Reflections, revisited

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The following reflections are based on remarks I originally made on September 17, 2001, just days after the terror attacks, living in greater NYC.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.