Thirty years later, the candles still burn, the same speeches are recycled, and the only thing that really died that night — is the ability to talk honestly about what happened.

We don’t need a bumper sticker to remember who killed Rabin

Every November, like clockwork, Israel goes into collective emotional rehearsal mode.
The air cools, the talking heads warm up, and suddenly every channel, every school, and every politician remembers — “We must learn the lessons of Rabin’s assassination.”

And thus begins our annual national ceremony: The Rabin Festival — a mix of grief, nostalgia, political branding, and moral superiority, generously sponsored by the same corporations that overcharge you all year.

It’s not a memorial anymore. It’s a production.

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🎭 From Assassination to Event Management

There’s no denying it: Yitzhak Rabin’s assassination was a national trauma.
But what happened after it — is a cultural industry.

Within months, the tragedy became a narrative.
Television sanctified it. Schools canonized it. The Left trademarked it.
Suddenly, Rabin wasn’t a leader — he was a brand.

Instead of asking hard questions about political violence, about Oslo, about national division — the country was handed a ready-made myth.
A holy story, complete with background music, soft lighting, and a built-in villain: the Israeli Right.

🎭 From National Tragedy to National Product

Let’s be honest — Rabin’s assassination was a shock that cut deep.
But Israel being Israel, we don’t just mourn — we brand.
Within months, the tragedy became an asset.
The media adopted it, the schools sanctified it, and the cultural establishment found a new annual gig.

Every November, the same story plays out: “We must learn from the hatred,” say the same people who’ve spent the last year calling everyone fascists.
The same broadcasters who can’t tolerate a differing opinion suddenly rediscover “tolerance.”

And if you listen carefully, you can almost hear the cash registers in the background: sound checks, sponsorships, stage lighting — all in the name of “never again.”

🕯️ “The Murder of Democracy” — or Just the End of Monopoly?

The official narrative, still recited in classrooms, goes something like this:
On November 4, 1995, peace was murdered. Democracy was murdered. Hope was murdered.

But the unspoken truth?
What really died that night was the exclusive ownership of one political camp over Israeli morality.

After the assassination, being right-wing was like carrying a radioactive ID card.
No matter who you were — a soldier, a teacher, a bus driver — you were automatically guilty of “creating an atmosphere.”
It was the most brilliant political judo move in Israeli history: turn a national tragedy into an eternal guilt trip for half the country.

☮️ The Myth of the “Peace Path”

“Let’s continue Rabin’s path!” the slogans say every year.
Which path, exactly?
The one that brought Oslo? The one that warned about “defensible borders”? The one that said Jerusalem must remain united?

Here’s the inconvenient truth: the real Rabin — the soldier, the pragmatist — wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in today’s progressive Tel Aviv bubble.
He wasn’t a utopian. He was a security hawk with a handshake.
But a complex man doesn’t make a good poster, so we edited him down to a saint.
A secular martyr who exists mostly to remind the Left how pure it once was.

🎤 The Annual Ritual of Self-Righteousness

The memorial ceremony in Rabin Square isn’t really about Rabin.
It’s about us.
Or rather — about them. The “enlightened,” the “tolerant,” the “open-minded.”
Every year the same script: a few emotional songs, a few lectures about “hatred,” a few celebrities explaining why you — yes, you — need to reflect on your inner fascist.

Last year it was Aviv Geffen. This year it’s Noa Kirel (because nothing says “national trauma” like autotune and fireworks).
And the message never changes: if you’re on the Right, you’re still part of the problem.

🧠 The “Incitement” Industry

Since 1995, the word incitement has been used in Israel like duct tape: to shut down any uncomfortable conversation.
Criticize the Supreme Court? “Incitement.”
Question media bias? “Incitement.”
Dare to say Oslo was a mistake? Congratulations — you’ve learned nothing from history.

But the real lesson should’ve been the opposite:
When one camp monopolizes the language of “democracy” and uses it to silence others — that’s when democracy starts dying quietly.

📺 From Television to Textbooks

A generation has grown up since that night, and yet the education system still runs on the same 1996 VHS tape.
Students are told that hatred killed Rabin, but not that arrogance blinded a nation.
They’re told to feel guilt, not to think critically.
It’s not civic education — it’s moral conditioning.

And somehow, the more we preach “tolerance,” the less room there is for disagreement.

🕍 What About Forgiveness?

Every year the ceremonies speak of “reconciliation,” but reconciliation starts with equality — not submission.
It means admitting that the Left doesn’t own the franchise on democracy, peace, or pain.
That not every conservative voter is a would-be assassin, and not every criticism is a crime.

Real unity doesn’t come from another stage show at Rabin Square.
It comes from letting go of the moral hierarchy built on his grave.

⚡ The Festival Instead of the Reckoning

And so, three decades later, we still gather, still cry on cue, still lecture each other — and still refuse to ask what really went wrong.
Because facing the truth would mean admitting that Oslo failed, that society fractured long before the shots were fired, and that sanctimony won’t fix it.

Rabin deserves remembrance.
But the annual spectacle? That belongs to marketing.

Final Verse:
Rabin was murdered, and we all lost something.
But the ones who turned his death into a political loyalty test — they’re the ones who really buried dialogue.

Thirty years on, maybe it’s time to end the festival and start the conversation.
Because democracy wasn’t murdered in 1995.
It’s just been held hostage ever since — complete with candles, stage lighting, and corporate sponsorship.

Yitzhak Rabin deserves remembrance — not branding.
He deserves truth — not myth.
And Israel deserves to stop treating November as an annual reminder of guilt, and start treating it as a chance to talk like grownups again.

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