What happened on September 11, 2001 that made us better people?

On Thursday’s radio program, Glenn poignantly reflected on the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks and asked listeners to think back on where they were 13 years ago. September 12, 2001 is a remarkable day in American history because of the way Americans turned a tragic darkness into a hopeful light. On this September 12, Glenn asked his audience to once again think back to 13 years ago, but this time he also asked people to consider what has changed or been gained since then.

Below is an edited transcript of the monologue:

Today is a very important day for this broadcast and for many of our listeners. Today is 9/12. This is the day that we modeled the 9/12 Project after. Yesterday, we spent the whole day talking about the things that we learned from 9/11 and the things that we feel we have lost. Today is the day that we now would like to look at the things that we have gained.

What happened on 9/11 – and in particular for me, 9/12 – that made us better people? You know, the bad stuff happens to everyone. Every country goes through bad stuff. And here's what I've really been concentrating on lately. We're not Europe. We're not like any other nation. And people have always said that about America. People come from overseas and they say, ‘You guys are so different here. You're so open.’ People come from all over the world and they will always walk away saying, ‘There's something different about Americans. They're so trusting.’ That's because we haven't had the world wars here. That's because we haven't had our own people turn against each other and round them up. Well, I'm sorry. Except for Woodrow Wilson and F.D.R. But, generally speaking, our neighbors don't tell on one another. We're not snitches on each other. We don't spy on each other. That's what made what George W. Bush wanted to do and Barack Obama also wanted to do so wrong. That's not who we are.

I was not a huge fan of the Tea Party's original messaging and mission because the original message and mission was taxes, oppression. And I understand that. But if you remember, what everybody was saying at the time was, ‘What have you lost.’ We were projecting. We knew what was coming. It wasn't hard to read the tealeaves, but most Americans still will say, ‘Oh, what have you really lost?’ We've lost a lot. But the rest of the world has already gone through this. Europe has gone through this over and over and over and over again. We never have. It's why we're so blind to it. But we also choose our responses to things.

I think of Dietrich Bonheoffer an awful lot. I've gone the full circle with Dietrich Bonheoffer. At first, I saw his story and I was inspired by it. Dietrich Bonheoffer is a pastor that lived in Germany in World War II. He was a pacifist, and he stood up for peace. At first, he impressed me. Then I thought: Really, he didn't win. And then I realized, no, actually, he did. I really studied the last part of his life, when he was in prison – in particular, the last few minutes of his life when he got down on his knees in the woods as they're getting ready to hang him. They were hanging people one after another after another.

Imagine, he was on the road to escape. They were freeing him. It was 15 days before Hitler was dead, and they were freeing him. But the car broke down. Here are these prisoners on the side of the road with guards, with really no guns and no place to go. And a concentration camp truck comes by and they're like, ‘Hey, we're taking these prisoners and our truck broke down.’ They're like, ‘You know what? We got a camp up here. We'll just put them in the camp.’ So they weren't released. They were put into another camp.

He shared that cell with a guy who had done all of the medical experiments on the Jews because, in the end, Hitler wanted him dead, too. He was with that that guy and a prostitute – a double agent who was a prostitute. I can't imagine what that Nazi doctor and that prostitute were doing in the cell. Apparently, it was extraordinarily vial. And then sitting in that same cell was Dietrich Bonheoffer. He preached to them. He just spoke of love and peace and kindness. I'm sure they didn't really listen to him very much. They were busy with other things. But he never changed. And when it came his time to be executed, they came for him in the morning, and they took him out into the woods. That's when where they had the hanging platform. And he got down on his knees and he prayed. He wasn't afraid. He was praising. He was giving joy. He was thanking God. He got up on to the scaffolding. They put the noose around his neck, and he thanked the hangman. The guy who pulled the lever said, ‘I'll never forget him. There was something different about him.’

