如题所述
Your Majesties，
My People and the Foreign
Minister of Israel Shimon Peres，
Distinguished Guests，
At an age when most youngsters are struggling to unravel the
secrets of mathematics and the mysteries of the Bible； at an
age when first love blooms； at the tender age of sixteen， I
was handed a rifle so that I could defend myself.
That was not my dream. I wanted to be a water engineer. I
studied in an agricultural school and I thought being a water
engineer was an important profession in the parched Middle
East. I still think so today. However， I was compelled to
resort to the gun.
I served in the military for decades. Under my
responsibility， young men and women who wanted to live， wanted
to love， went to their deaths instead. They fell in the
defense of our lives.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
In my current position， I have ample opportunity to fly over
the State of Israel， and lately over other parts of the Middle
East as well. The view from the plane is breathtaking；
deep-blue seas and lakes， dark-green fields， dune-colored
deserts， stone-gray mountains， and the entire countryside
peppered with white-washed， red-roofed houses.
And also cemeteries. Graves as far as the eye can see.
Hundreds of cemeteries in our part of the world， in the
Middle East —— in our home in Israel， but also in Egypt， in
Syria， Jordan， Lebanon. From the plane's window， from the
thousands of feet above them， the countless tombstones are
silent. But the sound of their outcry has carried from the
Middle East throughout the world for decades.
Standing here today， I wish to salute our loved ones —— and
past foes. I wish to salute all of them —— the fallen of all
the countries in all the wars； the members of their families
who bear the enduring burden of bereavement； the disabled
whose scars will never heal. Tonight， I wish to pay tribute to
each and every one of them， for this important prize is
theirs.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
I was a young man who has now grown fully in years. In
Hebrew， we say， 'Na'ar hayiti， ve-gam zakanti' [I was a young
man， who has grown fully in years]. And of all the memories I
have stored up in my seventy-two years， what I shall remember
most， to my last day， are the silences： The heavy silence of
the moment after， and the terrifying silence of the moment
before.
As a military man， as a commander， as a minister of defense，
I ordered to carry out many military operations. And together
with the joy of victory and the grief of bereavement， I shall
always remember the moment just after taking such decisions：
the hush as senior officers or cabinet ministers slowly rise
from their seats； the sight of their receding backs； the sound
of the closing door； and then the silence in which I remain
alone.
That is the moment you grasp that as a result of the
decision just made， people might go to their deaths. People
from my nation， people from other nations. And they still
don't know it.
At that hour， they are still laughing and weeping； still
weaving plans and dreaming about love； still musing about
planting a garden or building a house —— and they have no idea
these are their last hours on earth. Which of them is fated to
die？ Whose picture will appear in the black frame in
tomorrow's newspaper？ Whose mother will soon be in mourning？
Whose world will crumble under the weight of the loss？
As a former military man， I will also forever remember the
silence of the moment before： the hush when the hands of the
clock seem to be spinning forward， when time is running out
and in another hour， another minute， the inferno will erupt.
In that moment of great tension just before the finger pulls
the trigger， just before the fuse begins to burn； in the
terrible quiet of the moment， there is still time to wonder，
to wonder alone： Is it really imperative to act？ Is there no
other choice？ No other way？
'God takes pity on kindergartners，' wrote the poet Yehudah
Amichai， who is here with us this evening —— and I quote his：
'God takes pity on kindergartners，
Less so on the schoolchildren，
And will no longer pity their elders，
Leaving them to their own，
And sometimes they will have to crawl on all fours，
Through the burning sand，
To reach the casualty station，
Bleeding.'
For decades， God has not taken pity on the kindergartners in
the Middle East， or the schoolchildren， or their elders. There
has been no pity in the Middle East for generations.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
I was a young man who has now grown fully in years. And of
all the memories I have stored up in my seventy-two years， I
now recall the hopes.
