Dear Rabin

Ten years later, we are still looking for Rabin's successor

Shlomo Artzi|Published: 11.14.05 , 08:13

Dear Yitzhak,

You should know that this week, in the waning moments, your Labor Party voted for Amir Peretz, a corporal from the Armored Corps, not a decorated general, a simple guy from Sderot rather than a kibbutz. In doing so, they may have prevented the sun from finally setting on this tired party.

Amir Peretz rode the wave of successes this week, the man in the right place at the right time.

And you should know that everything began that night, when I resisted Gidi Gov's attempts to drag me to the demonstration and I went jogging instead. And all of a sudden I heard shrieks from the darkened streets, shouts that sounded like crying.

"Rabin's been killed, have you heard?"

And my heart, already beating fast from my run, pushed my in the direction of home where I camped out in front of the TV and realized that what I'd heard was true…

They really did kill you. And you should know that ten years later, every other street is called Rabin Street, and every third building is called the Yitzhak building for this, that or something else.

And you would laugh up there, your slow, heart-warming laugh, to know that Shimon Peres lost yet again… how pathetic.

And you should know that the night you were killed, the faith we had that no Israeli would strike out against a brother was also killed. Our innocence also died that night, and from then on, anything and everything has been permitted.

So many things were killed that night that it's impossible to remember everything, impossible to count them all.

And the guy who murdered you, if you don't know, is named Yigal Amir, from Herzliya. Hell-bent and eccentric, a cold blooded murderer who aimed his pistol and set the agenda that from now on, anything, and I mean anything, is permissible.

And this "anything" includes an entire repertoire of corrupt politicians, a clear connection between money and power, the rich who simply left the poor behind to fend for themselves. The polarization we saw this summer during the disengagement and even on the superficiality we culture as we see on television every day.

And you, who so loved to watch soccer on TV, you should know that once again we've missed out on the World Cup finals, and that reality TV has gone one-up on the reality of life, and we have terrorism here, and we have crazies, and we have small and large murders and insufferable violence and screwed-up education and a million other things.

Still searching

And you should know we are still searching for your successor and we elected and rejected the extrovert Netanyahu and the arrogant Barak and – you won't believe it – now we've got your good friend, 77-year-old Arik Sharon, because he's just about the only one we can trust, perhaps – yes, really – because he's the only one left who's like you in some way…

Ten years later, time has healed the wounds and dulled the memory, and the kids who cried over you are now 25-30-years-old, searching for the legacy you left behind in all those candles.

The candles they lit in your memory went out a long time ago. Many got married, have started losing their hair, and play the hi-tech game…

Hey, Rabin, you've become a street, a tree, building, intersection, and even the ceremony in the square repeats itself endlessly.

Your murderer wants to return to normal life. He got married and wants a child, and many people shamelessly say that one day he should be pardoned.

Maybe you're the only one who knows what your legacy is. If so could you let us know what it is? We simply can't figure it out.

This summer was Arik's "disengagement." Some people say this was your true legacy, but there is still no peace here. Sharon is just as suspicious of Arabs as you were, perhaps reasonably so. After all, they are still backwards, even after Arafat's death… yeah, he's gone too, you should know, but not murdered…

To our great sorrow (for most of us), since you were killed, we've learned to do no more than just survive, as the song goes, from day-to-day…

Left without a father

And by the way, not everything is that bad.

You should know that I complain more than a little, like everyone, because we didn't get into the World Cup, but we've won two Olympic medals, privatized the Bezeq phone company, gotten several Nobel prizes for science, and many good people help those in need get through one more day with a bit of self-respect.

But at the end of the day, we remain little children looking for a father.

Today, we understand something that you didn't, something that you never internalized. That there in the darkness, there is always some "evil that wants to kill the good."

Once, a couple of months before you were murdered, we sat together in a room and sang songs, accompanied by an accordion. You were the only one who didn't sing.

It really sucked. I waited and waited for you to sing, so I would know if you were for real or not. After 10 minutes I broke down and asked you respectfully (because I really wasn't enjoying myself because of you), "Tell me Yitzhak, Why aren't you singing?"

And you turned your head toward me, threw a small, torn look and said simply, "I'm embarrassed."