“Bye hon, love you!"
I hear the front door of our 1-bedroom apartment softly “whomf" shut as I roll over & seriously plan to take full advantage of my recent layoff & sleep until noon at least.
The next thing I hear rips any continued hope of sleeping in out of my mind:
“Honey pick up! Pick UP! ARE you THERE!?! PLEEEASE PICK UP!!!"
It’s my mom, & she KNOWS I hate mornings, I muse, so what’s up? It’s just after 9am, which means its only 7am for her. Must be important I figure groggily, as she tries not to call before 8am her time after the last time she obviously woke me up.
I literally fell out of bed, a good trick since I have to scoot to the end of my bed to get off of it, & stumbled over the shoes left there from the night before.
“HELLO!?!" the screaming continued. “HONEY?!? Are you ALIVE????" At that question I am fully awake and FINALLY get to the living room & grab the phone.
By the time I manage to say “hello?" she was sobbing & crying & I could not imagine what on earth could make her think something was wrong with me. She knew I had recently been laid off, & she does sometimes get melodramatic (forgive me, mom), but even for her, this was way beyond anything I could fathom.
She was watching “Good Morning America". She IS a morning person. She told me that a plane had just crashed into the World Trade Center & from where the filming was being shown in New Jersey it looked like all of Manhattan was on fire. Fortunately, I confirmed for her that not ALL of Manhattan was on fire, least not yet. As we talked she froze on the line. She was telling me that they were showing it again, no wait, “OH MY GOD" she cried, “that was NOT a replay—a second plane just flew into the towers" Minutes later they began to fall.
My husband works a half a block from the NY Stock exchange, a few blocks away from the WTC. I was not panicking because he had left for work late and takes the express train that turns away from the WTC at the Chambers St. station on its way to Wall Street. I figured he was stuck in a train behind all of the mess & was sitting in a dark tunnel with no idea what was going on.
After I convincing my mother of this, and managing to calm her sufficiently to hang up, I turned on the radio & heard that Chambers St (the above mentioned express stop) was, in fact blocked, as well as the 2 official WTC stations, Cortlandt St & Rector St. The job I had just been laid off of had been on Cortlandt Street, two doors up from the Century 21 store. Had I not been just laid off, I would have been getting on a train about then (9:30) trying to just squeak in minutes before the 10am “flex time" start time". I did not (& still do not) have a TV set, so I began switching radio stations to hear various reports.
At that point I was mentally trying to convince myself that what I had told my mother was true: that my husband was fine, probably stuck in the subway system somewhere.
Finally the telephone rang. While standing on a pay phone line that snaked around the block somewhere downtown, someone had allowed him to use their cell phone to call & let me know he was unhurt. He said the panic was palpable. He had arrived at his office building on Broad Street just after the first tower was struck and found it closing. At that point, no one knew what other local buildings would be the next target(s), so everyone was being sent home until further notice.
After obtaining emergency contact information for his building, he found himself down the block inside a nearby office building, watching a grey cloud engulf the Wall Street area. Only after the cloud passed and he went outside did he learn what had caused the gray cloud. At that point he said panic was everywhere. People were screaming & running in every direction, with only a few heading northward, the only direction not ending in water. He said he saw a woman run past him with no shoes on.
He began the long walk north and homeward, looking for a pay phone. Every one had long lines as most cell phones were not working. A few companies whose reception towers had not been on top of the WTC were functioning, but they were not the majority. Finally, he met someone with a working cell phone and called.
I cried softy and thanked God that he was safe, adding a prayer for all those who would not be hearing such good news. Only now do I understand the multiple blessings I received from a great rabbi, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, “that I should here good news." While that is itself another story, at the time that I received the blessings, during the First Gulf War, I never heard any “news", about what I actually had gone to him for in the first place.
Weeks after the towers fell, I volunteered to be one of the Jewish “shomrim" or “guards" who accompany a dead body until it can be buried, reciting Psalms. This was not the first time I have done this, but before, it had always been for someone who I knew, or at least at the request of someone I knew. Now, I was would be doing it for a stranger. As I recited Psalms over the unidentified remains of victims held in tank trucks outside the NYC coroner’s office I had a sensation first of awe that there were so many still unidentified so many weeks later, and, as I walked between the tank trucks, the oddest sense of “thank you for being here" that I have never felt before.
My first job in the Army National Guard was as a chaplain assistant. Chaplains are allowed to decline orders if they conflict with their religious tenants, but chaplain assistants, who are enlisted, laypersons do not have such a prerogative. Despite not being required to do so every chaplain I have ever worked with insisted on offering his services to soldiers of all faiths, attempting in most cases to be sufficiently ecumenical as to not offend anyone present, so I figured I could offer the Psalms of David to any takers, Jewish or otherwise.
Before I went, I wondered if my presence at the remains site would be appreciated by those souls not of the Jewish faith. I hoped that Psalms was sufficiently “ecumenical" for all those, but as I had walked through the WTC several times a week on my way to or from work, I knew that there were quite likely remains of people from Eastern, Native American and other religions there, as well as the known missing of Jewish & Christian faiths.
Words cannot describe my feelings. At first, I was nervous, and said a few Psalms in the tent area. The weather was cold & raw. Then I went to see the memorials left by friends and relatives. Suddenly, I was drawn to stay Psalms near the closest truck, and then the next truck, and then the next! It was as if each truck asked me to “Please stop here too & say another one".
I finished the last truck just as my “2 hour shift" was ending and other people arrived to say more Psalms. I was not prepared to leave! It was as if I had been visiting with very good friends & now it was time to leave but none of us really wanted to break up the conversation.
As I left the compound, I was in a daze. It was similar to how I feel when I get off of an international flight returning to the US. I am physically back, but my mind is still “over there" with all my friends & relatives. As I walked uptown and west, toward a subway stop, I truly felt that my mind was still in shamayim (the heavens), still schmoozing with my new found friends of all denominations, all of whom were very glad to have met me & all of whom I carry with me to this day, but who I am pretty sure I won’t be seeing anytime soon.
My mother complains about that, too, not seeing me anytime soon, that is.
|