Our people have chosen us to give them life. Terrible as it
is to say， their lives are in our hands. Tonight， their eyes
are upon us and their hearts are asking： How is the power
vested in these men and women being used？ What will they
decide？ Into what kind of morning will we rise tomorrow？ A day
of peace？ Of war？ Of laughter？ Of tears？
A child is born in an utterly undemocratic way. He cannot
choose his father and mother. He cannot pick his sex or color，
his religion， nationality or homeland. Whether he is born in a
manor or a manger， whether he lives under a despotic or
democratic regime is not his choice. From the moment he comes，
close-fisted， into the world， his fate —— to a large extent ——
is decided by his nation's leaders. It is they who will decide
whether he lives in comfort or in despair， in security or in
fear. His fate is given to us to resolve —— to the governments
of countries， democratic or otherwise.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
Just as no two fingerprints are identical， so no two people
are alike， and every country has its own laws and culture，
traditions and leaders. But there is one universal message
which can embrace the entire world， one precept which can be
common to different regimes， to races which bear no
resemblance， to cultures that are alien to each other.
It is a message which the Jewish people has carried for
thousands of years， the message found in the Book of Books：
'Ve'nishmartem me'od l'nafshoteichem' —— 'Therefore take good
heed of yourselves' —— or， in contemporary terms， the message
of the sanctity of life.
The leaders of nations must provide their peoples with the
conditions —— the infrastructure， if you will —— which enables
them to enjoy life： freedom of speech and movement； food and
shelter； and most important of all： life itself. A man cannot
enjoy his rights if he is not alive. And so every country must
protect and preserve the key element in its national ethos：
the lives of its citizens.
Only to defend those lives， we can call upon our citizens to
enlist in the army. And to defend the lives of our citizens
serving in the army， we invest huge sums in planes and tanks，
and other means. Yet despite it all， we fail to protect the
lives of our citizens and soldiers. Military cemeteries in
every corner of the world are silent testimony to the failure
of national leaders to sanctify human life.
There is only one radical means for sanctifying human life.
The one radical solution is a real peace.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
The profession of soldiering embraces a certain paradox. We
take the best and the bravest of our young men into the army.
We supply them with equipment which costs a virtual fortune.
We rigorously train them for the day when they must do their
duty —— and we expect them to do it well. Yet we fervently
pray that that day will never come —— that the planes will
never take off， the tanks will never move forward， the
soldiers will never mount the attacks for which they have been
trained so well.
We pray that it will never happen， because of the sanctity
of life.
History as a whole， and modern history in particular， has
known harrowing times when national leaders turned their
citizens into cannon fodder in the name of wicked doctrines：
vicious Fascism， terrible Nazism. Pictures of children
marching to slaughter， photos of terrified women at the gates
of the crematoria must loom before the eyes of every leader in
our generation， and the generations to come. They must serve
as a warning to all who wield power.
Almost all regimes which did not place the sanctity of life
at the heart of their worldview， all those regimes have
collapsed and are no more. You can see it for yourselves in
our own time.
Yet this is not the whole picture. To preserve the sanctity
of life， we must sometimes risk it. Sometimes there is no
other way to defend our citizens than to fight for their
lives， for their safety and freedom. This is the creed of
every democratic state.
In the State of Israel， from which I come today； in the
Israel Defense Forces， which I have had the privilege to
serve， we have always viewed the sanctity of life as a supreme
value. We have never gone to war unless a war was forced on
us.
The history of the State of Israel， the annals of the Israel
Defense Forces， are filled with thousands of stories of
soldiers who sacrificed themselves —— who died while trying to
save wounded comrades； who gave their lives to avoid causing
harm to innocent people on their enemy's side.
In the coming days， a special commission of the Israel
Defense Forces will finish drafting a Code of Conduct for our
soldiers. The formulation regarding human life will read as
follows， and I quote：
'In recognition of its supreme importance， the soldier will
preserve human life in every way possible and endanger
himself， or others， only to the extent deemed necessary to
fulfill this mission. 'The sanctity of life， in the point of
view of the soldiers of the Israel Defense Forces， will find
expression in all their actions.'
