By Rabbi Ben Kamin
NEW YORK –My eyes watered and my throat tightened as I disembarked at Newark Liberty Airport and gazed upon the renewed New York skyline and the curative, colossal sight of the One World Trade Center tower.
It was certainly a joyous journey: a daughter marrying in my native Israel, a connection via Zurich that afforded spectacular air views of the Alps, and the general sense of adventure (and punishing security) that attend such travel. An assortment of languages, people, habits, exotics, and cultural passages. Travel is the bridge that nourishes curiosity and grows the mind.
And yet, second to standing by as the father of the bride in a montage of generations and love, there was no moment more affecting for me than stepping foot again on American soil. This is hardly a matchless event; many returning Americans get sentimental at such a time and the uniformed entry agent, eyeing and stamping so many passports, must grow a little weary of the “It’s good to be home” declarations emitted by us gushy voyagers.
The Freedom Tower, as it generally called, rises to its recently installed spire like a declaration of American resiliency and dominion. While not even eternity can ever relieve us of the unspeakable human toll and the mortification and the cynicism and the uncertainty that are the bitter harvests of 9/11, my first in-person sight of the new Manhattan downtown set me on a sojourn of tears and gratitude for this country that continues to follow my pulse.
The anguish and the fury of that apocryphal event; the inane politics and infighting that stalled the emergence of the rebuilding (still ongoing generally) have given way to relief and plenitude. We are okay.
WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
What is it about this eagle-logo greeting sign, hanging over you in the sterile terminal, with its sharp edges, its mysterious “No Entrance” doors, its maddening maze of tunnels and escalators and dank air that nonetheless pulls at the strings of your heart?
The answer for me, an immigrant child, a critical patriot, a person who happens to regard history as a sacred transcript, is that this flawed land, this tense mosaic of cultures and dialects and sensibilities, is nonetheless a land uniquely capable of repairing itself. The United States, churning, complex, and sometimes dangerous, is nonetheless satisfying as a freedom story.
The day I returned, January 1, 2013, was the exact 150th anniversary of President Abraham Lincoln’s signing of the Emancipation Proclamation. Yes, it was somewhat innocuous, freeing slaves still chained in rebel states; it was also a political maneuver meant to stay Britain’s potential alliance with the Confederacy. But its moral symbolism is transcendent and uniquely American. It took a lot of time and blood, but the United States is now led by an African American president and our military is forever servile to a man or woman wearing civilian dress.
Whenever I travel overseas, it’s hard not to notice the long commercial and cultural shadow that softens the glare of life in other places—from Belize to Italy to the Czech Republic to Israel. American icons, sitcoms, dollars, and sense are venerated and copied in all latitudes—even if so many of our products are manufactured in Asia. Yet, they horde Buicks in Beijing and they nab Nikes in Cairo. They certainly read the Bill of Rights where once the Soviets ruled in Eastern Europe.
I don’t mind declaring, with all my being, God bless America!
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Rabbi Kamin is a freelance writer based in Encinitas, California. He may be contacted via ben.kamin@sdjewishworld.com