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Sunday, October 2 Days Of Awe
Rosh Hashanah 2001 4 years ago 4 Rosh Hashanahs Ago this re-defined for me the term Days of Awe La shana Tovah to you all
Rosh Hashanah at Ground Zero And then there was Rosh Hashanah On my fourth and last day at ground zero, I opt to skip Rosh Hashanah services and get out to the site early, but I am delivered to a gloomy crew. The Board of Health has shut down our grills and any food production. We are only allowed to dole out, pre-cooked burgers and sandwiches. We are given something over a thousand peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to dole out. They're a flattened, flimsy excuse for nourishment. The rescue workers were about as interested in PB&J as we were. "No more burgers," says a dejected cop, who goes on to show me his hands, raw and beaten. He says he has been digging out nothing but death all day. "I've been in there with my bare hands, but it's just shit, body parts and dirt." This day is different than the others have been. There is sense of gloom in the air that is thicker than the dust. Gone is the rush of adrenaline and hope. Roger, the man who has seemed most like a leader of the delivery crew, chews his cigar in frustration. He wears a hard hat covered in graffiti with an American flag taped to its side. They just want us to pack up and get out of here!" he says. I step into the church in search of serving utensils and find a dozen rescue workers scattered on the pews, most of them with tears in their eyes. After serving the few non-peanut butter sandwiches that we had, mostly turkey, I decide to take my last walk through the hot zone. I deliver a bag of a hundred PB&J sandwiches to the guards at the pile. We are no longer allowed in to deliver them ourselves. I find Brian, one of the guys who works for my catering company, sorting through boxes of underwear and t-shirts. He is organizing things to be sent elsewhere, perhaps to the Salvation Army. He, too, is filled with gloom. But then, as we are commiserating on how this is the strangest place to spend Rosh Hashanah, an amazing thing happens. An army soldier with a long, white beard piles up some Styrofoam crates one on top of the other and places a plastic holder used to transport bread on top as a make-shift table. He covers the plastic with a blue velvet cloth on which is embroidered the star of David. Then he lays down a prayer book for "The Day of Awe" (the High Holy Days) and a shofar. A group of Jewish soldiers gather around him as he begins to recite the prayers. Brian, myself and some Jewish volunteers who hear the prayers quickly join in. Then, there in front of the worst vision of death and ruin any of us may ever see, he blows the shofar. The sweet-sour mournful sound of the ram's horn pierces the dust and the gloom and resonates far off into the distance. I feel something warm and wet wash over me and wonder if this is what it means to feel soulful. The women being to cry, and we all kiss each other. "La Shanah Tovah!" we say, holding each other. We are all total strangers. We will probably never see each other again, but we kiss and hug like family. "Thank you so much!" I say to the man as I notice that he is wearing a tallis made of camoflage. "Aaaah! It's nothing," he says laughing. I'm in the army. I do this all the time."
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