Here, in this very place, he stood but one week ago. Here, in those moments, he was a happy man, and from here he went to his death. And now, with your permission, I want to talk to him — something I can no longer do in this world.
Yitzhak,
If I could tell you only a fraction of what has happened since that moment, and of what is happening throughout the country ever since, you would find it difficult to believe.
I would have told you about three gunshots, two of which caused your death. You would not have believed me, because you never thought that this could happen to you. You have never given it a thought, not even for a single moment.
And I would have told you about what took place afterwards. How we parted from you — the dead. How we came back home without you — the home we loved so much and left just a few hours earlier — and now we are here — without you. And I would have told you about the coffin draped with the Israeli flag we passed in front of. And suddenly, you — who could never be stopped — are now in the coffin — and you don’t know anymore — and you are no longer with us. And since that tragic moment — the hundreds of thousands, the millions who came. And once more — the journey — following the coffin. How terrible. I rode with our children and grandchildren, behind your coffin. And the funeral — to which eighty of the world’s nations came to pay their last respects to you, from all around
the world. Yitzhak, "turn your eyes and see how they have gathered together and come to you" as is said in our tradition.
The coffin was before us, and eulogies were said, warm, beautiful, good, but when our Noa spoke, she shook the world’s foundations. The whole world wept with her. Yitzhak, you too would have wept.
And since then, Yitzhak, this immense, gigantic, stupendous yearning for you, for what you were for them, for the love, a very little of which you may have guessed, but the magnitude of which you could never have imagined. They come, and they come — and still they come. A whole country in deep mourning for a whole week now. A whole country has stood still and is weeping. They continue to come to your grave day and night, covering it in flowers. They light candles and leave letters — addressed to you.
And to this square, the Kings of Israel Square, thousands upon thousands keep pouring in, and thousands of candles burn in the Kings of Israel Square. And the youth sit on the ground and weep, and sing sad songs in your memory. And our street — the street to which evil people came with their banners week after week, is now also full of people from that night that followed the funeral. Most of them are young. And our home, which also became the focal point for many eyes, and where people keep coming and coming and coming to part from you — and to love you so. And within the house, we — myself, the children and grandchildren, and your sister, Rachel — are swamped by visitors and drowning in letters and telegrams. Thousands come to console and be consoled, and to part from you. Jews and Muslims, Christians and Druze and Circassians — children and youth and old people,
and thousands upon thousands of letters and drawings from all over the country.
Yitzhak, can you believe it? Please believe me, something has happened here the likes of which neither this country, nor possibly the world, has seen before. The shock of the murder has reverberated beyond the frontiers of this land, and people are mourning you across the Middle East and over the face of this planet.
I’m asked where I get the strength from, and my answer is — from you. From you, Yitzhak, for I was in the shadow of your immense strength for many years. And today, as I talk with you, I know that only this way would you like to see me — strong.
And this surge of love that reaches out to us is yours, but it too must be answered with gratitude — and I am here to thank you, all of you.
I want to tell you that your security men have also come. They weep, and I console them and their souls, and tell them: Yitzhak acted all those years with total faith in you. He didn’t think for a moment that something could happen to him because you were protecting him. And so I too lived my life calmly, for they were protecting you. And today I swear to them that I will never have any recriminations toward them over what happened. And from the way I feel and know you, I am certain that this is what you would have liked to tell them yourself, if only you could. It happened, and you did everything, and we shall always and ever believe in you, because you are so wonderful. Each and every one of you is wonderful, dedicated, and dear to us.
Yitzhak,
You know me, and you know that I’m always looking at the half-filled glass. And that is why I want to believe today that this terrible tragedy which has befallen me, us, all of us, that this horrible price that you and we have paid, was not a vain sacrifice. For we have risen from that nightmare to a different world, a world that relied on you, for which you signified what was good and right, and for whom you were a source of hope. For they knew that you were the hope for peace and for a better society.
But they relied on you too much, and let you fight alone — alone in the turret. They were too silent in the face of the writing on the wall, in the face of the shrieked disgrace and the horrifying incitement that you chose to ignore. And they were silent. And it was only that last evening a week ago, here in the Kings of Israel Square, that a crowd of many thousands came to show support for you and for your long and difficult road to peace. And you were encouraged and happy.
And now our wonderful youth know, as do the children and this entire country, that there can and must be no more silence. Now the voice of reason and right will be heard. Now the silent majority will become a majority no longer silent. A majority that will fortify and strengthen those who follow your road to peace.
Following my instincts, without of course the chance to talk with you, I phoned Shimon Peres and I told him, "You started the journey together. Be of strong heart! My children and I, the government and all to whom peace is dear, will help you. I turn to you, Shimon Peres, to continue leading the people of Israel to peace in the spirit that was Yitzhak."
Shalom, haver [goodbye, friend]. Dear and beloved haver. Father of my children, grandfather of my grandchildren, father and grandfather to so many wonderful children and youth. I’m not parting from you, but rest in peace — for you will live on with us forever.
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