(drafted on September 11, posted a little late, sorry)
I was nursing my five week-old baby on the morning of September 11, 2001, when my brother called me. We don't watch TV in our house and normally don't bother with morning radio, either - too jarring. He tried to tell me what was happening, and I asked if he were going to work then (my husband was about ready to walk out the door for his office in SF). My brother's voice broke. "Leila, it's a national emergency, nobody is going to work. Turn on the television."
My convalescent toddler crawled on the carpet and my baby squirmed on the nursing pillow in my arms as I watched those images. The last time terrorists bombed the World Trade Center, in 1993, I was living in sight of the Twin Towers. They loomed dark over the harbor, lights extinguished for the only time in memory, as sun set upon that winter day. Now they were demolished, gone.
I thought of the firefighters from my old neighborhood, 7th Avenue in Brooklyn. They used to flirt with me (and all the women) at the supermarket, and they waved to and played with all the children who passed their engine. The news reports tolled the terrible possibility - so many of those men among the lost.
From my adolescence onward, television images of Beirut under fire had marred my soul. Now this other city I loved so much, New York, was suffering a similar, terrible wound.
America's response to 9/11/01 was not New York's response. That first day or two I got several emails from friends who live in sight of the towers, saying: let's not kill people in retaliation. Let's not attack other countries just to make ourselves feel better. My friend who walked her toddler five miles in a stroller to get away from their Lower Manhattan home was one who emailed her list, calling for measured, reasonable, peaceful actions. She did not get her wish.
One sign of hope appeared right away, on the morning of September 11. New Yorkers stepped up. The whole world saw what I had always known, that New Yorkers have enormous courage, generosity, pluck and ingenuity. They know how to organize themselves to deal with a crisis, in a mass-mind sort of way that cannot be directed by managers or leaders. It wasn't just the American flags that appeared everywhere, it was the crowds of people lining up to give blood, donate supplies, cook meals, dig through rubble, or wrangle bulldozers. New Yorkers have a reputation for being cold and unfeeling, but I have never agreed with this charge. Surviving in an enormous city requires people to give help unselfishly, without a lot of fuss and vanity, and New Yorkers showed what they are made of.
Rest in peace, all the victims of terrorism in this world.