"So September 10th"
by Pat of Austin, Texas

The morning of September 11th, I had a long-anticipated interview. As I dressed for it, with the television on, the terrible events of the morning unrolled in eerie progression. The interview took place against a backdrop of rumors, frantic phone calls, numb normality. I didn't get the job.

Among other things, I am a professional Middle Eastern dancer. Unfortunately, we are known as "bellydancers" in the United States, a term many of us have battled for years. When the first rumors of Islamic identity for the attackers began to circulate, many of us called our Arabic friends, or friends who have married Muslims and Arabs. We feared the worst: wholesale attacks on friends, firebombing dance studios, dancers shot for dancing in public. Friends' husbands were detained at airports, on account of their Arabic-sounding names or passports; others' feared losing their businesses because the word "Arabic" was in the business name; one prominent dancer told me "my career is over". Another friend's husband left the week after the attack, to comfort his mother in Algeria; her youngest son had died of a mysterious brain ailment. My friend waits for phone calls and hopes her husband can make it home safely.

The weekend after the attack a dance seminar had been planned. These seminars take place in hotel ballrooms (meeting rooms). They usually involve two shows, one on Friday night, the other, "big" show on Saturday night, with the star-seminar teacher as the headliner. To really understand this phenomenon of my sub-culture, you have to realize that the participants in most of these seminar shows are the women (occasionally, men) who pay to take the seminar. The performers are usually non-professionals, of varying skill levels.

The star could not get to Texas from California, but it was too late for the sponsor to cancel her arrangements. She made the decision that the show must go on. Surprisingly, most of theparticipants drove into town. The Friday night show was a benefit for a local animal rescue organization. It was sparsely attended and very emotional. The headliners for the performance, a husband and wife team, gave a wonderful performance, filled with a passionate affirmation of life. As the husband announced, "life is to be grabbed with both hands". The Saturday night show, from which half of the proceeds went to the Red Cross and New York Firefighters' Fund, was well-attended. What I can recall of it is fragmented. The announcer, a tall blonde woman usually known for her acerbic wit, spoke in a voice that frequently shook out of control. She was reading introductory cards, which often contained specific allusions to the attack five days before. The most gruelling performance, by a Jewish dancer who had lost people in the attack, was to a recording of "Kaddish", the song of mourning for the dead. Clad in black, veiled in black, the dancer's face was painted grey, like the ashen faces of the survivors. (Like the ashes of Auschwitz, my mind kept saying, when I could bear to watch.) Impassioned, if not technically skilled, her dance was the rawest moment of the evening.

For many, church, mosque and synagogue have been havens of comfort. I don't attend any of those, but the ragtag community of that Saturday night performance reassured me that, in whatever quality, dance remains a healing activity. Gradually, reports have filtered in from our dancers in Europe, New York itself, Australia.

I teach Cultural Foundations: Dance at a local Catholic University and Art History: Ancient to Medieval. Both courses are saturated with references to the history of Islam and its relationship to the West. At least, with the backdrop of the news cycle, my students will have a better chance of knowing the geography of the Islamic and Arab world(s). I am bringing in guest artists, performances on tape from classic Middle Eastern music and dance, discussions of the history of Islam and the real Crusades. There is so much to tell my students, to show them, about these faceless people they hear about on the news. Is it always the case that opportunities to learn and to teach are occasioned by pain? Is it any coincidence that the term for labor, bringing forth new life, is "travail"? I am trying to find some building materials in this mountain of debris. The teacher will always look for the lesson.

Features
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Written by David Frank

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Some Thoughts about September 11
Written by Lynn of Idaho, U.S.A.

Ripples in the Pond...
Written byDonna, Austin, Texas

"So September 10th"
Written by Pat of Austin, Texas

A Day of Reckoning
Written by Nona Passalacqua, CCHT

Why I will not get out of bed....
Written by A.F. Firebird

A Poem on 9-11-01
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Attack on America: A Poem
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Parenting and Relationship
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Spirit-to-Spirit
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Commentary for Sentient Beings
Written by Michael Benner, C.H.T.

A Letter from Deena Metzger

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Health Share
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Emotional First Aid

Caring for Your Heart
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Vibrational Harmony: The Key to Healing and Creating Order Out of Chaos
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How Hypnotherapy Can Help
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Meridian Therapies
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Tapas Acupressure Technique (TAT)
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For the Record
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