Twenty-five years ago, on Sept. 11, 2001, our country entered a darkness we still remember vividly. Thousands of human beings were murdered. Families were shattered. And Americans everywhere were left asking not only how such a thing could happen, but also how we were supposed to live afterward.
This year there is a remarkable convergence on the calendar. On the evening of Sept. 11, the Jewish community begins Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. On the anniversary of a day we associate with death and ashes, we begin a holiday devoted to renewal and the possibility of a new beginning.
That coincidence offers a powerful reminder: Tragedy has a way of clarifying our priorities. The challenge is to remember those priorities when the tragedy has passed.
I remember what happened here in Santa Clarita the very next day. On Sept. 12, 2001, Temple Beth Ami hosted an interfaith community memorial service. We called it “a service of healing in memory of the victims of terrorism, in honor of those who risked their lives to save others, and to console a community united by a common tragedy.”
People of different faiths and backgrounds came together because, at that moment, our differences seemed far less important than what we shared. We needed one another. We needed to mourn together, pray together and simply be together.
For a time after Sept. 11, that spirit was visible across the country. Neighbors checked on neighbors. Strangers comforted one another. First responders became symbols of courage and selflessness. Houses of worship opened their doors. In a moment of profound fear and grief, people reached toward one another.
It was a reminder that beneath all the categories we use to divide ourselves, we share a common humanity.
Twenty-five years later, that lesson feels especially important.
Most of us spend enormous amounts of our lives worrying about things that feel urgent in the moment: deadlines, disagreements, money, politics, status, possessions and the countless frustrations that can consume an ordinary day.
Then something happens that rearranges the list. A frightening diagnosis. The death of someone we love. An accident. A natural disaster. A national tragedy. Suddenly, what seemed overwhelming yesterday may feel almost insignificant.
We saw that with terrible clarity on Sept. 11. The final telephone calls from the World Trade Center were heartbreaking in their simplicity. People who understood that they might have only minutes to live called the people they loved. Their final thoughts were not about their careers, their bank accounts or the arguments they had won.
They wanted to say: I love you. Take care of the children. Tell my family I love them.
When everything unnecessary fell away, what remained was clear: family, love, friendship, responsibility and being there for one another.
We should not need tragedy to teach us that.
Rosh Hashanah traditionally asks us to take stock of our lives. But this year, perhaps the most important question is one that all of us can ask, regardless of faith:
Does the way I spend my time reflect what I claim matters most to me?
We say family comes first, but do we give our families enough of our time and attention? We say friendship matters, but do we call the friend we have not spoken to in months? We say community matters, but do we show up when someone needs us? We say kindness matters, but how do we treat people when we are rushed, frustrated or angry? We say we want a less divided country, but how often do we allow political disagreements to damage relationships with people we otherwise love and respect? And we say life is precious while sometimes living as though we have an unlimited supply of days.
As we enter Rosh Hashanah 5787 on Sept. 11, 2026, perhaps the best way to honor this anniversary is not only to remember those who died, but also to allow their lives and their final words to remind us how we want to live.
Call the person you love. Spend time with your family. Repair a friendship. Show up for someone who needs you. Keep the promise you have been postponing.
And remember what our Santa Clarita community understood on Sept. 12, 2001: when everything else is stripped away, we need one another.
Twenty-five years ago, in the darkest of circumstances, we were reminded what mattered most.
This year, thank God, we have the privilege of remembering that lesson without waiting for another tragedy to teach it to us.
Rabbi Mark Blazer is the rabbi of Temple Beth Ami in Santa Clarita.
