I Remember 9/11…

I wrote this a while back. Posting here again. No edits, aside for some formatting.

I remember September 11, 2001, like it was yesterday. All the colors and feelings of that day still swim in my mind.

I remember where I was, what I was doing when it happened. I was in eleventh grade. It was morning. I had just arrived and was getting ready for class at Yeshivah of Far Rockaway High School.

We arrived at 7:30am for morning prayers (Shacharit). At about 8:30am we had breakfast.

I was most probably eating a bagel and cream cheese when the first plane hit.

The details are a bit fuzzy in those first few moments, those moments before I heard what happened.

Those moments were like any other moments, it happened, but without notice, until something changed and then everything changed.

I remember I had finished breakfast and I was sitting in an empty classroom listening to my MiniDisc player, remember those things?

It was about 8:55am, and class was about to start. I was going to listen to one more song before running to class when someone told me what happened…

I remember my friend Shlomo walk in, look at me and say, “Adam! A plane just crashed into the twin towers!”

I remember I laughed because it was just too crazy to believe. My friend didn’t really believe it either.

He had been listening to the radio when the report came in. The first reports about that terrible day were confused. He laughed when I laughed.

“Really it’s true, a plane hit the Twin Towers!”

“C’mon, stop messing. Why should I believe you?”

“What do you mean, I was just listening to the radio and they said!”

I remember my first thought after hearing that. I thought it was a small plane, like a Cessna, that hit the towers. Like some crazy pilot went off course or something.

I remember saying, “Whatever, ok, we need to get to class, let me know what happened later”

I remember feeling so dumb later, over that first reaction. I still feel so stupid when I go back to that memory.

I remember going to class.

My Rebbi was trying to teach, but everyone had their little radios on. The Discmans and Walkmans were out, everyone listening to what was going on.

One of my friends, Avi, was shouting out updates in the middle of class. My Rebbi was getting annoyed.

There were eight planes… no, nine planes that were hijacked… The plane that hit was a 767…

I remember when we heard the report that the second plane hit.

My Rabbi had given up trying to teach. He joined us listening to the radio.

We heard the pieces of the confused news coming together. He hadn’t heard any news until class started and thought we were just trying to get out of a day’s learning, but the reports were coming in fast, and then he too realized what was happening.

I remember the entire school erupted in activity.

My friend who’s father worked at the World Trade Center, was in the school office trying to call his Dad.

Class just ended. There was no point. Everyone was trying to figure out what was going on.

I remember hearing about people jumping from the building. I was scared. I thought about what it would feel like being trapped in the smoke, my only option to jump.

I remember when the towers fell…

We heard the reports and couldn’t believe it. We were in shock.

Across the street was a public school, and a few people were on the roof looking across towards Manhattan.

Our Yeshiva was in Far Rockaway, very close to the beach. If you were high enough you could see the city. A few of my friends snuck onto the roof of our building to watch.

I remember when we heard the pentagon got hit, and another plane went down in Pennsylvania, and other planes were hijacked.

And then the reports came in that it was a real terrorist attack. First of its kind on American soil.

I remember when the cell towers were down because everyone was trying to call someone.

I was able to miraculously get through to my father who worked a few blocks away from the Towers, He said he was okay, his building was fine and wasn’t affected. He told me to try and let Ima, my mother, know everything was okay.

I remember trying to call my mother, to let her know he was okay, but I couldn’t get through. The phones were down and it was only a miracle that I got through to my father.

It was only until much later that I was able to tell her he was fine. She was an emotional wreck when I finally got to her.

I remember the Menahel (prinicpal) of my School, Rabbi Brafman, announce that classes were officially over, but that school was not.

We all had to come down to the Beis Medrash (Prayer/Study Hall).

I remember he was on the verge of tears when he told us what we already knew and said that we would spend the rest of the day in prayer.

I remember when he led the entire school in the reading of Psalms.

“A song for ascents. I shall raise my eyes to the mountains, from where will my help come?” (Psalms 121:1)

I remember when he continued to lead us in prayer and began to add prayers. He lead us in a prayer that we reserve for the High Holidays.

He Began The prayer “Avinu Malkeinu” “Our Father Our King”

“Our Father Our King, hear our cries, bestow Your mercy upon us, and with mercy accept our prayers”.

I remember finishing the prayers with my rabbis and classmates and we were dismissed.

When I finally got home it was afternoon. I was able to tell my mother that Aba (Father) was okay. We still didn’t know where my brother was. He went to school on the lower east side so we knew he was far enough away to be safe, but we still had no way of getting a hold of him. He was fine, thank God, and came home a bit later. He had to walk home on his own.

I remember my father had to walk home to Queens from Manhattan because public transportation was in lockdown.