It was the same thing with Viktor Frankl. Viktor Frankl was a guy who was in concentration camps. All I ever pray for is just let me accept Your will. I don't care what it is – if I'm rich, if I'm poor, if I'm free, if I'm in prison, whatever. Just let me know that everything is okay. Everything is gonna be great. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Nelson Mandela could have gone into prison, and he could have been more and more bitter every day. But he didn't do that. He chose to change his life. In some ways, he belonged in prison at the beginning. He was a bad guy. His wife, Winnie Mandela, was not a good individual. He could have ripped those people apart when he got out. He could have used anger to get what he wanted. Instead, he chose love.

We all have bad things that happen to us. Something that my father taught me at the bakery was when he lied to me and told me he had bread to make as I was whining to him on the phone. ‘Oh, my life is so tough.’ ‘Yeah, I know. I know it is. Why don't you make a list and call me back tonight. We'll talk about it.’ I didn't realize he was being sarcastic. I didn’t know the life my father had gone through.

My father taught me, make that list. I called him back a couple of minutes later after I looked at that list, and the top of the list was my mom's suicide. ‘Oh, my mom killed herself and it changed my whole life.’ Wait a minute, hang on just a second. Yes, she did. But if my folks wouldn't have gotten a divorce, I wouldn't have moved down with my mother. I wouldn't have started in radio. Then my mom committed suicide, which meant I went back and I lived with my father for a while. And because I did that, I met all my good friends. I met Robert who is my brother. He changed my life. From there, I met other people. And I started working in Seattle. All of these things that I did, I probably would not have done had it not been for my mom’s suicide. So I could wallow, or I could say, ‘Wow, look at what came out of that.’

Life happens. Life sucks a lot. But we can't let it beat us down.

Pat and I have talked many times about, ‘Oh, man, 1970s, those days don't come back. They were simpler times.’ No, they didn't. They sucked. We went from Nixon and Watergate during Vietnam right into Jimmy Carter. We went from the oil crisis to the burning of the helicopters. Those days came right out of the '60s where we had Bill Ayers killing police officers. What are we doing? Those weren't good days. Those were not simpler times.

So what were we thinking? Here's why we look back on those days, whether they were in the '60s, the '70s, the '80s, the '90s, 2002. The reason why we look back at those as simpler days is because we were simpler. We weren't bogged down with the worries of the world. We still had hope that it could change.

Now, what's changed? Has the hope changed? No. We're in the same bad situation that we were in before. Granted, we're dealing with stuff we've never dealt with before. Got it. But why are we hopeless? We're hopeless for this reason: We choose to be. And we choose to be because we think we know.

When you're 20, you thing you’re never gonna die. You just think that you will always be able to go. Unless you are exercising the mind and, especially, the spirit, it ain't gonna work. At some point, it breaks down, and that's what's happening to our society. Our bodies are breaking down because we're eating, and we're not exercising, and we're living the life of Americans. It's not good. Our bodies are breaking down.

Our minds are breaking down because we're no longer challenging them. Political correctness makes it so you don't challenge anything. We should be challenging everything. Question with boldness, even the very existence of God, for if there be a God, He must sure rather have honest questioning over blindfolded fear. Question everything. Question with boldness. Hold to the truth, and speak without fear. And our spirit is atrophying because we are not exercising it. We get tired, and we lose that ability that we had at 20 to bounce back.

When I was 20, I may not have understood everything, but I understood this: It's all going to be fine. It's all going to work out. I'm going to make a difference. That's the thing that we all had. ‘I'm going to make a difference.’ Nobody was 20 years old and thought, ‘I just want to be a guy who's stuck in a cube in an office that nobody really likes.’ Nobody thinks that. That's not what you wanted.

Now, what is it that you wanted? And why? What is standing in your way that stops you? We changed overnight on 9/12. Overnight. That fast. All of a sudden, all of those barriers were gone. All of those beliefs were gone. Everything. We went right back to who we were, real human beings that loved each other. Real human beings that knew the only thing that mattered was our friendship, was our decency, was our humanity, our freedoms.

We don't need a tragedy to change us. But because a tragedy happens, we can choose to wallow in it, or we can – today on 9/12 – say: What have I gained? Who am I? Yesterday, we said to you on the air, ‘Who was I 13 years ago?’ I was a nobody 13 years ago. My job has changed a great deal. Okay. More importantly, I've changed. I've become a much more deeply spiritual person. I've learned so much about American history. I've learned so much. Look at what you've done in the last 13 years. Just do this again in the next 13 years and watch us shine.