For many years ahead —— even if wars come to an end， after
peace comes to our land —— these words will remain a pillar of
fire which goes before our camp， a guiding light for our
people. And we take pride in that.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
We are in the midst of building the peace. The architects
and the engineers of this enterprise are engaged in their work
even as we gather here tonight， building the peace， layer by
layer， brick by brick. The job is difficult， complex， trying.
Mistakes could topple the whole structure and bring disaster
down upon us.
And so we are determined to do the job well —— despite the
toll of murderous terrorism， despite the fanatic and cruel
enemies of peace.
We will pursue the course of peace with determination and
fortitude. We will not let up. We will not give in. Peace will
triumph over all its enemies， because the alternative is
grimmer for us all. And we will prevail.
We will prevail because we regard the building of peace as a
great blessing for us， for our children after us. We regard it
as a blessing for our neighbors on all sides， and for our
partners in this enterprise —— the United States， Russia，
Norway —— which did so much to bring the agreement that was
signed here， later on in Washington， later on in Cairo， that
wrote a beginning of the solution to the longest and most
difficult part of the Arab-Israeli conflict： the
Palestinian-Israeli one. We thank others who have contributed
to it， too.
We wake up every morning， now， as different people. Peace is
possible. We see the hope in our children's eyes. We see the
light in our soldiers' faces， in the streets， in the buses， in
the fields. We must not let them down. We will not let them
down.
I stand here not alone today， on this small rostrum in Oslo.
I am here to speak in the name of generations of Israelis and
Jews， of the shepherds of Israel —— and you know that King
David was a shepherd； he started to build Jerusalem about
3，000 years ago —— the herdsmen and dressers of sycamore
trees， and as the Prophet Amos was； of the rebels against the
establishment， as the Prophet Jeremiah was； and of men who
went down to the sea， like the Prophet Jonah.
I am here to speak in the name of the poets and of those who
dreamed of an end to war， like the Prophet Isaiah.
I am also here to speak in the names of sons of the Jewish
people like Albert Einstein and Baruch Spinoza， like
Maimonides， Sigmund Freud and Franz Kafka.
And I am the emissary of millions who perished in the
Holocaust， among whom were surely many Einsteins and Freuds
who were lost to us， and to humanity， in the flames of the
crematoria.
I am here as the emissary of Jerusalem， at whose gates I
fought in the days of siege； Jerusalem which has always been，
and is today， the people， who pray toward Jerusalem three
times a day.
And I am also the emissary of the children who drew their
visions of peace； and of the immigrants from St. Petersburg
and Addis Ababa.
I stand here mainly for the generations to come， so that we
may all be deemed worthy of the medal which you have bestowed
on me and my colleagues today.
I stand here as the emissary today —— if they will allow me
—— of our neighbors who were our enemies. I stand here as the
emissary of the soaring hopes of a people which has endured
the worst that history has to offer and nevertheless made its
mark —— not just on the chronicles of the Jewish people but on
all mankind.
With me here are five million citizens of Israel —— Jews，
Arabs， Druze and Circassians —— five million hearts beating
for peace， and five million pairs of eyes which look at us
with such great expectations for peace.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
I wish to thank， first and foremost， those citizens of the
State of Israel， of all the generations， of all the political
persuasions， whose sacrifices and relentless struggle for
peace bring us steadier closer to our goal.
I wish to thank our partners —— the Egyptians， the
Jordanians， and the Palestinians， that are led by the Chairman
of the Palestinian Liberation Organization，
I wish to thank the members of the Israeli government， but
above all my partner the Foreign Minister， Mr. Shimon Peres，
whose energy and devotion to the cause of peace are an example
to us all.
I wish to thank my family that supported me all the long way
that I have passed.
And， of course， I wish to thank the Israel people
for bestowing this illustrious honor on my colleagues and
myself.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
Allow me to close by sharing with you a traditional Jewish
blessing which has been recited by my people， in good times
and bad ones， as a token of their deepest longing：
'The Lord will give strength to his people； the Lord will
bless his people —— and all of us —— in peace.'
Thank you very much.
