Twenty years ago today, Americans were going about business as usual. The next day, our country and the world were forever changed by shocking acts of terrorism on American soil.
Living in New York was surreal. Perhaps for the only time in the city’s history, we felt like an extended family trying to navigate horrific tragedy in a state of disbelief. The acts of kindness were too many to count. The first responders that performed heroic acts of courage on the day of and for months following the collapse of the Twin Towers were supported by countless volunteers wanting to help honor the lost and support the survivors. The unsuspecting travelers and the incredible men and women on United Flight 93 who sacrificed their lives to save others will also never be forgotten.
I did not visit Ground Zero before we moved to California in July of 2002. It felt too voyeuristic. When the New York Times published “A Nation Challenged: A Visual History of 9/11 and its Aftermath” in 2002, I bought several copies of both the adult and young reader’s version for our home and my children’s school libraries, and would refer to it every year around the anniversary. In 2017, my daughter and I visited the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. From the moment we entered that sacred space, I was inconsolable. Why? In hindsight, going through every moment in slow motion allowed me to finally process what that trauma meant to those who suffered through the events of the day and the aftermath - how America and the world were forever scarred, and how our country lost its innocence.
Milestones in multiples of ten tend to carry greater import as a time marker. As I was watching the morning news, the tears started again. I was transported back to that liminal moment between September 10 and 11 in 2001. It feels like yesterday and so long ago at the same time.
Today’s tears are a little different than those I shed in 2017, because they represent both memory and fear. One would have hoped we could say twenty years later that our country is safer and more united than ever. True, the Department of Homeland Security has prevented further foreign terrorist attacks in the U.S., but some say that the current polarization of America would make it impossible for us to come together as we did 20 years ago in support of one another were another tragedy to befall us. Even more frightening - domestic terrorism has become the greatest threat to our physical safety, security, and democracy. Conspiracy theorists and people with dangerous weapons are our neighbors. State by state and the country as a whole are painfully divided and poised for civil unrest.
The confluence of the 20th anniversary of 9/11 and Shabbat Shuvah should not escape us. Jewish theology firmly believes (and some of us know from experience) that the wounds of our bodies, hearts and minds have the capacity to heal and even flourish after loss or disaster. Seeing how families that lost loved ones on 9/11 went on to raise children and build meaningful lives is affirming. But this milestone anniversary of 9/11 is both sobering and cause for introspection.
On this Sabbath between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur - as Jews are immersed in a period of self-reflection and accountability for all the ways we have erred, and America begins this 3rd decade following September 11, 2001 - we as citizens of the same country must engage in serious t’shuvah. The current chaos and hate in our midst that has surfaced in shocking ways in the last decade has deep roots that have been watered by people at home and abroad who have a vested interest in America’s demise.
Today, every person of sound mind and good will is called upon to be a first responder and national hero that is brave enough to speak the truth amid the cacophonous noise of anger and distrust all around us. Our heroes continue to champion the voiceless and most vulnerable among us, provide for those in need in myriad ways, and, above all, are guided by compassion at every turn, even for those who are working against their own and everyone else’s best interest.
May the memories of those that perished on one of the saddest days in America’s history be elevated by our commitment to work together for everyone’s sake.
T’hi Zichram Barukh – their memories are our blessing.
Shabbat Shalom and may you all be sealed in the Book of Life for good,
Rabbi Marcia Tilchin
