My 9/11 Story

I woke up on Tuesday, September 11, 2001 at my usual wake-up time, 6:00 AM, in Scripps Ranch, San Diego. I had just started my 10th grade at Scripps Ranch High School, and my morning routine was pretty familiar by this point: wake up, walk down the hall a few minutes after my alarm, eat breakfast while watching CNN or some other news channel. When I was younger, it was ESPN, but around high school, I switched to CNN. Like everyone else that day, the images I saw when I walked down the hall were anything but normal.

As I walked into the living room, my mom informed me that it looked like a plane had hit a World Trade Center tower. Knowing a bit about aviation, I of course wanted to know about the plane - what kind was it? Who was flying it? And most importantly, what happened that it should hit the tower? These questions, though, were not answered right away, because as I sat down, at 6:03 AM PST, I watched the second plane hit the other tower. (The video below starts right around the time I walked out of the hallway) I assumed they were just showing a replay of the first plane. I remember turning to my mom and asking, "didn't you say only one plane hit?" We quickly learned that this was not a replay, but a second plane had actually hit the other tower of the World Trade Center.

"What's going on?"

Just like everyone else, that was the question that kept running through my head. 

I listened to the news while I was getting ready, and no one had concrete answers. Nearly everything at this point was speculation. Some sources said 3 planes had been hijacked, some said 5. My morning radio program -- Jeff & Jer, a comedic, light-hearted morning show -- were playing the audio from the television news while recapping the events and what they knew on top of the reporters. It created a cacophony of information, all the while trying desperately to answer "what's going on?" and "When will it stop?"

As my friend picked me up and drove me to school, we sat in the car numb to the news. "Was this really happening?" New York, the city that my friend would live in for school, was being attacked?

Of course, when we arrived at school, we didn't learn a single thing in class. We all huddled around the televisions, our teachers, too, were visibly shaken by these events. They, too, had no idea what was going on. We watched the first tower fall in first period. A little while later, we watched the second tower fall. Again, we asked, "Was this really happening?"

At lunch, everyone had different stories to tell. "I heard it's this group of people." "I'll bet it was this group of people." I had a bit of an advantage in making my prediction, though. The previous year, I had been a part of Junior Model United Nations. I knew all about Afghanistan, the Taliban, and Osama bin Laden. I remember hearing on the news, shortly before our lunch break, that the Taliban had made a statement expressing sorrow for the women and children. I remember thinking that it was odd for them to assume that all of the casualties would be men. But then my next thought, which I shared with my friend at lunch, was "Those fucking bastards. 10 bucks says they're behind it."

I was right. And I hated it.

Couldn't we have seen the writing on the walls after the bombing in the WTC parking structure? Couldn't we have done SOMETHING?!

I checked in with my family, and everyone was fine. They had come home from their offices and would see me when I got home.

I had math class right after lunch. I remember walking there shortly before lunch was over, just to keep watching the news and see if anything new had developed. I sat down and a filmmaker was showing his, and nearly the world's only, footage of the first plane hitting the tower. We later learned that he had been shooting a documentary about New York's firefighters, and eerily, the station that was the first to respond to the situation. As an aside, if you have not seen their documentary, it is worth checking out. Its sad irony is haunting. Yet, once class started, I remember my math teacher saying, "Look, I know this is all going on, but we've got a lesson. I'll keep the television on, but muted. When we get to the point in class where you can work individually, I'll turn the sound back on." We understood, and were not surprised. That was just the style of this math teacher. Of course, by this point in the day, nothing new was developing. The four planes were all down, and rescue and recovery operations were underway.

When I went home, I found my mom on the couch, watching the news. "I can't pull myself away," I remember her saying. As I sat down beside her, I had a similar sentiment. As we flipped through the channels, a number of them had placards saying that regular programming had been canceled as their thoughts and prayers were with the victims of this attack. I remember thinking it was interesting that a number of stations had the exact same placard, obviously because they were owned by the same media conglomerate. Truthfully, no one wanted to watch the Food Network that afternoon.

I don't remember much about what happened during the remainder of the day. I'm sure we continued watching a lot of news, checked in with family and friends, and shared our experiences from the day.

My story isn't terribly unique. Yet my purpose in sharing it is for posterity. When our kids ask, "Dad, what was it like for you on 9/11, this day that everyone talks about but a day to which I have no personal connection?" (of course, our kids will have impeccable grammar) I will have this story written down to share with them. 

It's easy to say that everything changed on 9/11. And it did. But what we should say is that everyONE changed. Everyone in a America felt the horror, sorrow, fear, and sense of purpose that Israelis feel on an unfortunately regular basis. Fortunately, America has not been hit with another attack on this scale. And God help us, and those that try to carry out such an event, if we do. 

As we remember September 11, 10 years later, in a foreign country, I'm reminded of one of the heroes of the day: Gregg Gerson, my friend who spent the evening of September 11 and the following days in the rubble, volunteering to save and find people. I'm reminded of the days that followed: the memorial services, the stirring speeches, hearing from my rabbi in New York that he lost a half-dozen congregants.

May the memories of those we lost be for a blessing. 

And may our memories of the day not paralyze us as we move on.