In the old days,we used to get questions like: "Is this chicken kosher or not?" 

Nowadays we get questions like: "Can my son be Bar Mitzvahed in the afternoon instead of in the morning so we don’t have to hang around all day for the party?" 

Or, "If my grandfather’s name was Shlomo, can I name my child Shawn?" For some reason, I don’t know why, I rarely get the question phrased the other way — "If my grandfather’s name was Shawn, can I name my child Shlomo?" 

Today I want to tell you about a question one of my colleagues got soon after September 11. My friend is Rabbi Jeff Salkin, and he is the rabbi of a large Reform congregation in New York. 

He was walking out of shul one day last year in mid-September on the way to visit someone in the hospital when a woman stopped him in the corridor of the synagogue. She said, "Rabbi, I have a question. "He answered, "Yes,what is it? But please, make it quick if you can, I am already late." 

And this is what she said: "Rabbi, I live on the Upper East Side of Manhattan and my windows are covered with the grime that has drifted uptown since ‘you know what’ happened. I need to clean my windows, but I am afraid there may be remains of the dead in that dust. If there are, it doesn’t seem right to just have the windows cleaned. What should I do?" 

Stunned, Rabbi Salkin thought to himself, "Look how much this woman already knows judging by her question. She evidently knows that Judaism views the human body with reverence — otherwise she wouldn’t even know to ask such a question." 

And then he wondered about where this woman — who probably doesn’t know much about the rest of Jewish law — where did she learn this truth, that Judaism reveres the body? 

My guess is she probably learned it from watching the news, because what do they show on television right after every terrorist action in Israel? They show pictures of  bearded men with peyos (sideburns), who wear yellow flak jackets, and who gather the bodies and the parts of bodies, and the shards and the mangled scraps of bodies that terrorist bombs have torn apart. 

They look under cars and under buses and on bushes and on trees — everywhere until they find every single scrap of tissue and every single piece of a person they can. And they make sure that these pieces of what were once human beings get a proper burial, because human beings are made in the image of God and therefore, their bodies are sacred, as well as their souls. 

And this woman knows one thing more. She knows, she remembers, or else she senses, that the rabbi is not just a master of ceremonies, not just a conductor of services, and not just a pastor or a preacher. She knows, don’t ask me how, but she knows that the rabbi is still, to some extent today, what he always was — a posek, a decider of Jewish law, someone who hears questions, and who uses the age old legal tradition to find answers. 

All these things were implied in the question this woman asked my friend, Rabbi Salkin, that afternoon in the corridor of the synagogue. 

Knowing that this question was much too serious a question to quickly brush off, Rabbi Salkin stopped and thought, and then he gave her an answer. He didn’t have time to look the answer up in the books, so he gave her the answer off the top of his head.

 "You’re right, you shouldn’t just clean the windows as if it were any other time — this is what you have to do. Take paper towel and warm water and carefully wipe the windows clean, as clean as you can. Then carefully put the towels into an envelope and take them to a Jewish funeral home. Tell them what they are and ask them to bury them the next time they have a funeral." 

The woman nodded, thanked him, and that is precisely what she did.  

When Rabbi Salkin told me that story, I was deeply moved. I was moved by two things: one was the reverence for the human body and the respect for Jewish law this woman felt. She may not have kept all of Jewish law, but when she came face to face with something as terrifying as September 11, she wanted to know what the law says and she wanted to do what the law says to do. 

The second thing that moved me was the answer she got. Other religions she might have consulted would have told her: the soul is all that counts, the body doesn’t matter… but our religion doesn’t say that. Our religion says, that which was once holy, is still and always holy, and therefore must be treated with the greatest of respect. For this reason and others there are many groups that deserve our respect and admiration for their service during and after September 11.The fire fighters who died trying to go up the stairs while everyone else was trying to go down and the diggers that worked around the clock for months trying to find each and every body and piece of body they could. The volunteers who gave blood and those who passed out coffee to the workers. The truck drivers who drove all night so they could help, and those across the country who lined up for hours to give money or blood to the Red Cross. All these groups are heroes and all these groups deserve our praise and admiration. 

But there is one quiet group that deserves at least as much admiration and respect for what they did as do the others I just mentioned, but who you might not know about — these are the students of Stern College. 

Stern College is the women’s branch of Yeshiva University. It is located not far from where the World Trade Center once was. And so, starting on September 11, and continuing every single day and every single night afterward until June 16, when the mayor declared that there were no more bodies and no more fragments of bodies left to be found, the students at Stern College took turns doing mishmar. 

They took turns doing guard duty in shifts at the Twin  Towers, they said Psalms and they studied Torah, and they meditated in silence — 24 hours a day — so that the bodies and the pieces of bodies that lay under the rubble would not be abandoned. They understood, from their Jewish education, that what was once holy remains holy and that a human being should never be abandoned, either in life or in death. 

Last year, on the first anniversary of September 11,we joined with all other Americans in observing yahrzeit for those who died that horrific day. 

I don’t know about you, but I felt many of the speeches given were trite, banal, and obvious. I felt many of the ceremonies held that day were vapid, empty, and boring. I was not very moved by them and I don’t know if you were either. 

I guess I kept looking for a spark somewhere in the speeches or ceremonies — a spark that would light up our way and give us warmth and guidance. Somehow I couldn’t find any… and then I remembered an old Hasidic saying I learned from Rabbi Salkin, "If you want to find a spark, you have to sift through the ashes." And so I begin to think… 

Do you remember, starting with September 12, and for about six months afterward, every day The New York Times printed obituaries for those who died? The Times printed their pictures and a brief biography of each one. 

What impressed me the most when I read those obituaries was what some of these people did in their last moments. 

Stuart Meltzer was on the 73rd floor of the Twin Towers. He realized what was happening, and he understood what his chances were. So he reached for his cell phone, and called his wife. Unfortunately, she wasn’t home, but he left this message on their answering machine: "Honey, something terrible is happening. I don’t think I’m going to make it. Know that I love you. And take care of the children." 

Kenneth Van Aukin was on the 103rd floor of the World Trade Center. He called home and left these words on the answering machine for his wife: "Darling, I’m in the World Trade Center and the building was just hit by something, something big. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know if I am going to make it out of here or not, but if I don’t, I want you to know that I love you very much. I hope I’ll see you someday, someplace. Bye."  

And these are the words of Todd Beamer, who was one of those who tried to take back that hijacked plane, United Airlines Flight 93, and who made it crash in the woods of western Pennsylvania, instead of going on to Washington to do who knows what damage there. He spoke in a whisper so that the hijackers couldn’t hear. He said, "Darling, this plane has been hijacked. We are going to get together and rush them in a minute, but first, I want to tell you that I love you and I love Emma and whatever decisions you make in your life, know that I only want you to be happy." And then his famous words:"OK, now let’s roll." 

Not one of these people in the last few minutes of their lives called their stockbroker and told them to sell or to buy. Instead, every one of them called those whom they loved to say "goodbye" and to say "I love you." 

Isn’t there a lesson here for us? For us, who have so much time for narishkeit (foolishness), and so little time to spend with those we love? Isn’t this a spark of light that can be found in the ashes? 

Stuart Meltzer, Kenneth Van Aukin, and Todd Beamer are just a few of those we lost on September 11. May their bodies rest in peace, may their souls be with God, and may their memories be with us. May our hearts be warmed and our paths be lit by the sparks they left behind, the sparks I have tried to sift out of the ashes to light the way for us. 

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