As a child of Israel’s periphery, I learned from Rabin we must be equal – and we must be one
Rabin’s death changed my life and taught me that I cannot despair. Image by Yehuda Blum
This essay is part of a collection of essays commemorating the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin. The collection was produced in partnership with BINA: The Jewish Movement for Social Change.
Every November, when the State of Israel comes together to remember Yitzhak Rabin of blessed memory, a number of personal flashbacks rush through my mind.
The year is 1976. As a six-year-old child in the town of Yeruham, I squeeze my way into a large crowd to get a glimpse of the great man who has come to us for a festive visit. I stand, waiting, filled with expectation near a line of excited people, and I see the motorcade approach from afar. The vehicle stops and out steps an impressive man, one like no other.
Michael Biton
As per the local custom, the people of Yeruham greet him with water, salt, and bread, and I remember to this day how I felt his kind face imprinting itself upon my heart.
Twelve years later, in 1988, I vote in elections for the first time. I vote for the right-wing Tehiya party, led by Hanan Porat and Geula Cohen.
Still, that doesn’t stop me, four years later, in 1992, from believing in change and voting for Rabin. He impressed me immensely. I saw in him a man whose words and heart mirrored each other, a man who didn’t put on a show. I believed him and I believed in him.
Two more years go by, and I return to Israel from a year of studying abroad in the United States, landing right in the midst of one of the most difficult years the State of Israel has ever known: the abduction and murder of Nachshon Wachsman, buses blowing up in the streets, and an overall mood of despair.
On that Saturday night in November, we left my wife’s home in Jerusalem and debated whether we should go to the protest in Tel Aviv. In the end, we decided to continue on to Yeruham. On the way, we heard “Shir Lashalom,” the song for peace, live on the radio and we were filled with excitement and hope.
Then, at 9:45 p.m. we heard the first news report that Rabin had been shot. When we finally parked our car in Yeruham a little after 11:15 p.m., we heard the shaken voice of Eitan Haber, of blessed memory, announcing with shock, in the name of the Government of Israel, that the Prime Minister was dead. I still quake every time I recall that moment, when we didn’t want to believe that this could possibly be the new reality of our lives.
At five o’clock in the morning, impelled by forces somewhere within myself, I took a bus to Jerusalem to be part of the masses accompanying Rabin on his final journey.
There were masses of people on the Knesset plaza, and I, just a young student, looked down from the menorah on the hill upon the coffin of the Prime Minister, and cried and cried.
This was without a doubt one of the pivotal moments in my life.
Looking back 25 years later, I can say with certainty, this was also a pivotal moment in the life of our nation, and in the life of Israel’s fragile democracy.
It was the end of an era. An era of courageous leaders, who made critical, long-lasting decisions on issues of society, peace and security.
Rabin and Begin before him, may their memories be a blessing, paved the path of peace. More than any other Israeli prime ministers, they understood that social and economic disparities were also an existential threat to the state.
They were entrepreneurs of peace and social entrepreneurs. Rabin invested tremendous budgets in education for Israel’s periphery. And Begin, who signed the peace accord with Egypt, carried out a project to rehabilitate underprivileged neighborhoods and poured billions of shekels into the periphery.
It is hard to know what would have been if Rabin hadn’t been assassinated. One can only speculate. But the courage of this one-of-a-kind leader to make difficult diplomatic and social decisions while maintaining his internal authenticity in a harsh political environment, even when he and his actions weren’t the most popular, is a light and an inspiration for me, and I strive with all my might to make my life worthy of that goal.
What has happened to our democracy since then? Starting that very evening and ever since, it has continued to bleed and has become even more conflicted and polarized.
Democracy in Greek means rule of the people, but the people in Israel refuse to rule. They refuse to make decisions and choose their leaders in a decisive manner. We have had three rounds of elections, and we are still on the cusp of a possible fourth round — an unprecedented situation for Israeli politics and society.
The nation is divided equally in two, and each half is trying to impose itself upon the other, without understanding that a decision made totally with only the interests of one side in mind causes almost irreparable damage, both to the other side and to the delicate fabric of our society.
When I look at the young generation, I know that we have not given them peace, not within our home or with our neighbors. We have failed in this fateful mission.
My children are already in the army. One is a combat soldier, one an intelligence officer, one has completed her military service, and my two youngest children are on their way toward the IDF. And they all live in an age of lost innocence.
But they will not let us off the hook, and we mustn’t let ourselves off the hook either, not when it comes to the hope for peace, which is being renewed again with the peace accords with the UAE and Bahrain, and not when it comes to finding creative solutions and making compromises.
Meanwhile, until we achieve our long-awaited peace, we must strive to do whatever we can to reduce disparities in Israeli society, to bridge different identities and ethnic backgrounds, to respect the right of the Palestinians to live a life of dignity with minimal infringement on their rights, and hope that conditions will be created in the future that will allow for a final resolution.
Rabin’s legacy and Israel’s crisis of leadership are not only a matter for Israel’s leaders, but an obligation of every one of us. We must act and take initiative. We must work to make an impact in the communal sphere, in civil society and in politics, whether as politicians or as private citizens, and we must fight against processes that work to the contrary.
Rabin’s legacy is also the decision not to despair and not to give up. To keep fighting even when it seems that other powers that be are responsible. To strive, to fulfill, to pursue justice and social concern, to go to the Galilee and the Negev.
As the minister in the Government of Israel responsible for civil matters in the Ministry of Defense, I can say with determination that we will do all that we can to continue on the path Rabin paved for us. We will continue to protect our security and at the same time strive for peace.
This is his testament, and it is our obligation to him.
Michael Biton serves as a Minister in Israel’s Ministry of Defense. He was mayor of Yeruham from 2010 to 2018.
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