September 11, 2026 • 7 mins
On this episode of Our American Stories, Jocelyn Green didn’t lose anyone on September 11, but she still felt the weight of that day in ways she couldn’t have predicted. Living just a few miles from the Pentagon, she saw how quickly fear moved through a neighborhood. What surprised her was what came next: people showing up for each other in quiet, steady ways.
Over time, she found herself thinking more about how faith fits into grief and how friendships sometimes grow strongest in the shadow of crisis.
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:10):
This is Lee Habib, and this is Our American Stories.
Up next, a story from Jocelyn Green, who was working
in our nation's capital, Washington, D.C., on the morning of
September 11. Take it away, Jocelyn.
Speaker 2 (00:26):
On September 11, 2001, I was a 23-year-old single woman
working in Washington, D.C., just eight blocks from the capital.
We were in a staff meeting when the receptionist on
duty burst into the conference room and blurted out, They
hit the Pentagon. You can see the smoke from the rooftop.
The woman beside me screamed, and I quietly fought the
(00:46):
rising tide of panic swelling inside my chest. We were
told another plane was headed for us. We were sitting ducks,
and we knew it. Throngs of people were streaming out
of the buildings on Capitol Hill, running over each other
to go who knows where. Fighter jets roared over the city,
drowning out the sounds of chirping birds and casting ominous
shadows on this otherwise cloudless blue-sky day. Rumors were reported
(01:10):
as news on the television. We heard that a car
bomb detonated at the State Department, that the 14th Street
Bridge had been blown up, which was our way to
get across the Potomac River and get home. It seemed
the whole world was falling down around us. That afternoon,
we came together as a staff to pray. One woman
quoted scripture in her prayer, Weeping remains for a night,
(01:32):
she said, but joy comes in the morning. Psalm chapter 30,
verse 5. I remember thinking, how long will this night
last before we feel joy again? The Pentagon was less
than a mile from my home in Arlington. I passed
through it twice a day up until that point to
catch a bus or a subway train. The attack on
(01:53):
the Pentagon was an attack on my neighborhood. I felt violated.
It was personal to me. Driving home that evening, for
some reason I chose not to use the metro system
that morning, we passed by the Pentagon. The smoke from
the fires was choking, even from inside the car with
the windows rolled up. The fire still blazed, and would
(02:14):
for at least a week. They kept reigniting themselves. That evening,
I took a break from watching the news and decided
to mow the lawn. But this tragic event wasn't something
I could just turn off when I turned off the TV.
For when I pushed the lawnmower across the grass, I
walked through clouds of swirling ash that had carried on
the wind from the Pentagon. The air outside my home,
(02:37):
my home, smelled like smoke for at least a week.
Is it any wonder this attack felt personal to me?
It happened in my backyard. I felt sick to my
stomach for three days and cried until the well ran dry.
But at no point did I question the existence of
God or have a crisis of faith. God was still God,
(02:59):
and I still trusted Him. The terrorist attacks were evidence
that we live in a fallen world alongside other sinners.
And even as I mourned for those who lost their lives,
and mourned for those of us who lost our sense
of safety in our own country, I recognize that this
was not the first time a terrorist had attacked. In
(03:20):
certain parts of the world, terrorism occurs on a regular basis.
How selfish would it be for me to be okay
with God while evil happens to other countries, but once
it comes to my doorstep, to shake my fist at him? No,
my faith did not suffer, but my sense of peace did.
A dark cloud settled over my spirit in the weeks
(03:41):
after September 11, 2001. My enemy did not have a face.
It was grief and fear. People I used to ride
the bus to the Pentagon with, I never saw again.
I stared at the vacant seats while we silently snaked
our way through traffic, wondering about their families. Every radio
station talked about bomb shelters, anthrax, and other possible methods
(04:04):
of terrorism. We rolled our windows down while driving over bridges,
so if the bridge blew up while we were on it,
we could escape the car while it sank in the river.
Standing in the subway station, waiting for my train to come,
we heard what seemed like an explosion not too far
from us. I locked eyes with a stranger. No doubt
we were both just as startled, both thinking about how
(04:27):
dangerous a subway station could be if a terrorist chose
to attack it. In moments like those, we were no
longer just fellow commuters. We were fellow Americans, bracing ourselves
against our fears, even as we tried to live life
as normal. I know it sounds dramatic, but those were
dramatic times. Two weeks after the terrorist attacks, I went
(04:51):
to a prayer meeting at a local church. I sat
in a hard wooden pew, my head in my hands,
when I heard the floorboards near me squeak. When I
looked up, I saw a girl I went to college with.
