I awoke on September 11, 2001, in an agitated state. I was going to have to tell my boss that I would be leaving work early to take my son to an appointment. That was uncomfortable enough. But I was also going to have to rush to pick up my child across town, drop him off at an extracurricular activity, do the grocery shopping while waiting for him to finish, dash back home to prepare dinner for the rest of the family, and then head back out for a parent-teacher conference at the school.
Halfway through my shuttling back and forth, trying to be punctual in spite of massive Jerusalem traffic, I turned on the radio to listen for suicide bombings.
Keeping track of every blown-up bus, restaurant and mall had become a national pastime at this point, a year into the Second Intifada. Chauffeuring our kids everywhere, to avoid placing them in potential peril on public transportation, was now the norm. (The more irreverent among my friends would quip that the Palestinians had finally figured out an effective way to destroy the Jewish state: by forcing us parents to become even more enslaved to our offspring than we already were.)
The top story on the 4 p.m. news broadcast was startling. It was about New York for a change.
“Authorities are investigating whether the crash of a plane into the World Trade Center was accidental or deliberate,” the announcer said.
Buckled in the back seat, my 11-year-old asked the meaning of my gasp.
“Never mind,” I said, jerking into a parking space so that I could quickly escort him into the adjacent building and focus on the events in lower Manhattan. I didn’t have time to explain Western political correctness in relation to Arab terror. And this possible “aviation accident” was taking place nowhere near Israel.
Instead of going to the supermarket as planned, I stepped into a nearby cafe. Patrons were beginning to gather around a large TV, tuned in to CNN. We all stood and stared, mouths open, watching the first tower, and then the second, collapse like giant sand castles. American reporters were still not using the “T” word.
But we Israelis instantly knew.