This week marks the 24th anniversary of September 11, 2001. For those of us who lived through that day, the memory is still vivid, the phone calls, the smoke rising, the silence in the sky afterward. We remember where we were when we heard the news.
I remember it with piercing clarity. I was eight months pregnant with my second child, while my two-year-old Aaron ran around the house. The day was filled with a tension I could hardly put into words: the fear for the safety of those in New York, the sorrow of lives lost, the worry about what kind of world my children would inherit. I can still feel the heaviness of those hours, trying to shield Aaron from a reality he could not understand, while carrying another life inside me, a stark reminder of both fragility and hope.
And yet, each year, a larger part of our community is made up of those who did not experience that day firsthand: children, teens, and young adults for whom 9/11 is history, not memory.
This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, also deals with the act of remembering. The Israelites are instructed that upon entering the land, they must bring the first fruits of their harvest and declare: “My ancestor was a wandering Aramean…” They are commanded not only to perform the ritual but to retell the story. Ritual alone is not enough; the words, the memory, and the transmission across generations are essential.
Judaism teaches us that ritualized memory shapes who we are. Some days, like Yom Kippur or Passover, become canonized into the life of the Jewish people. Others remain deeply personal markers: a loved one’s yahrzeit, the anniversary of a life-changing event. Still others become communal markers that begin as responses to tragedy and then shift, over time, into part of our collective historical memory.
And this is the question before us: as 9/11 becomes further from the present, does it become more important or less important?
I believe the answer depends on how we choose to carry it forward. If we allow the day to fade into history, it risks becoming another date on the calendar. But if we gather together, tell the stories, honor the lives lost, and recommit to acts of compassion and justice, then it’s meaning only deepens.
For some, the memories of that day remain intensely personal: the names of friends or family lost, the hours of waiting for news, the sharpness of grief. For others, the experience is more collective: the candlelight vigils, the American flags hung on every block, the way communities came together to support one another. In either case, the ritual of remembering has power. It is the difference between an event that drifts into the past and one that shapes our present.
Years ago, here at RSNS, we created a pictorial historical timeline with eight panels stretching from biblical times into the modern era. The final panel showed September 11th. And next to it we posed a question: What events will continue to shape our Jewish identity and define our future? That question still reverberates today. 9/11 is part of our timeline, but it also reminds us that the story is not finished, we are still living it, and still responsible for shaping what comes next.
Ki Tavo teaches us that our history is not just what happened, it is what we choose to remember, ritualize, and pass down. That is why the Israelites did not only bring their harvest; they told the story of where they had come from. That is why we do not simply light a yahrzeit candle; we speak the name, we share the stories, we bring the past into the present. And that is why, on this 9/11 anniversary, we are called not only to mourn, but to affirm what kind of people and what kind of community we want to be.
When I think back to being pregnant on that day, to holding Aaron’s small hand while carrying his sibling-to-be, I am reminded that memory is never just about what happened—it is about what happens next. The generations after us will not remember the smoke in the sky or the silence of the empty planes. But they can inherit the values we choose to lift up from that day: courage, compassion, solidarity, and the insistence that even in times of fear, we must show up for one another.
This 9/11 anniversary, may we come together as a community not only to mourn but to affirm that our Jewish practice is about showing up for others. In doing so, we transform memory into responsibility, and history into sacred purpose.
With love and remembrance,
Rabbi Jodie
Interfaith Manhasset Candlelight Memorial
(In-Person)
Date: Thursday, September 11th
Time: 8:00 p.m.
Location: Mary Jane Davies Park – 1–89 Memorial Pl, Manhasset on Plandome Road.
Rain Location: St. Mary’s Church – 1300 Northern Blvd, Manhasset.
