September 11

Today is September 11, 2008, the 7th anniversary of the terrorist attacks that have made 9/11 part of our lexicon. The following is something I wrote 4 years ago, upon my first visit to a post 9/11 Ground Zero.

I believe that we all learned lessons on 9/11, and on this date, we should remember what we learned and try to become better people because of it.

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On this site, on August 21, 2002,
Governor George E. Pataki of New York,
Governor James E. McGreevy of New Jersey, and
Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg of New York City
proclaimed that in honor of the heroes of
September 11, 2001, this viewing wall would be erected
by the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey
so that the world community can reflect upon
and remember the events that took place here,
and draw strength and inspiration, as we rebuild


For me, September 11, 2001 will always trigger memories of Mevaseret Zion, Israel, where I was when the attacks occurred. This distance from New York has played a significant role in my personal memories of 9/11, where I have felt disconnected from what occurred on that day. To create a bridge from Israel to New York, to develop a web, where everything is intertwined, in order to give myself a truer, more meaningful understanding of what happened on that horrific September morning, I am now standing at Ground Zero.

A plane flies overhead. I close my eyes and try to imagine a September morning a few years past. Chills begin to radiate up and down my spine.

There is a silence to the place. Not the silence of noise, as I am listening to the soundtrack of New York City traffic, but rather a visual silence, an empty space, where so much had stood. What seems like eons ago, but in reality, is only a short two and a half years past.

I place my fingers on the cold steel fence, which acts as a cage for the entire site, and my eyes become transfixed, staring into the dark and hollow pit. Inside, there is no activity. Just a pit with abandoned construction materials, waiting to be awoken from their slumber.

Various signs adorn the fence. Among them are six large signs proclaiming, “The Heroes of September 11, 2001.” A countless number of names adorn each sign. Each name representing a life that is no more.

One sign reads, “The Pentagon” and tells the story of the airplane that crashed into that impenetrable fortress, the headquarters of our country’s military. Another sign tells the tale of the plane that fell out of the sky in “Stonycreek Township, Pennsylvania.” Even though Ground Zero remains the Mecca, the literal ground zero, of the tragedy of September 11, New York remembers the attacks that occurred elsewhere.

Another sign acts a reminder that New York City and the World Trade Center were not strangers to terrorism. “February 26, 1993.”

At the corner of Church Street and Liberty Street, a man stands wearing a white construction hat, a clipboard in his hand. “Anyone need any help? I’ll talk to people,” he announces to no one in particular. A family of four approaches and asks for directions. He gladly assists and points them towards where they want to go.

As I begin to head towards the subway, I see a man walking down the street, yelling in a loud voice, “This is history. Don’t let gbr tjy yaq.” His voice trails off as he walks. Intrigued, I turn around and follow him. “Know the facts. Know the facts,” he cries out. He seems very passionate about this site. He is holding photos of different pictures of the Twin Towers. He obviously is looking for an audience. A family from Minnesota is more than happy to stop and listen to him. Slowly, a crowd gathers, as he begins to speak.

“This is history. Don’t let it be a mystery” he begins. “Ah,” I say to myself, “that is what he was saying. Nice rhyme.” He continues, “Don’t let anyone tell you that only two buildings came down. Seven buildings that were a part of the World Trade Center complex came down. Two additional buildings were destroyed as well.” And he tells us to turn our heads, and he points to a building that is covered in black material, “that building will be the tenth.” Apparently, they are dismantling that building, one floor at a time, as it is not safe enough for use.

The man tells the tale of the growth of downtown Manhattan. He shows us a photograph taken not long after the Twin Towers were built. Then he shows us a photograph taken twenty-five years later. The difference is striking. No longer standing alone, the Twin Towers are now surrounded by many friends.

“Over 80 buildings were damaged on 9/11.” He has us look at the buildings across the street. “All new windows. Every window in a four block radius of the World Trade Center had to be replaced.” “Ah,” I say to myself, as before, I had observed that the buildings across the street, standing in all of their majesty, seemed oblivious to the destruction that had occurred right in front of their eyes.

The man points out the difference between the sidewalk on which we are standing, and the sidewalk across the street. The one across the street is a darker shade of grey, “New York Grey” he calls it. The sidewalk where we are standing is brand new. It needs a “New York Summer” with the sun baking down on it, in order for the color to become New Yorkified.

He concluded his presentation and continued to walk down the street, “This is history. Don’t let gbr tjy yaq,” his voice trailing as he walked.

I turned to take one last look at Ground Zero and headed towards the subway. As I was walking, I felt confident that no longer would 9/11 feel distant to me. It was history, and for me, was no longer a mystery.