Thoughts on Rabin Square
“Do you know where you were when Yitzhak Rabin was shot?“ We had approached a man walking casually across Rabin square who looked to be about 50. He answered immediately: "Of course, let me show you,” the man had said emphatically as he began walking quickly around the block. The five or so of us in the group that had split off looked at each other for a moment, surprised by his enthusiasm, but almost instantly continued after him, propelled by a shared curiosity and gratefulness for his enthusiasm. He was the third stranger we had approached in the square, first asking if they spoke English, then, after explaining we were American students on Taglit-Birthright Israel, asking if they would talk to us about the assassination of Israel’s prime minister in 1995 after singing a song on stage for peace.
The first man, walking both his dog and his toddler seemed happy enough to talk to us, but dispassionate about the area’s infamous history. He confessed, almost with embarrassment, his indifference to the assassination - he was young, 16 at the time, and didn’t care much for Rabin’s politics. The second interview was with an older couple, who reported dutifully how their television show was interrupted by the news that the prime minister had been shot, but was alive and stable. They didn’t find out until later that the report was incorrect, but soberly described how unsettling it is to experience the death of a leader, even if one doesn’t necessarily share his political leanings. With his message of peace and the type of support rallying behind him, I instinctively draw the connection between Rabin and President Obama, especially when his ubiquitous slogan of hope galvanized teenagers all over the country. I asked if the killing made Israelis cynical toward politics. “No,” the woman answered simply, and then seemed more inclined to talk about her cousin living on Long Island.
The last man cared deeply about Yitzhak Rabin and what he stood for. His daughter had been at the peace rally on the square that day supporting the prime minister. As we followed him around the corner, it became apparent he misunderstood and was taking us to the spot where the prime minister had left the stage and been shot outside the parking lot, commemorated by black stones and a floral wreath. He told us he couldn’t get in touch with his daughter, but when his family finally returned home together, they sat and cried. “You can tell what side of politics I stand on,” he said with a wry smile.
Like the JFK assassination, and 9/11, anyone old enough to remember hearing the news as it occurred will remember it for the rest of their lives. Regardless of how one stands on politics, such shocking news interrupting the monotony of daily activity leaves a mark both on the individual and society as a whole. I loved the chance to talk with Israelis, approaching people in the street and listening to their stories - and it didn’t hurt that Shiran, one of the Israeli soldiers on our bus, was along to translate our interviewee’s more complex thoughts - but two aspects of the assassination truly fascinated me. First, the killer is in jail, on a life sentence of 30 years, and was allowed to marry and have a son while incarcerated. He might be released in 13 years. His brother already has been, after serving his time as a co-conspirator. The second thing that surprised me was that the assassin was Jewish. Extremism exists in every religion and a distorted sense of duty propelled a man to kill Yitzhak Rabin because he believed the impending peace agreements would threaten Israeli settlements.
Even after getting on the bus, I can’t stop thinking about the assassination, imaging Rabin’s humble happiness as he stood before the square, the teenagers cheering with signs as he left the stage, and then hearing the three gunshots, the blood blossoming on the speech he had put back in his pocket that had promised the people peace. Images denouncing Rabin before his death had drawn him in a Nazi uniform and once again I thought of the American president whose political opponents have also compared to Hitler for shock and visceral impact Shiri, our tour leader asks if people should have heeded the signs more, listened to threats and somehow prevented the assassination.
National tragedy exists everywhere. The collective shock, fear and sadness when the illusion of invincibility is shattered. It impacts politics and economics, it will be written about in history books but today, I was reminded that tragedy still exists vividly in the human memory of the place. Graffiti marks the wall directly across from the last staircase Yitzhak Rabin descended. One word stands out, bigger and more prominent than random markings and pictures: Slihah. Sorry.
By Dana S.
