“It is hard to sing of oneness when our world is not complete, when those who once brought wholeness to our live have gone, and nothing but memory can fill the emptiness their passing leaves behind . . . Yet no one is really alone; those who live no more echo still within our thoughts and words, and what they did is part of what we have become. We do best homage to our dead when we live our lives most fully, even in the shadow of our loss. For each of our lives is worth the live of the whole world: in each one is the breath of the Divine. In affirming God we affirm the worth of each one whose life, now ended, brought us closer to the source of life, in whose unity no one is alone and every life finds purpose.” Chaim Stern in Gates of Prayer, a reading before Kaddish.

We can’t always find joy. We can’t always be happy.

I went to a 911 Memorial today. I know exactly where I was. I can recount each moment of 9/11/01, 15 years ago today. I know people who were in the towers. People who were on planes. People who were at the Pentagon. I spent the day at rabbinical school learning how to be a pastoral counselor. I learned so much more.

I remember the bright blue skies. I remember the drive from Riverdale to Connecticut to Boston. I remember the sound of sirens, the smoke, the lack of traffic. I remember the fighter jets but no other plane traffic. I remember the fear of whether I had enough gas, whether my debit card would work. I remember those early first phone calls once I got to Connecticut and I was out of New York’s cell tower space. Questions. Lots of questions. How do I tell the students of my elementary school one of whose father just died on a plane? How do I handle the media in my small town since the pilot was a congregant? Do I cancel Hebrew School today? Where are you?

The next day I was at a Habitat for Humanity site with other clergy. As I often say, while all the world seemed like it was collapsing, we were building something. Together. Jews, Christians, Buddhists, Hindu, Muslims.

Then the stories started. We knew people who were in the planes. We knew people who lost people. We knew people who walked down countless flights of stairs and then they ran. Real people with real stories. It was hard to keep them straight. Living in Boston and commuting to New York weekly, everyone knew someone directly affected.

I wandered amongst the flags. I found the flags for some of the people I knew. There was one that was missing. I thought about each family. I cried.

It has been fifteen years. Today I went to a 911 Memorial. I watched kids rolling down a hillside. I watched kids playing hide and seek amongst 3000 flags. I watched kids climbing on fire trucks. These are kids who don’t remember 911. These are kids being kids. These are kids who matter today. And I found joy on that hillside.