Excerpt from "Echad Asar b'September, OR A 9/11 of the Jews" by Ben Greenfield, 2014
[W]hen it comes to how we commemorate these days, we find only contrast. Those who observe a traditional Tisha B’av know exactly what to do. (No showers, no food, no comfortable shoes. Sit on the floor, an egg dipped in ash, synagogues stripped of décor.) But we struggle with what to feel. Its been two millennia since we lost the last Temple. A lot has happened since. And a lot has been forgotten.
But those who commemorate 9/11 don’t worry about what to feel. For many, the loss isn’t a part of history; its a part of life. Our feelings are legitimate because they are so damn real. Instead, we struggle with what to do. We have no ritual. No song, no text, no special food. Maybe a list of names, maybe an American flag – but mainly just that nagging sense. We must do something. We must do something.
The strongest voice in that “something” opened over this summer: the completed National September 11 Memorial & Museum. Its construction was dogged with fierce debate, because the task at hand was not just putting up a building, but building a national story. Should our story include discussion of the lives and intentions of the perpetrators? Who even were the “real” perpetrators? And did the victims die as individuals or as Americans? Or perhaps as New Yorkers? What, if anything, can their death teach us today?
The recent opening of the museum makes this 9/11 a unique one. Marking September 11 of 2014 gifts us a unique opportunity to remember what it was like to commemorate Tisha B’av in 114.
Rabbi Judah said further: a synagogue that has fallen into ruins, they may not eulogize in it, nor twist ropes, nor spread nets [to trap animals], nor lay out produce on its roof [to dry], nor use it as a short cut, as it says, “And I will desolate your holy places” (Leviticus 26:31)—their holiness remains even when they are desolate. If grass comes up in it, it should not be plucked, due to the pain of the soul.
מפני עגמת נפש - מניחין בו עשבים כדי שתהא עגמת נפש לרואיהן ושיזכירו את ימי בניינו ואת שהיו רגילין להתאסף שם יבקשו רחמים שיחזרו לקדמותו:
Due to the pain of the soul- We let grass go in them, so that it will be painful to see the destroyed synagogue, and they will remember the days when it was built, and that they used to gather there regularly, and they will ask for mercy that they will return to the days of old.