It helps somewhat to know that the last time I saw him, he gave me a hug. Unfortunately, I cannot say I was a close friend, but he saw that I needed a caring gesture, and gave it freely.
We were in Washington on an official visit. Zvi, my husband, was the International Director of the Jerusalem 3,000 celebrations, and we were official guests — together with the Mayor of Jerusalem Ehud Olmert — at the opening ceremony for the American "Jerusalem 3,000" celebration. As we sat in the fantastic rotunda, flanked by the Senate on one side and the House of Representatives on the other, I glanced in wonder at the glory of the building and the imposing figures around us. Then, I saw a familiar face enter the room. He came in with his head bent, glancing around nervously from beneath lowered eyes. A profoundly shy man, Rabin regarded his fellow politicians with disdain, something he had difficulty hiding from his highly expressive face.
As he took in his surroundings and started to head for his seat among the American politicians, he spotted me.
In memory of Yitzhak Rabin
His expression changed from bored disdain to delight. His pace changed from a determinedly slow walk to a brisk canter, as he hurried toward me. When he reached me, in Hebrew he asked me how I was, was I managing without my neck brace, how was my flight over to the US, did I suffer from having to sit for so long. He carefully and gently, as a father to a child, gave me a hug, kissed my cheek, and went on his way, his expression just a little lighter than it had been before.
Two thousand extremely important people felt ignored. I could see them regarding me quizzically, unable to identify me. They couldn’t absorb the possibility that a politician would find a personal friend more important than the art of politiking.
Yitzhak Rabin was a very special man. He was a man who would constantly forget the names of politicians, but never forgot the name of one of his soldiers.
When he saw me, he saw a wounded soldier who had survived a battle with health and that, for him, was more important than anything else.
Nine days later, I was on the beach in Acapulco. A friend came stumbling over the sand, crying. His speech was jumbled, but I managed to make out the words "Rabin‘ and ’shot."
I went straight to my friends’ apartment, where they turned on the television. On CNN they were just announcing the death of my friend, and for many others, the death of a dream.
Peace will come, but Israel will never be the same. Have we learned from the horror that results from hatred of our fellow Jew? I don’t know.
This man, whose death brought tears to the eyes of Kings and Presidents, this shy, stubborn, tough and gentle man who was soldier first and politician second, who loved this country enough to overcome his innate introversion, is sorely missed. An entire generation says "Shalom Haver," but I remember his smile and that last hug.
With the tragic turn that the peace process has taken, I can’t help wondering what Rabin is thinking as he looks down on us.
Iran News
