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18 I JEWISH ACTION Fall 5772/2011

9/11 TEN YEARS LATER

Abe Zelmanowitz, who stayed with his quadriplegic friend on the 27th floorof One World Trade Center, was killed in the 9/11 attack. Seen above: Abe,his friend Ed (seated), and Ed’s aide, who survived the attack.

By Chavie (Evelyn) Zelmanowitz (sister-in-law), as told to Bayla Sheva Brenner

When the terror attack occurred, Avremelwas fifty-five; his friend Ed, a quadriplegic, wasforty-two. Both worked at Empire BlueCross/Blue Shield as program analysts on the27th floor of One World Trade Center.

On the morning of 9/11, Avremel davenedin the same shul with my husband, Yankel,which was unusual. Usually, whenever theysaid goodbye, they would shake hands. Thatmorning, however, Avremel came towardYankel and hugged him tightly before he leftfor work.

While driving home after taking me towork, Yankel heard that something had hap-pened at the World Trade Center. He tried tocall Avremel. I also tried. We couldn’t getthrough. Then Avremel called Yankel. Hesaid, “I’m here with Ed. We’re waiting forhelp and then we’re going to leave.” Yankel

Remembering Avremel(Abe) Zelmanowitz

called me and said, “I heard fromAvremel—he’s going to leave.” I breatheda sigh of relief. Then I got a phone callfrom Avremel. I asked, “Where are youcalling from? I thought you were on yourway home.” He reassured me that the airwas clear where they were, on the 27th

floor. “I’m waiting here with Ed for some-one to come help.” He said that Edwanted to wait for a medical team, be-cause in the past when people lifted himimproperly, his bones would break.

Edward Beyea, who became disabledafter a diving accident at age twenty-one,was a large man. He used a wheelchairwith all kinds of contraptions. He had noarm or leg function, and operated hiscomputer with a mouth stick. An aide ac-companied him at all times. The normalroutine was that the aide would bring himto work, set him up in his cubicle, and goup to the 43rd floor to the cafeteria. That’swhere she was when the plane hit. Therewas water coming down, things werefalling, smoke was filling the room. Sheimmediately ran back down the staircaseto the 27th floor and found the two ofthem together. Avremel assured her thathe would stay with Ed and that sheshould leave. She barely made it out.Avremel is responsible for her survival.

CoverStory

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9/11 TEN YEARS LATERRemembering Avremel(Abe) Zelmanowitz

Fall 5772/2011 JEWISH ACTION I 19

By Yankel (Jack) Zelmanowitz(brother), as told to BaylaSheva Brenner

Avremel lived with us. When my par-ents went to Eretz Yisrael in 1973,just before the Yom Kippur War, hemoved in. I was his big brother; I’mtwelve and a half years older. Wewere very close. I took him into thetextile business with me, and then helearned programming. He was reallya wonderful human being. He had alot of friends. Always friendly, alwaysdoing ma’asim tovim, favors for peo-ple, giving tzedakah, going to shi-urim; everybody liked him. He was asimple guy who never looked forpraise. His death made such aroshem, such an impression on peo-ple. Letters came in from people all

over the world. A woman in Canadacontacted us. She has a son withcerebral palsy who was fifteen-years-old at the time. She worried abouthim going into the workforce. “Ihope I meet someone like Abe,” herson said.

That week, when President Bushspoke, he mentioned Avremel. Hesaid: “We are here in the middlehour of our grief. So many have suf-fered so great a loss, and today weexpress our nation’s sorrow. . . . Wehave seen our national character ineloquent acts of sacrifice. Inside theWorld Trade Center, one man whocould have saved himself stayeduntil the end at the side of his quad-riplegic friend.”

My son, Chaim Shaul, was therewhen the president came the week

of 9/11 to visit Ground Zero. He wastold to stay behind to tell the story tothe president. He called us andasked what he should do since it waserev Shabbos and time was short. Wesaid, “Stay as long as you can, leavingyourself enough time to get homefor Shabbos.” In the end, he had toleave before speaking with the presi-dent. We received a phone call fromthe president’s staff. “We’re lookingfor your son to meet the president,”they said.

