New Orleans Trip
by Moshe Lehmann - 12th Grade

click each photo
to enlarge

Close your eyes for a second and try to imagine that you were evacuated, asked to flee, from your home, to leave it all behind, for a long weekend as a tornado or big storm passes through—just to be safe. But then you hear that the situation has exploded—your whole neighborhood has been “attacked.” You end up staying away from home and school and work for close to 5 weeks, over the Yomim Noraim and other auspicious events. Then, you can finally return. So you enter your neighborhood and slowly make your way through the debris and damage until you get to your block. It is eerily silent—your neighborhood, once filled with cars, kids, stores, and schools, is bereft of any human presence. The stench of mold and rotting carcasses overwhelms your olfactory senses as you continue down what used to be your street. You turn the corner, hoping to see your house, but something is missing along the row of houses. As you get closer, dreading every moment, and feeling your heart sink to the depths of your soul, you see the place where your house once was but it is completely gone and only rubble and some spare items are left, strewn about the block. Imagine the fear, imagine the dread, imagine the pain.

This is what has occurred more than a year ago in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. I went there a year later and saw a foundation of what used to be a house in a broken neighborhood, eerily quiet a year later. I was inspired a lot by our Torah Tours trip with Rabbi Posy. Only a few days ago, I thought to myself. Okay, Hurricane Katrina. It's old news. Sure, it was tragic, but hey, it was a year ago. We have new problems. There're no new developments. I'm sorry, but what can I do? There are newer problems in the world. My short visit completely changed my perspective on the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina.

I guess I can break the events which most influenced me into three different instances and particular feelings. As a group, we were principally associating with Congregation Beth Israel. Their shul was destroyed in the storm and most of their members have not returned. They shrunk from 800 families to around 40. They don't have regular minyanim and are renting a room at a reform shul. When they finally entered their shul the water had moved the bimah over the mechitzah and into the women's section. There were fish swimming in the men's section.

We met with the remaining members over Shabbat, leading their davening and spiritual experience. We heard their stories and inspired them by showing another Jewish face and a helping Jewish hand. They are not alone. We also spent time at the Chabad shul. There, a year after the hurricane, the Rabbi announced that if a family doesn't have a kitchen, they can be set up for meals on Rosh Hashanah. Imagine no kitchen. These people lost almost everything. Their schools have been devastated (this year a school which formerly ran through 8th grade now only ends at 3rd) their shuls are not in operation and their own homes and belongings are destroyed. They still need help and they still need chizuk. I never imagined that a year later, people would still be so needy and so bereft of a normal community. I connected to the Jews of New Orleans and sympathized with them in their plight. I was happy my presence lightened their week and their Rosh Hashanah and gave them strength.

A second, smaller, aspect which inspired me was the dedication of the Chabad shul and its leaders during the storm. The older Chabad family did not leave until 15 minutes before the levees broke. They were there to help all the Jews in the area and there were many stranded tourists and citizens who had turned or would turn to them for help. Running away was almost unthinkable to them, until the last minute. Such dedication to am Yisrael was an inspiration for me.

Finally and most essentially, was our Saturday night tour of the lower ninth ward and St. Bernard Parrish. After leaving Chabad's pre- selichot farbrengen at 12:00 midnight, we drove into these extremely devastated neighborhoods a year after the storm. We drove for two hours - from 12 to 2 in the morning and we were all still wide awake from the damage we had just witnessed. We entered into neighborhoods that are still devastated a year later. It was quiet with not a sound or light around. Just sitting in the middle of a vast suburban sprawl—a ghost town. It looked like it had been bombed. Houses completely shattered, houses up against trees at 45 degree angles. We even saw the foundation of a house—the rest was gone. We could identify the kitchen where all the blenders and pots and jars were still lying strewn along the grass, a year later. We saw the bathtub and the smashed front door. We even saw a photograph of a young girl.

We passed by memories of a vibrant community—smashed windows in a dark Papa Johns pizza café, like ones on Reisterstown road, gas station signs with nothing—nothing behind them. Huge strip malls all broken, dark and deserted. A Big K-mart was empty and devastated. Things are probably still on those shelves, a year later. It was like out of a movie. A bombed—region. Hints of regular life, malls, restaurants—all shattered and silent were found in this empty region. It was a devastating and an awakening experience to see all this still a year later.

So I feel very different after this trip. There are still devastated neighborhoods and devastated people. They are struggling to make a minyan and still struggling to find a home. These people are still in dire need of help. The disaster which struck them is still readily apparent, a year later. I am so happy that our mission was successful and that we brought them a tiny bit of hope. All of us emphatically vowed to return and continue our mission, because, like Chabad understands, we are all responsible to help others when they call for it. I did not understand the severity of the situation before I went and did not realize that a need still exists.

This trip has affected me in the inner caverns of my soul and it will live with me forever. We should all try to take a lesson away from this; read through the headlines and see past the television. Real lives are being affected every day, Jews and non Jews are being hurt and devastated. It is a horrible, horrible feeling and a terrible situation. We have to recognize that we all have a mission to help. To have a lifeline from the outside is sometimes what makes the difference between life and death. A lifeline can be so simple—just a 42 hour trip can lift hearts and stir souls. It is all of our duty and may we all hear the calling and answer to it.