I was in a small yeshiva in Brooklyn. I had davened Shacharis and was walking to yeshiva. I was at a light when I noticed a large, dark cloud in the sky. I looked at it and realized it was smoke. I just thought there was a fire nearby – but then realized I couldn’t smell one. I walked to yeshiva and someone there with a radio told me what had just happened. We ran to a store on the corner, where the owner had put out a small TV to see the news. We watched for a bit, then went back to yeshiva. The Rebbe told us we would start seder as normal, but we should have in mind that our learning should be a merit to those in downtown Manhattan. We couldn’t concentrate on our learning very much, and the Rebbe noticed. He spoke about it for a few minutes, then told us that if anyone wanted to go be with their families, he understood. We went to the store again, and saw that the towers had collapsed.
I saw on the TV the smoke cloud that was enveloping the area. My father works near there, so I immediately tried calling him. There was no answer on his phone. I called my mother, and she told me that she’d spoken to him, and he was walking home over the Brooklyn Bridge. She asked me to go home and meet him, as she didn’t know what he’d be like. I went home, and found that my father was already there.
He told me that someone in our neighborhood worked in the WTC, and was missing. Another neighbor’s brother had been on one of the planes. I was friends with the son of one of them, and knew his father. To this day, thinking of it chokes me up.
The rest of the day? We stayed glued to the news, hoping to hear that the people we knew were found, that they were ok. Unfortunately, it was not to be.