One Day to Remember. One Year to Live Differently. What September 11 and the Final Day of the Jewish Year Ask of Us

Some days awaken us. The challenge is staying awake.

Today is both the anniversary of September 11 and the final day of the Jewish year. We remember those whose lives were taken, pray for strength for their families, and recall the terrible clarity of that day: life is fragile, time is precious, and so much of what divides us is smaller than we imagine.

For a time, we knew those truths deeply. But human beings have a remarkable capacity not only to learn, but also to forget.

Judaism recognizes that struggle in both our relationship with God and our relationships with one another.

There is a famous disagreement between Rambam and Ramban about the obligation to pray. Rambam understands prayer as a daily mitzvah, rooted in the command to “serve God with all your heart.” Ramban maintains that the Torah obligation applies primarily בעת צרה—in a time of crisis.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik suggested that perhaps their disagreement depends upon how we view life. If we recognize how vulnerable and dependent we truly are, then every day contains an element of בעת צרה. We need God not only during emergencies, but in every ordinary moment.

On 9/11, no one needed to be reminded of life’s fragility. On the final day of the year, we are invited to remember it again. But the goal is not to live fearfully. It is to live gratefully.

We should not need a crisis to awaken us to the gift of being alive. We should not have to lose a blessing before recognizing that it was a blessing. We should not wait until time is running out before asking what we are doing with our time.

That is why we pray each day—not to change God, but to change ourselves. Prayer reminds us that another morning was not owed to us. It was given to us. It calls us to receive the day with humility and to use it with purpose.

September 11 also awakened us to another truth: we need one another.

In the days following the attacks, divisions that had seemed so important suddenly became smaller. Political identities, religious differences, and even fierce sports rivalries receded. Strangers helped strangers. People prayed together, mourned together, and stood together. We remembered that beneath all our labels, we share one fragile world and one human destiny.

Astronauts often describe a similar realization when they look down upon Earth. From space, there are no visible national borders, political parties, or competing communities. There is only one planet and one human family—one crew sharing a small and vulnerable home.

From where we stand, however, we often see the labels before we see the person: his political party, her religion, his nation, her community. Rosh Hashanah asks us to look more deeply. Every human being is created בצלם אלוקים—in the image of God.

We do not have to agree with everyone. But we must never stop searching for the divine dignity within everyone.

As this year ends and another begins, perhaps we can make two commitments:

I will not wait for a crisis to appreciate my life.

And I will not wait for tragedy to recognize my neighbor.

May September 11 be not only a day of memory, but also a day of responsibility. May the lives taken that day inspire us to cherish the time we have been given, deepen our relationship with God, and treat one another with greater dignity and grace.

If we can remain awake to those truths even after the moment of crisis has passed, then memory will become responsibility and responsibility can become blessing.

כתיבה וחתימה טובה—may we all be written and sealed for a year of life, unity, purpose, peace, revealed blessings!