When I recently asked a group of middle schoolers how they define peace, they answered: the opposite of war, the ability to listen, and being able to see a common trait in someone unlike yourself.

I wish someone asked me that question 24 years ago, on 9/11.

That day defined my life. As a sophomore at Columbia University, I witnessed the world fracture. I will never forget the last time I saw the glistening Twin Towers. I will never forget 10:28 a.m., when my biology professor abruptly dismissed class as the north tower fell.

I will never forget learning about Josh Birnbaum, of blessed memory, a new Cantor Fitzgerald employee and my resident advisor’s best friend, trapped on the 102nd floor.

I will never forget driving out of the Lincoln Tunnel for the High Holidays witnessing the plume of smoke rising.

And I will never forget the trust that humanity lost. The iceberg of extremism, separating voices that once sat together, now unable to converse.

Since that moment, we have witnessed wars in Iraq and Afghanistan as well as extremism movements such as the Taliban and the IRGC exporting terror from Iran around the world. A generation grew up hearing the word peace, but never being able to envision it.

In........

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