September 11, 2001 fell just six days before Rosh Hashanah 5762. Like every rabbi and educator in America that week, I was rewriting sermons and lessons, searching for words that could hold what none of us yet understood.
At the Ohio congregation I served, we opened every service that Rosh Hashanah the same way: a lit shivah candle stood on a table at the front of the sanctuary, and before any of the davening began, the congregation rose for a moment of silent reflection. When the quiet had settled, this poem was read.
In Memory and Hope
For the Victims of September 11
With hearts that are covered by dust and debris
With cheeks that are stained by tears and blood
We search through the rubble and ashes for Your light, O God.
With eyes that burn with images of destruction
With ears that are filled with stories of the missing
We search for Your comfort, we crave Your warm embrace.
Standing at the edge of a void left by the victims — both missing and dead
Standing at the threshold of a new year whose sweetness has been embittered
We take comfort from the support of standing together.
Taking inspiration from the divine imperative that we repair this broken world
Taking strength from our ability to bring healing and comfort
We dedicate ourselves to nurturing delicate seeds of hope into a blossoming peace
A peace that will, with Your help, fill our hearts, our souls, and our world.
— Howard Jacoby Ruben, Rosh Hashanah 5762 / September 2001
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