My People and the Foreign
Minister of Israel Shimon Peres，
Distinguished Guests，
At an age when most youngsters are struggling to unravel the
secrets of mathematics and the mysteries of the Bible； at an
age when first love blooms； at the tender age of sixteen， I
was handed a rifle so that I could defend myself.
That was not my dream. I wanted to be a water engineer. I
studied in an agricultural school and I thought being a water
engineer was an important profession in the parched Middle
East. I still think so today. However， I was compelled to
resort to the gun.
I served in the military for decades. Under my
responsibility， young men and women who wanted to live， wanted
to love， went to their deaths instead. They fell in the
defense of our lives.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
In my current position， I have ample opportunity to fly over
the State of Israel， and lately over other parts of the Middle
East as well. The view from the plane is breathtaking；
deep-blue seas and lakes， dark-green fields， dune-colored
deserts， stone-gray mountains， and the entire countryside
peppered with white-washed， red-roofed houses.
And also cemeteries. Graves as far as the eye can see.
Hundreds of cemeteries in our part of the world， in the
Middle East —— in our home in Israel， but also in Egypt， in
Syria， Jordan， Lebanon. From the plane's window， from the
thousands of feet above them， the countless tombstones are
silent. But the sound of their outcry has carried from the
Middle East throughout the world for decades.
Standing here today， I wish to salute our loved ones —— and
past foes. I wish to salute all of them —— the fallen of all
the countries in all the wars； the members of their families
who bear the enduring burden of bereavement； the disabled
whose scars will never heal. Tonight， I wish to pay tribute to
each and every one of them， for this important prize is
theirs.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
I was a young man who has now grown fully in years. In
Hebrew， we say， 'Na'ar hayiti， ve-gam zakanti' [I was a young
man， who has grown fully in years]. And of all the memories I
have stored up in my seventy-two years， what I shall remember
most， to my last day， are the silences： The heavy silence of
the moment after， and the terrifying silence of the moment
before.
As a military man， as a commander， as a minister of defense，
I ordered to carry out many military operations. And together
with the joy of victory and the grief of bereavement， I shall
always remember the moment just after taking such decisions：
the hush as senior officers or cabinet ministers slowly rise
from their seats； the sight of their receding backs； the sound
of the closing door； and then the silence in which I remain
alone.
That is the moment you grasp that as a result of the
decision just made， people might go to their deaths. People
from my nation， people from other nations. And they still
don't know it.
At that hour， they are still laughing and weeping； still
weaving plans and dreaming about love； still musing about
planting a garden or building a house —— and they have no idea
these are their last hours on earth. Which of them is fated to
die？ Whose picture will appear in the black frame in
tomorrow's newspaper？ Whose mother will soon be in mourning？
Whose world will crumble under the weight of the loss？
As a former military man， I will also forever remember the
silence of the moment before： the hush when the hands of the
clock seem to be spinning forward， when time is running out
and in another hour， another minute， the inferno will erupt.
In that moment of great tension just before the finger pulls
the trigger， just before the fuse begins to burn； in the
terrible quiet of the moment， there is still time to wonder，
to wonder alone： Is it really imperative to act？ Is there no
other choice？ No other way？
'God takes pity on kindergartners，' wrote the poet Yehudah
Amichai， who is here with us this evening —— and I quote his：
'God takes pity on kindergartners，
Less so on the schoolchildren，
And will no longer pity their elders，
Leaving them to their own，
And sometimes they will have to crawl on all fours，
Through the burning sand，
To reach the casualty station，
Bleeding.'
For decades， God has not taken pity on the kindergartners in
the Middle East， or the schoolchildren， or their elders. There
has been no pity in the Middle East for generations.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
I was a young man who has now grown fully in years. And of
all the memories I have stored up in my seventy-two years， I
now recall the hopes.
