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View of 9/11 Towers of Light Memorial from My Apartment |
I submitted the following comment on 9/11 to the London Jewish Chronicle, which published a version of it in their September 4th issue:
The World Trade Center was an anchor for our neighborhood, a
north star to help one navigate the warrens of New York’s streets, a beacon for
all who could catch a glimpse of its twin towers. The date of its destruction is a similar
anchor to the calendar, a fixed point against which we measure our growth. As we gain distance from that day, pixelated
images and inchoate impressions have found a measure of coherence, hardened to
memory.
Our Museum is located just a few blocks south of the World Trade
Center site, and, on 9/11, we were engulfed by the giant cloud of dust and
smoke and ash that emanated from the collapsed buildings. Our colleagues on that day found their way by
foot and ferry to safer ground, but were forever marked by their shared
experience. Located in the “frozen
zone,” our neighborhood was sealed off and inaccessible in the days and weeks
following the attacks. When first
allowed to return to the building, we discovered that the roof was covered with
scorched scraps of paper – artifacts of commonplace pursuits -- carried there
by the currents of catastrophe.
Following the attacks, we were faced with the daunting task
of rebuilding. Although we suffered no
significant physical damage, our collective sense of well-being and confidence were
shattered. The Museum family was spared
direct loss, but each member of the staff who witnessed the attack and its
aftermath was changed. I was in Berlin
on 9/11 at the opening of the Jewish Museum and returned Erev Rosh Hashanah to
find my apartment uninhabitable and my colleagues, each in their own way,
responding to their collective and individual traumas. I had
lunch with the Museum’s chairman, Robert Morgenthau, a week or so after my
return, and he told me to get the Museum open again as soon as possible. I responded that it would be difficult since
we were locked down by roadblocks and surrounded by armed guards. “I’ll take care of the roadblocks,” he said,
“you get the Museum cleaned and ready.” He also instructed me to continue with
our plans to build a major expansion to our building.
Although I did not voice them, I had many misgivings. It struck me as imprudent at that moment to
commit scores of millions of dollars to a major building effort in a grievously
wounded neighborhood, the future of which was uncertain. But I followed his instructions, and we
reopened the Museum on October 5th and broke ground for the
expansion in November.
Ours was the first new construction project in Lower
Manhattan following 9/11, and we were warmed by this distinction, which held a
particular resonance since our Core Exhibition focuses, in part, on the period
following the Holocaust, with its dramatic story of the rebirth of life and
community following great tragedy. There
were days when trucks conveying new steel for our construction mixed in traffic
with trucks transporting twisted relics of steel away from Ground Zero. This jarring juxtaposition in the noisy
street presented a potent metaphor for the continuity of life and the impulse
to rebuild.
Our new wing opened on the second anniversary of 9/11,
finally completing the original vision of the Museum, providing a magnificent
building permitting us to offer, finally, a full range of exhibitions and programming. Although more people can fit in my dining
room at home than visited us each day during the period immediately following our
reopening, visitation has since rebounded, and downtown is booming once again
with new amenities and the promise of a bright future. On the first Yahrzeit of 9/11 (23rd
of Elul), we opened a remarkably moving and inspiring exhibition about 9/11
focusing on our neighborhood and on the Jewish community, and we mark the
anniversary each year with a memorial candle in our lobby and a commemorative
program in our theater.
Since 9/11, we have experienced our share of natural
disasters – two hurricanes (Irene and Super Storm Sandy) and even a mild
earthquake. The disruption caused by
these events, and their undeniable emotional impact, reminded us all of that
September morning when the norms of everyday life were suddenly upturned, and
the stabilizing anchors of our lives were dislodged. But the waters subsided and the earth stopped
shaking, and we were left again to face a world that was so unalterably changed
12 years ago.