Returning What We’ve Lost - The 25th Anniversary of 9/11©
Friday Night Rosh Hashanah - September 11, 2026 - 1st of Tishrei 5787
Rabbi David Baum - Congregation Shaarei Kodesh
Today, our country is observing the anniversary of 9/11, a day that changed our country forever. There was a pre-9/11 world, and a post-9/11 world.
Iconic pictures mark different generations at these pivotal, world-changing moments. For the WW2 generation, I think of the U.S. flag being raised atop Mount Suribachi during the Battle of Iwo Jima in World War II. But for my generation, a generation that came of age in 2001, it was the picture of the three firemen raising the flag at Ground Zero on 9/11.
The photo called Raising the Flag at Ground Zero, taken by photographer Thomas E. Franklin, became the iconic image of that terrible day. Instead of Marines invading an island, the heroes of 9/11 were the first responders, firemen, and police officers who rushed into the burning buildings, many losing their lives and then risking their lives afterward by helping to find survivors. But this story has an interesting follow-up. That iconic flag became a symbol of hope and resiliency in the face of unimaginable tragedy, but it went missing that day.
Another flag was used at future remembrances, but that iconic flag was lost. 15 years later, in 2016, the flag miraculously reappeared in a fire station outside the city. The flag underwent thorough testing, including DNA and materials testing, to determine whether it was the same flag, and it was deemed authentic.
A retired New York Police Department officer who was at ground zero on 9/11 held the flag as it was being packaged to return to New York City. He grabbed the flag, held it up to his face, smelled it, turned and looked to the detective who was there to take it, and said, 'That's the smell that I remember from that day.'
Sometimes, there’s no greater feeling than finding a long-lost item, especially one that brought you so much hope and meaning.
During the month before the High Holidays, Elul, we read a series of parashiot that address many of the themes we will confront on these days.
In Ki Teitzei, we read about a mitzvah that is the essence of this holiday: Hashavet Avedah - the returning of lost objects. There's a famous saying in America, "Finders keepers, losers weepers." Fortunately, that's not a saying in the Torah. In Deuteronomy 22:1 - 3 we read the following:
לֹא־תִרְאֶה אֶת־שׁוֹר אָחִיךָ אוֹ אֶת־שֵׂיוֹ נִדָּחִים וְהִתְעַלַּמְתָּ מֵהֶם הָשֵׁב תְּשִׁיבֵם לְאָחִיךָ׃
If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow. וַהֲשֵׁבֹתוֹ לוֹ׃
If your fellow does not live near you or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home, and it shall remain with you until your fellow claims it; then you shall give it back to him.
You shall do the same with his ass; you shall do the same with his garment; and so too shall you do with anything that your fellow loses and you find: you must not remain indifferent. לֹא תוּכַל לְהִתְעַלֵּם
But the mitzvah actually isn't so easy to perform, and the Talmud and law codes go through example after example, because sometimes it isn't so easy to find the person who lost the object, and in fact, you might never find the person, so does the object go to the finder?
But there is a line in this passage that is really important -
But it highlights the effect on this mitzvah - the effect it has on others -
לֹא תוּכַל לְהִתְעַלֵּם
It is translated as: you shall not remain indifferent, but the literal translation is: you shall not hide yourself from it.
This line changes the power of this mitzvah - what is 'it' exactly? How can you hide yourself from an inanimate object? I believe the 'it' isn't the item, but the mitzvah itself - returning.
It is probably intentional that we read about this mitzvah during this season, the weeks leading up to Rosh Hashanah. The main mitzvah of the high holiday season is Teshuvah. Within that word, teshuvah, repentance, is the word Shuv, which means return.
Today, we return to September 11, 2001, but I think it would be better to return to September 12, 2001. There was a poem written about this day, and I wanted to share it with you from an author, Erik Blair:
I remember September 12th.
On the morning of September 12th, I remember everything feeling really different. It was like the whole world stopped and took a breath after the shock of 9/11.
The streets were quiet, the sky was empty, and for a little while, it felt like we all just got it — we were all on the same team, looking out for each other, just being Americans together.
It felt like, maybe for the first time, we could put aside our differences and be there for one another as friends.
But that feeling didn’t stick around. Soon enough, people were back to arguing, driving angrily, and being greedy. It seemed like everyone slipped back into their old habits, except for those who lost someone in the 2001 attack.
For a short time, it really felt like the United States was united, and losing that sense of togetherness has weighed on me ever since… I really hope that, before it’s too late, we can find a way to come together again as one big community, without needing a disaster to push us to do it. Until then, I will remember September 12th.”
Tomorrow morning, we will wake up on September 12, but it will also be the first day of a new Jewish year. The calendar is giving us another September 12, another opportunity to decide what comes after September 11.
Now, I realize that our memories of September 12, 2001, may be somewhat idealized. Our country was not perfect. We did not suddenly overcome every division. Some innocent people even became targets of suspicion and hatred. But something real happened on that day. For at least a moment, we remembered that we belonged to one another.
We checked on our neighbors.
We thanked police officers and firefighters.
We called people simply to tell them that we loved them.
We understood that life was fragile, that time was precious, and that despite all our differences, our lives were bound together.
And then, slowly, we lost that feeling.
But teshuvah does not mean going backward. We cannot return to September 12, 2001, and we should not pretend that the past was perfect; rather, Teshuvah means recovering what was best within us and carrying it forward.
It means returning to the Americans we know we can be.
It means returning to the relationships we have neglected.
It means returning to the values we once promised would guide our lives.
It means returning to the belief that we really are responsible for one another.
Twenty-five years ago, a flag was raised above the ruins of Ground Zero. That flag disappeared, but it was not destroyed. Someone kept it safe. Fifteen years later, they found it and returned it home.
Never forget what the Torah teaches us: What is lost does not have to be lost forever.
Lo tuchal l’hitalem. You may not hide yourself from what has been lost.
If we have lost our unity, we must search for it.
If we have lost a relationship, we must try to repair it.
If we have lost our sense of purpose, we must reclaim it.
If we have lost touch with the best version of ourselves, then this is the moment to begin returning.
A country returns one neighbor at a time, a family returns one conversation at a time, and a community returns one act of kindness at a time.
And a soul returns one choice at a time.
Tonight, we remember September 11.
Tomorrow, we have the opportunity to create September 12.
May 5787 be a year when we stop hiding from what has been lost.
May it be a year of teshuvah, of return.
May we return to God.
May we return to one another.
And may we return to the people we were always capable of becoming.
Shanah tovah.
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