Our people have chosen us to give them life. Terrible as it
is to say， their lives are in our hands. Tonight， their eyes
are upon us and their hearts are asking： How is the power
vested in these men and women being used？ What will they
decide？ Into what kind of morning will we rise tomorrow？ A day
of peace？ Of war？ Of laughter？ Of tears？
A child is born in an utterly undemocratic way. He cannot
choose his father and mother. He cannot pick his sex or color，
his religion， nationality or homeland. Whether he is born in a
manor or a manger， whether he lives under a despotic or
democratic regime is not his choice. From the moment he comes，
close-fisted， into the world， his fate —— to a large extent ——
is decided by his nation's leaders. It is they who will decide
whether he lives in comfort or in despair， in security or in
fear. His fate is given to us to resolve —— to the governments
of countries， democratic or otherwise.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
Just as no two fingerprints are identical， so no two people
are alike， and every country has its own laws and culture，
traditions and leaders. But there is one universal message
which can embrace the entire world， one precept which can be
common to different regimes， to races which bear no
resemblance， to cultures that are alien to each other.
It is a message which the Jewish people has carried for
thousands of years， the message found in the Book of Books：
'Ve'nishmartem me'od l'nafshoteichem' —— 'Therefore take good
heed of yourselves' —— or， in contemporary terms， the message
of the sanctity of life.
The leaders of nations must provide their peoples with the
conditions —— the infrastructure， if you will —— which enables
them to enjoy life： freedom of speech and movement； food and
shelter； and most important of all： life itself. A man cannot
enjoy his rights if he is not alive. And so every country must
protect and preserve the key element in its national ethos：
the lives of its citizens.
Only to defend those lives， we can call upon our citizens to
enlist in the army. And to defend the lives of our citizens
serving in the army， we invest huge sums in planes and tanks，
and other means. Yet despite it all， we fail to protect the
lives of our citizens and soldiers. Military cemeteries in
every corner of the world are silent testimony to the failure
of national leaders to sanctify human life.
There is only one radical means for sanctifying human life.
The one radical solution is a real peace.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
The profession of soldiering embraces a certain paradox. We
take the best and the bravest of our young men into the army.
We supply them with equipment which costs a virtual fortune.
We rigorously train them for the day when they must do their
duty —— and we expect them to do it well. Yet we fervently
pray that that day will never come —— that the planes will
never take off， the tanks will never move forward， the
soldiers will never mount the attacks for which they have been
trained so well.
We pray that it will never happen， because of the sanctity
of life.
History as a whole， and modern history in particular， has
known harrowing times when national leaders turned their
citizens into cannon fodder in the name of wicked doctrines：
vicious Fascism， terrible Nazism. Pictures of children
marching to slaughter， photos of terrified women at the gates
of the crematoria must loom before the eyes of every leader in
our generation， and the generations to come. They must serve
as a warning to all who wield power.
Almost all regimes which did not place the sanctity of life
at the heart of their worldview， all those regimes have
collapsed and are no more. You can see it for yourselves in
our own time.
Yet this is not the whole picture. To preserve the sanctity
of life， we must sometimes risk it. Sometimes there is no
other way to defend our citizens than to fight for their
lives， for their safety and freedom. This is the creed of
every democratic state.
In the State of Israel， from which I come today； in the
Israel Defense Forces， which I have had the privilege to
serve， we have always viewed the sanctity of life as a supreme
value. We have never gone to war unless a war was forced on
us.
The history of the State of Israel， the annals of the Israel
Defense Forces， are filled with thousands of stories of
soldiers who sacrificed themselves —— who died while trying to
save wounded comrades； who gave their lives to avoid causing
harm to innocent people on their enemy's side.
In the coming days， a special commission of the Israel
Defense Forces will finish drafting a Code of Conduct for our
soldiers. The formulation regarding human life will read as
follows， and I quote：
'In recognition of its supreme importance， the soldier will
preserve human life in every way possible and endanger
himself， or others， only to the extent deemed necessary to
fulfill this mission. 'The sanctity of life， in the point of
view of the soldiers of the Israel Defense Forces， will find
expression in all their actions.'
