What strikes me the most about that day is its initial ordinariness. It began as just a regular day. A beautiful day, the sun shone so strongly that morning and the air had a bit of crispness to it. As usual, I was in a rush to get out to work that morning. It was my son's first day of preschool and I wanted to take him there instead of having his babysitter walk him. Before we left, I took some pictures of him and my daughter, both of them eager and smiling in anticipation of the fun to be had in school. (I have never scrapped those pictures, every time I see them I choke up.)
I dropped them off and rushed to work. There was traffic on the parkway.I turned on the news to hear the traffic report, anxious not to be late.. As I was listening to the traffic report the reporter relayed the sighting of what looked to be a small aircraft flying straight into one of the towers.
I sat in my car, listening in horror, as the chopper pilot flew in for a closer look. It was definitely a plane that hit the tower.
I made it to work. I stopped into the office to relay the news to the principal. His immediate response was -terrorists. I disagreed, said it must have been an unfortunate aviation accident, and went in to teach my class. Minutes later the principal knocked on the door to let me know that the second tower was hit. This was no accident.
The rest of the day was awash in horrors as we one tragic event after another occurred. frantic phone calls were made as we tried to connect with everyone who worked or lived in the area.
I think back now to the initial minutes and hours after the attack, when we hoped all those people would be saved and then when we saw that they wouldn't. I remember the grief on strangers' faces as I walked down the street and posters of the missing. I recall when we found out all the people we personally knew or knew of, as well as the thousands of strangers who died on that day. It was, and still is, too much to bear. Processing the enormity of that day was impossible. All I wanted to do is hug my family close and turn away from all the devastation. Yet we couldn't. And still cannot ten years later.
It's been ten years but I cannot forget the Rosh Hashanah that followed a week later.
We prayed with intensity for all those who were lost, their families and for ourselves-trying to make sense of the incomprehensible.
Nor can I forget Sukkot, that joyous holiday marred by the stench of the still smoldering buildings. The ground outside littered with the detritus of the fallen towers a boro away.
Most of all I remember the little things-talking to the garbage collector in front of my house hours after the attack, my children building block towers and toppling them down, reading the NY Times "Portraits of Grief" daily, the American flags that seemed to have sprouted from every car, home and building. and of course driving over the bridge and not seeing the towers-I still miss seeing them.
Feel free to leave your comments and thoughts.
We will not forget all those who were lost. Yehi Zichronom Baruch.
