Today marks the anniversary of the death of former Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin Zichrono l’vracha (of blessed memory).

Even if you are reading this tomorrow, or several days from now, in honor of this day I decided to write this story despite the fact that it happened before I was born.

Sunday – this dark day grew closer and arrived

And I was the only one wondering at the silence.

The bird didn’t sing, the bull didn’t rage

The driver didn’t honk his horn, nobody spoke.

The thief didn’t steal, the murderer didn’t murder

The genius didn’t answer, and the fool didn’t question

And nothing broke the silence.

I looked at the clock that sat on the table and I wondered why my mother didn’t awaken me. I got ready to go to school.

My mother sat on the sofa and I wondered what could have possibly happened as the smile faded from her lips. Then she understood that I needed a clue – “What happened here?”

She answered softly, as if she herself didn’t want to hear. “It happened”.

“Yitzhak Rabin is dead”.

Maya Gvili – 9 years old

Gilo, Jerusalem

2007