Like every other weekday morning, Usman Farman[i] stepped off the train and headed to work. It was 9am on a beautiful sunny September morning, not a cloud in the sky. Usman, a twenty-two-year-old recent college graduate, walked to his office and took the elevator up to the 27th floor. When he arrived that morning, he looked out his office window and saw to his horror, a flaming hole in the North Tower.
With strong urging from his boss,
Usman Farman, Pakistani by birth, Muslim by faith, bounded down the stairs of 7
World Trade Center to reach the street. Just
as the South Tower was collapsing, Usman tripped over his own feet and fell onto
his back. As the billowing cloud of
glass was about to overtake him, Usman wondered if this would be his end.
Twenty-five years ago, September 11, 2001, our world changed forever. Those of us who lived through that fateful day remember exactly where we were when we heard the news. We gathered in shock around tv sets as the towers collapsed. We worried about those at the Pentagon. We heard of heroes who took down a plane in Pennsylvania. We numbly watched first responders save countless lives.
Those early days were filled with so much fear. Some hunkered down with family or co-workers, but many of us were isolated, all alone. 9/11 brought darkness, mistrust, and uncertainty.
Those feelings seem so incompatible with the start of this New Year. Rosh Hashanah is our antidote to disunity, isolation, and fear. Today is our homecoming when we gather as one Jewish community. Indeed, Rosh Hashanah is truly our holiday of hope. As 9/11 and Rosh Hashanah intertwine this year, we gather in mixed emotions: sadness and optimism, mourning and hope. This Rosh Hashanah we dream of a better world as we remember our past.
Remembrance is a funny thing. We each remember the past through our lived experience or the unique memories we hold. But, what about those who weren’t alive on that fateful day? 25 years is a long time. An entire generation has passed. A kindergartner in 2001 is now an adult while a forty-year-old is nearing retirement.
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about memory. What memories do we wish to pass down to our children? Which values and lessons do we wish to impart to the younger generation? How do we remember that fateful day? This evening, I’ll share three short stories. These stories are filled with emotion that touch upon the very themes of Rosh Hashanah. As we blow the shofar, we recognize our responsibility towards one another. That we are all one human family.
Rick Rescorla[ii] was the head of corporate security for Morgan Stanley. After the 1993 terrorist attack, Rick was worried about the security risks at the World Trade Center. He demanded that Morgan Stanley move their offices to New Jersey, but when that wasn’t feasible, he decided to take matters into his own hands. For years, his co-workers grumbled when Rick made them practice emergency drills.
When American Airlines Flight 11 slammed into the North Tower, the Port Authority ordered everyone in the South Tower to remain at their desks. With some colorful language, that I can’t share tonight, Rick told them: “not a chance.” From his office on the 71st floor, Rick grabbed his bullhorn, walkie-talkie, and cell phone, and got to work. He began the evacuation of all Morgan Stanley employees from the 20 floors they occupied.
On September 11th, they
were prepared. Employees calmly
descended, two abreast, down the stairwells, just as they had practiced. In just 16 minutes, more than 2,500 employees
and visitors at Morgan Stanley were safely out of the building before the
second plane even hit their South Tower.
Once his co-workers were safely out of the building, Rick was told to evacuate the premises. “Not a chance!” he said, as he rushed back in to search for any other stragglers. Rick was last seen helping people evacuate on the 10th Floor; He never made it out. Rick Rescorla was credited in saving 2,694 lives.
Each year, we gather in the Meadow for Rosh Hashanah and take time to reflect upon our Jewish identity and Jewish community. I’d like to be so bold to refute that premise. It’s a misnomer to call Rosh Hashanah the Jewish New Year. Today is not for us, it’s for all of humanity. Rosh Hashanah is the world’s birthday. Today marks the creation of the entire world.
We might think our Torah should begin with the story of Abraham and Sarah, the first Jewish people, but that is not the case. Our Bible opens much earlier with Adam and Eve. This serves as a reminder that each of us traces our line back to the very first human beings. For, as our rabbis teach, “if you save one life, you’ve saved an entire world.”[iii]
Rick Rescorla lived that dictum till his dying breath. He realized that if just one secretary, banker, custodian, or Vice President didn’t make it home, entire worlds would be destroyed. Rick didn’t know and couldn’t know all 2,694 people he saved that day, but he believed in their humanity and of his obligation to take care of them. We might not be as brave or courageous as Rick, but we Jews are obligated to look after each member of our broader human family.