What our response to Israel reveals about us

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I have been honored to receive the Defender of Israel Award from Prime Minister Netanyahu.

The Jerusalem Post recently named me one of the strongest Christian voices in support of Israel.

And yet, my support is not blind loyalty. It’s not a rubber stamp for any government or policy. I support Israel because I believe it is my duty — first as a Christian, but even if I weren’t a believer, I would still support her as a man of reason, morality, and common sense.

Because faith isn’t required to understand this: Israel’s existence is not just about one nation’s survival — it is about the survival of Western civilization itself.

It is a lone beacon of shared values in the Middle East. It is a bulwark standing against radical Islam — the same evil that seeks to dismantle our own nation from within.

And my support is not rooted in politics. It is rooted in something simpler and older than politics: a people’s moral and historical right to their homeland, and their right to live in peace.

Israel has that right — and the right to defend herself against those who openly, repeatedly vow her destruction.

Let’s make it personal: if someone told me again and again that they wanted to kill me and my entire family — and then acted on that threat — would I not defend myself? Wouldn’t you? If Hamas were Canada, and we were Israel, and they did to us what Hamas has done to them, there wouldn’t be a single building left standing north of our border. That’s not a question of morality.

That’s just the truth. All people — every people — have a God-given right to protect themselves. And Israel is doing exactly that.

My support for Israel’s right to finish the fight against Hamas comes after eighty years of rejected peace offers and failed two-state solutions. Hamas has never hidden its mission — the eradication of Israel. That’s not a political disagreement.

That’s not a land dispute. That is an annihilationist ideology. And while I do not believe this is America’s war to fight, I do believe — with every fiber of my being — that it is Israel’s right, and moral duty, to defend her people.

Criticism of military tactics is fair. That’s not antisemitism. But denying Israel’s right to exist, or excusing — even celebrating — the barbarity of Hamas? That’s something far darker.

We saw it on October 7th — the face of evil itself. Women and children slaughtered. Babies burned alive. Innocent people raped and dragged through the streets. And now, to see our own fellow citizens march in defense of that evil… that is nothing short of a moral collapse.

If the chants in our streets were, “Hamas, return the hostages — Israel, stop the bombing,” we could have a conversation.

But that’s not what we hear.

What we hear is open sympathy for genocidal hatred. And that is a chasm — not just from decency, but from humanity itself. And here lies the danger: that same hatred is taking root here — in Dearborn, in London, in Paris — not as horror, but as heroism. If we are not vigilant, the enemy Israel faces today will be the enemy the free world faces tomorrow.

This isn’t about politics. It’s about truth. It’s about the courage to call evil by its name and to say “Never again” — and mean it.

And you don’t have to open a Bible to understand this. But if you do — if you are a believer — then this issue cuts even deeper. Because the question becomes: what did God promise, and does He keep His word?

He told Abraham, “I will bless those who bless you, and curse those who curse you.” He promised to make Abraham the father of many nations and to give him “the whole land of Canaan.” And though Abraham had other sons, God reaffirmed that promise through Isaac. And then again through Isaac’s son, Jacob — Israel — saying: “The land I gave to Abraham and Isaac I give to you and to your descendants after you.”

That’s an everlasting promise.

And from those descendants came a child — born in Bethlehem — who claimed to be the Savior of the world. Jesus never rejected His title as “son of David,” the great King of Israel.

He said plainly that He came “for the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” And when He returns, Scripture says He will return as “the Lion of the tribe of Judah.” And where do you think He will go? Back to His homeland — Israel.

Tamir Kalifa / Stringer | Getty Images

And what will He find when He gets there? His brothers — or his brothers’ enemies? Will the roads where He once walked be preserved? Or will they lie in rubble, as Gaza does today? If what He finds looks like the aftermath of October 7th, then tell me — what will be my defense as a Christian?

