GUEST COLUMN: One year later, remembering Rabin

Sarah Weiss was studying nSarah Weiss was studying nIsrael when then-Prime MinisterSarah Weiss was studying nIsrael when then-Prime MinisterYitzhak Rabin was assassinated. Sarah Weiss was studying nIsrael when then-Prime MinisterYitzhak Rabin was assassinated. I could never quite understand when members of my parents' generation would talk about where they were and what they were doing when word of The Assassination reached them. While I realized the major impact the 1963 murder of John F. Kennedy had on American society and how his death marked the end of an era, I was unable to appreciate fully how such an event could leave a permanent mark on the memory of an entire generation. Then I understood. I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news, on the 12th day of the Jewish month of Cheshvan, November 4 in the U.S. I had just returned from a weekend away, and I was on the phone with a friend who was dividing her attention between our conversation and Crocodile Dundee II. All of a sudden she said, "Oh my God! Rabin's been shot. Turn on your radio!" and hung up the phone. I turned on my radio and listened in disbelief. Although initial reports stated that Rabin was still alive, we all knew the truth. After hearing confirmation of his death, I spent the night sitting up in bed, awake and numb, unable to grasp what had just occurred. The next day, after attending a short memorial service at Hebrew University in Jerusalem, I -- along with what seemed to be the entire population of Israel and then some --went to view Rabin's casket, on display at the Knesset (Israeli Parliament). For four hours, I waited in the blazing sun in the midst of thousands of people pushing and shoving to advance in the "line." I kept asking myself why we were there. If it was simply a matter of showing respect for a fallen leader, why was everyone yelling and screaming and shoving his neighbors? Were we in a hurry? Looking back now, I have begun to understand what was occurring at the time. While we waited, we still refused to believe it had actually happened. We were all pushing to the front to confirm that it wasn't really true. For us, Rabin was still alive. Finally, we reached the entrance of the Knesset and saw the casket. The first tears began to flow. Then we were silent. This silence remained, hanging over the country like a heavy cloud, for the rest of the week. I remember taking the bus to the funeral the next day, for example. I had traveled on buses in Israel hundreds of times before and had always been impressed by the cacophonous din. Indeed, riding the bus in Israel is quite an "experience," complete with angry drivers, busy-body grandmothers, shouting old men, praying rabbis, rowdy teens and pushy mothers with their screaming babies -- all crowded together and competing for the same air-space. But on the way to the funeral, even on the bus, you could hear a pin drop. When I arrived to view the funeral procession, most streets were blocked off to traffic. People, many with tear-streaked faces, simply wandered about aimlessly, like zombies. It all seemed like some surreal nightmare. The worst thing was that no one could console their neighbor; we were experiencing a national crisis to which no one was immune. Everyone was in mourning. Everyone was in pain. A mood of despair prevailed throughout Israel in the wake of Rabin's assassination. But even so, one small gesture in the chaos of the funeral procession gave me reason to hope. A yeshiva student who had been distributing water handed me an essay written by the late Rabbi Zvi Yehuda Kook, the highly revered first chief rabbi of Israel. Rabbi Kook's piece dealt with the importance of mutual respect, and I will conclude with his final paragraph, which offers a universal message: "My brothers and sisters? as long as we chose that which unites and connects us, which is far greater than that which splits and divides us, as long as we direct our hearts and our intentions to the public interest, there will be more opportunity for mutual understanding and common ground between us, [and] peace will grow, as will the success and glory of our name." n The University community will observe the anniversary of Rabin's death tonight, the 12th of Cheshvan on the Israeli (lunar) calendar. The memorial will begin at 7:30 p.m. with a vigil on College Green, and will continue at 8 p.m. in Houston Hall.