Well, my friends, I am departing on another adventure. This one will take me to the Middle East until the end of January. I may not be able to access SG at all over there, but you can email me through the email link here.

Take care, and my love goes out to you all.

In the meantime, this is a story I wrote for the 1 year annviersarry of 9/11.

Enjoy...

THE HEROS OF UA FLIGHT 93

September 11th began like any other weekday… business travelers focusing on the events ahead, people looking forward to seeing their families again. It was a hectic morning, but soon it would be a morning that would change their lives forever.

United Airlines Flight 93 had been scheduled to take off at 8:01 a.m. Now it was sitting on the tarmac, waiting for clearance to depart for San Francisco.

Tucked into a flatland from which the New York skyline shone in the distance, Newark International Airport was ringed with new construction. Two days earlier, a fire had started at one of the sites, briefly closing the airport. Flights already delayed by construction around an overtaxed airport had backed up even further.

The Flight 93 passengers had walked down the concourse of Terminal A, where they breezed past the security gate, then walked the 100 yards to a long circular hallway from which the boarding ramps jutted out like spokes.

At Gate 17, they strode another 70 feet down the jetway, made a left turn, and were inside the Boeing 757.

The plane pulled away from the gate on time. Then it sat.

It was a 110-foot-long space that different people from different worlds were meant to share for the six-hour flight across a continent filled with immigrants and their descendants.

United Flight 93 groaned down Runway 4-Left, pulled up and banked to the west. From the right side of the plane, passengers would have seen lower Manhattan where, on overcast days, the only thing poking above the clouds were the twin pillars of the World Trade Center. On this day, everything was...

Well, my friends, I am departing on another adventure. This one will take me to the Middle East until the end of January. I may not be able to access SG at all over there, but you can email me through the email link here.

Take care, and my love goes out to you all.

In the meantime, this is a story I wrote for the 1 year annviersarry of 9/11.

Enjoy...

THE HEROS OF UA FLIGHT 93

September 11th began like any other weekday… business travelers focusing on the events ahead, people looking forward to seeing their families again. It was a hectic morning, but soon it would be a morning that would change their lives forever.

United Airlines Flight 93 had been scheduled to take off at 8:01 a.m. Now it was sitting on the tarmac, waiting for clearance to depart for San Francisco.

Tucked into a flatland from which the New York skyline shone in the distance, Newark International Airport was ringed with new construction. Two days earlier, a fire had started at one of the sites, briefly closing the airport. Flights already delayed by construction around an overtaxed airport had backed up even further.

The Flight 93 passengers had walked down the concourse of Terminal A, where they breezed past the security gate, then walked the 100 yards to a long circular hallway from which the boarding ramps jutted out like spokes.

At Gate 17, they strode another 70 feet down the jetway, made a left turn, and were inside the Boeing 757.

The plane pulled away from the gate on time. Then it sat.

It was a 110-foot-long space that different people from different worlds were meant to share for the six-hour flight across a continent filled with immigrants and their descendants.

United Flight 93 groaned down Runway 4-Left, pulled up and banked to the west. From the right side of the plane, passengers would have seen lower Manhattan where, on overcast days, the only thing poking above the clouds were the twin pillars of the World Trade Center. On this day, everything was clear.

What made Flight 93 different was a decision reached somewhere over the skies of Western Pennsylvania, after passengers learned on cell phones that they were likely to be flown into a building as the fourth in a quartet of suicide attacks.

They decided to fight.

This is a story of that flight.

In December 1999, 46 people were living lives as ordinary and remarkable as those doled out to anyone by fortune's hand.

John Talignani was retired after 20 years of serving drinks at a Manhattan steakhouse. He would sit in front of his 55-inch television in his Staten Island home and order things on QVC. He couldn't resist. He had two bread makers. Toasters. A pasta maker. Baseball memorabilia.

Marcus Brighton was finishing up his master’s degree in international business at Cornell University. He was ready to go out and conquer the world by bringing his own brand of cultural awareness to the field of international business. He had also studied many languages, including Spanish, Chinese, and Arabic.

Sandra Waugh Bradshaw was juggling dual careers -- flight attendant and mother. She was home in Greensboro, N.C. with her year-old daughter, Alexandria. In the coming year, her son Nathan would arrive.