Here she was, looking so out of place in that
somber church, with her eyes dancing and one hand covering
her mouth to keep from giggling. Since I was her
(05:12):
RA in college, we weren't really friends then, but when
I saw her, We hugged and stepped out of the
church and into the sunshine together. She had been working
for her congressman, but wasn't allowed back to work for
weeks because of the anthrax scare and the cleanup. So
we had coffee together, then a meal. Then I was
going with her on all kinds of trips. Mount Vernon, Annapolis,
(05:35):
the Smithsonian Museums, outdoor concerts at Wolf Trap. Even after
she was allowed back at work, the friendship continued. We
went to New York City together. We hosted Thanksgiving for
a dozen singles who had no place else to go.
The dark cloud hanging over me lifted, and this friend
helped me to chase after joy, to grab hold of
it and not let go. We still knew life was
(05:58):
forever different, but I learned that I could still laugh
and enjoy the good gifts God gives us. Life was
still full of my favorite things. Joy came in the morning.
The terrorist attacks were intended to cause a crippling fear
to take root in our country. But you know what?
I saw Bible studies pop up in the offices of
(06:20):
senators and congressmen where God's name was not mentioned before.
I saw people reaching out to each other. We prayed more.
Terrorism was met with heroism. And what man intended for evil,
God used for good.
Speaker 1 (06:35):
And a beautiful job on the editing and production by
Monty Montgomery. And a special thanks to Jocelyn Green for
sharing her story, her Washington, D.C. story. I, too, was
in D.C. on that day. I was working at CBS,
and you could feel the impact. Terrorism was met with heroism,
Jocelyn said, and what man intended for evil, God used
(06:56):
for good. The story of 9-11, a remembrance of 9-11
on Our American Stories. Lee Habib here and I'd like
(07:29):
to encourage you to subscribe to Our American Stories on
Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, Spotify, or wherever you get
our podcasts. Any story you missed or want to hear
again can be found there daily. Again, please subscribe to
the Our American Stories podcast on Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app,
(07:51):
or anywhere you get your podcasts. It helps us keep
these great American stories coming.
This is Lee Habib, and this is Our American Stories.
Up next, a story from Jocelyn Green, who was working
in our nation's capital, Washington, D.C., on the morning of
September 11. Take it away, Jocelyn.
Speaker 2 (00:26):
On September 11, 2001, I was a 23-year-old single woman
working in Washington, D.C., just eight blocks from the capital.
We were in a staff meeting when the receptionist on
duty burst into the conference room and blurted out, They
hit the Pentagon. You can see the smoke from the rooftop.
The woman beside me screamed, and I quietly fought the
(00:46):
rising tide of panic swelling inside my chest. We were
told another plane was headed for us. We were sitting ducks,
and we knew it. Throngs of people were streaming out
of the buildings on Capitol Hill, running over each other
to go who knows where. Fighter jets roared over the city,
drowning out the sounds of chirping birds and casting ominous
shadows on this otherwise cloudless blue-sky day. Rumors were reported
(01:10):
as news on the television. We heard that a car
bomb detonated at the State Department, that the 14th Street
Bridge had been blown up, which was our way to
get across the Potomac River and get home. It seemed
the whole world was falling down around us. That afternoon,
we came together as a staff to pray. One woman
quoted scripture in her prayer, Weeping remains for a night,
(01:32):
she said, but joy comes in the morning. Psalm chapter 30,
verse 5. I remember thinking, how long will this night
last before we feel joy again? The Pentagon was less
than a mile from my home in Arlington. I passed
through it twice a day up until that point to
catch a bus or a subway train. The attack on
(01:53):
the Pentagon was an attack on my neighborhood. I felt violated.
It was personal to me. Driving home that evening, for
some reason I chose not to use the metro system
that morning, we passed by the Pentagon. The smoke from
the fires was choking, even from inside the car with
the windows rolled up. The fire still blazed, and would
(02:14):
for at least a week. They kept reigniting themselves. That evening,
I took a break from watching the news and decided
to mow the lawn. But this tragic event wasn't something
I could just turn off when I turned off the TV.
