by Yoav Raban, Israel office
How old were you at 9/11? I understand that you went to the Twin Towers the day before the attack? What brought you there?
I was a month and 10 days shy of my 21st Birthday. I was headed to Detroit for an exchange visit (which we call a Mifgash, a “Get-Together”), and would then go on a 10-day Birthright trip with Hillel of Metro Detroit. I was selected as one of six Israelis, from Michigan’s Partnership Region, to join the trip. The trip was initiated and supervised by the Director of HMD, Miriam Starkman, supported by the Detroit Federation and in collaboration with our Michigan-Central Galilee Partnership office.
My flight to Detroit was scheduled for the morning of September 11th. I arrived in New York two weeks before my scheduled flight. I wanted to tour the city and be with my friends who were living there. I was also with my dad, who was scheduled on the same September 11th flight to Detroit. As the manager of our Kibbutz Metal Factory, he had established a business relationship with a member of our Detroit Jewish community who was a manager of a Metal Factory in Romulus.
The day before our flight would leave, I wanted to say goodbye to the city. I decided that the best way to do that would from the top of the Observation Deck of the World Trade Center. Fate would have it that the chosen day for the tragic terror attack was September 11th and not the 10th, or I would not be around to write my 20-year perspective. There’s so much to unpack here. And again, it’s difficult to “simplify” in short answers.
How did it happen that you joined the Detroiters on the bus back to Detroit?
I was stuck in New York with no idea of what to do. The only reason my dad and I even had a place to stay was that my dad’s youngest brother was an El-Al Captain. He had arrived in New York just a couple of days prior to 9/11 and of course got stuck there as well. We were able to go and stay at his hotel room in Midtown.
Then I received a message from Miriam Starkman that the Detroit Federation had organized a bus ride back to Detroit. It was set to leave the following day and she told me where to get on the bus. I had very little details about the bus ride and who would be on it. All I knew that it was a group from Detroit who were allowed to land in New York from Israel (we knew that there were no incoming and outgoing flights).
This bus ride cemented my relationship with our Detroit Jewish Community. It made it my Bashert and created some of my most meaningful, important, life changing and lifelong connections. It was my first-ever visit to Detroit. I was with my dad and a group of some of our Detroit Jewish community’s most outstanding leaders who had just returned from a visit to my home neighborhood in Israel. They had demonstrated their passion and commitment to Israel during one of our most difficult times, and suddenly they were facing their own historically difficult time.
20 years later, what memories of that day burn brightest for you?
Wow . . . where to begin? Memories which burn brightest? We are talking about one of the longest days of my entire life and luckily, I had my dad there by my side.
We were both headed to LaGuardia Airport early that morning to catch our late morning flight to Detroit. When we arrived at the airport we were not allowed to go in, we had no clue what was going on. We were told that there was a bomb threat. We were very used to this back home but especially at that time, since it was one of the most difficult times in Israel. It was the time of the Second Intifada, with daily suicide bombings, and so the notion of a bomb threat was an everyday thing for us.
We thought we would wait outside for a bit. We thought they would surely clear the bomb threat and allow us back in just like they do in Israel. But after a couple of hours we were told that all flights were cancelled and we should go back to the city. We tried to make our way back to the city, still unware of what was happening not that far away from us. We didn’t have cell phones at that time. We could see the smoke all the way from Queens, but we had no idea what we were looking at.
We waited at a bus station for what seemed to be hours. Buses were simply not stopping since they were at full capacity. We tried to use the pay phones in the area, but the phone system was probably already down at that time as we couldn’t get through to anyone and the recorded voice messages were all in Chinese…
After a few hours we finally got on a bus to the closest subway station and from there we took the train to the one place we knew we could go to, my uncle’s hotel room. It was already late evening. The subway was packed, but we thought it was a typical New York rush hour. We were underground, so we were still clueless at that point. We didn’t even feel as if we should ask anyone what was going on. And people around us were not saying anything about what just happened earlier that day. In retrospect, they were all probably in shock and everyone was just keeping to himself/herself out of pure fear and trauma from the events.
