Mourning in America

Mourning in America
Thanksgiving is especially poignant this year.
BY CLAUDIA ROSETT
Thursday, November 22, 2001 12:01 a.m. EST

Whether by grand design of the universe or mere chance, there could have been few openers more fitting for this Thanksgiving week than the Leonid meteors that blazed across the heavens early Sunday. They not only lit the night sky, but for a short spell offered perspective on the intricacies of our lives. Flaming in long brilliant streaks against a backdrop of stars, they invited us to look up intently into the sky--something I think most of us rarely do--and come away full of wonder at the vast mystery that daily, almost casually, hangs over us all.

But what also struck me was that however benign the shower might be, we were witnessing a spectacle of destruction. It took place in the upper reaches of our atmosphere; no lives were threatened. We could marvel in safety. But what cast that light was the conflagration of space dust. Until the moment our atmosphere engulfed it, and the particles caught fire, it had been of no compelling interest to anyone on Earth except perhaps a few intrigued astronomers. Left by the tail of the Tempel-Tuttle comet, these particles had simply been out there, doing whatever space dust does. It was in the moment of their passing that they inspired awe and drew our attention to the universe beyond.

Which brings me to Thanksgiving, a time to appreciate the wealth and freedom that this country so abundantly confers--but which gifts Americans at times treat as so much space dust.

I think that for many Americans, blessed though we are, Thanksgiving can be a difficult holiday. In the best of times, it's so easy to take for granted--the inspiration for it subsumed by such stuff as the logjam of travel crammed into a four-day weekend. When the living is easy, the focus of attention can quickly devolve toward dolling up the traditional menu of turkey, which long ago lost out to the bald eagle as the national bird, and instead reigns in holiday fare as the national entrée. Tempers can flare when too many cooks crowd into the kitchen, or when too many men flake out on the sofa in front of the football game, leaving too many women with too many dishes. We know it is a day to honor our heritage and values, but there are times when these take a backseat to the family frictions, busy schedules or holiday trimmings.

And when life on a personal level turns tough, Thanksgiving comes doubly fraught with the rough side of memory and mortality. More than any other American holiday, Thanksgiving is a family event, an occasion that cuts across almost all religions, regions, habits. As the years go by, these memories are inevitably tinged with loss, all the more pronounced because the basic rituals repeat.

We celebrate our advancing good fortune. We toast the newcomers to the table. But there are many of us who on this day also raise a glass to those who are gone. And, in the general way of the world, even the happiest memories can have an edge. One of the best Thanksgiving evenings I ever spent was in Chicago, years ago. It was a feast, with a full cast of family and friends. When dinner ended, we put on music and danced for the rest of the evening. We jitterbugged, we improvised, and--most delightful--we waltzed. I would not trade away for a lifetime of celestial displays the memory of that evening. But there is an ache--renewed this time each year--in knowing that whatever cast might next assemble, some of those who danced on that glorious evening will never waltz again.

This year, along with whatever each of us might bring alone to the table, there also hangs over all of us the shared sense of loss, of the destruction visited upon our countrymen, of the violent attacks upon our civilization and of the continuing threat. I doubt there is a family or group of friends in America that will sit down around the turkey and pumpkin pie without thinking for at least a moment of the devastation of September.

There is nothing good in such destruction. But in gazing upon the conflagration, we have also seen beyond it. And--here we part ways with the unthinking realm of shooting stars--we have remembered that this is a nation built not on space dust but on principles infinitely valuable and worth defending. For the first time in many years, Americans as a people have looked intently upon the immense good fortune that weaves together our lives, and which has created on this continent a country, a way of life and a set of beliefs profoundly worth celebrating. On a Thanksgiving with much to mourn, and far less that can be taken for granted, Americans will give thanks for their blessings and praise their freedoms with greater fervor than in many years past.

Ms. Rosett is a member of The Wall Street Journal's editorial board. Her column appears Thursdays on OpinionJournal.com and in The Wall Street Journal Europe as "Letter From America."