This doesn't really need a title, does it?

I'm sure everyone has been asked this question before: do you remember where you were when the planes hit the Twin Towers?

I do.

The first one hit while I was sitting at the breakfast table, finishing up. At first, I thought it was another story of a drunk pilot ( after all, this was shortly after the whole Delta Airline's scandal involving drunk pilots ). I went out for my cigarette and coffee and headed upstairs to the Beis Medrash. The second plane hit just a few minutes after first seder started. The Beis Medrash was, needless to say, quite empty. Everybody was squeezed into the nearest laundromat, glued to the TV, waiting for tidbits of recycled information, because, after all, nobody at the time really knew what was happening. Rumors were flying about the White House being blown up, people were running and dust and debris were flying, there was just a complete incoherence during those first terrifying hours.

And where was I?

About a half hour after the towers collapsed, I found myself in my dorm room, sweatily packing a bag. I put all the things that I felt were important into this bag, in case I needed to leave shortly.

You see, I believed completely that Moshiach ( the messiah ) was coming. And I was scared shitless.

I was a high school senior then, just short of seventeen. I was going through an especially difficult time, having been disillusioned by the general ways of the yeshivish society. A sort of apathy had set in, and I found myself floundering as I struggled to maintain a delicate balance between my recreational activities and my personal feelings, and the pressures I felt of being a yeshiva student, and thus, on a larger level, a religious jew.

So, I wasn't doing too well on the spiritual side ( or at least, I could have been doing considerably better), and now it seemed like the day had finally come. And I knew I had a lot of shit to account for.

What didn't occur to me at the time, though, was how despite whatever misgivings about judasim and general theology I had, all the went out the door when the shit hit the fan. Immediately, I reverted to an almost instinctive reaction and line of thought. Moshiach is coming now! I am in such big trouble...

Moshiach didn't come that day. And there were many things that followed in the aftermath of that fateful day in 2001. The general disposition of American society was somber and - if anything - wary and fearful. Many rabbonim spoke about the events of 9/11, and how we should approach it, and what lessons to take from it. I wasn't listening, and if I was at any point, it was only with half an ear, anyway. My personal issues were only deepening as the year wore on, and I found myself really descending into a funk that lasted for quite a while.

I'd have philosophical battles with myself on a constant basis; at any other time, I'd either be lost in the comfort of my headphones or the hallucinogenic bliss of a ganja getaway. At that point, the side of me that wanted to cut out all things jewish was pretty dominant, and slowly, my daily routines started to wane. But one firm rebuttal that I couldn't seem to get around was the fact of how quickly I had reverted back to the thought of Moshiach coming. It was a proof that after all was said and done, my jewishness was a part of me as intrinsic as my internal organs; whether it was a product of being taught things at an early age or not ( what some call brainwashing, and is erroneous; I spoke spanish as a child before I could speak english, and now I can't speak a word... ) wasn't necessarily the point - the fact that it came so naturally meant that it could happen - and most likely would happen - again. And again and again and again, no matter what I did. Being a jew was a part of me that I'd never be able to escape.

It still took time for my other side to win, though....and that was when I was given another chance after leaving my old school. But that's not for now.

September 11, 2001 is etched into my mind for a number of reasons. It gave me a feeling of being part of history; I was now able to understand and relate when someone older than I was able to repeat a date of a certain event in history that had been burned into their mind, how such a thing was possible.

But the foremost reason I remember it is because it reminded me on a personal level of who I am at my core. Of what I am and how I can never escape that fact. Thank God, I'm at that point where I don't feel like I have to anymore.

Originally posted Tuesday, 12 September 2006