find common ground in a world that’s constantly trying to divide us.
William Penn founded our commonwealth as a place where all would be welcome — a place of tolerance and understanding where people of different faiths could live together in peace.
This experience has made me more determined than ever to not only welcome people of all faiths back to the governor’s residence — where we’ve lit Christmas trees, held iftars and danced at a bar mitzvah — but also to do my part to address the political division and violence in America today.
On Thursday at the Harrisburg Bureau of Fire, an elderly man named John Wardle, the Christian chaplain from the Penn Township Volunteer Fire Department, gave me a letter signed by every member of his department. On the back of the letter, he had handwritten a prayer for our family, from Numbers 6:24-26:
The Lord bless you
and keep you;
the Lord make his face shine on you
and be gracious to you;
the Lord turn his face toward you
and give you peace.
I cried when I read this. Because it’s known to us as the priestly blessing, and it happens to be the same prayer that Lori and I have recited to each of our children every night in Hebrew before they go to bed for more than two decades:
יברכך יהוה וישמרך
יאר יהוה פניו אליך ויחנך
ישא יהוה פניו אליך וישם לך שלום
Moments like that have given us strength over the past week. The prayers, blessings and messages of support we’ve received have lifted us up and shown us the way forward in the wake of a traumatic event.
Those moments have served as yet another reminder of our common humanity. A recognition that there is far more that binds us together than divides us — no matter what those who stoke that division would have us believe.
I believe our political divide can be repaired. But our leaders must act with moral clarity and take their cues from the good people of this nation, who in times of tragedy always seem to find our better angels
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