MembersSorry, But I Didn’t Kill Rabin

On November 4, 1995, I was sitting with a good friend at a coffee shop just 50 yards from Tel Aviv’s Kings of Israel Square.

By Oria Amrani |
Photo: Miriam Alster/Flash90

I had just started my journey toward a bachelor’s degree in Political Science at Tel Aviv University. The air was filled with a sense of new beginnings. The square was filled to overflowing with people who had come to participate in the “peace rally” organized by the Israeli left. There were also a great many policemen, as well as undercover security personnel.

Suddenly, out of the tumult rang what sounded like gunfire. I jumped to my feet. “What was that? Did you hear it?” I asked my companion. “Yes, probably just firecrackers,” came the nonchalant reply. Not realizing the reason for the developing commotion, we decided to leave the place, only to realize that by the time I got home, the State of Israel had forever changed.

T he shots I had heard were real. And they had claimed the life of Israel’s prime minister. It was a political assassination. The assassin has a name, Yigal Amir, a right-wing activist, a student who decided to take fateful action against the so-called “Oslo Accord,” signed two years earlier by Yithak...

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