Spirit and Story Archive
Welcome to Spirit and Story, where you will find the latest thoughts and reflections by CLAL faculty and associates on the contours of our contemporary spiritual journeys. A new article will be posted here every other week.
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Connection, Comfort and Community
By Janet Kirchheimer
It
is said that New York City is too big, too anonymous to find human connection and form
communities. In fact, anonymity is probably
one of the things that New Yorkers appreciate most about life in the Big Apple. But that isn’t the whole story. Like everyone else, New Yorkers want and need
human connection. After the attack on the World Trade Center, I found it in expected and
unexpected places.
On
September 11 my dear friend Elia, who escaped from the World Trade Center, and I began
walking home from the CLAL office in midtown Manhattan, talking about the attack,
comforting each other. We joined the larger
tide of New Yorkers who were also trying to make their way home. No one knew if the
subways or buses were running. People on the
street told us what they knew, strangers helping complete strangers. As we walked through
Central Park - usually an escape from the hustle of city life - we met other people
walking and we all felt more connected than ever before. We were subdued, wondering what
would happen next, looking up at the fighter jets that circled overhead in the bright,
clear sky.
The
next day the city was shut down. Most people
were home from work, just trying to cope. Afraid
and alone, I found an unexpected connection right next door. I hadn’t been close with
my neighbor, but that day this changed. We
sought each other out, kept each other company, talked and supported each other that day
and in the days that followed. We forced
ourselves to go out for dinner together the night after the attack, not so much to talk as
to be together; we walked back home afterwards through the smoke that had made its way
uptown from Ground Zero. We helped each other
to get back to a “normal” routine. Even
now, more than two months after the attack, we continue to check in with each other on a
regular basis, something we had never done in the eleven years we have lived next door to
one another. We have a much stronger and closer friendship now and have become part of
each other’s lives.
About
a month after the attack, I went to the opera for the first time this season. Just being back in the Metropolitan Opera, one of
the premier opera houses in the world, was a comfort.
When I entered the house, there was an air of anticipation. I listened to the buzz of pre-performance
conversation in the balcony where I usually sit. Once
in my seat, I looked around the opera house taking in details that I realized I had taken
for granted before September 11 - the immense curtain that covers the stage, the elegant
chandeliers, the velvet-covered seats, the musicians straggling into the orchestra pit and
beginning to tune their instruments.
The
curtain opened to La Boheme, and I felt welcomed by an old friend. The set design, costumes and music were exactly
the same as the other times I’d seen the opera, but that night the familiarity gave
me special comfort. I knew what to expect at
a time when life was anything but expected. During
the intermissions, instead of talking in the lobby with my friend who accompanied me to
the opera, we stayed in our seats, engaging in a conversation about opera with the people
who were sitting around us. I don’t normally do this, but that night I felt compelled
to join in the conversation that had begun in my row. The need for human contact seemed to
be driving us all to connect with each other in ways we had not done before. We all talked and laughed about the good and bad
performances we’d seen over the years. We spoke for 20 minutes during one
intermission, then for another 15 minutes during the next, and September 11 was never
mentioned. It was as if we gave one another permission to enjoy ourselves for the evening.
That night, the experience of both the opera itself and of the conversations during the
intermissions brought a few moments of normalcy that helped me, and perhaps others as
well, to heal.
I
returned to my poetry workshop three weeks after the attack on the World Trade Center. Many of us brought in poems about the attack -
poems about the return to normalcy (knowing the return to pre-September 11 would not
happen), poems about the lives of those who died that day; and poems about the fear of
failed poems. For almost two weeks following the attack, I couldn’t write. I tried, but nothing came. The poet in me was shattered. I spoke with a friend from my workshop. She told
me she was unable to write as well. We
advised each other to wait, told each other that what was inside of us was too raw. We would have to wait until the words were ready. And when they were, they began pouring out of me
and have not stopped since. The workshop has given me another glimpse of normalcy. As well as the comfort from just being in a
community of poets, it is the discussion of the craft of poetry that has helped. Though the subject matter is difficult, the craft
takes over and the poet in us all comes to the fore, giving us some respite from
traumatized life in New York City after September 11.
As
I continue to journey through difficult times, I have been reminded that human connection
and community comforts us, helps us heal, challenges us to go on. I hope my old and new connections will sustain me,
and I hope I will continue to find new connections and will remain open to finding them
where I least expect to do so.
To read additional articles by Janet Kirchheimer,
click here.
