This is Our Darkest Hour:
The Essential Thing is Not to Be Afraid
By Rabbi Stuart Weinberg Gershon
Temple Sinai, Summit NJ
September 23, 2001
 |
o |
od
morning everyone. It is indeed an honor for me to be with you this
morning.
I
want to thank Reverend Rush, Reverend Yarborough, and Reverend Reiber for
graciously extending to me the privilege to speak with you today.
I
wish that I could be before you at a happier time and talk about happier
things. We are all living through a very trying and difficult time.
What I want
to address this morning is how we might respond to this unspeakable
tragedy.
Our
individual and collective response to this ghastly nightmare shall be the test
and the measure of our humanity. What shall we choose: to curse the darkness or
to bless the light? I hope and pray that each of us will choose to bless the
light!
This
is a time of "stern sobriety" for America. No words can capture the
horror of the images we saw. No words can do justice to the anguish and
wrenching heartbreak we feel. No words can express the magnitude of the trauma
we have suffered.
We
live in a post-holocaust world, a post-Columbine world -- and now a new term
has forced itself into our lexicon -- a post-Twin-Towers world.
Before
September 11, America thought it was invincible. We were accustomed to the
carnage of war taking place on another continent, far away from our shores.
Never in our wildest imagination did we conceive that ground zero could ever
take place on American soil.
On
Tuesday, September 11, 2001 -- a day that will live in infamy alongside
December 7, 1941 -- all these assumptions, along with our now obsolete concept
of what constitutes national security, disintegrated in the rubble of what was
once the world trade center.
We
have looked straight into the face of the apocalypse and it terrified us. And
now we are frightened about what might be next. And what makes it even worse is
that, even though we have modelled calm and control for our children, they are
frightened about what might be next too.
The
possibility of terrorism is now part and parcel of American daily life. Danger
is a variable that must be factored into every equation.
This
is a time of "stern sobriety" for America. We grieve for more than
6000 human beings, an unimaginable loss of precious human life. We mourn for
the death of our innocence, our sense that life was safe and predictable.
America will never be the same. And neither will we.
This
national catastrophe has provoked a profound existential crisis in us. We are
stunned by the realization of how uncertain tomorrow is for ourselves and our
loved ones.
It
has utterly shattered our construct of the way the world works. It has brought
home to us as never before the sobering reality of random chance. At any given
moment, anyone of us can just happen to be in the right place or in the wrong
place.
This
disaster has exposed for all of us to see the powerful role that denial plays
in our daily lives. We go about our business thinking that nothing bad could
ever happen to us. "Someone else, perhaps, but not me".
We
behave as if we're going to live forever. We imagine there will always be
another time to get our papers in order. There will always be another time to
say everything we want to say. There will always be another time for that kiss,
that hug, that holding of hands.
The
madness of September 11 shocked us into the realization that another time may
never come. You can mundanely board a plane or go to your office and never come
home.
The
Talmud teaches "You never know which day will be your last." I used
to think this statement was somewhat morbid. In a post-Twin-Towers world, I
recognize that it is not at all morbid. It is realistic. It is pragmatic. It is
a catalyst to appropriate action.
We
cannot heal from this tragedy, there is no moving forward, unless we
forthrightly acknowledge that, yes, we are fragile, vulnerable, and finite
beings. This realization will not destroy us. It will empower us. This axiom of
the human condition will not lead us to despair. It will motivate us to a
renewed urgency to embrace life fully, with all our being.
Rabbi
Harold Schulweis observes, "The art of living successfully consists of
being able to hold two opposite ideas in tension at the same time. First, to
make long-term plans as if we were going to live forever; and, second, to
conduct ourselves daily as if we were going to die tomorrow. Life's greatest
achievement is the continual remaking of yourself so that at last you know how
to live."
Oy!
But do we know how to live! The reality of random chance and our vulnerability
to it compels us to rethink our own personal priorities in life.
Soon
we are going to return to work and some sort of normalcy. But will normalcy
mean that we still won't make the time to spend with our children and our
spouses? Will normalcy mean that we still won't put any boundaries on our work
obligations? Will the return to normalcy mean the return to a life consumed
with regrets?
Let
us remember: life is lost not only by dying. Life is lost when we waste the
precious moment, the here and now, thinking we'll get to it later. Life is lost
when we take our wives, our husbands, our children for granted. Life is lost
when we hurry through it, refusing to slow down and smell the roses. More
important than putting our papers in order is that we put our priorities in
order.