It was late morning on September 11th when Jacque Pinto’s[iv] flight from Italy made an emergency landing. She was supposed to land in New York, but was diverted to Gander International Airport in Newfoundland, Canada. Some of you may have seen the musical “Come from Away” which documents this beautiful story. Thirty-eight commercial flights touched down at Gander that day. The 10,000 residents didn’t have enough hotel space for the 7,000 stranded passengers. And so, a call went out to “lend a hand and do what you can.”
The “plane people” were welcomed with open arms, warmth, and love. Locals provided meals, bedding, and showers. Schools, churches, and legion halls were converted into dormitories. People welcomed strangers into their homes, pharmacies filled prescriptions for free, and their ice rink was converted into “the largest walk-in freezer in Canada.” When asked about their generosity, a resident responded, “For us, it was like every other day… You don’t turn your back on people in need.”
The residents of Gander didn’t care about a person’s religion, nationality, race, income, or if they were part of their social circle. Whether they knew it or not, they lived by our Jewish command: “love the stranger for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”[v] In our Jewish tradition, we show love by acting, by taking care and supporting those in need. How embarrassing that twenty-five years later, we treat our Canadian neighbors with such contempt.
Rosh Hashanah is the most universal of all our Jewish holidays. Our rabbis sprinkled many prayers in today’s service that speak of our responsibility towards our human family. No prayer better highlights this idea than three paragraphs called uvechin, “And so…”[vi] Earlier this evening, you may have stumbled across these unique words during the silent prayer. I call these three uvchein paragraphs, “our Jewish sandwich.” The first paragraph addresses all of humanity, the second paragraph, the meat, speaks of the Jewish people, while the third describes all righteous human beings. This prayer begins and ends with our obligation to all people.
Uvechein[vii] is a utopian vision where God is revered, respect given to the Jewish community, and where righteousness overcomes all evil. Our rabbis teach that this vision can only be achieved through action. As a Jewish community, we are a small part of a very large world, but nonetheless, we are commanded to do our part, to show kindness to all people, support the most vulnerable, and embody righteousness in all that we do. We might not be as generous as the people of Gander, but we can open our wallets, provide needed necessities, volunteer, and fill our days with acts of loving kindness. For we know that one small act can change a person’s life.
That’s what happened 25 years ago. Usman Farman, the 22-year-old Pakistani Muslim, ran from 7 World Trade Center, when we tripped over his feet, and fell onto his back. Dozens of people ignored his plight, running around him as the South Tower began to collapse. Usman thought he was a goner when a man approached him. This wasn’t just any man, but a Chasidic Jew, with a big beard, long Payos, and a big black coat. The man grabbed the pendant that hung from Usman’s neck and read the Muslim prayer filled with Arabic writing. The Jew than extended his hand and with a thick Brooklyn accent said to him, “Brother, if you don’t mind, there is a cloud of glass coming at us, grab my hand and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Usman reached for his hand, and they both ran far from Ground Zero. In the mayhem, the two lost each other, but Usman later reflected upon that moment, saying, “Regardless of who we are and where we come from, we only have each other.”
Those days after 9/11 were a dark time for our country. Islamophobia dramatically increased. Muslims were afraid to wear headscarves in public and whispered when speaking Arabic for fear of reprisal. There were attacks on Muslims and a backlash against the building of any new mosque.
Twenty-five years later, we watch as antisemitism rises in our country, whether by hateful slurs, microaggressions, or our Jewish institutions being vandalized. We worry about verbal or even physical attacks. We are scared to be open and honest about our Judaism or our Jewish identity. How embarrassing that twenty-five years ago we treated Muslims this way? How outrageous that this type of hatred festers today against our community?
Today is Rosh Hashanah, our antidote to disunity, fear, and isolation. Rosh Hashanah is our pivot, our reset, from a time of fear to a time of hope. Rosh Hashanah is the Birthday of the World - our reminder that we are all one human family.
This New Year may we be brave and courageous like Rick Rescorla and always do our part to take care of one another.
This New Year may we be generous in spirit and in action like those in Gander and never turn our back on people in need.
This New Year may we and our allies not ever remain silent about antisemitism or any type of hatred. Like the Chasidic Jew, may we recognize that we are all one human family.
This New Year may the world recognize
our obligation to each other. As Usman
Farman reminds us, “we only have one another.” Amen.
[ii] https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/2001/10/28/a-tower-of-courage/c53e8244-3754-440f-84f8-51f841aff6c8/
[iii]
Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 37a
[iv] https://www.911memorial.org/connect/blog/lend-hand-do-what-you-can-remembering-generosity-gander
[v]
Leviticus 19:34
[vi] Rosh
Hashanah Machzor, third prayer of the Amidah.
See pp. 49-51 of Mishkan HaNefesh Rosh Hashanah
[vii]
See commentary on p. 48 of Mishkan HaNefesh Rosh Hashanah
