Just processing the memories.
The following reflections are based
on remarks I originally made on September 17, 2001, just days after the terror
attacks, living in greater NYC.
Today,
September 17, 2001, we face a very different world than we expected even just a
week ago. Our world, our very sense of
security and safety, was shattered by the unimaginable events that took place
last Tuesday morning. I imagine that for
many of us, the questions concerning those attacks on our nation and upon our
human brothers and sisters keep flowing into our minds and hearts. I know that my own sense of identity and
mortality has come sharply into focus.
At this
moment, I would not attempt to discuss the nagging issues of “who did this”, or
“why” or “how”…there are many experts at work to resolve those problems. Rather, I would share with you some thoughts
about how the incidents affected me, how I initially responded to them, and
perhaps what the message of this episode is for us as individuals and a
community, as Americans and Jews.
* * * * *
If
you recall, last Tuesday morning, September 11, was an absolutely gorgeous day.
The sun was shining, barely a cloud in the sky. My day began as many of yours did: with a million things to do. Incidentally, my biggest goal for the day was
to finish my remarks for this evening.
So much for planning. I had an early appointment. By 10 a.m., I made my way to the cars, hurrying off
to other places. My habit is to listen
to the radio even before shifting out of park. As I turned up the volume, I
realized this was not regular programming. The station had turned over to NPR
for ongoing coverage of breaking events….
I
listened to a repeat of what had just occurred:
two planes flown into the World Trade Center towers…a third aircraft
struck the Pentagon….and then, reports of a fourth crash outside Pittsburgh. I
remember quite distinctly the wave of unsteadiness that overcame my body. “What’s going on?” I cried.
Then, “This can’t be true!”
I
pulled out of our parking lot, making my way toward the JCC in Bridgewater,
where I was due for a meeting. The true
horror had not even yet begun. On my way
over, I started to feel the two emotions that have tugged at me, and all of us,
since this began. Desperate sadness. Uncontained fury. This is not supposed to
happen to us. Not here. Not at home.
The
TV was on at the JCC, and I joined the small group huddled together. It seemed that we actually drew close to one
another for warmth and protection.
Moments later, we watched in disbelief as the first tower crumbled to
the earth. A friend took me aside and asked “how do we respond to this?” Before
I could speak, she continued: “Better
yet, now as the parent of two children, what do you say to them?” I’ve been
dwelling on that one ever since.
Like
everyone else, I spent the next several hours trying to get in touch with the
people I love. No matter where they were, I wanted to know first-hand that they
were safe. Sitting on the curb of the
JCC, I finally got through to my parents, who live outside Boston. They had
been out that morning voting in the local primaries. My dad and I just sat
together, over the phone, sharing our anguish. Like some of you who are here
with me this evening, he remembers Pearl Harbor as a day of great change for
him, for our country, and for the world. Yet, according to him, this most
recent attack is of a much different nature. For it struck at the very heart of
our society, the very core of our national sense of being. And for us here
tonight, it struck too close to home.
From there, I tried to stay tuned to the
news while joining Debra for lunch. We sat eating, listening to the continuing
accounts of what was happening in New York and D.C. I looked at my daughter
Vered, who is only today six weeks old. In my heart, I knew that my world and
hers, was changing before our eyes. Growing up, my generation only had vague
memories of Cold-War atomic bomb shelters. We’ve never known war as did our
older brothers and sisters, and especially not like our parents. Yet even they
did not see hostilities on this soil.
Terrorism was a dirty word that happened to other people, in other
places. Would Vered and Benjamin know a different America? Will our children
grow up without the safety we’ve come to expect? Can we guarantee that they
will be secure in body and spirit? What’s happened to our homeland – a land
we’ve come to embrace as insulated from such acts of senseless violence and
hate? Unfortunately, the answers to these matters, and so many more, will take
a lifetime to figure out. Yet I pray that ultimately, and perhaps even soon, we
will all be blessed to know a greater measure of well-being than we have in
recent days.
