Back in New York

[Rosina Lila]

My friends,
I just returned from Santiago, full of impressions and new insights which I
had anticipated sharing with you.
Alas! a major tragedy in my hometown has intervened and, at this moment,
Santiago seems very, very distant.
I live so close to what was the World Trade Center that when the first plane
hit I heard the crash; not knowing where, or what it was I ran to my terrace
to look and saw the fire coming from one of the towers which was in direct
view from me.  (For those of you familiar with the City, I live in the one
tall building at the corner of Charles Street and Seventh Avenue, two blocks
down from St. Vincent's Hospital). I remained on the terrace in disbelief
until the other plane hit. I though it was an accidental explosion.  The
announcers on TV first said that a plane had hit the building accidentally,
and it was more than fifteen minutes since they began talking about the
possibility of a second plane.  Trying not to panic I phoned my son who lives
just a few blocks from where the explosions happened (he and his girlfriend
and their cats were all rights, although their building was later evacuated).
There was no time to calm down as one horror followed another, first with one
of the towers collapsing, and then the other.
The traffic was stopped on Seventh Avenue and nothing moved except
firetrucks, police vehicles and ambulances, all in a terrible hurry and with
sirens blaring.  People who were obligated to come out of the subway were
milling around in the street, as dazed and unbelieving as I was at the sight
of those familiar, defining and comforting buildings disappearing before our
very eyes.
As news of what had happened became clearer and I could think about the
magnitude of the human toll and the determination of the attack planners I
could only cry in profound sadness and despair at the realization of my fears.
Some of you may remember that I visited Jerusalem in May and that I came back
so distraught at what I saw there that I refused to write about it.  The
disregard and contempt of some humans treating others, their daily, constant
humiliation, and the resentment and anger that seemed to boil within them
depressed and horrified me.  More so since I knew that we finance the turmoil
there, and that, perhaps, by not becoming somewhat politically active on the
issue we ourselves contribute, albeit unwillingly, to the debasement and
hopelessness of so many there. I sensed that it was inevitable that sooner or
later we would be presented with a bill.
Except for writing a few letters to my elected representatives, the only
thing I could do was to ask the congregation at Mass to pray for peace in the
Holy Land.  To my surprise, my request did not seem to elicit much interest.
Nevertheless, I did, and do continue to pray for a fair and humane resolution
to the conflict there.  I am absolutely convinced that until peace in the
Middle East is brought about we ourselves, here, shall have none.  Someone
wrote that killing an enemy begets five more.  An ancient Chinese philosopher
wrote that one planning revenge should dig two graves, one for the foe to be
killed and one for himself, and as any rational person knows, nobody really
wins a war..... we all lose.
What has now happened is  too much for me to bear. I am distraught.  As close
as I am to St. Vincent's Hospital I am in the midst of the pain of relatives
and friends milling outside the hospital waiting for news of their loved
one..... waiting and waiting for the thousands of people unaccounted for,
hoping that they will be brought to the hospital wounded but alive..... and
they don't come.
My friends, I ask you, with tears in my eyes and my heart imprisoned in
sorrow, to pray with me for peace in the land of our Sweet Lord's birth. How
tragically ironic, that in the land where God's love for us became incarnate,
so much hatred causes so much pain and so much inhumanity.  There is a
picture in the International Edition of the Herald Tribune dated August 10,
2001, that alone depicts what I am trying to convey far better than all my
words and all my tears. Seeing that picture reopened the pain of my Jerusalem
impressions; thenceforth my pilgrimage was one of silent and constant prayer.
Now,  at home,  my prayers are bathed in tears.
Rosina