This letter has nothing to do with magic or elves. It is only a story I want to tell to all of you brothers and sisters of my soul. A story of great grief I have to share, and I invite you to be the ones who share it with me.
   To makes things clear, I first want to say that the "il" in my address stands for Israel. And just to be sure you know (though I know it was broadcast all over the world earlier this evening), our prime minister, Rabin, was murdered this evening by a right-wing extremist after speaking in a huge demonstration in support of the peace process. I want to tell this story.
   In the afternoon we went to the demonstration. It was a happy event - not against anything, not to protest or fight, but to show support for our government in its efforts to build a new era of peace in this war-torn land. I don't know how many of you have ever been to such an event - the sense of power is awesome. And it was huge. I estimate there were about 150 to 200 thousand people there. We were filled with a wonderful feeling of joy, of hope, seeing so many around us, great music, balloons, dancing, meeting friends. A festival. And when the prime minister entered the stage, he was greeted by a thunder of clapping hands. Not only because it was such a joyous event, but also to show this man, a man that was cursed and spit upon and called "traitor" by his adversaries time and again during the last few months, a man that is blamed by them for every terrorist attack (because he dares negotiate with the enemy), to show him people do believe in him and admire what he does.
   I went home after he spoke, trying to avoid traffic, thinking the action was nearly over. Little did I know. About an hour after I got home, we heard the news - Rabin was shot. The first thing that rushed through my mind was "Kennedy." I am sorry to borrow on your myth, Americans, but this is all I could think of. And then, "oh Gods, please let it end differently." But it didn't. I decided to send a letter to the Elven Nation, asking you to use any healing powers you might have to help him, but it was too late. He died on the operating table an hour later. After a few phone calls, we went back to the same square where the demonstration had been held. People started to gather - not as many as before, but they kept coming. Wearing black, bearing candles and torches, engulfed in smoke. And we just sat there, watching the white candles dripping tears, the red torches dripping blood. Crying, hugging, singing softly (you wouldn't believe how many songs of war and peace we have), shocked to our bones. It was warm at the demonstration, but at two in the morning, it was getting so cold.
   Every death is a tragedy. And Rabin was not an easy man. A hard man, and a soldier to the bone, which made him unpopular on both sides, pro and con of the peace process. He was called "traitor" by both sides (which only proves how well-fit he was for the job). But he lead this peace process stubbornly, with full faith at heart. Being a soldier, he was hated by many of the Arabs, but he also knew how much we need peace. He has brought us to a point some of us see as a miracle in being (my father, who fought in many wars with our neighbors, is going as a tourist to Jordan. You have no idea how deeply he is moved by that). And for that I loved and admired him, even though I didn't like many of the things he did in his life. The peace process will go on. It cannot be stopped, not by one murder. But this act will definitely intensify the atmosphere of hatred that divides my country. It is an act of violence that will lead to others. It scares the hell out of me.
   This is all. Tomorrow will probably be a day of national mourning. Now all I have to do is take a shower (after sitting in the middle of all that smoke) and go to bed. But I keep seeing one picture. In the middle of the square, someone used soul-candles (candles put on graves, usually) to form one huge word: "Why?"

-Yael