Yesterday I saw the most horrendous thing I've ever seen. The most horrendous thing anyone in my generation has ever seen. It has affected our way of life forever...it has affected our freedom. More people are dead than I could ever fathom. The newscaster read a list of those dead from the airplanes - not even a complete list - and it went on for at least ten minutes. The kid next door to me has not yet heard from his father who was in New York yesterday morning. That's almost 60 hours of limbo - not knowing if his father is dead or alive, if his mother no longer has a husband, if his children will ever meet their grandfather. I cannot fathom how he is dealing with this. How can anybody function in that state of uncertainty? It is awful. I am so lucky that my family is alive and well.
The pain doesn't stop after the demise of the World Trade Center yesterday. One of my friends left an away message on his Instant Messenger referring to "sand niggers." It might have been his way of expressing the anger that runs through us all, but it makes me so angry that that type of ignorance still exists. There have been reports of Arab Americans being slandered, beaten, and raped around New York, Boston and Washington, DC.
I replied with my own away message: "My thoughts and prayers are with those families and friends of the deceased. But I can't stand idly by when I hear racist comments and read racist messages going around. Those who acted are not the same people as those who share their nationality. Remember that. Ignorance and generalizations only lead to more senseless violence."
I saw images of the Hilton Hotel raid today in Copley square in Boston- which really frightened me because I live about six subway stops away. In fact, I have stood on that exact spot.
Tonight, in vast contrast with the most horrendous things my eyes have ever seen, my heart has ever bared, I saw one of the most beautiful things. I wasn't planning on going tonight; but at dusk I found myself outside the library with more than 1,000 of my fellow students for a candle light vigil.
The greatest thing about this vigil was that it was a sign that our community is working together more than ever before. So many groups joined together to sponsor the event.
Here's a list of some of the participating groups: The Coalition for Social Justice and Nonviolence, The Senate, The Dean of Students Office, The Hawaii Club, The Tri-Services Organization (Army, Navy, Marine, and Air Force ROTC Cadets at Tufts), the Association of Latin American Students, Acapella Groups, Fraternities, Athletic clubs and mathematics clubs.
The vigil was so beautiful - we listened to some student leaders speak, not to mention Father O'Leary and Rabbi Summit. At the end, we all lit candles and walked in silence around the academic quad. I looked all around me, and could see a snake of fire. Some people were crying, some were angry, others were just stunned, but we were all in it together.
I wasn't worried if the wind was going to blow my candle out because there were people all around me to help me rekindle. I saw normally drunken Frat boys light Senate members' candles. I saw cheerleaders light "nerds'" candles. I saw black, white, Asian, Middle-Eastern, Catholic, Jewish, and Muslim students all passing their flames from candle to candle.
In my 40 minute walk, I had a lot of time to think over the events of the past 48 hours. I thought about how much it burned when the candle wax boiled on my hand and how little that pain compared to the deeper pain that we are all feeling. I thought about how much the dripping wax resembled tears. I thought about how my flame was like the American spirit and how if mine went out then all I'd need to do was get help from a neighbor.
I thought about how there were so many people in that long procession- I was surrounded by people I'd never seen before. I thought about how that same group isn't even ten percent of the number of people who died. I thought that every person at Tufts wouldn't even equal the amount of people in one tower of the World Trade Center.
I thought about my family again, and how lucky we are to be unharmed. I thought about how much I missed my mom and dad - how all I wanted was a mushy hug from mom and an itchy kiss from dad to let me know that everything was going to be alright. I just wanted to sit in one room with all of my siblings and joke and play. I thought about how lost I'd be in this world if any one of them were gone forever.
After the procession we went to the library roof. In the horizon lay a solemn downtown Boston, sparkling as if nothing had happened. And we all sat there in silence as our candles burned down to nothing. But I kept my wax to remind me of how I felt to see people overcoming their differences and coming together for one silent hour to express their shared distress and grief. That was comforting to me, and was truly one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.
As Jess, Justine, and I filed off the library roof, we walked along side a girl who was walking slowly and crying. As I walked alongside her, I decided to say something, anything. I put my hand on her shoulder and I looked at her. I was thinking 'everything is gonna be alright,' but I never said it. She said, "Thank you." I asked if she had any family in New York, as I have been asking nearly everyone I had encountered for the past week. She told me that she was from New York, but that her family was safe. I smiled and said "Good to hear," and we went our separate ways. As I walked away, I wondered if there was anything else I could have said to her, something to ease her pain.
I'm sorry this letter is so long, you don't have to read it if you don't want to. I just wanted to let you guys know about the dichotomy of ugliness and beauty I've witnessed in the past couple of days. I just wanted to tell my family what I was feeling and thinking and how much I love everyone.
I love you guys so much.
Aaron
Aaron Weinstein is a sophomore who has not yet decided on a major.