My mother’s friend had to walk home too, but her building was very close to Ground Zero. She was covered in dust and debris.

She crossed one of the bridges, in pain, in shock. She hadn’t cried yet. Until she tried to wash up at a restaurant, and they made her pay for a can of coke to use the bathroom. It was only then when she broke down.

I remember the fear.

I remember the fear.

I remember the fear I had that day, that everyone had that day. When we listened to the news, when we saw the clips on TV.

I remember when my father finally came home and told us what he saw. He told us that his office had a large conference room with floor to ceiling windows. The majestic view of the World Trade Center was a top selling point for that office space.

From the giant window my father and his co-workers watched the tragedy unfold. My father told me he could still see image of bodies falling, years later.

I remember my father telling me that day that we need to go see some people.

“Where are we going?”

“The Pickford family right across the street, a few houses down. Their son is a firefighter. He was in the Towers. He’s missing.”

They found his body on New Year’s Day.

We brought over a cake, just so we could bring something, to support the Pickford family in some way.

I remember standing in their living room, people from our community walking in and out.

I was holding the cake, while Christopher Pickford’s parents were sitting, crying, watching the News. I was standing there with a stupid cake in my hands. That stupid cake in my hands.

Christopher didn’t make it. He was a hero who gave his life selflessly. They renamed our street “Firefighter Christopher J. Pickford Street”.

I remember the aftermath. The stories of people lost, the stories of people who were almost lost.

I remember a story of a husband calling his wife to say goodbye. He worked on the upper floors and knew he wasnt coming home. He was worried that they wouldn’t find his body, and wanted to make sure she knew. He wanted her to know that she should remarry and keep the family strong.

I remember the story of a father who was late for work because his son needed to finish a report due that day. At first, he was annoyed, but then he found out he wasn’t going to work that day.

I remember when my father volunteered to help at Ground Zero, but was turned away because he wasn't the only one with the same idea.

He taught me about selfless giving that day. He spent the next few days at an empty stadium parking lot packing boxes for the relief work, with thousands of other New Yorkers. He packed new work boots for the volunteers at the site. The heat of the twisted, burned metal melted the soles of their boots all the way through.

I saw the unity that formed with a community in crisis.

I remember going to Ground Zero a few days later with a friend. I was excited to be hanging out, to see the sights. And then I felt bad, because this was the worst terror attack America has ever seen, and I was on a fun trip with my friend to the city.

I’m happy I went and saw the aftermath, and that I can share it with you today. And I remember it no longer was just a fun day out anymore.

I remember being at the place where the Towers once stood. Where a pile of burning debris took its place. The entire world came to pay their respects in those days. I saw people from every country, coming together for one purpose.

I remember a few years later when my neighbor got sick. He was an EMT First Responder. He was on the scene at Ground Zero. The toxins at the site caused him to contract a blood disease. I don’t remember what it was exactly. He passed away, a young man with a large family, almost ten years after 9/11.

I remember him saying that if he had to go back he would do it all again.

I remember that countless people who were close to Ground Zero had health complications. For many it was fatal.

I remember, we all still remember, those who lost their lives.

We honor those who gave their lives to save others.

I remember how all of New York felt a sense of unity. The tragedy had really sobered everyone. There was this shared feeling of having been through something huge. It’s still kinda there, but it’s hard to really capture that feeling now.

I remember the feeling of unity we had, and I hope and pray we keep that unity strong.

I don’t know how to end this.

I don’t have a wise or inspirational message to leave you with. It’s just my raw memories here.

When I woke up this morning it was 9/11. Fifteen years later. I had to get this feeling, these thoughts, out of my head and onto paper or something. To write it down and hit publish even if no one in the world ever read it.

I don’t know what to say to make more meaning of my memories. I don’t know what you should do as a next step. Sometimes there just aren’t next steps. Sometimes there isn’t an “I’ll do better from now on” lesson to be learned. It would be foolish and insensitive to try to even find one from this tragedy.

It simply is.

I simply need to remember to hug the ones I love a little tighter today. To remember the people that are most precious to me. To thank God, that I am here to share this with you.

I pray we never experience a tragedy like that again.

I hope that in another fifteen years I will still remember, as I remember today.

It is eerie that 9/11 is the day after Charlie Kirk was assassinated, on 9/10/2025.

And the same feeling of uncertainty clouds this day as it did for me 24 years ago.

May God bring us strength in this dark time.

May we be grateful for His gifts, the bounty of this great country, and the people that have selflessly carried that message.

May these days strengthen our resolve to continue to live the legacy of all those who were lost standing up for American values.

Hashem, thank You for everything you gave to me and my family. A home to live in a country to be safe in.

And I trust that You are with all of us through this dark time and with your grace we will all pull through this stronger and closer than ever before.