This week was the 20th anniversary of the assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. This day holds tremendous significance every year, but somehow Rabin's message of peace and love seems to ring especially true today. The past week, my peers and I have been reflecting on Rabin's legacy and its relevance to Israel's present moment.
As I mentioned in my previous blog post, my school held an assembly a couple weeks ago in honor of Rabin. The students read poems, danced to a tune sung live by one female student, and told the story of Rabin's rise to power and actions toward peace. Although I did not understand all of the content, the tone of the performance communicated a clear message: one of sadness and loss, but overwhelming hope. The program did not so much reflect on the past as much as focus on the future. And in the days to follow, I found this sentiment present throughout the country as we remembered Yitzhak Rabin.
A few days later, the Yahelnikim had a learning session in which we analyzed media commemorating Rabin's death, from articles to satirical posters and even a song by HaDag NaChash, a popular Israeli rap group. From these discussions, I learned a few things. First, that Rabin's death resulted in an overwhelming sadness among both Israelis and Arabs. He committed his life and political career to the peace process, and was known for his "Land for Peace" diplomacy. This was the strategy behind the 1993 Oslo Accords, which partially relinquished Israeli control of the West Bank and Gaza to the Palestinian Authority led by Yasser Arafat.
Rabin was heavily criticized for this move. Although geared toward an end to violence, the Oslo Accords forced thousands of Jews out of their homes in Gaza and the West Bank, igniting the fury of the Israeli right wing. This ended up leading to his demise, as Rabin was assassinated two years later by a young Jew from this group. And this fact illuminates yet another reality to his death: that Rabin's murder symbolized not only the end of the peace process, but the fanaticism of right wing extremists who would rather see one of their own killed than land surrendered to Arabs. Many see the subsequent rise of Benjamin Netanyahu to power as a confirmation of the dominance of this political movement. Not only is Rabin's death sad for the assassination of a political leader, but because it allowed intolerance and extremism (on both sides) to fester for decades after the fact.
But that's not to say that this issue does not have its complexity. This is Israel, after all. In our session, I found that many of the media, both satirical and sincere, were permeated with a constant "What If?". The cynics insisted that, had Rabin lived, we would still be fighting Arabs for land and struggling for our own security. In contrast, the idealists elevate Rabin to an almost messianic level. They are convinced that had he lived, the entire country would live in total peace. I believe that both are oversimplifications, and understand that they, as with any media, serve a rhetorical purpose; it is almost too easy to idealize or criticize political leaders based on what might have been. But I worry that this distracts from what we can do to affect the current moment. How can we make sure that our leaders NOW are striving for justice, fairness, and peace?
The events of the week ended with a peace rally last Saturday at Rabin Square in Tel Aviv. There were appearances by Israeli activists, musicians, and statesmen-- notably current Israeli President Reuven Rivlin-- who declared that, in the face of terror, "Anachnu Lo Mef'chadim!" (We are not afraid). However, I was most struck by the words of President Bill Clinton. He spoke of his respect for Rabin as a diplomat and friend, and of his commitment to global humanity. And in no uncertain terms, he urged Israelis to honor their late Prime Minister by doing as Rabin would have done, and setting aside fear and pride in favor of compromise.
As a recent article in the Huffington World Post echoed, "'what would Rabin have done' is less about finding the truth than it is about determining whether the US-led Israeli-Palestinian process that Rabin embodied remains relevant". To me, Clinton's words on Saturday made this answer clear: Rabin's legacy is a vital guide for our actions now.
Land for Peace was an impossibly bold strategy; still, it may have genuinely resulted in peace. But times are different now. Gaza is falling apart, and the lack of infrastructure breeds extremism and violence. In the West Bank, Arab and Jewish settlements alternately thrive and clash, and relations have recently degraded to seriously concerning terror attacks. We must let Rabin's strategy guide us, but not fall into the trap of romanticizing a fallen leader. This is unproductive, and may even be harmful to negotiations. But still, we cannot give up on compromise; we cannot give up on peace.
I think what these weeks of reflection have shown me that, now, mere talk is not enough. It is not enough to commemorate Rabin with performances, speeches, and posters. Rabin acted decisively, and he gave his life for his convictions. On the night he was shot-- at a peace rally, no less-- he was asked to wear a bulletproof vest and refused. He was determined to feel safe among his own people. As we know, this turned into disaster. But if we are to find lasting security, such leaps of faith just might be necessary. For all you at home-- no, I'm not doing anything reckless. But, especially now, I am convinced of the importance of bold compromise in the name of what is right. As Clinton said on Saturday, "the next step will be determined by whether you decide that Yitzhak Rabin was right, that you have to share the future with your neighbors.. that the risks for peace are not as severe as the risk of walking away from it".
for the Rabin session, we were instructed to make our own poster depicting Rabin's legacy. my group chose to illustrate this by putting the late Prime Minister on a cracked pedestal, representing how his contributions to the peace process are simultaneously celebrated and over-idealized.
this is from my school's assembly honoring yitzhak rabin. the girls did several dances to songs about peace, and there were bulletin boards- faintly visible in this picture- with facts about the Prime Minister's life.
one of the musical performances from the peace rally in rabin square. i'm not sure of the musician's name, but she sang about peace and our sadness over rabin's death. as you can see to the left, many activists took this chance to publicize their message, relevant or not- the big banner at the top of the screen was protesting israel's oil dependence.
one of the musical performances from the peace rally in rabin square. i'm not sure of the musician's name, but she sang about peace and our sadness over rabin's death. as you can see to the left, many activists took this chance to publicize their message, relevant or not- the big banner at the top of the screen was protesting israel's oil dependence.
this is from my school's assembly honoring yitzhak rabin. the girls did several dances to songs about peace, and there were bulletin boards- faintly visible in this picture- with facts about the Prime Minister's life.
for the Rabin session, we were instructed to make our own poster depicting Rabin's legacy. my group chose to illustrate this by putting the late Prime Minister on a cracked pedestal, representing how his contributions to the peace process are simultaneously celebrated and over-idealized.