My Israeli brothers and sisters - happy Independence Day!

As every year, as dusk falls, between mourning and celebration, we return here to Mt Herzl, Israel's site of commemoration and renewal.

We come here, to the grave of Herzl, the visionary of our state, to this hill covered with the graves of the heroes of Israel's wars, to renew our covenant with this land and our oath of allegiance to "the beginning of the flowering of our redemption".

There is no moment more Israeli than this moment, the moment between the memorial prayer and raising the flag.

This transition, which is so sharp, so difficult, so right - like the short distance between the rows of graves and this plaza - this transition tells us, in fact, the whole story.

Here - the illuminated and festive plaza; and there - within touching distance, the shadows of bereavement.

Here - the eve of Independence Day; and there, across the way, still (and always) memorial day.

Here - freedom and independence; and there - right next to us, the price that has been paid for them in blood.

And the price - the price paid does not distinguish among the blood that has been spilled, does not distinguish between brothers.

There is no more tangible expression of this than the young people standing here beside me:

Nayef Heib, named after his father, Senior Sergeant Major Nayef Heib, may the Lord avenge his death, who served as a senior tracker and fell in Lebanon in October 1991; Mor Abergil, daughter of Advanced Sergeant Major Hananya Abergil, may the Lord avenge his death, who served in the Border Guards and fell in Hebron in February 1993; and Einav Sa'id, daughter of Sergeant Waffa A'Sa'ad, may the Lord avenge his death, who served as a reserve combat soldier and fell in Gaza in September 1993.

Here we stand, year after year; in years of blessing and in years of grief and distress.

We stood here as victors after the miracle of the Six Day War; but the previous year we stood here too, during the build-up to the war, eaten up with anxiety and fear.

We stood here following that terrible Yom Kippur of 1973. We bit our lips and returned here. We raised our flag, despite everything. And again we held on to the covenant of the land and the oath of redemption, more determined than ever.

We stand here today too - in the fifty-seventh year of our freedom.

And with the help of the Rock of Israel, we will also stand here next year.

This year, a year of controversy, confusion and uncertainty, we stand here heavy hearted and fearful of what is to come.

For generations a serious, trenchant dispute has been simmering among us with regard to the goals of the state of Israel, and the direction of Zionism in general.

I believe that fundamentally this is a genuine dispute; a dispute in which there is legitimacy to both sides.

I believe that both side are patriots; both sides are true Zionists; both sides seek only the good of their people and their country.

But this year, and perhaps in the coming months, this dispute may reach boiling point and, in the eyes of many, a point of historic decision.

Many fear that the coming months will bring eviction, uprooting, destruction and real danger to the continued existence of the Zionist enterprise.

Others feel that we face a difficult and dangerous, but necessary, excision which is vital for the Zionist enterprise.

My personal and ideological position is well-known, but I do not stand here before you to express my own position in this forum. However, I do feel that I will be failing in my role, failing the truth, failing this moment, if I do not cry out these words (even though some might see this as vitiating the happiness of the day).

I fear a schism that may bring disaster upon us all, much greater than the planned evacuation of the Gush Katif and northern Samaria settlements.

This year I stand here before you with a sense of great anxiety and foreboding.

I am fearful of the dissonant cries of total rejection of the covenant binding us to the land;

I am fearful of the true intentions of those who despise our historic homeland;

I am fearful of the contempt towards those who love and are loyal to it;

I am fearful of the vitriolic gloating against those who gave - and are still giving - their souls to settle the country; to redeem it.

And on the other hand,

I am no less fearful of the atmosphere that encourages breaking all the rules and crossing lines that have never before been crossed;

I am fearful, very fearful, of the voices calling for disengagement from the state; for refusal to obey orders, and for conditional loyalty;

I am fearful of revelations of denial of the "beginning of the flowering of our redemption" (as if this were an example of "conditional" redemption).

But, more than anything, I am very fearful that this year will become a year of dissension amongst us. How will we stand here on the fifty-eighth Independence Day if, heaven forbid, this year Jews spill the blood of their brothers?

How will we raise the blue and white flag here next year, over the graves of those who gave their lives for our renewal if, heaven forbid, our flag is stained by blood?

Imagine for a moment that we could bring a Jew from Spain of the days of the Inquisition, or from Poland under Nazi conquest; bring him here to Mt Herzl, looking out over Jerusalem, the capital of the sovereign Jewish state.

Try to imagine for a moment a conversation with this Jew, who has found himself, as far as he is concerned, in the days of the Messiah: what would we tell him?

That we have been granted independence in our homeland, but on the eve of our fifty-eighth year we stand on the brink, heaven forbid (may I not misspeak), of civil war?

And truly, are we doing everything we can to avoid hurtling towards the abyss?

_______

I believe that it is still possible to stop the deterioration.

I believe that we have the power to withstand the difficult test ahead.

I believe in the ability of us all to continue as partners.

I believe that if we are capable of sharing our concern, sharing the pain, the frustration, the heartbreak - then we will continue to be true partners - partners in hope.

I believe that all of us, each and every one of us, here in the audience and at home, in Tel Aviv and in Neve Dekalim, in Afula, in Netzarim and in Homesh, are capable of this and are committed to it.

If we can do this, we will be able to return here next year whole in body, sound in spirit, as brothers.

If we can do this, next year we will be able to direct our gaze at the graves at our feet; at the flag; at the mirror.

This year, perhaps more than any other year, we appeal to the Rock and Redeemer of Israel: "Bless the State of Israel, with its promise of redemption. Shield it with Your love; spread over it the shelter of Your peace. Guide its leaders and advisers with Your light and Your truth. Help them with your good counsel. Bless the land with peace, and its inhabitants with lasting joy."

Happy Independence Day!