Alan Beaven was practicing law in San Francisco. Kristin Gould White was researching medical history at Ivy League schools. Richard Guadagno was photographing wildlife. Pilot LeRoy Homer Jr. was living life as a newlywed.


Also onboard this flight were four men, men from an entirely different world, but at the same time very similar to our own.

Ziad Jarrah, their leader, had been born in the Bekaa Valley of Lebanon in 1975. Outwardly, it would have been hard to know the turmoil that boiled inside him. Born into an apolitical and secular family of Sunni Muslims, Jarrah attended Christian schools as a youth, studied aviation in Europe and told the man in Florida who had taught him close-quarters hand-fighting that he loved living in America.

"Find ways to blend in with your opponent and control him," the instructor, Bert Rodriguez, had told Ziad back in May, when he walked into US-1 Fitness, a gymnasium in Dania Beach, Fla., and paid $500 cash for the course.

Now, settling into a seat in first class, Ziad had blended in.

Dozens of things were spinning through his head, and despite his outward appearance of calm, there was serious anger brewing deep inside him. “Damn that Moussaoui,” he thought, “stupid bastard gets caught before he has served his purpose!” Working with these three children would be difficult enough, but now he would have to fly the plane by himself, and he would not have the calm, controlling influence that he had grown to depend upon in his colleague, Zacarias Moussaoui.

In the town of Abha, Saudi Arabia, a skinny, 21-year-old student of Islamic law -- it is called Sharia -- was leaving on a religious trip. Under the rules of Islam, every man must, once in his life, travel to the city of Mecca. Then there were the other trips, the optional, minor pilgrimages known as "Umra." It was on Umra that Ahmed Al Nami left for Mecca.

Before entering the city, Al Nami would stop, perform the rituals of purity, then enter, pray, and walk on holy ground.

But he was supposed to come home.

For almost two years his family would hear nothing from him. His religious journey was about to take him several stops beyond a holy city.

With Ziad was his roommate from Florida, Ahmed Ibrrahim Al Haznawi (whom his friends called Ibrrahim), a 20-year-old student from Baljurshi, Saudi Arabia, along with Ahmed Al Nami, the man who disappeared on his visit to Mecca, and Saeed Al Ghamdi, a young man about whom almost nothing is known.

Since arriving in the United States in late 1999, Ziad had studied at two south Florida flight schools. His family in Lebanon told investigators they regularly sent him money -- sometimes as much as $2,000 a month. Before moving to the United States, Ziad studied aeronautical engineering in Hamburg, Germany, where he became close to another Muslim student named Mohamed Atta, later identified as the man who flew American Airlines Flight 11 into the World Trade Center.

Atta was fiery, religious, almost fearfully disdainful of women.

It changed Ziad, who had received a largely non-religious upbringing.


The night before boarding Flight 93, in their hotel rooms, Ziad had opened a list of instructions, kept in a notebook that apparently was written by his old friend Atta.
It instructed them to bathe, wear cologne, shave excess hair from their bodies and check the knives they carried.

"You must make your knife sharp and you must not discomfort your animal during the slaughter," it read.

"Completely forget something called 'this life.' The time for play is over and the serious time is upon us."

It instructed them to turn to two Suras -- chapters -- of the Koran, al Tawba and al Anfa, which translate to "Repentance" and "The Spoils of War." In Al-Anfa, the 32nd verse reads:

Remember how they said:
"O Allah! If this is indeed
The Truth from Thee,
Rain down on us a shower
Of stones from the sky,
Or send us a grievous Penalty."

Ziad, like the other group leaders had also been instructed not to tell the other three about the fact that this was a suicide mission. The younger men simply needed to serve their purpose as security while he turned the plane into a flying missile. Since Moussaoui had been arrested months ago, Ziad would have to do the flying on his own, and he alone knew the true mission.

Flight 93 was near cruising altitude when a system-wide message came over its monitor. United control warned pilots in the air of potential "cockpit intrusion" -- meaning some passenger might try to seize a plane.

They acknowledged the message.

A few minutes after 9 a.m., with the World Trade Center hundreds of miles behind it and now in flames, Flight 93 would have reached 31,000 feet and 515 mph.
Forty minutes into the flight west the hijackers stood up and put red bandanas around their heads, and shouted “Allahu Akbar”, which means “God is Great” in Arabic. It is supposed to strike fear in the heart of the unbeliever.

