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Right past the upscale shopping mall on noisy, hectic Ibn Gvirol Street, in the heart of Tel Aviv, stands the city hall. A tall, gray, unimpressive, rather ugly building, visible from a distance. Only when you approach the building, do you see a small parking lot sandwiched in between the building and the mall. It all looks innocent enough.
But right in front of the parking lot, beside the stairs leading to the entrance of the city hall, is a monument made out of black rocks which seem as if they had once been one, but have broken away into smaller pieces. As if the ground had opened up and created chaos. The light from candles placed between the stones gives off an orange glow. And on one of the rocks are engraved the words that tell of the horror that took place here only three years ago: "Here at this place Prime Minister and Minister of Defense Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated on the fourth of November, 1995. His desire was for peace." Behind the monument, the Israeli flag moves gently in the wind on this balmy November day. Flowers and candles cover the stones. Amid the racket of rush hour traffic, a silence pervades the site.
Around the memorial, on the walls, we look around us and see graffiti in every imaginable space. The walls are covered with songs, poems, pictures, drawings of Rabin at various stages of his life: soldier, chief of staff, the prime minister giving a speech at the peace rally just minutes before he was shot down... Some portraits are better likenesses than others. Among the pictures and poetry we see messages to Rabin scribbled on the walls: "We miss you", "Goodbye, Friend", "Peace will prevail". A huge sign reading, as if begging: "Forgive us!" There is the occasional provocative political slogan: "Religious murder", "We won't forgive and we won't forget". Many notes have been written by young children: "I don't believe you're dead", "We will always love you."
These are the writings born out of pain - a final tribute to a great man who died a martyr for peace. They represent the sorrow of a nation whose hope was taken away. For some, this is Tel Aviv's Wailing Wall.
On a regular day, many pass the monument with only a brief glance before going back to their daily routine. People walk up and down the stairs, some slowly and thoughtfully, others as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened here. Occasionally, someone takes a moment to observe the pictures and writings at the memorial, to light a candle or just to think. Tourists can be seen lingering at the site longer than others, taking pictures, trying to absorb the atmosphere.
Not so on the days before and after November 4th.
On the first of November, the twelfth day of Heshvan, Memorial Day according to the Hebrew calendar, there is an atmosphere of quiet mourning. People sit singing songs, some standing and looking at the monument, TV crews filming, people lighting candles, others walking by and taking a short look before rushing off to their destinations.
Fourth of November: People come to put wreaths of flowers at the memorial site. Teenagers from youth movements sit in a circle, singing and lighting candles. One person stands and sketches Rabin's portrait. More film crews. Everyone who passes by stops for a few moments to stand in silence by the monument to pay their respects. One man holds a sign, protesting in support of Rabin's way. Parents bring their young children and softly explain what the memorial means and what happened (but do they understand themselves?) . One woman stands and cries.
Ninth of November: A bus with Japanese and Dutch tourists comes. As they take pictures a guide explains to them about the assassination. There are some people here lighting candles, not as many as five days ago. A woman stops with her granddaughter and tells her about the murder. An old woman leans on the police barriers surrounding the memorial, looking as though she's about to faint, but she picks up her head and keeps walking.
Always there is the strong sense of Tel Aviv: car fumes, the noise of traffic, people in a constant hurry somewhere, the Dunkin' Donuts shop adjacent to the shwarma restaurant across the street, the smell of salt from the sea. But here at this corner, in this city that never stops, time seems to stand still........
The modest memorial in Rabin Square serves as a reminder to us that we had something precious taken from us on November 4, 1995. The writing on the wall tells it all: "One dead, 5,000,000 wounded."
Graphic by Roni Hirsch
Written by : Yonatan Oleiski, Pamela Oren, Uri Alfassi, Hadar Bar-Shalom, Hagai Barmatz, Adi Barnir, Yoav Barak, Maya Geva, Aviram Gottfried, Naeri Johnson, Daphna Giniger, Roni Hirsch, Yuval Haring, Mouly Vidas, Daniel Zundiner, Hagar, Palgi-Hecker, Adi Talitman, Daniel Milstein, Danna Marco, Michael Nenner, Shelley Savitz, Tal Spivak, Andrea Perry, Tal Kirshboim, Tal Kling, Noa Rotkop, Gal Shoham, Uri Sherman, Karen Berman, Arnon Lavie
Maxine Tsvaigrach's 10th Grade Advanced English Class
Yigal Allon High School of the Arts and Sciences
Ramat HaSharon, Israel
November, 1998
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