[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 147 (2001), Part 15]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page 21155]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



ADDRESS OF FORMER SECRETARY OF STATE MADELEINE ALBRIGHT AT THE MEMORIAL 
                   SERVICE OF YITZHAK AND LEAH RABIN

                                 ______
                                 

                            HON. TOM LANTOS

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                       Tuesday, October 30, 2001

  Mr. LANTOS. Mr. Speaker, at a singularly moving memorial service for 
the late Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and his lifelong partner Leah at 
the Embassy of Israel, our former distinguished Secretary of State, 
Madeleine Albright, spoke eloquently and with deep feeling about the 
contribution of this extraordinary couple, to peace and civilized life 
in the turbulent Middle East. I am delighted to share with my 
colleagues Dr. Albright's remarks.

Address of Former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright at the Memorial 
                   Service of Yitzhak and Leah Rabin

       Ambassador Ivry, Sara Ehreman, distinguished guests and 
     friends, I am honored to be here with you tonight. Many of 
     you had the privilege of knowing former Prime Minister Rabin 
     better than I, but I do have some wonderful memories of my 
     own about this warrior who made a strategic decision for 
     peace.
       I met the Rabins when he served as Ambassador here, and we 
     had a number of encounters when I was UN Ambassador, some 
     formal, some less so. I kept a picture of the two of us at 
     dinner in New York, in my office throughout my tenure as 
     Ambassador and Secretary. In my mind, however, the most 
     dramatic picture of him was on that September day on the 
     White House lawn, when he at first reluctantly and then 
     firmly shook hands with Chairman Arafat. As he would say, you 
     do not make peace with your friend.
       Although by the time I knew Yitzhak Rabin, he had gray 
     hair; I fully understand why Leah had years before fallen in 
     love with a man with a full head of hair and what she 
     described as ``the eyes of David.'' He still had those 
     amazing eyes.
       Four years ago, when I made my first major speech on the 
     Middle East, I wore this pin, shaped like a dove, a gift from 
     Leah. Soon thereafter, I saw her in Israel, and she gave me 
     this necklace, along with a note saying that sometimes a dove 
     needs reinforcements. So I am in debt to the Rabins, but for 
     far more than the jewelry.
       I will not presume to speak for any of you, but for myself. 
     I am in debt to Yitzhak Rabin for what he has given me, which 
     is an abiding and perhaps illogical sense of hope. In my new 
     life, I still give speeches, and am expected to make sense, 
     even about the Middle East. But I have begun to think, ``what 
     is there left to say?'' Remember what King Hussein called for 
     that day in Aqaba when Israel and Jordan made peace? ``No 
     more death, no more misery, no more suspicion, no more fear, 
     no more uncertainty of what each day may bring.'' Seven years 
     later, what is it we have, except death, misery, suspicion, 
     fear and uncertainty of what each day may bring? If there is 
     any answer to that question it is the example of Yitzhak 
     Rabin.
       The former Prime Minister was no dreamer or sentimentalist. 
     He was a doer and a realist. No one was more dedicated to 
     Israel's survival, security and success. No one was more 
     rigorous in drawing the distinction between right and wrong. 
     No one was more fiercely patriotic on Israel's behalf. And no 
     Israeli leader, before or since, has inspired such trust 
     among Palestinians and Arabs.
       It is making too much of one man to believe that if Rabin 
     were still here, it would all be different. But how I wish we 
     could test that hypothesis. I suspect, however, that if he 
     WERE here tonight, he would scoff and tell us that our 
     responsibility is not to honor him, or to think about what 
     might have been. Our responsibility is to clean up the mess 
     we are now in.
       He would tell us, Israeli and American, to put aside any 
     differences we might have, and to stand together, with all 
     who love freedom and cherish peace, to defeat terror, and 
     conquer the hate outside us while preventing its growth 
     within us. He would remind us that our common fate is in our 
     hands. Our common inspiration is in the history of resilience 
     and determination that characterize our two nations. Our 
     common strength is in our shared faith that free people 
     working together can achieve miracles.
       According to scripture there is a season to everything. Now 
     is not the season for pious platitudes and empty words. It is 
     a time of testing, of walking through the wilderness, of 
     avoiding the sinking sand, and searching for solid rock. And 
     yet, as we gather here tonight to honor a man, share 
     memories, and rededicate ourselves to the principles for 
     which he died, we are not afraid; we are confident, because 
     we know from experiences what terror can and cannot do. 
     Terror can turn life to death, laughter to tears, and shared 
     hopes to sorrowful memories. It can destroy a marketplace and 
     bring down towers that scraped the sky. It can even cause us 
     to hold our breath while opening an envelope. But it cannot 
     deprive us of our love for liberty or our solidarity with one 
     another; it cannot make us retreat from our responsibilities 
     or abandon our commitments; it cannot drive a wedge between 
     America and Israel; and it will not prevail.
       Last night we turned our clocks back a single hour, marking 
     the end of daylight savings time. It's all we have the power 
     to do. We cannot turn back the calendar to September the 
     eleventh, 2001, or November the fourth, 1995. We cannot alter 
     the past. We cannot bring back the countrymen and leaders we 
     have lost. We have no choice but to face reality.
       But we CAN choose to be animated by hope, not fear; to 
     acknowledge the presence of evil in this world, but never 
     lose sight of the good; to endure terrible blows, but never 
     give in to those who would have us betray our principles or 
     surrender our ideals. We can choose the path that we know in 
     our hearts would have been chosen by Yitzhak Rabin. The path 
     of strength matched by compassion, of courage reinforced by 
     faith. By so doing, we can be sure that the perpetrators of 
     terror will fail in whatever purpose they have; and that 
     America, Israel and all who love freedom will continue toward 
     our rightful purpose of creating a more just and peaceful 
     future for us and for all people.

     

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