There is a piece of steel standing quietly on a hillside in Elysian Park. It’s large and rusted. Scratches and dents pepper the sides. It’s 22 feet high and weighs nearly 23 tons. Once part of the lobby of the World Trade Center, the memorial is a sentinel, standing silent watch in memory of those who, a quarter of a century ago, mustered their courage and commitment as police officers, firefighters, and first responders to save others on September 11, 2001.
This year marks 25 years since that morning. Across America this weekend, we as Jews gather to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, a time of reconnection and recommitment to each other. But this year we are not alone. We will be joined in prayer by millions of Americans, united in service of remembrance. Some might run their hands over well-worn plaques. Others might traipse through a rural field in Pennsylvania. Bells will ring, and names will be solemnly read.
Those of us who are old enough remember well where we were, and who we were with, when we saw the airplanes crash, the Pentagon burn, and the towers coming down in a devilish cloud of dust. We remember the dust clouds covering the fine silks of suits and dresses as thousands wandered across Manhattan looking for refuge from the destruction. We remember “the pile” of steel and concrete as workers sought the bodies of loved ones. We remember the walls of photos, posterboards, and flowers, seeking the missing, and mourning for those who never returned. Most of all, we remember the 3,000 people whose lives were taken from us that day, including 450 first responders for whom the sentinel stands.
A quarter of a century is long enough to raise a generation, and we have. There are those, including my own children, who have come of age never having known an unguarded world. They’ve never known a world where you can ask midflight to check out the cockpit with your child, or to welcome a friend or family member as they disembark from a plane. They’ve never known a world without bollards and setbacks to protect buildings, or where synagogues no longer can open their doors to public streets. They are used to being searched and scanned as if that was always there in the background. For them, vigilance is not a memory of before and after the towers fell. For them, it’s simply ”the way it has always been.”
One of the greatest gifts the Jewish community gave the world is the idea that tomorrow does not need to look like yesterday. My teacher, Rabbi Ed Feinstein, once observed that most of the world imagines time as a circle. Nature itself teaches the lesson: day follows night follows day, the seasons wheel around and return, the year comes back to where it began. In the ancient world, life was believed to be a futile wheel where birth and death were moments in an infinite cycle. In that schema, meaning was only found in the vividness of moments like Odysseus’s triumph in Ithaca, or Hecuba’s sorrow over a burning Troy. But nothing happens; nothing is ever improved in the world.
Jewish thinking breaks the wheel. Against nearly all its contemporaries, Jewish belief knows that chains of oppression can be broken, and a dejected people can become a mighty nation. The Torah was one of the first writings to teach that each of us can take actions to repair and restore relationships and that we can make the world better.
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The Days of Awe are part of the promise. They’re a time when we can come together, as families and community, to hear the shofar and to reclaim what we have lost. Our community is both more secure now than ever before and yet more fearful. Our Federation’s Community Security Initiative stands watch every day, searching for threats. Our advocacy has leveraged nearly $80 million in funding for nonprofit security grants. JFEDLA’s own security grants have increased to over $1.5 million this year.
Yet, many of us are afraid. Afraid to attend services, afraid to wear a Jewish star or kippah, afraid that we have to qualify our Jewish life with apologies, or to share with others that we are Jewish at all.
This Rosh Hashanah, the most enduring memorial we have to those we lost 25 years ago is to not live in fear. Let us reclaim what is truest about ourselves, and remember that Judaism and Jewish life thrive through joy. Let us remember not the black ash and smoke that rose from the World Trade Center, but the sapphire blue of the sky from that New York morning. Let us know that together we can make life better for ourselves, for our children, and for the world. For the ”way it has always been” has never been the Jewish mindset. Rather, it is redemption that is our banner and hope that is our anthem.
So as the new year approaches, let us hold both truths the season demands of us. Let us remember fully and vigilantly, and let us commit to moving forward to heal, strengthen, and make the world anew.
Shanah tovah, and have a sweet new year.
With blessing,
R’ Noah
