And now it really hits home

So the news from Connecticut is ever-present: tv, radio, newspapers, internet.  The unrelenying, inescapable details.

I wrote yesterday that the town was just like my town, the school not so very different from the one my daughters attended.

And now we're getting the stories of each victim.

The young teacher who hid her students and lied to the gunman to protect them.

The principal and school psychologist, women close to my age, who put themselves in the line of fire.

The children . . .there's a picture of one little girl, a pretty blonde, who struck a pose for the camera . . .the attitude reminds me of Jen at that age.

And then I found out that one of the children, a little boy, was Jewish.  I guess we identify with those who share our religious, ethnic and cultural background, because I felt that death oh so keenly.  That the parents and siblings will light a yartzeit lamp for him every year at the same time they light the 6th Chanukah candle. . .

And then I found out that I do have a real connection to Newtown.  I actually know someone there.

I was watching the interfaith service last night.  The priests and ministers of the various churches, the local iman, a representative of the Baha'i faith.  And, of course, the rabbi.

He looked vaguely familiar, this rabbi.  His name sounded vaguely familiar.  He sang a mourning prayer, and did it so beautifully that I found myself crying.

Tonight at my synagogue I found out why he seemed so familiar.  He was our cantor many years ago, when my children first started Hebrew school, and was therefore one of their teachers during that time.

Majes it feel even more like . . .well, it could have been my school, it could have been my town.