As
a nation, as a community, as families, as individuals, this is truly our
darkest hour. We feel overwhelmed by the sobs and screams of our friends and
colleagues who have been robbed of their loved ones. We feel distraught,
inconsolable and beside ourselves with grief. We are afraid that we cannot bear
what we have to bear.
After
having lost 350 comrades, Fire Commissioner Thomas Von Essen spoke truth when
he said, "The Fire Department will recover, but I don't know
how."
But
this is only the way we feel today. It does not dictate what strength and what
resolve our spirit may find tomorrow.
But
the loss of life has been so staggering, so incomprehensible. How can we stand
it? Our elders, the men and women who fought in World War II, will guide us.
Those of you sitting in this sanctuary who lived through Pearl Harbor and
D-Day, who rebuilt this country and rebuilt Europe, you will teach us how to
survive this.
The
ghastly, horrific images we witnessed that day continue to haunt us and give
some of us nightmares. How are we going to exorcise the demons of those
images?
We
must actively replace images of horror with images of beauty. As so many
letters to the editor of the New York Times observed, the Twin Towers are gone
but the Statue of Liberty still stands. Let us think of that image in our
mind's eye.
But
how are we going to live with the possible threat of terrorism? The Israeli
people will teach us how. After all, they've had to live with this, in some
fashion, for 53 years.
In
a letter to the editor of the New York Times, an Israeli writes, "In your
shock and despair, remember what Israelis have learned so well: while there are
wounds that never heal, we cannot let those who hate and kill us to conquer our
minds or our lives. Life will go on, and that will be our moral
victory."
But
there are so many spouses, so many children, so many families to be consoled.
How can we mitigate their awful pain? We will hold them in our arms. We will
cry with them. and when they fall, we will pick them up. We will help them put
one foot in front of the other. We will help them to take one day at a
time.
The
road ahead is not going to be easy. The task is daunting. The journey will be
long and it will be painful. Once the magnitude of the losses truly sink in, we
shall be tempted on many an occasion to allow our fear, our grief, our fury to
get the best of us.
But
let there be no mistake about it. We can choose not to let our fear overwhelm
us, not to let our grief paralyze us, not to let our fury consume us. We can
choose not to give terrorists the power to intimidate our lives.
Our
individual and collective response to this ghastly nightmare shall be test and
the measure of our humanity. What shall we choose: to curse the darkness or to
bless the light? I hope and pray that each of us will choose to bless the
light!
Like
a phoenix rising from the ashes, this national nightmare has brought our
country together. On September 10th our country was morally adrift, unsure of
its values. On September 11th, our country rediscovered its values.
I
am thinking of the heroic defiance of those on doomed United Airlines flight
93, the courage of those fleeing the Twin Towers who stopped -- stopped! -- to
help others, the valor and self-sacrifice of firefighters, police officers and
emergency medical workers who deliberately put themselves in harm's way.
Such
inspirational deeds have awoken a new spirit of patriotism among us. They have
rekindled our concern for community and the common good. They have reignited
our yearning to be of help to others. They have reminded us -- especially my
generation, the babyboomer generation --that there are principles worth dying
for, there are causes more important than our own personal fulfillment.
Since
that awful day, the American people have responded with overwhelming goodness.
Let us continue to reach out to those who are in pain and in need. Let us
continue to donate blood, to drive more courteously, to wait in line more
patiently, to speak more gently to each other, to engage in many more random
acts of lovingkindness.
On
September 11th, America was the victim of overwhelming evil. But as Monsignor
Harahan said at the Interfaith service last Wednesday, "The shadow cast by
human hatred cannot withstand the power of our human hearts to love."
That
is worth repeating. "The shadow cast by human hatred cannot withstand the
power of our human hearts to love."
What
solace can possibly heal such a pain as ours? The only balm that can heal us
from overwhelming evil and hatred is overwhelming love and compassion.
At
the same Interfaith service, Reverend Southern observed that the opposite of
love is not hate but fear. Her comment reminded me of a Jewish folk saying that
I learned in my youth. It holds new resonance for me now: "The world is a
narrow bridge. The essential thing is not to be afraid."
My
dear friends, we will recover from this. We will put ourselves back together. We
will rebuild our lives and the lives of those we care about.
We shall find the strength to endure. We shall dig
down deep into the well of character of our American heritage, of our
Judaeo-Christian heritage.
We
shall not be afraid.
We
shall be strong and we shall be courageous.
We
shall be compassionate.
We
shall overcome.
We
shall find the wisdom and the grace that the urgency of the hour require. And
let us all say: Amen.
© 2001 .
All rights reserved