Some Christians argue that God’s promises to Israel have been transferred exclusively to the Church. I don’t believe that. But even if you do, then ask yourself this: if we’ve inherited the promises, do we not also inherit the land? Can we claim the birthright and then, like Esau, treat it as worthless when the world tries to steal it?

So, when terrorists come to slaughter Israelis simply for living in the land promised to Abraham, will we stand by? Or will we step forward — into the line of fire — and say,

“Take me instead”?

Because this is not just about Israel’s right to exist.

It’s about whether we still know the difference between good and evil.

It’s about whether we still have the courage to stand where God stands.

And if we cannot — if we will not — then maybe the question isn’t whether Israel will survive. Maybe the question is whether we will.

When did Americans start cheering for chaos?

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Every time we look away from lawlessness, we tell the next mob it can go a little further.

Chicago, Portland, and other American cities are showing us what happens when the rule of law breaks down. These cities have become openly lawless — and that’s not hyperbole.

When a governor declares she doesn’t believe federal agents about a credible threat to their lives, when Chicago orders its police not to assist federal officers, and when cartels print wanted posters offering bounties for the deaths of U.S. immigration agents, you’re looking at a country flirting with anarchy.

Two dangers face us now: the intimidation of federal officers and the normalization of soldiers as street police. Accept either, and we lose the republic.

This isn’t a matter of partisan politics. The struggle we’re watching now is not between Democrats and Republicans. It’s between good and evil, right and wrong, self‑government and chaos.

Moral erosion

For generations, Americans have inherited a republic based on law, liberty, and moral responsibility. That legacy is now under assault by extremists who openly seek to collapse the system and replace it with something darker.

Antifa, well‑financed by the left, isn’t an isolated fringe any more than Occupy Wall Street was. As with Occupy, big money and global interests are quietly aligned with “anti‑establishment” radicals. The goal is disruption, not reform.

And they’ve learned how to condition us. Twenty‑five years ago, few Americans would have supported drag shows in elementary schools, biological males in women’s sports, forced vaccinations, or government partnerships with mega‑corporations to decide which businesses live or die. Few would have tolerated cartels threatening federal agents or tolerated mobs doxxing political opponents. Yet today, many shrug — or cheer.

How did we get here? What evidence convinced so many people to reverse themselves on fundamental questions of morality, liberty, and law? Those long laboring to disrupt our republic have sought to condition people to believe that the ends justify the means.

Promoting “tolerance” justifies women losing to biological men in sports. “Compassion” justifies harboring illegal immigrants, even violent criminals. Whatever deluded ideals Antifa espouses is supposed to somehow justify targeting federal agents and overturning the rule of law. Our culture has been conditioned for this moment.

The buck stops with us

That’s why the debate over using troops to restore order in American cities matters so much. I’ve never supported soldiers executing civilian law, and I still don’t. But we need to speak honestly about what the Constitution allows and why. The Posse Comitatus Act sharply limits the use of the military for domestic policing. The Insurrection Act, however, exists for rare emergencies — when federal law truly can’t be enforced by ordinary means and when mobs, cartels, or coordinated violence block the courts.

Even then, the Constitution demands limits: a public proclamation ordering offenders to disperse, transparency about the mission, a narrow scope, temporary duration, and judicial oversight.

Soldiers fight wars. Cops enforce laws. We blur that line at our peril.

But we also cannot allow intimidation of federal officers or tolerate local officials who openly obstruct federal enforcement. Both extremes — lawlessness on one side and militarization on the other — endanger the republic.

The only way out is the Constitution itself. Protect civil liberty. Enforce the rule of law. Demand transparency. Reject the temptation to justify any tactic because “our side” is winning. We’ve already seen how fear after 9/11 led to the Patriot Act and years of surveillance.

KAMIL KRZACZYNSKI / Contributor | Getty Images

Two dangers face us now: the intimidation of federal officers and the normalization of soldiers as street police. Accept either, and we lose the republic. The left cannot be allowed to shut down enforcement, and the right cannot be allowed to abandon constitutional restraint.

