16-years since the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, the public square next to where he was killed is filled with only ten-thousand. 15-years ago I stood in the same spot with more than one-hundred thousand mourners.
I was 18-years-old, 3-months in Israel and living on Kibbutz Maagan Michael. I did not understand most of what was being said, my Hebrew was not yet very good. But with the songs whose music I did not yet know, and the speeches whose words I could not yet decifer, I made a fateful decision that would change my life forever.
As the national anthem was sung and the lump in my throat gave way to tears, I decided that I would become a citizen of this country. I wanted to be part of it all. I felt that through tragedy there could be hope. I was idealistic, and admitedly so, incredibly naive.








