Mr. Speaker, I yield myself such time as I may consume, and I rise in strong support of this resolution. Mr. Speaker, the resolution before the House today honors the memory of one of the 20th…
Mr. Speaker, I yield myself such time as I may consume, and I rise in strong support of this resolution.
Mr. Speaker, the resolution before the House today honors the memory of one of the 20th century's most remarkable leaders.
It has now been more than a decade since Yitzhak Rabin was laid to rest. Just 3 weeks ago, it was my great honor to represent the Congress at the official remembrance ceremony for Prime Minister Rabin at his grave on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem. It was a deeply emotional event and a spell-binding experience.
Rabin was eulogized by many, but none spoke more eloquently and with more feeling than former President Bill Clinton and our current Secretary of State, Dr. Condoleezza Rice.
As is the custom in Israel, I placed rocks on the graves of both Yitzhak Rabin and his wife, Leah, who were friends of mine and my wife, Annette, as well.
I was privileged to attend the opening of the Yitzhak Rabin Center for Israeli Studies housed in Tel Aviv in a building designed by the incredibly talented architect Moshe Safdie. Through exhibits, seminars and scholarship, it will serve as an appropriate and permanent memorial to the late, great Prime Minister.
Many of us in this Chamber remember where we were and what we were doing and the devastation we felt on November 4, 1995, as if the tragedy had happened just moments ago. I was reading a book about Abraham Lincoln, the first American President to be assassinated. I remember telling my wife that despite all their difficulties, troubles and turmoil, the Israelis at least escaped seeing their leaders assassinated; and an hour later, the television reported that Rabin had just been shot to death.
Rabin's life was more majestic than the moment of his murder was horrible, powerful as the memory of that moment is. His life was rich with legendary achievements and, as befits the first native-born Israeli to lead his Nation, his life was also rich with symbolism:
He played a key role in Israel's War of Independence, and he was critical, of course, to Israel's historic success in the Six-Day War. As Ambassador to the United States, he helped lay the groundwork of U.S. support for Israel in the Yom Kippur War. His honest, piercing insights and sometimes gruff style seemed to epitomize a Nation renowned both for brilliance and directness.
In his last years, at times he publicly reflected on the meaning of peace and war and life and death. And, when he did so, he surprised many of us by revealing in a gravelly voice and in incongruously defined tones, a soul seemingly forged by the psalmists and the profits.
His story has been told and retold many times and is familiar to most of us. As a youth, he turned down a British mandate scholarship that would have allowed him to study hydraulic engineering at Berkeley, my alma mater, and perhaps pursue a life of more conventional success. Instead, he anchored his life to serving his people and his homeland. He became a warrior, a strategist, a politician, a diplomat, a statesman, and a peacemaker. He became a general, a chief of staff, an ambassador, a defense minister, and a prime minister.
My wife, Annette, and I were privileged to know him in all of his various roles. We knew him and his wife Leah well, and we loved them dearly. Rabin was already a giant of Israeli history when he initiated the period of intense peacemaking that began with the Oslo agreement. For all his many legendary accomplishments, it is that period that dominates our memory of him, in part because it contrasted so sharply with the military glories of his past and because he was cruelly and tragically forced to exit the scene before he found out if his labors for peace would bear fruit.
President Clinton has said that there undoubtedly would have been peace had Rabin lived. I am not so sure. But we will never know for certain. It is more than possible that Rabin's best efforts would have been thwarted by the devious and malevolent Arafat, just as the best efforts of Rabin's successors were.
But I do know this, Mr. Speaker. Rabin would have signed a final peace agreement only if he were absolutely convinced that it would enhance the security of the democratic State of Israel. The one final peace agreement he did sign, the treaty with Jordan, is today the sturdiest of all Israel's various agreements with Arab States, and Yitzhak was a peacemaker with a spine of steel.
To me, one aspect of Rabin's life stands out above all others. He was a leader. Shimon Peres said it well of Prime Minister Rabin at his funeral, calling him ``a rare leader, capable of uprooting mountains and blazing trails, of designating a goal and achieving it.''
Many qualities contributed to his supreme leadership skills, not least his thorough identification with his people, their aspirations, their anguish, and their sorrows. But his extra dimension, what made him a special leader, a giant among giants, was his remarkable intellect and his capacity for intellectual growth. As he aged, his mind seemed to grow ever more keen and supple. When he signed the agreement with Arafat in 1993, he explained it in part by saying that the Iraqi missiles that rained down on Tel Aviv convinced him that territory alone would not bring security, and that the intifada of 1987 had convinced him that Israel could never forever rule angry and hostile people.
When he embraced peace, Rabin implicitly created an operational paradigm for a two-state solution, subsequently adopted by our own government, a paradigm that remains at the heart of all realistic visions of peace today, a paradigm that has been embraced and elaborated upon by some of his fiercest critics.
Above all, Rabin believed passionately in democracy and its values. In his final speech, at the peace rally in Tel Aviv, and President Clinton and Condoleezza Rice and several of us, several tens of thousands of us attended a similar rally at the same place 3 weeks ago, his final speech indicated that he was aware of foreboding intelligence reports because he warned, and I quote, ``violence undermines the very foundations of democracy. Controversies may arise in democracy, but the decision must be reached through Democratic elections.'' Moments later, he became a martyr to a gunshot.
Today, 10 years after the tragedy, we look at Rabin even with the clear-headedness that was his own hallmark, and we recognize him as one of the towering figures of our lifetime. We miss him, but we are guided by his multiple legacy of courage and wisdom and belief in the unflagging importance of U.S.-Israeli friendship and his intertwined commitment to security and peace.
It is very appropriate that our body honor the memory of one of our great late friends, Mr. Speaker. I strongly support this legislation, and I urge all of my colleagues to do so.
Mr. Speaker, I yield 4 minutes to the gentleman from New York (Mr. Engel).
Mr. Speaker, I want to commend my friend from New York for drafting this most important resolution.
Mr. Speaker, I have no additional requests for time, and I yield back the balance of my time.
Mr. Speaker, on that I demand the yeas and nays.