In Prayer and Silence, California Mourns

The search for solace brought a moment of silence to the California Legislature’s din Friday. It forced reality upon Fantasyland, nudged nonbelievers to worship, made grown men and women cry.

Prayers for the thousands killed in the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks rang out in English and Spanish in the factory cafeteria of Irvine’s St. John Knits. They flowed down the steps of City Hall in Los Angeles and echoed through the vaulted nave of San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral.

Worshipers bowed toward Mecca at the Islamic Center of Southern California. The firemen of Station 88 in Sherman Oaks stood at attention on Sepulveda Boulevard in mute tribute to their lost New York comrades. A pair of boots sat, empty, on the sidewalk.

On this day set aside by President Bush to mourn the hole terrorists blew in the world, thousands of Californians began the hard work of repair. Their tools were prayer and remembrance, church bells and silence.

At Simi Valley Presbyterian Church, worshipers took turns praying aloud for the victims, survivors and themselves.

“I need to remember that in times like this, I cannot blame You,” prayed Justin Evans, 28 and in tears. “I cannot understand the horror that has happened. Please do not let me blame You, God. Please help me embrace You.”

Calls for peace collided with demands for justice. At Ventura College, campus bells played “The Star-Spangled Banner” and student body president Fenix Pleitez neared tears as she addressed hundreds of students and teachers. Her father lives in New York. She hasn’t heard from him for days.

“If anyone here is in touch with anyone in New York, I hope I can hear from him,” she begged through tears. And the terrorists, well, “they think they defeated us, but we will rise stronger and make them pay for what they did.”

At St. Sophia’s Greek Orthodox Church in Los Angeles, where chants for the dead arced out in English and Greek, retired teacher Antonia Opffer found a complicated kind of solace in prayer. “It’s very difficult not to cry and be very emotional,” she said. “We pray not to be vengeful. . . . And, of course, we want justice.”

The Rt. Rev. Jerry A. Lamb, Episcopal bishop of Northern California, tried to explain the conflicting emotions after a “Noonday Service of Prayer in Time of National Calamity” at Sacramento’s Trinity Cathedral.

“We need to identify the terrorist cells and go in and get them,” he said. “But the response should be measured and appropriate. I’ve been concerned by the vitriolic anger and hatred I’ve been hearing on the radio talk shows. I’m fearful of people who want to level Baghdad.”

At Los Angeles’ Islamic Center, where threats of violence brought out heavy police guard, Hassan Hathout read out the names of four Muslim Americans who were killed in Tuesday’s terrorist attacks.

“He delivered what was in our heart,” said Talal Zarif, who came from Lebanon to the United States 33 years ago. “We are American, and then we are Muslim. We are Lebanese. We are Arab. But before that, we are American. This is our home.”

Ramsey Hakim arrived home to Los Angeles early Friday from Miami and ended up at the Islamic Center service. “I was worried about being harassed” en route to L.A. “because of my looks and my name,” Hakim said. But he was treated with courtesy, he said, and “there was no chaos. I felt proud to be an American.”

At noon Friday, even Disneyland came to a standstill. Every ride from the Matterhorn to Space Mountain was halted. Mickey Mouse and Goofy were nowhere to be seen. Hundreds of people lined Main Street for a moment of silence.

Then a recorded version of “God Bless America” blasted across the 85-acre park. Guests sang along, wiping tears. Red, white and blue balloons floated into the sky.

Many in attendance said they had come to the landmark theme park for a brief escape to Fantasyland. Said Maricel Moraleja Doerschel, 30, from Seattle: “On a day of remembrance, it’s important to be with other Americans at Disneyland.”

For many, the chance to worship in community centers and cathedrals, college campuses and city halls, mosques and synagogues filled the need for an act of affirmation in a time of crisis.

“Physically, the planes didn’t hit here, but you know what? They did hit here,” said Dayna Price, 20, her cheeks streaked with mascara and tears. Glendale Community College was remembering the dead. A fellow student sang “America the Beautiful.” “I feel really helpless. I wish I was on the East Coast so I could do something.”

Jack Morey, a Sacramento recreational vehicle salesman, was one of the more than 400 people who attended the noontime service at Trinity Cathedral in the historic district surrounding Sutter’s Fort. The hymns, he said, seemed written for this day, with their call for God to deliver us “from all that terror teaches.”

“I don’t normally go to church,” said Morey, tugging on a pipe in front of a church sign welcoming “people of all races and nationalities.” But since the terrorist attack he had been to church three times and was thinking about going again to evening services on Friday.

“This is just such an emotional thing,” Morey said. “I have a son in the National Guard who is likely to be one of the first ones called up. I have a lot of fear in my life right now. I didn’t know what to do but ask God for help and watch the news and cry.”

At the First African Methodist Episcopal Church in South Los Angeles, Chantel Moore, a former New York resident, struggled to find meaning.

“We need God, we need prayer, we need answers right now,” she said. “At first you’re angry. But you have to search for deeper meaning and understanding. My heart is really heavy and confused.”

Another New York transplant, Kathleen Fraser, was one of 3,000 who gathered inside San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral. Three thousand more crowded outside. Fraser, 34, who moved to California three years ago, wore a regulation “FDNY” T-shirt in honor of three dead firefighting friends back home.

Rocking like a child in search of comfort, she clutched to her chest a picture from happier times: smiling Steve Hoffman, 35, who worked on the 102nd floor of the World Trade Center. Her friend.

Her parents live in a Queens enclave of firefighters and policemen. They lost 10 neighbors Tuesday, she said. Fraser wants to go home to visit, but she will not fly and won’t take the train. She figures she and her husband can drive in four days.

The service at Grace “made me feel like a part of a community, [but] we just want to be with our friends,” she said. “I’m not even focusing on what’s happening to our country. That’s too big. All I can think about is our friend.”

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Times staff writers Gina Picallo, Matt Surman, Margaret Talev, Tim Reiterman, Richard Fausset, Bill Lobdell, Rone Tempest, Dan Morain, Larry Stammer, Michael Finnegan, Patrick McGreevy and Jose Cardenas and researcher Norma Kaufman contributed to this story.