New York City and the nation just marked the 25th anniversary of September 11. Like so many other New Yorkers and other people impacted by the tragedy, I spent the day sharing stories and memories. I happened to be in New York on that terrible Tuesday morning visiting the city with my mom, so I have my own stories of the day’s events.
I have since spent almost two decades living in the city and been present for many somber 9/11 ceremonies over the years. But this anniversary felt more intense for a few reasons. One was seeing former President George W. Bush back at Ground Zero; his leadership and words in the days and weeks after the attack gave me considerable comfort and hope. A second reason is far more personal: my children are now old enough to ask me what happened, what I remember, and why people are still talking about it. I wanted to answer my children candidly, but explaining September 11 to young children required me to be careful and selective in how I talked about the day, and that was not easy.
In thinking about 9/11 and what to tell my own children, I kept thinking about the many people who, with almost no warning, suddenly found themselves responsible for other lives. There are so many remarkable stories of first responders and ordinary people who stepped into a hellish situation and saved lives. I kept returning to the story of Todd Beamer and the other passengers and crew members on Flight 93 because they exemplified an idea that I have been calling “sacred masculinity.”
I came up with the phrase because I kept feeling that something was missing from the way we talk about boys and men.
Specifically, I have noticed as a professor and parent that we spend a considerable amount of time telling boys what not to be: aggressive, domineering, reckless, and cruel. That is sometimes necessary, of course, but we almost never take a positive approach and tell our boys and men what their strength is for.
That is the part I mean when I say “sacred.” It is critical that we as a society focus male strength, ambition, competitiveness, and instinct to build, protect, and provide outward and toward others who depend on us. Once one becomes responsible for other people, how you feel about the obligation becomes beside the point—you show up because you have a sacred responsibility to care, protect, and build for others.
This is why Todd Beamer is so important; his story takes this idea out of the abstract and illustrates the concept of sacred masculinity powerfully.
Beamer was a 32-year-old account manager at Oracle flying from Newark, New Jersey, to San Francisco aboard United Airlines Flight 93. He and his wife, Lisa, had two young sons, with a third child on the way. During the hijacking, he tried to reach her by Airfone, could not, but managed to reach an operator named Lisa Jefferson. Beamer asked Jefferson to tell his wife that he loved her and to pass along a message to his children. In the heartbreaking call, Beamer prayed the Lord’s Prayer with Jefferson. Meanwhile, calls made by passengers revealed news of the attacks in New York and at the Pentagon. Those aboard the plane understood what was happening and decided to act to save others.
Many of us remember Beamer for the words that ended his call—“Let’s roll”—but they mean far more when we know what came before: a husband, a father, and a Christian at prayer. When Beamer and the other passengers understood that something had to be done, they acted. The action saved countless lives and prevented potentially horrific destruction—per the 9/11 Commission—in Washington, DC.
In my thinking, sacred masculinity is not about being fearless or looking for danger; it is about recognizing that real masculine strength brings responsibilities, especially when others depend on you. Thankfully, most men will never have to face a crisis anywhere close to what those on Flight 93 had to confront. But sacred masculinity remains the important, daily business of taking care of people, keeping one’s word, and accepting that what one wants sometimes comes second.
I didn’t tell my children about Beamer or the plane, but when they one day learn his story, I want them to know more than “Let’s roll”—I want them to understand the sacred masculinity that came before.
My Jewish tradition gives us a simple phrase for those who are gone but whose lives remain with us: Zichronam livracha (May their memories be for a blessing). On this anniversary, may Todd Beamer’s memory, along with the memory of all those murdered and all who died trying to save others that morning, be for a blessing.