Ziad and Ibrrahim forced their way into the cockpit and quickly dispatched both pilots. If Moussaoui had been there Ziad would not had to have relied upon Ibrrahim so much. Still, Ibrrahim was loyal, but stupid, and he would serve his purpose. Zaid took the loudspeaker microphone, unaware it could also be heard by air traffic controllers, and announced that someone had a bomb onboard and the flight was returning to the airport. He told them he was the pilot.

Todd Beamer was near the rear of the plane, trying to use his company's Airfone account. For some reason, he couldn't get authorization for the call. Finally, he was routed to a Verizon customer service center in Oakbrook, Ill.
He told the operator his airliner had been hijacked. He was patched through immediately to Lisa Jefferson, a Verizon supervisor.

It was 9:45 a.m.

Somewhere outside Cleveland, United Flight 93 had made a sharp turn and began flying east, toward Washington, D.C.

Since there were only four of them, the hijackers had to spread out. Ziad ordered Ibrrahim to help him fly the plane. Ibrrahim protested somewhat since he had no training, but at the last minute Ziad had decided that without Moussaoui, he would need a cockpit assistant. A small part of Ziad also knew that the simple fact was he did not want to be alone as he turned the plane into a flaming ball of death.
Saeed worked security in the rear of the plane, where the passengers had all been herded, and Ahmed guarded their “bomb” which was really nothing more that a carry-on bag. Ahmed also provided security for the outside of the cockpit.

The authorities had scrambled three F-16 fighter jets from Langley Air Force Base in Hampton, Va. The planes, armed with heat-seeking, Sidewinder missiles, and radar-guided AMRAAM missiles were authorized to knock down any civilian aircraft that appeared headed toward a target on the ground.

The fighter jets were 14 minutes out of range and closing in.

Still on his own phone call, Todd Beamer was pouring out his heart to his family through Lisa Jefferson, the Verizon supervisor he'd reached on his Airfone.

They prayed the 23rd Psalm:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures
He leadeth me beside the still

When he had finished talking with Lisa Jefferson, finished relaying his love for his family, finished praying the Psalm that asked for green pastures and still waters, Todd Beamer put down the phone, still connected with the outside world.

"Are you guys ready? Let's roll," he said.

But before the passengers could get into first class, one older man stood up calmly and began to talk to the Saeed in Arabic. This is what we said, translated into English.

“You shouted ‘Allahu Akbar’ (God is great) when you began to take charge of this flight, and in that, I most certainly agree, God is indeed great. I know why you say it. I know it is to strike fear in the heart of the unbeliever, and I have searched my heart completely, and I have found no fear, therefore I can only conclude that I am a believer.”

Marcus Brighton, who was standing nearby had studied Arabic in college many years ago, and he wanted to say something, to add to this man’s speech. The words would not come, so all he could do was listen as the man continued.

“I know why you are doing this. I know that you have felt and known the pain that the Americans have caused, and how they have aided your enemies in the past, for I too, have seen injustice at the hands of the Americans. I lived in Rwanda when the Americans did nothing to stop the slaughter of innocent people, many of whom were also followers of Islam, never mind the fact that the killings were at a rate ten times faster than Hitler ever killed the Jews. I know how the Americans used drug money to covertly provide weapons to Iran while at the same time openly providing them to Iraq—all to ensure a greater slaughter. Indeed, Satan has worked through the Americans.”

“But I have lived among the Americans for many years as well, and I have also seen other things from them. I have seen the way they built up the nations in Europe after the horrid devastation of the Second World War. I have seen the way they turned the great enemy of Japan into a tremendous ally in trade and economic support. I have seen the way they came to the aide of the Kingdom of Kuwait in a time when it appeared as though it would fall. Although at times their motives are infringed with many other things, they have also acted for great good. Indeed, Allah has also worked through the Americans.”

“For that is the nature of things, both Satan and Allah work through all of us every day.”

“I guess the only remaining question is who is working through you, now at this moment, a moment that may be one of the last moments of your lives?”

“In my life, I have seen death and slaughter, and everywhere I saw it, the stench of Satan was foul in the air. I have also seen love and joy, and everywhere I saw it, Allah was there.”

