What Rabin’s Assassination and Oct. 7 Have in Common
This week we are remembering what was, until the October 7 massacre, one of the worst days in Israel’s history: the assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin thirty years ago.
Unfortunately, these two very different tragic days in Israel’s history share important elements of similarity that are critical to recognize as we move forward.
The most obvious was the internal context for the tragedies. Israeli society in each case was roiled by fierce infighting—what in Judaism is called sinat chinam, the baseless hatred of one another that was considered responsible for the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem.
At the time of the Rabin assassination, attacks on the Israeli government were becoming increasingly extreme regarding the Oslo peace agreement between Israel and the Palestinians. Those who saw the agreement as a disaster for Israel—on both ideological and security grounds—were calling the prime minister a rodef, which in religious terms could justify his killing. Meanwhile, supporters of the Oslo Accords felt the need to strengthen societal support for the agreement, which is why they were holding a mass rally in Tel Aviv that Saturday night.
Similarly, in the months leading up to October 7, divisions and hostility within Israel were reaching an all-time high over judicial issues between the government and the courts. To what extent these divisions and hostilities contributed to the lack of readiness and response on October 7 remains to be fully understood, though it clearly formed part of the broader context that enabled the disaster.
Second was the element of surprise in each event, even though there were plenty of indicators that there was something to worry about in both cases. An attitude of “it can’t happen here” prevailed on both occasions. Despite the widespread extreme rhetoric spreading through Israeli society over political developments, Israelis believed there were limits to internal violence and that, whatever language was being used, Israelis were not capable of sinking so low as to murder the prime minister of the country. Israel’s self-image wouldn’t allow it to believe that it could happen there, so not enough was done to react to the rising extreme rhetoric.
Similarly, prior to October 7, many in Israel came to believe that Hamas neither had the capability nor the intention to carry out an attack of such magnitude. Therefore, even when evidence of disturbing military preparations in Gaza emerged, it was ignored as not serious.
In each case, delusions triumphed over realistic concerns—with tragic results.
As we look forward on this 30th anniversary and consider the continuing relevance of that disastrous moment in Israeli history, two themes retain their importance: words matter and extreme words can kill; and never believe that “it can’t happen here.” The Rabin assassination should not make Israel paranoid or stifle free speech, but tolerance and respect require hard work and a commitment to democratic values that cannot be taken for granted.
Politically, much is made of the impact of the assassination on the peace process and on Israeli security. Like everything else, one’s answer depends on where you are coming from. Those on the right saw Rabin’s policies—followed by Ehud Barak’s willingness to cede territory to the Palestinians for peace at Camp David—as weakening Israel’s resolve and incentivizing terror. Those on the left saw opportunities through the Oslo Accords to change the dynamic in the region and among Palestinians, and viewed the assassination as undermining that process.
Thirty years after that sad day, it is vital that Israelis of all stripes recognize that disagreeing on difficult issues should not escalate into demonizing the other side and setting the stage for internal violence. In many ways, when people talk about the day after this horrific two-year war, the best thing Israelis can do is commit to maintaining the level of unity and respect in society that the people of Israel lived up to during the war because of the crisis, and translate it into an ongoing coming together. That would be the best thing that can be done to honor Rabin’s memory thirty years later.