For many years ahead —— even if wars come to an end， after
peace comes to our land —— these words will remain a pillar of
fire which goes before our camp， a guiding light for our
people. And we take pride in that.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
We are in the midst of building the peace. The architects
and the engineers of this enterprise are engaged in their work
even as we gather here tonight， building the peace， layer by
layer， brick by brick. The job is difficult， complex， trying.
Mistakes could topple the whole structure and bring disaster
down upon us.
And so we are determined to do the job well —— despite the
toll of murderous terrorism， despite the fanatic and cruel
enemies of peace.
We will pursue the course of peace with determination and
fortitude. We will not let up. We will not give in. Peace will
triumph over all its enemies， because the alternative is
grimmer for us all. And we will prevail.
We will prevail because we regard the building of peace as a
great blessing for us， for our children after us. We regard it
as a blessing for our neighbors on all sides， and for our
partners in this enterprise —— the United States， Russia，
Norway —— which did so much to bring the agreement that was
signed here， later on in Washington， later on in Cairo， that
wrote a beginning of the solution to the longest and most
difficult part of the Arab-Israeli conflict： the
Palestinian-Israeli one. We thank others who have contributed
to it， too.
We wake up every morning， now， as different people. Peace is
possible. We see the hope in our children's eyes. We see the
light in our soldiers' faces， in the streets， in the buses， in
the fields. We must not let them down. We will not let them
down.
I stand here not alone today， on this small rostrum in Oslo.
I am here to speak in the name of generations of Israelis and
Jews， of the shepherds of Israel —— and you know that King
David was a shepherd； he started to build Jerusalem about
3，000 years ago —— the herdsmen and dressers of sycamore
trees， and as the Prophet Amos was； of the rebels against the
establishment， as the Prophet Jeremiah was； and of men who
went down to the sea， like the Prophet Jonah.
I am here to speak in the name of the poets and of those who
dreamed of an end to war， like the Prophet Isaiah.
I am also here to speak in the names of sons of the Jewish
people like Albert Einstein and Baruch Spinoza， like
Maimonides， Sigmund Freud and Franz Kafka.
And I am the emissary of millions who perished in the
Holocaust， among whom were surely many Einsteins and Freuds
who were lost to us， and to humanity， in the flames of the
crematoria.
I am here as the emissary of Jerusalem， at whose gates I
fought in the days of siege； Jerusalem which has always been，
and is today， the people， who pray toward Jerusalem three
times a day.
And I am also the emissary of the children who drew their
visions of peace； and of the immigrants from St. Petersburg
and Addis Ababa.
I stand here mainly for the generations to come， so that we
may all be deemed worthy of the medal which you have bestowed
on me and my colleagues today.
I stand here as the emissary today —— if they will allow me
—— of our neighbors who were our enemies. I stand here as the
emissary of the soaring hopes of a people which has endured
the worst that history has to offer and nevertheless made its
mark —— not just on the chronicles of the Jewish people but on
all mankind.
With me here are five million citizens of Israel —— Jews，
Arabs， Druze and Circassians —— five million hearts beating
for peace， and five million pairs of eyes which look at us
with such great expectations for peace.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
I wish to thank， first and foremost， those citizens of the
State of Israel， of all the generations， of all the political
persuasions， whose sacrifices and relentless struggle for
peace bring us steadier closer to our goal.
I wish to thank our partners —— the Egyptians， the
Jordanians， and the Palestinians， that are led by the Chairman
of the Palestinian Liberation Organization，
I wish to thank the members of the Israeli government， but
above all my partner the Foreign Minister， Mr. Shimon Peres，
whose energy and devotion to the cause of peace are an example
to us all.
I wish to thank my family that supported me all the long way
that I have passed.
And， of course， I wish to thank the Israel people
for bestowing this illustrious honor on my colleagues and
myself.
Ladies and Gentlemen，
Allow me to close by sharing with you a traditional Jewish
blessing which has been recited by my people， in good times
and bad ones， as a token of their deepest longing：
'The Lord will give strength to his people； the Lord will
bless his people —— and all of us —— in peace.'
Thank you very much.
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