On the first anniversary of 9/11,all of the victims’ families were atGround Zero. The president spenttime mingling with the families andmade special time for us. He is a per-son with a heart; he is very compas-sionate. He didn’t know what to dofor us.

Avremel told me, “The fireman is here and he wants meto move to another area.” That was the last we heardfrom him. No one had any idea that the buildings weregoing to go down. He didn’t stay to die; he stayed to help.That was his intention.

Avremel and Ed had worked together for twelveyears. They traded books and tapes and played chess to-gether. Avremel was a master carpenter; he built Ed acigar stand and a book stand so that he would be able toread in bed. He used to visit Ed during his numeroushospitalizations. It was a friendship that culminatedwith this extraordinary act.

Initially our son-in-law made up a flyer; everyonewas posting flyers for missing relatives. The flyer men-tioned that Avremel was together with a quadriplegicfriend. Immediately, we were bombarded by reporters.They wanted to hear details of the story. We were inter-viewed on a few news programs, at one point three inone day. A week after 9/11, our rav told us it was time tosit shivah. Rescuers were not finding anyone alive anylonger. We knew Avremel had been in the building at thetime. It was time to make a decision.

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Avremel’s actions that day are whatdefined him. He lived his entire lifethat way, always caring about people,always anticipating people’s needs. Youwouldn’t have to ask Avremel for some-thing; he’d understand that it had to bedone and he’d go and do it. This waswho he was. He was an extremely de-voted son; his kibbud av va’eimwas ex-traordinary. He never married or hadchildren, but our children and grand-children are following in his footstepsin their gemilut chasadim. How proudhe would be to know that.

We were called upon to speak aboutAvremel very often—at shuls, dinners,et cetera. A library at a nearby yeshivahwas dedicated to him. We were con-stantly on call; that helped us getthrough the initial period.

In August 2002, the police came toour home to inform us that they hadidentified Avremel’s remains. Wewere able to have a kevurah. He hadalways wanted to be buried in Israel;we asked someone to arrange for aplot on Har Zeisim. When we gotthere, we were amazed that he hadfound a plot available right at the footof our parents’ graves.

In 2006, a street was dedicated toAvremel. The street, on the corner ofEast 35th Street and Kings Highway [inBrooklyn], our corner, was renamedAbe (Avremel) Zelmanowitz Way. Oneof the speakers at the dedication, RabbiShlomo Zucker, said it is so fitting thatthe street is called “way” rather than“lane,” “drive,” or “street,” becauseAvremel showed us the way to live, theway a person should conduct his life,and how he should interact withHashem and his fellow man. That is hislegacy. He led by example.

We have letters from people heworked with. One of his colleagueswrote, “We knew he was a religiousman, but he never preached. He was al-ways aware, thinking ahead, thinking ofothers.”

The effect that Avremel continuesto have is amazing. After I heard the

news about Bin Laden, I wanted to godown to Ground Zero. It was a relief;we felt a need to share it with thosewho had lost family members, to beclose to them. While we were on thetrain to Manhattan, my son called us.He said he just got a call from NBCNews. They wanted to interview us,find out about our feelings. Avremel’sstory is out there.

While at Ground Zero, we musthave given twelve or fifteen inter-views. Reporters from all over soughtus out, wanting to hear the story. Wetold them the story of Avremel. We al-ways try to point out that it was an Or-thodox Jew and a non-Jewish friendand this is what Avremel did becauseof his friendship.

The Shabbos before 9/11, Avremelhad gone to a shiur. He was a very re-

served person. He wasn’t pushy in anyway. When the rav started to speakabout Kiddush Hashem, Avremel inter-rupted him and said, “How could an or-dinary person make a KiddushHashem?” He got an answer but wasn’tsatisfied. Avremel interrupted him an-other time; again, the rav gave him ananswer. Then he asked a third time. Itwasn’t like Avremel to do that. Threedays later, he got his answer.

Every rav has told us the samething: it’s an obligation to perpetuateAvremel’s story. No matter how painfulit is for us, we do it l’shem Shamayim. Ifeel it is our responsibility to perpetuatehis Kiddush Hashem.

Chavie and Yankel Zelmanowitz live inBrooklyn, New York.

