The Jewish RN who saved the life of anti-Semitic spree killer Robert Bowers shares his thoughts. And everyone should read them.
On Saturday October 27th, 48 year old Robert Bowers burst into a Pittsburgh Synagogue with an AR-15 and three handguns, yelled “All Jews Must Die” and opened fire, killing 11 people and wounding 6 others in the deadliest anti-semitic attack in US History.
Injured in an exchange of gunfire with police, Bowers was taken to Allegheny General Hospital (the other victims were treated at UPMC Presbyterian Hospital) where he was treated in the ER by a trauma nurse who not only happened to be Jewish, but who was also the son of a Rabbi.
“The meaning of life is to give meaning to life, and love is the ultimate force that connects all living beings. I could care less what Robert Bowers thinks, but you, the person reading this, love is the only message I wish instill in you. If my actions mean anything, love means everything.”- Ari Mahler
Having been interviewed by various news outlets already, Ari Mahler also wrote a first person piece on Facebook that we want to share with you here.
I am The Jewish Nurse.
Yes, that Jewish Nurse. The same one that people are talking about in the Pittsburgh shooting that left 11 dead. The trauma nurse in the ER that cared for Robert Bowers who yelled, “Death to all Jews,” as he was wheeled into the hospital. The Jewish nurse who ran into a room to save his life.
To be honest, I’m nervous about sharing this. I just know I feel alone right now, and the irony of the world talking about me doesn’t seem fair without the chance to speak for myself.
When I was a kid, being labeled “The Jewish (anything)”, undoubtedly had derogatory connotations attached to it. That’s why it feels so awkward to me that people suddenly look at it as an endearing term. As an adult, deflecting my religion by saying “I’m not that religious,” makes it easier for people to accept I’m Jewish – especially when I tell them my father is a rabbi. “I’m not that religious,” is like saying, “Don’t worry, I’m not that Jewish, therefore, I’m not so different than you,” and like clockwork, people don’t look at me as awkwardly as they did a few seconds beforehand.
I experienced anti-Semitism a lot as a kid. It’s hard for me to say if it was always a product of genuine hatred, or if kids with their own problems found a reason to single me out from others. Sure, there were a few Jewish kids at my school, but no one else had a father who was a Rabbi. I found drawings on desks of my family being marched into gas chambers, swastikas drawn on my locker, and notes shoved inside of it saying, “Die Jew. Love, Hitler.” It was a different time back then, where bullying was not monitored like it is now. I was weak, too. Rather than tell anyone, I hid behind fear. Telling on the people who did this would only lead to consequences far worse.
Regardless, the fact that this shooting took place doesn’t shock me. To be honest, it’s only a matter of time before the next one happens. History refutes hope that things will change. My heart yearns for change, but today’s climate doesn’t foster nurturing, tolerance, or civility. Even before this shooting took place, there’s no real evidence supporting otherwise. The FBI and the Southern Poverty Law Center note that Jews only account for two percent of the U.S. population, yet 60% of all religious hate crimes are committed against them. I don’t know why people hate us so much, but the underbelly of anti-Semitism seems to be thriving.
So now, here I am, The Jewish Nurse that cared for Robert Bowers. I’ve watched them talk about me on CNN, Fox News, Anderson Cooper, PBS, and the local news stations. I’ve read articles mentioning me in the NY Times and the Washington Post. The fact that I did my job, a job which requires compassion and empathy over everything, is newsworthy to people because I’m Jewish. Even more so because my dad’s a Rabbi.
To be honest, I didn’t see evil when I looked into Robert Bowers’ eyes. All I saw was a clear lack of depth, intelligence, and palpable amounts of confusion. Robert Bowers probably had no friends, was easily influenced by propaganda, and wanted attention on a sociopathic level. He’s the kind of person that is easily manipulated by people with a microphone, a platform, and use fear for motivation. I can’t go into details of our interactions because of HIPPA, but Robert Bowers thanked me for saving him, for showing him kindness, and for treating him the same way I treat every other patient. This was the same Robert Bowers that just committed mass homicide. The Robert Bowers who instilled panic in my heart worrying my parents were two of his 11 victims less than an hour before his arrival.
I’m sure he had no idea I was Jewish. Why thank a Jewish nurse, when 15 minutes beforehand, you’d shoot me in the head with no remorse? I didn’t say a word to him about my religion. I chose not to say anything to him the entire time. I wanted him to feel compassion. I chose to show him empathy. I felt that the best way to honor his victims was for a Jew to prove him wrong. Besides, if he finds out I’m Jewish, does it really matter? The better question is, what does it mean to you?
Love. That’s why I did it. Love as an action is more powerful than words, and love in the face of evil gives others hope. It demonstrates humanity. It reaffirms why we’re all here. The meaning of life is to give meaning to life, and love is the ultimate force that connects all living beings. I could care less what Robert Bowers thinks, but you, the person reading this, love is the only message I wish instill in you. If my actions mean anything, love means everything.
Ari Mahler, RN.
(the above was taken directly from Mr. Mahler’s facebook page)
David Rosenthal, 54, of Squirrel Hill
Cecil Rosenthal, 59, of Squirrel Hill (David’s brother)
Richard Gottfried, 65, of Ross Township
Jerry Rabinowitz, 66, of Edgewood Borough
Irving Younger, 69, of Mt. Washington, City of Pittsburgh
Daniel Stein, 71, of Squirrel Hill
Joyce Fienberg, 75, of Oakland, City of Pittsburgh
Bernice Simon, 84, of Wilkinsburg
Sylvan Simon, 86, of Wilkinsburg (Bernice’s husband)
Melvin Wax, 88, of Squirrel Hill
Rose Mallinger, 97, of Squirrel Hill
As of this morning, an official GoFundMe page has raised more than $1,000,000 for victims of the Tree of Life shooting in Pittsburgh.The campaign is certified, meaning “all money raised will be transferred directly to the Tree of Life Congregation.”
“This fundraiser is meant to help the congregations with the physical damages on the building and the survivors and the victims’ families,” the fundraiser reads. Donate here.