The 8th anniversary of the terrible events of Sept. 11, 2001, has almost taken me by surprise. I recalled the personal impact of that day in this blog posting, “September 11 with Gila,” in 2006, which includes the content of an email I sent out eight years ago.
My cousin, Gila, a member of Kibbutz Kabri in the Western Galilee, stayed with me for a few months that year. It turns out that Sept. 11 is her birthday; we weathered that day and its immediate aftermath together. My little maltese pooch, Rocky (since departed from this world), barked urgently as the first of us to sense the wave of toxic odors of burnt plastics and other materials wafting up that evening from the ongoing fires at the World Trade Center site, six or seven miles south of us. These memories bring on the same feeling of melancholy, in the pit of my stomach, that I experienced then, but no longer the fear.
Sept. 11 is also the birthday of Gila’s nephew, Lior, who has been staying with me for the past year. What are the odds? (I have no excuse if I forget their birthdays.)
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