Shemirah on First AvenueBy Devorah Schreck, as told toBayla Sheva Brenner

The morning of 9/11, I was in theStern College dorm. A lot of girlsstarted getting phone calls from their

parents asking if they had heard what was going on. We hadn’t. Weturned on the radio and listened to the news. We rushed out of the dormto the [main] school building a few blocks down. As I left the dorm, Icould see from where we were—34th Street and Park Avenue—smoke bil-lowing from downtown Manhattan. We got to the college lounge areaand sat watching the news on TV in total disbelief. We didn’t knowwhether it was a terrorist attack or an accident. We sat there stunned.

A few days earlier, my grandmother had passed away. I had spokenwith Rabbi Eli Baruch Shulman [rabbi of the Young Israel of Midwoodin Brooklyn] about death. We talked about hashkafic aspects of thedying process—what happens to the body, what happens to the ne-shamah. He told me that after a person passes away, the neshamah is ina state of distress until the time of burial. I thought about shemirah. Theact of shemirah is something people do to give comfort to the neshamah.Saying Tehillim is a way of easing the neshamah’s suffering and givingkavod to the deceased.

Continued on page 22


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A Different Kind ofRosh HashanahBy Yoel Schonfeld, as told toBayla Sheva Brenner

Usually, I would take the R train andget off at the World Trade Center

stop. The morning of 9/11, the air con-ditioning in the R train wasn’t working

well, so I decided to get out at Lexing-ton Avenue and transfer to the 4 train.Later, I heard there was an avalanchein the World Trade Center station.

At the Fulton Street stop, peoplewere screaming and yelling on the plat-form. The conductor quickly closed thetrain door and moved on to the nextstation. At the next stop, even closer to

the World Trade Center, there wasmore pandemonium, and the conduc-tor stopped the train and let everyoneout. Out on the street, people were run-ning around in a panic and looking upat the World Trade Center. I looked upand saw the Towers in flames and tin-sel-like pieces flying out of the sky. Iasked a construction worker what hap-

Rabbi Yoel Schonfeld, a former OU rab-binic coordinator, was trapped in Manhat-tan when the Towers collapsed.

The Orthodox Union headquartersis located at 11 Broadway in LowerManhattan, just a few blocks fromthe World Trade Center, where theTwin Towers once stood. On themorning of September 11, 2001, asthe Towers came crumbling down,many OU employees were already attheir desks, while others were stillmaking their way to work. Dozenswere trapped in the chaotic and ter-rifying streets of Lower Manhattan.Here are some of their stories.

Months after the attack, in January, I saw a sign hanging in Stern with anumber to call for anyone interested in doing shemirah [for the victims].Stern is a couple of blocks from the New York City Office of the Chief Med-ical Examiner (the morgue) on First Avenue and 30th Street.

Many of us felt a profound sadness, and didn’t know what to do withthose feelings. Doing shemirah, even for a few hours, was a way to trans-form those feelings of sadness and mourning into something productive. Icalled the number and was given a shift.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I had heard that because there wereso many killed, the morgue wasn’t large enough to handle all the remains,so they set up makeshift trailers and medical examiner stations outside ofthe morgue. I wasn’t a pre-med student, the kind who was inclined to dothis type of thing.

I went with a friend. We took sifrei Tehillim and walked to the morgue.They said, “Oh, you’re here for praying? You can go into this trailer.” Wewere directed to a small, makeshift building. We saw siddurim from otherswho had been there. We sat down on wooden benches. It was just myfriend and I. It was quiet except for a constant buzz, an undercurrent ofhumming from the refrigeration trailers that surrounded us. Even thoughit wasn’t a very loud noise, it was deafening when we thought about whatit meant: remains were being refrigerated since a couple of months hadpassed. It was intense.

As I davened, I focused on the fact that here are people—someone’smother, sister, brother. I knew people in the community who were killed. Agirl in Stern had lost her brother-in-law in the attack. We sat for a few hoursand said Tehillim, trying to focus on the lives that were lost and how to ele-vate the neshamot.

My friend had to leave early and I ended up being there by myself. Itwas like you’re in your own world—you hear this buzz and you’re in aclosed room. I felt like it was a spiritual place; the davening flowed natu-rally. The most moving aspect was that I felt that through our actions, wewere somehow able to inject Godliness and spirituality into a situation ofutter destruction.

