Twenty-five years ago next week, America and the world awoke to a morning that would forever divide time into before and after.
On September 11, 2001, Islamic terrorists hijacked four passenger planes and turned them into weapons. One plane struck the Pentagon, while aboard United Flight 93, passengers and crew fought back against the hijackers before the aircraft crashed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Nearly 3,000 innocent people were murdered in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania. The Twin Towers collapsed, smoke rose over Manhattan, and Americans suddenly realized that oceans were no protection against those determined to destroy them.
As we approach the 25th anniversary of that terrible day, this week’s haftarah (Isaiah 61:10-63:9) offers a powerful perspective on destruction, rebuilding, and memory.
Destruction, rebuilding, and memory
The prophet Isaiah declares: “For Zion’s sake I will not be silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not be still, until her righteousness goes forth like brightness, and her salvation like a burning torch” (Isaiah 62:1).
Isaiah is speaking, of course, about Zion and Jerusalem. His prophecy is directed to the Jewish people and describes the future restoration of the Jewish capital.
But the ideas he raises – refusing to be silenced and rebuilding after devastation – speak beyond the immediate context of the prophecy.
That is especially true as America prepares to commemorate September 11.
Throughout the haftarah, Isaiah speaks of Jerusalem’s transformation from desolation to renewal. The city that had been abandoned and devastated will rise again. “You shall be a glorious crown in the hand of the Lord,” he declares (62:3), and it will no longer be called “forsaken” or its land “desolate” (62:4).
Anyone who remembers lower Manhattan in the weeks after September 11 can appreciate the power of those images.
Ground Zero was a smoking ruin. Thousands of families had been shattered. One of the most recognizable parts of the New York skyline had disappeared in a matter of hours.
Yet New York rebuilt.
The terrorists succeeded in murdering thousands of innocent people, but they failed in their larger goal. They did not destroy America or bring it to its knees.
The verse’s opening words contain another important idea: “For Zion’s sake I will not be silent.”
Twenty-five years is a long time.
An entire generation of Americans has now grown up with no personal recollection of September 11. They did not watch the towers burn nor see people covered in ash fleeing through lower Manhattan. They did not watch firefighters and police officers rush into buildings from which everyone else was desperately trying to escape.
For those of us who lived through that day, the images remain difficult to forget. But for millions of younger Americans, September 11 is already history. Which makes it all the more important to tell the story clearly.
This week’s parasha adds a related dimension.
Nitzavim opens with Moses’ declaration to the Jewish people: “You are standing today, all of you, before the Lord your God” (Deuteronomy 29:9).
A few verses later, Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaki, 1040-1105) cites a midrash explaining why these words follow the terrible curses at the end of last week’s parasha of Ki Tavo.
After hearing the 98 curses, Rashi says, the faces of the Jewish people turned pale. “Who can withstand all these?” they asked.
Moses reassured them by pointing to a simple fact: “You are standing here today.” Despite everything they had endured, the Jewish people were still there. It is first and foremost a message about Jewish survival.
Few peoples have suffered as much persecution, exile, and destruction and nevertheless remained standing. Jewish history is filled with enemies who were convinced that this time they would finally put an end to us. They were wrong.
Without equating the Jewish historical experience with what America endured on September 11, there is nevertheless something here that applies.
Terrorists do not seek only to kill. They seek to instill fear in those who survive and to convince them that they are helpless.
But survival is not enough. There is also an obligation to preserve the truth about what happened.
Judaism has always understood that recalling the past is not an exercise in nostalgia. Zachor – remember – is one of the Torah’s great imperatives because the past is meant to guide us in the present.
Twenty-five years after September 11, Americans owe it to those who were murdered and to the firefighters, police officers, and other first responders who ran toward danger not to allow that day to become blurred with the passage of time.
The next generation should know what happened. They should know who carried it out and why. And they should know how Americans responded with resilience and determination.
Jewish history has taught us that survival depends not only on standing firm but on understanding the forces that sought to bring us down in the first place. That is a lesson rooted in the Jewish experience.
But September 11 is not ancient history, and the jihadist hatred that produced it did not disappear with the smoke over Manhattan.
Twenty-five years later, remembering who attacked America, and why, is not dwelling on the past. It is an essential part of defending the future.