I grew up in northern New Jersey, about thirty miles outside of Manhattan; but on September 11, 2001 I was living in Valparaiso, Indiana. I was a long way from home. I felt helpless. A feeling of homesickness came over me. I wanted to return to the place where I grew up and experience a sense of solidarity with those suffering in what New Yorkers call the tri-state area.
During the course of that day, and the several days that would follow, I realized that I was not the only one seeking communion with the people of Manhattan. Students and faculty at Valparaiso University, the school where I was teaching, would stop me in the hall and on the sidewalk to ask me if I knew anyone who was killed in the collapse of the World Trade Center. (I did not.) Others told me that listening to my “New York accent” (which is actually a New Jersey accent) allowed them to feel more connected to what was happening at Ground Zero.
Ten years later, as I reflect back on that day, I realize just how strange it really was. Midwestern Lutherans in Valparaiso, Indiana longed for a sense of communion with urban cosmopolitans and ethnic civil service workers in the “big city.” There were no culture wars on September 11th. There was only a sense of our common humanity. And in the immediate wake of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, such a feeling of common humanity quickly took on a nationalist flavor.
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