We got to my uncle’s hotel room sometime after 8:00 p.m. When he opened the door he was as pale as if he had seen a couple of ghosts. From the look on his face and his reaction, we could already tell something was going on and so we asked him in such a naïve manner, what is going on in the city today? It’s crazier out there more than ever. He was absolutely shocked and in total disbelief, asking us if we really have no idea what is going on? When we said “No, no clue” he immediately pointed to the TV screen. Nearly 11 hours after the first plane hit, we finally saw what the entire world had already known and seen time and time again, all while we were just a few miles away from where it all happened…
After that, everything changed. I kept a copy of the New York Times that was placed outside the door the following morning. And I did what every Israeli does the day after a terror attack. I went outside, back on the streets.
And maybe that is what burns the brightest for me: New York City itself, the day after. A New York City unlike anyone had ever seen, nor would have ever see again (until maybe recently during the COVID lockdowns). It was a scene taken out of a doomsday Hollywood movie. One of the most vibrant cities in world, of constant noise, of nonstop hustle and bustle, suddenly, Silent, Empty. Gloomy. A big cloud of dust covering the streets and a strong smell of smoke and devastation. Like a gigantic ghost town. It was difficult to see just a few feet ahead. I remember simply walking down Broadway from Midtown, walking towards downtown. The only people I can remember seeing on the streets at that time were a few African Immigrants who were back selling their fake merchandise.
I was thinking that for them, much like for us Israelis, they too were probably used to keep going about their lives as soon as the sign of danger had passed. Knowing that you must keep on living your life amidst the tragic events that are happening all around you. Their own daily survival was dependent on it. But also such a dissonance, as it’s simply surviving in an urban jungle without any real attachment or a sense of belonging to the place where they live.
I remember walking by the Fire Stations, seeing the memorial candles that were already placed outside. A somber city full of grief. It felt as if I was walking in the streets of Tel-Aviv during Yom Kippur. I was simply incapable at that time to even begin to process the magnitude of the Historical tragic event that I was a part of. It was all so surreal.
On the evening of September 12th, as my uncle, my dad and I sat down for dinner at a quiet restaurant in upper side of the city, I remember so vividly how my uncle had turned to me and said: “Do you even understand how lucky you were, that this could have happened to you. That could have been the same morning when you went on top of these buildings.” Only then when he said it so directly, that it really hit me, I couldn’t even respond, there is no response.
We in Israel, we are used to the notion of, “This could have been you.” Many of us will endure that sense at least a few times during our lives here. We get it during our mandatory Army service, during the many wars that even someone my age has already been through. And it was definitely a repeating notion during that same fateful year of 2001, in the midst of the Second Intifada. Back then, “It could have been you” was just a bus ride away, a visit to a restaurant or a shopping center or a night out at the bar or at the dance club.
And so for me, to suddenly find myself an ocean away in one of the liveliest and vibrant cities in the world and still get hit by the same notion of “This could have been you,” it made my stomach turn.
I have been fortunate that through my connection with the Detroit Jewish community and our Partnership Region relationship, that I have had the opportunity to get back to Detroit every year since 2001 until the recent COVID crisis which ended my consecutive streak at 18 years.
Therefore, during the 20 years since 9/11, I would take every opportunity that I had while being back in New York City, either on the way to or back from Detroit, to go back to Ground Zero and pay my respects. It also helped me personally to process this experience and reflect on my own journey through it.
About three years ago I felt that I finally got some closure for my personal journey, when I went back again to visit the new World Trade Center Tower and was able to get back on top of the new observation deck, which now also serves as a beautiful memorial tribute.
I felt more at peace after that, feeling the strength and spirit of the human creation and the passion of life and how it will always triumph over darkness and the desire for destruction.