Personal Profile: A 9/11 Story, Mine

This is my 9/11 Story.

Many of us remember September 11th, 2001 as if it were yesterday. Exactly where we were, what we were doing, and how we felt when our worlds changed. Now that those memories have become engrained into our lives, it's imperative that every September 11th, we take a moment to remember, reflect, and take stock - to remember those that perished that day and the 4000 more that have suffered and died from 911 related illnesses since then.

I had just moved to Boston that week, leaving behind the close-knit town in New Jersey where I grew up. Hundreds of miles away from home, I watched on live TV the footage of a second plane hitting followed by the collapse of each tower – one by one. Cell phone lines went dead, planes were grounded, and transportation was halted. In an instant, I was a world away from where I needed to be – that close-knit NJ community that lost 110 lives that day. 

At the same time, my younger sister, back home and still in school, was assembled with her classmates in the school auditorium - which until then had been reserved for celebrations and joyous occasions. A teary-eyed principal addressed the students with one straight-forward question - "If you have a parent that works in or around the World Trade Center, please exit the auditorium and head straight to the school counselor's office. At the time, they had no way of knowing which and how many students had parents and care-givers that couldn't get to school to pick them up - or worse. Because of that day, all school documents now list parents' work addresses in addition to contact information. 

It was more than any of us could comprehend, and without discussion, request, or reason, we each returned home – to provide comfort to those mourning, to console neighbors and friends, to wrap yellow ribbons around town but most importantly, to face our new reality together, as one community in mourning.

I learned the true meaning of community in those bleak September Days, beneath the dust clouds of the ashes of loved ones that hung overhead for weeks to come. We became part of something bigger than ourselves in the hopes of healing those amongst us that felt alone in their pain.

It was then that I picked up a camera for the first time. And with the same Pentax my father had used 30 years earlier, when he was my age, I set out to capture those moments. Hoping somehow, I would be able to capture these moments when strangers from all walks of life came together as one to heal and find strength in one another.

While the pictures I took then were terrible - judge for yourself below - I still hold close the love of community and the passion of photographing and memorializing those fleeting, beautiful moments of humanity.

I hope we never have to live through the type of unity born out of crisis again. Still, I take great comfort in knowing that there will be a community of people there to turn to if we do.

Written by Keren Vered.