I was there...
[Pagemaster's Note: This account was provided to me after the event. I am unsure of the origins of
the message, but thought it important to continue the process of sharing it.
This letter has nothing to do with magic or elves. It is only a story I
want to tell to all of you brothers and sisters of my soul. A story of
great grief I have to share, and I invite you to be the ones who share
it with me.
To makes things clear, I first want to say that the "il" in my address
stands for Israel. And just to be sure you know (though I know it was
broadcasted all over the world earlier this evening), our prime
minister, Rabin, was murdered this evening by a right-winged extremist
after speaking in a huge demonstration in support of the peace process.
I want to tell this story.
In the afternoon we went to the demonstration. It was a happy event -
not against anything, not to protest or fight, but to show support in
our government for it's efforts in building a new era of peace in this
wars-torn land. I don't know how many of you have ever been in such an
event - the sense of power is awesome. And it was huge. I estimate
there were about 150- 200 thousand people there. We were filled with a
wonderful feeling of joy, of hope, seeing so many around us, great
music, balloons, dancing, meeting friends. A festival. And when the
prime minister entered the stage, he was greeted by a thunder of
clapping hands. Not only because it was such a joyous event, but also
to show this man, a man that was cursed and spit upon and called
"traitor" by his adversaries time and again during the last few months,
a man that is blamed by them for every terrorist attack (because he
dares negotiate with the enemy), to show him people do believe in him
and admire what he does.
I went home after he spoke, trying to avoid traffic, thinking the
action was nearly over. Little did I know. About an hour after I got
home, we heard the news - Rabin was shot. The first thing that rushed
through my mind (after "shit!"), was "Kennedy". I am sorry to borrow on
your myth, Americans, but this is all I could think of. And then, "oh
gods, please let it end differently". But it didn't. I decided to send
a letter to the Elven Nation, asking you to use any healing powers you
might have to help him, but it was too late. He died on the operations
table and hour later. After a few phone calls, we went back to the same
square where the demonstration was held. People started to gather - not
as many as before, but they kept coming. Wearing black, bearing candles
and torches, engulfed in smoke. And we just sat there, watching the
white candles dripping tears, the red torches dripping blood. Crying,
hugging, singing softly (you wouldn't believe how many songs of war and
peace we have), shocked to our bones. It was warm at the demonstration,
but at two in the morning, it was getting so cold.
Every death is a tragedy. And Rabin was not an easy man. A hard man,
and a solider to the bone, which made him unpopular amongst both sides,
pro and con of the peace process. He was called "traitor" by both sides
(which only proves how well-fit he was for the job). But he lead this
peace process stubbornly, with full fait at heart. Being a soldier, he
was hated by many of the Arabs, but he also knew how much we need
peace. He has brought us to a point some of us see as a miracle in
being (my father, who fought in many wars with our neighbors, is going
as a tourist to Jordan. You have no idea how deeply he is moved by
that). And for that I loved and admired him, even though I didn't like
many of the things he did in his life. The peace process will go on.
It can not be stopped, not by one murder. But this act will definitely
intensify the atmosphere of hatred that divides my country. It is an
act of violence that will lead to others. It scares the hell out of me.
This is all. Tomorrow will probably be a day of national mourning. Now
all I have to do is takes a shower (after sitting in the middle of all
that smoke) and go to bed. But I keep seeing one picture. In the middle
of the square, someone used soul-candles (candles put on graves,
usually) to form one huge word. "Why?".
Yael