“So is your act one of hatred or one of love? For I know the way of hatred is the way of Satan, the way of love is the way of Allah. How much time have we wasted in our lives? Shouldn’t we take advantage of these last hours to offer good deeds?”

During all this time Saeed was thinking to himself, “No, this cannot be true, NO! This is just an infidel trying to confuse me! What we are doing is RIGHT! It has to be! What is all this talk about death? Ziad told us, we were just going to hijack the plane to ensure the release of our brothers in strife. The crazy man MUST BE WRONG!!!”

Saeed’s internal conflict was growing, something was not right, Ziad had helped him so much, he COULD NOT BE LYING, so it must be this man who is wrong. He staggered towards the man, and at one point, it looked as though he was going to cry, but then he pulled out his knife, and plunged it into the man’s throat with resolve. Blood spurted out everywhere, covering Saeed’s face. The blood mixed with Saeed’s tears, as they began to stream down his face.

Ahmed, who had been silent all this time and had come back to see when he heard the speech, had been standing behind Saeed silently all this time. He began to sway back and forth, as if he were about to faint, and then very softly, Marcus turned to him and said in Arabic, “Brother, you know this is wrong.”

The other passengers who just moments ago were intent on pushing into the cockpit were paralyzed at the scene before them. All they could do was watch and listen to the drama unfolding before them.

Ahmed turned to Saeed, who was still weeping as the old man’s blood continued to cover him and spill out onto the floor. Ahmed reached out and embraced Saeed, holding him as he would a wayward child. A single tear fell down Ahmed’s cheek, and then he plunged his knife into Saeed’s side, and as Saeed fell to the ground, Ahmed uttered softly, “I’m sorry.” It was unclear who he was talking to, Saeed, Marcus, the old man, or someone who was far, far away.

Back in the cockpit Ziad was yelling at Ibrrahim. Flying this plane was difficult enough without Moussaoui, but to have such an incompetent, albeit loyal, fool helping did not make matters any better. “No you fool, the switch on the left, stupid idiot!” He yelled out as Ahmed entered the cockpit. Ziad and Ibrrahim hardly noticed him, although his right arm was still covered in Saeed’s blood.

He turned to Ibrrahim, closed his eyes, and slit his throat.

Blood gushed all over the cockpit, and Ziad cursed, and grabbed for his knife as Ahmed fell on him. They locked in one final embrace as Ahmed’s knife drove into the front of Ziad’s throat, Ziad managed to drive his knife perfectly between Ahmed’s ribs, puncturing a lung.

The cockpit was silent.

Marcus burst in to see it covered in blood and bodies. There was no time for anything but action, the plan was descending. He shoved Ibrrahim’s lifeless body from the seat, and pulled back hard on the control yoke, bringing the plane into a gentle climb.

By then the rest of the passengers who had resolved to act, rushed in behind him. They were stunned at the carnage before them and a little confused.

“Does anyone know how to land a plane?!” Yelled Marcus.

“I have a pilot’s license!” said a voice. The man stepped forward, it was Donald Greene, and although he had never flown a plane this large, he had spent time in a cooperate jet simulator. It would be a hard landing, but he was sure he could do it. He had to.

“I’m an air traffic controller!” Shouted Andrew Garcia, “I can help you!”

The other passenger helped clear the cabin of all the bodies, and allowed Donald and Andrew to work.

“Who is this?” asked Todd Beamer as he pointed to the old man who had delivered such an eloquent speech at the cost of his own life.

“I have no idea,” confessed Marcus, “He saved us all, though.”

Marcus debated about not disturbing such a gallant and brave man’s body, but the curiosity got the better of him as he searched the old man’s body for a wallet. He found it easily, and he read the name on the driver’s license aloud in an almost surreal fashion.

“David O. Goldstein, PhD.”

Donald and Andrew were able to contact a local air traffic controller and land Flight 93 safely. Marcus told the story of Dr. Goldstein’s bravery to everyone.

Many from far and wide came to Dr. Goldstein’s funeral, including the President of the United States and all of the passengers and family of Flight 93. Although the President wanted to speak, the family decided that only Dr. Goldstein’s son would give a eulogy.

The son started with great pride...

