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WPCNR MAIN STREET JOURNAL. By John F. Bailey. September 12, 2009: The White Plains 9/11 Remembrance Ceremony was moved to the rotunda of City Hall Friday evening and the majestic entry to City Hall lent the atmosphere of a house of worship to the annual recognition of the 9/11 attack on America eight years ago.
Commissioner of Parks and Recreation Arne Abramowitz welcomed surviving members of the families of White Plains victims of the attacks with his dignified, commanding demeanor. The six White Plains citizens killed in the Trade Center attacks were: Sharon Balkcom, Marisa Dinardo, Hemath Kumar Puttur, Joe Riverso, Gregory Rodriguez and Linda Sheehan.
Rabbi Lester Bronstein of Temple Beth Shalom in his remarks observed the attacks brought out the worst manifestations of hate, and out of that came, ironically the greatest acts of love of strangers for the victims in the hours thereafter and going forward, bringing out the best human beings are capable of out of the worst they are capable of. Rabbi Bronstein read the 91st Psalm which he said seemed to conjure up again the unique horror of that day eight years ago in downtown Manhattan:
He who dwells in the shelter of the most high,
Who abides in the shadow of the almighty,
Will say to the Lord, “My refuge and
My fortress;
My God, in whom I trust.”
For he will deliver you from the snare
Of the fowler
And from the deadly pestilence;
He will cover you with his pinions,
And under his wings you will find
Refuge;
His faithfulness is a shield and buckler.
You will not fear the terror of the night,
Nor the arrow that flies by day,
Nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness,
Nor the destruction that wastes at
Noonday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
Ten thousand at your right hand;
But it will not come near you.
You will only look with your eyes
And see the recompense of the wicked.
Because you have made the Lord your
Refuge,
The Most High your habitation
No evil shall befall you,
No scourge come near your tent.
For he will give his angels charge of you
To guard you in all your ways.
On their hands they will bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against the stone.
You will tread on the lion and the adder,
The young lion and the serpent you
Will trample under foot.
Because he cleaves to me in love, I will
Deliver him;
I will protect him, because he knows
My name.
When he calls to me, I will answer him;
I will be with him in gtrouble,
I will rescue him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him my salvation.
Rabbi Bronstein sounded the shofar. The ancient horn– its splendid notes at once a call, a challenge, a celebration, a balm – to the grieving, remembering throng of fifty persons.
The White Plains Public Safety Color Guard presented the colors followed by a mournful, delicate performance of The Star Spangled Banner on the violin performed by Alanah Smith of White Plains High School. The vaulted rotunda focused the plaintive cadence of Ms. Smith’s style with a sensitivity quite profound, you could not help be moved by the images the music conveyed.
Mayor Joseph Delfino continued the theme of remembering the six lost sons, daughters, husbands, wives because the Mayor said we all exist for each other and need to be there for each other when others need us. The Mayor then presented 9/11 flags to surviving family members in the front row, and tried to comfort them.
Patricia Keegan, presented a message, speaking on behalf of Representative Nita Lowey, emphasizing how the nation should not forget the sacrifices that day and the need to continue to cling to our American values ever the stronger. Ms. Smith rendered a elegiac piece by Handel at once respectful, inspring, and precisely flawlessly melodic salving and renewing the spirit, as each individual in the audience lit each other’s memorial candles.
Reverend Melanie Miller of the Church in the Highlands, closed the ceremony with a personal memory of the hallowed ground shortly after the attacks, putting the meaning of 9/11 in personal perspective.
Today we gather in honor of National day of Service and Remembrance; we gather to remember that day, eight years ago, and to reunite ourselves in service.
And so it is that I begin my remarks tonight by remembering:
Toward the end of November 2001 I was invited to visit Ground Zero. I went with a group of clergy people. I saw things there that were difficult to see. But today, eight years later, I want to remember that day, because it is worth remembering, in telling our stories, that we understand the world more fully and ourselves more deeply.
I returned home that day that feels like a lifetime ago, my eyes and belly full of destruction. But like many of you I left my heart at that place, that place that has become sacred space. Sacred because it is now a burial ground. Sacred because God surely is in that space.
The group of clergy I traveled with met in front of City Hall on the corner of Broadway and Warren. We walked to the site, lead by a city hall escort. We walked past schools, businesses, shrines. At one of the shrines I saw a shoe. A shoe with flowers in it. A tan, lace-up Oxford. I’ve been wondering since that day, who wore that shoe? Was it placed there by someone who loved the man and the foot that once walked in it? Was it found by a stranger and placed there in honor and sorrow?
My own shoes carried me past family monuments that had only recently been opened to the public. Along the sidewalk, against a fence was an endless wave of memories. Letters, some handwritten, some computer-generated, were filled with words of love, expressions of feelings so intimate, my heart broke as I read them. Pictures of people lost, people who walked out the door that morning that feels a lifetime ago, never to return. Stuffed animals and bouquets of flowers piled high, along with sorrow and wishes and regrets and memories.
Police officers opened gates and removed barricades for us, never uttering a word; silent, all of us, not knowing what to say.
There was no sound.
I know that cannot be true, because the things I saw would have generated noise. It’s more accurate to say I do not remember any sounds. The site seemed to swallow up the noise of the trucks, the hundreds of trucks, coming and going. Leaving filled with debris; metal grotesquely bent and twisted. Returning empty, having given up the burden they left with, and returning for another. Those trucks must have made noise, but I don’t remember hearing it.
I don’t remember sound.
But, I remember words…
Words not spoken but written by family who had visited the site. Personal messages written on the large world map, with the names of all the countries
that lost life in the tragedy. Personal messages written and carved in the wood of the platform on which we stood.
Words of love and words of hate. Words of hope and words of wrath.
But those words were silent, written, not spoken. I, too, was left silent from this visit to Ground Zero. How can words express what we feel still today? My heart breaks in sorrow for this world. A world where violence and hatred cause so much destruction. I say along with prophets and priests from all faith traditions,
“What happened here? Where is our hope and redemption?”
And then in the midst of the silence I hear the answer to that question, the same answer that came to our faith forbearers, “Go and tell what you hear. Go and tell what you see.”
And I lift my eyes past Ground Zero, I lift my eyes past the destruction and I see more, more than just tragedy, more than just grief, more than just sorrow. I see a people of God united in service working and loving and giving more than they ever had before. I look and I see a beautiful new world where people joined hands and hearts. People, not famous, or rich, or glamorous, just everyday people risking their lives, risking their all to give life to other everyday people; strangers they had never met before.
Those days following 9/11 our strength as a nation, was not our resolve to seek revenge, but rather our unity as a nation in our commitment to service one another. To caring anew. To paying attention. To reaching out our hands.
In those days following 9/11, a woman was stuck in traffic on the Saw Mill Parkway. She was crying and the driver in the car next to her rolled down a window and saind, “What can I do for you? What can I do for you?”
“Go and tell what you hear. Go and tell what you see.”
I look and I see a world where love and compassion bring healing. I look and I see the transformation that God’s heart wishes for us. I look and I see the transformation that will create a world where people, not famous, or rich, or glamorous, just everyday people will risk all to save other everyday people, strangers they have never met before.
I look and I see a world where those who mourn will be comforted. I look and I see a world where all of God’s children are valued and loved.
A world united in service to others.
Go and tell what you see. For in doing so, we understand the world more fully and ourselves more deeply.
Ms. Alanaha Smith of White Plains High School performed God Bless America to close the ceremony.
The rememberers left the rotunda quietly, footsteps echoing, into the rain.
