A FEW days ago, I mustered up the nerve to visit the Empire State Building,
only recently reopened after the attack on the World Trade Center.
I’d been to the 86th floor before to see the breathtaking views of Manhattan,
but this time I’m edgy. As the elevator shoots upward, I find I’ve lost my
freedom from fear. In return, I’ve gained a sense of solidarity, born of
nightmare. But it is already unravelling.
Inevitably, New Yorkers are withdrawing from the simple sharing of grief.
Now, there seems to be no single interpretation of what happened—not even
a common…
