Jewish

The day after the Orlando shooting—my son's Bar Mitzvah only hours complete—our families are over at the house celebrating. On the lookout for AA batteries, I stop by Lin and Linda’s place. They are sitting in their living room dejectedly, watching television, close to tears. I sit down with them and try to take in the reports. It’s just so unbelievable, so hard to fathom. The woman down the street hates Lin and Linda for being gay, and suspects other neighbors (solely, it seems) for being Latino and Arabic. She holes up with German Shepherds and guns. I walk back to the party, not afraid but deeply worried. My boy is jumping on the trampoline with his two cousins; I have to restrain myself from calling them inside.