I felt grateful for the opportunity to help. After spending a couple ofhours in the morgue davening for people who passed away in such a tragicmanner, it really put things into perspective. The day-to-day things weworry about pale in comparison to the suffering around us. It makes you ap-preciate your time here. We’re not here forever, and it’s important to makethe most of the time we have and use it properly.

Devorah Schreck is an attorney at Kaye Scholer LLP in Manhattan.

Continued from page 20


Open the window,awaken your senses for the new year

hello,5772.



pened. “A plane flew into the building,” he said. I asked another fel-low on the street, “Was this an accident?” He said, “Man, this is noaccident; this is terror.”

I ran to the OU building, a few blocks away on Broadway. Mydaughter called me at the office to see how I was doing. While talk-ing to her, I heard this earth-shattering roar. I thought it was aplane hitting the building. I said, “I think my building was just hit.”That roar was the collapse of the South Tower; it shook the wholedowntown area. Everyone at the office was in a kind of a daze, notknowing what to do. We knew not to take the elevator, so me, mysecretary, who was very pregnant at the time, and a colleaguestarted to make our way down the stairwell.

When we reached the third floor, someone warned us not to gooutside. “It’s bad out there,” he said. The staff at an Israeli firm wel-comed us inside. We all huddled in a room. Outside our window, itturned black as the night, even though it had been a bright sunnymorning. It was terrifying. We listened to the radio, following theevents, trying to make sense of things. After about an hour, whichseemed like an eternity, the sun reappeared, and we could see thestreets. Everything was coated with a thick ash. We went outside,with towels over our faces and headed towards the Staten IslandFerry. We had to get out of Manhattan.

At the Ferry, there was total chaos. I asked an official-lookingperson if any boats were leaving for Queens. He said, “I don’t knowabout Queens, but there’s a boat going to Brooklyn.” We boardedwhat looked like an oversized fishing boat. No questions asked; wejust went. For all we knew, he could have been taking us to the Gulfof Mexico; we were just glad to leave. He took us to Brooklyn NavyYard, just outside of Williamsburg.

At the Navy Yard, people were milling about. We flagged down aChassidic guy driving a station wagon. He dropped us off inWilliamsburg. Women were wheeling baby carriages; it looked likebusiness as usual. I met a fellow I know. “What are you doing here?”he asked me. “What am I doing here? I just came from the otherside, from gehenom,” I said. He offered to give us (my secretary andme) a lift home. There wasn’t a car on the road. It was like a sciencefiction movie—the place was deserted. Cars were lined up alongsidethe Brooklyn Queens Expressway as people got out to look at theWorld Trade Center on fire.

When I got home, I found myself sitting and staring at my fishtank, envious of the tropical fish swimming around in such tran-quility, oblivious to the horror outside. For the next couple ofweeks, I didn’t sleep well. Every time I heard a crack of thunder or atruck driving over a grating, I shook. The air in Queens had a terri-ble stench that I will never forget–a mixture of fire, rot, and flesh.

The day we returned to work [two weeks after 9/11], the wholearea was transformed into a military encampment. There werearmy trucks and soldiers with machine guns all over the place.Everyone in the office was on pins and needles as we tried to focuson work. A lot of reps at OU companies who hadn’t heard from us ina couple of weeks expressed how concerned they were about ourwelfare. They said, “The main thing is that you’re all right. We werepraying for you.”

At the time, there was a spiritual revival. People wanted to makeradical changes in their lives. Some religious women in my neigh-


Fall 5772/2011 JEWISH ACTION I 25

borhood who didn’t cover their hairsuddenly started doing so. People werelooking to give the tragedy meaning.That year, it was a different kind ofRosh Hashanah.

Rabbi Yoel Schonfeld served as an OUKosher rabbinic coordinator for twenty-seven years, and is currently rav of theYoung Israel of Kew Gardens Hills, NewYork, and an OU Kosher consultant.

