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Until last month Yigal Amir and I seemed to have a lot in common—both in our mid-20s, university educated professionals of immigrant stock, and Jewish. Admittedly he lived in Israel and I in the diaspora. He claimed to be observant and I am wholly ignorant of Jewish law. But no matter; we shared a pride in a 5,000 year history and the distinction of being Jews. Not any more. When Amir stepped out of the crowd and popped three bullets into the chest of Yitzhak Rabin, the Israeli prime minister, he shattered my naive faith in Jewish unity.

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