“Many of you only know of my father as being the one time hero on United Airlines Flight 93, the man who talked the terrorist out of killing. But I know my father as a hero through his entire life. When his parents were killed by the Nazis in Auschwitz during the Second World War, he dedicated his life to the cause of peace. He believed that only through learning and understanding one another’s beliefs would we ever find a way to connect in this world and stop senseless killings like the ones he witnessed in Germany so long ago.”

“He always told us, ‘You must seek knowledge and wisdom, if your cause is love, because ignorance is the true source of evil, the way that seeks wisdom, is always the Path of God, the Way of Love.’ Those words were not just platitudes to him, they were his life.”

“After Germany, he spent many years of his life learning languages, cultures, and religions. He spoke, German, Russian, Polish, English, French, Arabic, Farsi, Dutch, and some African tribal languages whose names I don’t even know. As a professor or world religion at Georgetown University, he was a foremost scholar on the Torah, the Bible, the Koran, and several other religious works.”

“His volunteer work was also vast. Wherever there was suffering he was there, spreading his message of understanding. He was in Rwanda when the Hutus and the Tootsies were slaughtering each other like cattle. Although it brought back all the horrid memories of Nazi Germany, he HAD to be there to do as much as he could.”

“I never knew my father’s true religious beliefs. I never knew which one he had chosen, since he could speak of all of them with such grand eloquence. But I think that in fact, he saw a greater truth, a universal truth. He never tried to push beliefs on any of his children or anyone else. He simply felt that to seek as much wisdom as possible and to see truth everywhere in everything was the true path.”

“One thing my father once told me that will ring true for the rest of my life, ‘Son, the more I travel, and the more I find out about how different people of the world live, the more I realize how much we are the same.’”

Thus ends our tale of an alternate reality.

Could Dr. Goldstein and Marcus have existed? Could this have happened?

No one can know for certain.

The truth is, when United Airlines Flight 93 has a five minute delay announced, two men in first class left the plane before it took off.

Would his speech have worked?

Ahmed, Saeed, and Ibrrahim were all young men in their early twenties. Ziad was their leader and was a little older.

All of the young men were indoctrinated, however, although only Ziad knew they would all die.

In China, during the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989, one young Chinese tank operator in his early twenties got out of his tank and set fire to it.

In Lithuania, in 1990-91, when we were all focused on Iraq and Kuwait, the Lithuanians chose to leave the Soviet Union, the Soviets sent their army to Lithuania. Many young Soviet soldiers in their early twenties refused to fight once they entered Lithuania and deserted and became Lithuanians.

So Chinese-indoctrinated soldiers can sometimes set fire to their tanks and Soviet-indoctrinated soldiers can sometimes refuse to kill.

Could an Al-Qaida indoctrinated twenty-year-old kid do the same?

Because of the story of the passengers of Flight 93, the terrorists are now undoubtedly training for scenarios in which the people resist violently.

Are they training for Dr. Goldstein’s scenario?

Are they training for someone who understands the Koran, Arabic, Farsi, and their culture, and why they feel they need to do these things?

Are they training for someone who fights hatred and ignorance with wisdom and love?

Many of you reading this by now are probably thinking this is a bunch of hippie, peace, and love crap. Maybe you are right. But the one question that may be worth of asking is, if Jesus were on Flight 93, what would He do? What would Mohammed do? What would Moses do? What would Siddhartha do?

Soon we will know if our actions in Afghanistan were successful. Soon we will know if our War of Terrorism is successful. The reason we will know is we will see its effects as they come back to us. We will know because we have tried it.

Will we ever know if Dr. Goldstein’s approach would work?

Cruise missiles cost $1 million each. A B-2 Stealth Bomber costs $2 billon each. How much would it cost to train more people in the languages, cultures, and religion of those who would kill us? How much will it cost to learn to understand and love our “enemies”, rather than simply bomb them?

We are not trying to come off as idealistic, peace-loving hippies. The point we are making is that too often the world that the media creates for us is “either/or”. Either you are with us or with the terrorists, either you are for good or evil, either you are a Democrat or a Republican. So you are telling me that in hundreds of years of political thought, in thousands of years of civilization, and in tens of thousands of years of human existence, the only political belief structure choice is Democrat or Republican? We have reached the epitome of all political thought, to the point where NO THOUGHT IS NECESSARY.

That is one thing we refuse to believe. There are ALWAYS other options, other choices. Who among us is brave enough to try them?