By
the time I returned home that afternoon, I was exhausted. The constant barrage
of new information, images and conjectures wiped me out both physically and
emotionally. Though closer to what was going on than friends and colleagues
elsewhere in the country, I know that I was lucky to be outside the city
itself. So many innocent people have been lost. So many brave and concerned
citizens – our fire-fighters, police, medical personnel – have responded to the
crisis with selfless zeal. And many of them, too, have paid the ultimate price
on behalf of others they never knew, and likely never even reached in the rubble
and ruin of lower Manhattan. It is to honor them that we must carry on with
dignity and conviction that what is good will yet prevail over evil. More
precisely, good people will prevail over those who perpetrate violent
acts of hatred upon others.
* * * * *
It
was already late into the evening. I
made one final call for the day, to Erie, Pennsylvania. My best friend had just been married nine
days before. Scott and his new wife, Erica, were due to fly back home from
Paris that very day. With all the day’s tumult – the grounding of flights, the
closing of airports – I wondered where they were, and when they’d return. Anita,
Erica’s mom, was relieved that I called.
“The kids are safe,” she told me. “They reported in from Amsterdam a few
hours ago.” Their flight from Paris had been aloft for two hours when they
received the order to land. Unexpectedly, their honeymoon was extended. And
this is only one personal story, one of hundreds and thousands about
individuals, real people, who were touched on that day. Thankfully, theirs had
a happy ending. Many, of course, did not.
In
the end, the whole day was, simply, a big mess. It was beyond surreal. It was
more like watching a very expensive Hollywood production – one of those science
fiction movies about an alien attack. And that’s just what it was, my friends –
and alien attack. The people who planned and executed this monstrous crime are
exactly that. No, of course they are not from other planets. But yes, from a
different world. We need to recognize this very fact if we are to make
sense of what has happened. Their thinking and their behavior is alien to us. They
do not share in our understanding of the sanctity of human life. They do not recognize the kinship of the
entire human family. They do not even value their own existence. Not in any way
like we do.
And
so, I hope that we are able to “hunt down and punish those responsible”, as the
President has said. Like so many, my rage burns hot. Whether it is comfortable or not for us to
think about, there are those who are beyond chesed, beyond mercy. There
are instances when it is necessary to discipline wrongdoers. And not merely
with symbolic acts. It will take time, yet it is upon us to exact justice from
anyone who was involved with this whole affair.
We,
however, need also to look beyond this moment, and go forward. First, we must come to grips with the
enormous loss of life. Statistics do not suffice. This is surely a massive
tragedy, a disaster without compare in modern history. I reminded myself of one
very important teaching: when it comes to such large-scale catastrophe, such
uncountable loss of human life, numbers can never be enough. It cannot be that
“two hundred and seventy-something people died in the plane crashes.” It cannot
be that hundreds are unaccounted for. It is not that X thousand innocent
civilians lost their lives. No – we must recall that it was one plus one
plus one. Each one precious. The extent of this slaughter can only begin
to be fathomed when we start thinking that it was so-and-so, our neighbor, and
so-and-so, somebody’s mom or dad, and so-and-so, my friend’s cousin, and so-and-so,
someone I knew from work. When we think of the victims in this way, it quickly
becomes real to us. The magnitude of this loss begins to take shape.
And
yet, let us not despair.
In
this coming year, we will journey together, continuing the sacred path of life.
May the words of our mouths and the deeds of our hands always be blessed. And
may we find the strength not only to carry on, but to do all that it takes to
make the world a better place –simply for our having been here.
People in this area, the whole northwest of
the country, are absolutely fascinated – no, better “obsessed” – by salmon. And
it’s not really hard to understand. Salmon dominate the ecosystem – from environmentalism
and agriculture to arts and business – these creatures are the talk of the
town, and its bosses too. Now, let’s be clear as well: “salmon” does not refer
to a single unique breed of fish; heck, only since moving to greater Seattle
last year did I learn that there are no less than seventeen variety of salmon inhabiting the rivers, inlets and
tributaries of the Puget sound alone! Coho, Sockeye, Chinook, Chum, Pink, and
on and on…
So these coming days, our little town will
be caught up in celebrating the indigenous water-bound master – there will be
food and music, arts & crafts galore (how many salmon earrings, statues,
batiks, paintings, sculptures and t-shirts does ANYONE really need?), and
educational programs on the mating habits of Oncorhynchus kisutch. Our two kids will play in the high school
marching band as part of the parade. And I will be there to cheer them on, and
to praise the mighty salmon.
