Remembering 9/11

I remember that day like it was yesterday, all of it. The day started with very sad news, as a woman from our church had died in a bus accident in Egypt. It was the day of our womens’ Bible study group, fifty or so women learning about the names of God from Mimi Wilson, the then local-author of “Holy Habits” and “Cooking Once a Month”.  We were in shock, and didn’t take much notice of the white-haired woman who had arrived with one of the diplomat wives as we rehearsed the details of our friend’s death together.

She was invited to stand and introduce herself. “My name is Peggy Gnehm, my husband Skip is the new American Ambassador to Jordan. We arrived yesterday, and are delighted to see the church where we worshipped twenty years ago thriving. Skip was Jordan’s ambassador once before, as well as Kuwait and Saudi, we seem to show up when there is conflict. We want you to know that we are here for you; we don’t quite know what the future holds in this region, but we are here to serve”.

That created a stir. Our ambassador and his wife a part of our church family? That was a new thought. Her comment about conflict gave me pause also, as that particular period of time in Jordan, with the Intifada on one side and Iraq on the other, felt pressured.

We had a young Jordanian couple over that day, they were near engagement so they often ‘courted’ in our home under my hawk-like eye. I was cooking, and we got a call that we needed to turn on the TV, as a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. I wasn’t that big on disasters and was quite distracted by three kids under 6, so it wasn’t until my friends called me in to watch, just as the second plane hit, that I realized the magnitude of what had happened.

I stood frozen with my dishtowel clutched to my chest as I understood that someone had actually planned to fly two planes into two office buildings, plotted to destroy the lives of whoever got in the way. Our guest immediately said: “This  was Osama Bin Laden’s work”. I had no idea who he was. His almost-fiance said: “Please God, don’t let it be Arabs who did this, the world hates us enough already”.

I went outside for some fresh air, and was immediately struck that Amman was as silent as a tomb. The only time I remember such silence is just before Iftar, and the day HM King Hussein died. There was no celebration, only stunned silence. I could almost hear neighbors verbalizing what my friend had said: “Please God, don’t let it be Arabs”.

Then came the flood of phone calls from the US, asking us if WE were OK. That struck me as odd, since it happened there, not here. But, later we had our turn, too. Then came another flood of phone calls: every Jordanian we had ever met calling to say how sorry they were for this tragedy. In the following days, we received many such calls, visits almost like an 3azza, and even strangers in stores would offer condolences.

Peggy Gnehm was there for me and many of us during that hard time, during the Foley assassination, when the diplomat was pulled out of his car and beaten in Abdoun,  during the lead up to the war.  Skip and Peggy modeled diplomacy for us, as we helped explain what we knew of the Eastern world for curious and angry Western friends. Kounouz.

Today I made myself go back and look at pictures, read stories, list names from that day. People who woke up thinking it was a normal day. It reminds me that we are not guaranteed even today, death can come in any way at any time.