Little BlessingsBy Raizy Rosenfeld, as told toBayla Sheva Brenner

Ihad just exited the subway at BroadStreet. While walking under scaf-folding along Beaver Street, I heard aloud boom. I cowered, thinkingsomething was about to fall on me,but to my relief nothing did. When Igot to the corner of Beaver andBroadway, near the OU building, I gotmy first real inkling that somethingwas very wrong.

I saw women in business suitsand high heels running south to-wards Bowling Green Park. Why arethey running? I thought. Then I no-ticed some people crying. Someonenear me said there was a plane crashat the World Trade Center. Someoneelse said that was the second plane. Ifigured I would go to my office andsee if I could find information onthe Internet.

When I got to my floor, I noticedthat the lights were flickering. What ifthe elevator stops working? I thought. Iwanted to get out of the building andsee what was happening. I went toTrinity Street and saw the Towers onfire. All kinds of thoughts wentthrough my mind—even mundaneones, like how will they ever fix the holein those buildings?Then, right in frontof my eyes, one started going downlike a candle. Everybody started run-

ning. I heard someone yell, “Look out,it’s coming!” I turned around andcouldn’t believe what I saw. A hugeskyscraper-tall cloud of smoke wascoming toward us so fast, like a snakeslithering through the buildings. I re-alized there was no way to outrun it. Itcaught up with me. Suddenly, I felt agentle push against my back, like whenan ocean wave pushes you. Day hadturned to night; everything was grayand brown. I covered my nose andmouth with my hands, trying not tobreathe in the thick dust. The build-ings were locked and people wouldn’tlet anyone inside; they didn’t want tolet the dust come in. Whoever wasoutside was stuck.

The sky was snowing ash. It imme-diately brought to mind the scene inthe movie Schindler’s List where itlooks like it’s snowing and people lookup; then the camera pans to a chimneyof the crematorium and you realizethat it’s not snow. I was very consciousthat I might be breathing in humanash. It felt surreal, like you wouldimagine the end of the world. Peoplewere either inside buildings or walk-ing through the streets mid-ankle inpaper and debris. I figured I’d circlearound and go to the Brooklyn Bridge.

I found a grocery store with itsdoor open and the radio on. Peoplewere crowding around and listening.There was a feeling that we were all inthis together, an instant camaraderieamong strangers.

I got to the Brooklyn Bridge, andeven though I wasn’t in the smokeanymore and it was the most beautiful,sunny day, it was then that I felt themost vulnerable. I thought a planecould come and crash into the bridge.All kinds of people were walkingacross it. I saw an elderly Chassidicman, his coat covered with dust, shuf-fling along. It made me think of exile;again we’re leaving, escaping evil andviolence. I saw lots of shoes strewn allover the bridge, discarded high heels.

It made me realize that even on a dayas tragic as this, there were little bless-ings. I never wore sneakers to work,but because my feet were hurting methe day before, on that day I did.

When I got to Brooklyn, it seemedso grotesque to see normal life. Peoplewere going about their daily chores, inthe supermarket, waiting at bus stops;everything seemed the way it waswhen I left that morning. I felt like Ihad just come off a different planet. Iarrived home seven hours after I hadleft the office.

I was shocked to see the city re-duced to ash. But I wasn’t surprisedthat it could happen—the way mostAmericans seemed to be. Jews haveseen such tragedies happen in ourhistory. We know people are capableof evil.

When I came back to work, twoweeks later, it was Tzom Gedaliah—anovercast, gloomy day. It felt appropri-ate to come back on a fast day. Thestreets were still filled with dust.Every building was running on genera-tors; you couldn’t hear yourself think. Icame into my office, and although mywindow was closed, dust had seepedthrough the casement, coating the en-tire area near my window and even mywork table.

During my lunch break, I went out-side to see which stores were stillopen. Some had closed on 9/11 andnever reopened. I noticed a store win-dow display with a rack of clothingand a row of shoes. I thought, Howcute, they are all the same exact color.Then I realized the items were allcoated in dust.

It always bothers me when touristsask where Ground Zero is. I feel likesaying, “Here, right where you arestanding.” It’s the entire Lower Man-hattan. It’s the entire world. It’s notjust one location—it’s everywhere. g

Raizy Rosenfeld works for the OU Depart-ment of Communications and Marketing.


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