For when I pushed the lawnmower across the grass, I
walked through clouds of swirling ash that had carried on
the wind from the Pentagon. The air outside my home,
(02:37):
my home, smelled like smoke for at least a week.
Is it any wonder this attack felt personal to me?
It happened in my backyard. I felt sick to my
stomach for three days and cried until the well ran dry.
But at no point did I question the existence of
God or have a crisis of faith. God was still God,
(02:59):
and I still trusted Him. The terrorist attacks were evidence
that we live in a fallen world alongside other sinners.
And even as I mourned for those who lost their lives,
and mourned for those of us who lost our sense
of safety in our own country, I recognize that this
was not the first time a terrorist had attacked. In
(03:20):
certain parts of the world, terrorism occurs on a regular basis.
How selfish would it be for me to be okay
with God while evil happens to other countries, but once
it comes to my doorstep, to shake my fist at him? No,
my faith did not suffer, but my sense of peace did.
A dark cloud settled over my spirit in the weeks
(03:41):
after September 11, 2001. My enemy did not have a face.
It was grief and fear. People I used to ride
the bus to the Pentagon with, I never saw again.
I stared at the vacant seats while we silently snaked
our way through traffic, wondering about their families. Every radio
station talked about bomb shelters, anthrax, and other possible methods
(04:04):
of terrorism. We rolled our windows down while driving over bridges,
so if the bridge blew up while we were on it,
we could escape the car while it sank in the river.
Standing in the subway station, waiting for my train to come,
we heard what seemed like an explosion not too far
from us. I locked eyes with a stranger. No doubt
we were both just as startled, both thinking about how
(04:27):
dangerous a subway station could be if a terrorist chose
to attack it. In moments like those, we were no
longer just fellow commuters. We were fellow Americans, bracing ourselves
against our fears, even as we tried to live life
as normal. I know it sounds dramatic, but those were
dramatic times. Two weeks after the terrorist attacks, I went
(04:51):
to a prayer meeting at a local church. I sat
in a hard wooden pew, my head in my hands,
when I heard the floorboards near me squeak. When I
looked up, I saw a girl I went to college with.
Here she was, looking so out of place in that
somber church, with her eyes dancing and one hand covering
her mouth to keep from giggling. Since I was her
(05:12):
RA in college, we weren't really friends then, but when
I saw her, We hugged and stepped out of the
church and into the sunshine together. She had been working
for her congressman, but wasn't allowed back to work for
weeks because of the anthrax scare and the cleanup. So
we had coffee together, then a meal. Then I was
going with her on all kinds of trips. Mount Vernon, Annapolis,
(05:35):
the Smithsonian Museums, outdoor concerts at Wolf Trap. Even after
she was allowed back at work, the friendship continued. We
went to New York City together. We hosted Thanksgiving for
a dozen singles who had no place else to go.
The dark cloud hanging over me lifted, and this friend
helped me to chase after joy, to grab hold of
it and not let go. We still knew life was
(05:58):
forever different, but I learned that I could still laugh
and enjoy the good gifts God gives us. Life was
still full of my favorite things. Joy came in the morning.
The terrorist attacks were intended to cause a crippling fear
to take root in our country. But you know what?
I saw Bible studies pop up in the offices of
(06:20):
senators and congressmen where God's name was not mentioned before.
I saw people reaching out to each other. We prayed more.
Terrorism was met with heroism. And what man intended for evil,
God used for good.
Speaker 1 (06:35):
And a beautiful job on the editing and production by
Monty Montgomery. And a special thanks to Jocelyn Green for
sharing her story, her Washington, D.C. story. I, too, was
in D.C. on that day. I was working at CBS,
and you could feel the impact. Terrorism was met with heroism,
Jocelyn said, and what man intended for evil, God used
(06:56):
for good. The story of 9-11, a remembrance of 9-11
on Our American Stories. Lee Habib here and I'd like
(07:29):
to encourage you to subscribe to Our American Stories on
Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, Spotify, or wherever you get
our podcasts. Any story you missed or want to hear
again can be found there daily. Again, please subscribe to
the Our American Stories podcast on Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app,
(07:51):
or anywhere you get your podcasts. It helps us keep
these great American stories coming.
Host
Lee Habeeb
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