Thirty years after his assassination, what remains to commemorate about what Yitzhak Rabin stood for? On November 4, Israelis and their representatives will have something to say about what happened that day, when ultra-nationalist religious activist Yigal Amir killed the man who had just spoken out in favor of the peace process. What will the admirers of the assassin, some of whom sit in the government, and more generally the camp of opponents to the path opened up by Rabin, have to say? And what will those who have not forgotten the hope, however aborted, that Rabin represented have to say in response? This week, before returning next week to the political consequences of the assassination, we are publishing excerpts from Denis Charbit’s latest book: Yitzhak Rabin, la paix assassinée ? Une mémoire fragmentée [ET: Yitzhak Rabin, the assassinated peace? A fragmented memory] (Éditions Lattès). It recalls the context of the time and, above all, the impossible and paradoxical commemoration of November 4 that has taken place ever since. For in a deeply divided country, it is Rabin’s political opponents who clearly state their game of deception: “We have a moral duty to commemorate him and a political duty to forget him.”
For the exilic tradition, forgetting is a betrayal. However, the reactionary variant of Zionism that is in power in Israel often betrays, rendering unrecognizable what it claims to represent, starting with the spirit of Zionism itself. In his text, German historian Michael Brenner restores what has been buried in the thinking of the founding fathers of the State of Israel. Reviewing the writings of Theodor Herzl, David Ben-Gurion, and even Vladimir Ze’ev Jabotinsky, he highlights how each of them expressed their commitment to the ideals of civic equality and peaceful coexistence between peoples.
Lastly, in this issue we mark a remarkable milestone: the centennial of the Jewish Scientific Institute known as the YIVO. Macha Fogel met with historian Cécile Kuznitz to delve into a century of cultural resilience and intellectual ambition, showing how an institute born in Vilnius evolved into a global hub for Ashkenazi heritage and Yiddish scholarship. More than a retrospective, we are continuously confronted with the transformations and challenges of preserving identity across time and place—posing crucial questions about the role of memory, language, and cultural transmission in a changing world.