The real threat to the republic isn’t just the mobs or the cartels. It’s us — citizens who stop caring about truth and constitutional limits. Anything can be justified when fear takes over. Everything collapses when enough people decide “the ends justify the means.”

We must choose differently. Uphold the rule of law. Guard civil liberties. And remember that the only way to preserve a government of, by, and for the people is to act like the people still want it.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

In the quiet aftermath of a profound loss, the Christian community mourns the unexpected passing of Dr. Voddie Baucham, a towering figure in evangelical circles. Known for his defense of biblical truth, Baucham, a pastor, author, and theologian, left a legacy on family, faith, and opposing "woke" ideologies in the church. His book Fault Lines challenged believers to prioritize Scripture over cultural trends. Glenn had Voddie on the show several times, where they discussed progressive influences in Christianity, debunked myths of “Christian nationalism,” and urged hope amid hostility.

The shock of Baucham's death has deeply affected his family. Grieving, they remain hopeful in Christ, with his wife, Bridget, now facing the task of resettling in the US without him. Their planned move from Lusaka, Zambia, was disrupted when their home sale fell through last December, resulting in temporary Airbnb accommodations, but they have since secured a new home in Cape Coral that requires renovations. To ensure Voddie's family is taken care of, a fundraiser is being held to raise $2 million, which will be invested for ongoing support, allowing Bridget to focus on her family.

We invite readers to contribute prayerfully. If you feel called to support the Bauchams in this time of need, you can click here to donate.

We grieve and pray with hope for the Bauchams.

May Voddie's example inspire us.

Loneliness isn’t just being alone — it’s feeling unseen, unheard, and unimportant, even amid crowds and constant digital chatter.

Loneliness has become an epidemic in America. Millions of people, even when surrounded by others, feel invisible. In tragic irony, we live in an age of unparalleled connectivity, yet too many sit in silence, unseen and unheard.

I’ve been experiencing this firsthand. My children have grown up and moved out. The house that once overflowed with life now echoes with quiet. Moments that once held laughter now hold silence. And in that silence, the mind can play cruel games. It whispers, “You’re forgotten. Your story doesn’t matter.”

We are unique in our gifts, but not in our humanity. Recognizing this shared struggle is how we overcome loneliness.

It’s a lie.

I’ve seen it in others. I remember sitting at Rockefeller Center one winter, watching a woman lace up her ice skates. Her clothing was worn, her bag battered. Yet on the ice, she transformed — elegant, alive, radiant.

Minutes later, she returned to her shoes, merged into the crowd, unnoticed. I’ve thought of her often. She was not alone in her experience. Millions of Americans live unseen, performing acts of quiet heroism every day.

Shared pain makes us human

Loneliness convinces us to retreat, to stay silent, to stop reaching out to others. But connection is essential. Even small gestures — a word of encouragement, a listening ear, a shared meal — are radical acts against isolation.

I’ve learned this personally. Years ago, a caller called me “Mr. Perfect.” I could have deflected, but I chose honesty. I spoke of my alcoholism, my failed marriage, my brokenness. I expected judgment. Instead, I found resonance. People whispered back, “I’m going through the same thing. Thank you for saying it.”

Our pain is universal. Everyone struggles with self-doubt and fear. Everyone feels, at times, like a fraud. We are unique in our gifts, but not in our humanity. Recognizing this shared struggle is how we overcome loneliness.

We were made for connection. We were built for community — for conversation, for touch, for shared purpose. Every time we reach out, every act of courage and compassion punches a hole in the wall of isolation.

You’re not alone

If you’re feeling alone, know this: You are not invisible. You are seen. You matter. And if you’re not struggling, someone you know is. It’s your responsibility to reach out.

Loneliness is not proof of brokenness. It is proof of humanity. It is a call to engage, to bear witness, to connect. The world is different because of the people who choose to act. It is brighter when we refuse to be isolated.

We cannot let silence win. We cannot allow loneliness to dictate our lives. Speak. Reach out. Connect. Share your gifts. By doing so, we remind one another: We are all alike, and yet each of us matters profoundly.

In this moment, in this country, in this world, what we do matters. Loneliness is real, but so is hope. And hope begins with connection.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.