ostensibly for defence and the Palmach for attack—lacked the equipment and the ammunition to fight and win the war its unilateral declaration of independence would provoke.
The Jewish Agency’s treasurer, Eliezer Kaplan, made a presentation to the Agency’s Executive Committee, the Cabinet-in-waiting. Kaplan estimated they needed a minimum of $25 million U.S. dollars to equip the Haganah and the Palmach for war with the Arabs. The most urgent need was for tanks and planes. The only place where serious money could be raised was America. But Kaplan had just returned from there. His news could hardly have been more gloomy. American Jews, he pointed out, had been “giving and giving since the beginning of the Hitler era”. Because of that and the fact that wartime prosperity had come to an end in America, there was not so much money around. As a consequence there were limits to what they could expect to raise from America’s Jews. He estimated that perhaps $5 million, certainly not more than $7 million, could be raised in America. And that was not nearly enough to guarantee the survival of their state when they declared it.
David Ben-Gurion, the leader of the Jewish Agency and prime minister in-waiting, was an irascible character at the best of times. As Kaplan was sitting down, Ben-Gurion leapt to his feet. “I’ll leave at once for the United States.” Raising money was obviously the most immediate and most essential job. As leader he had to be the one to undertake the mission. Only he was likely to be successful. He did not say so but that was his view.
Golda at the time was the acting head of the Agency’s Political Department. She spoke her mind. When she was recalling the moment, she told me that even she herself was surprised by the words that came out of her mouth. “Let me go instead,” she heard herself saying. “Nobody can take your place here. What you can do here, I can’t do. But what you can do in the States, I can do.”
None too politely Ben-Gurion rejected Golda’s suggestion. But she was not going to take “No” for an answer.
“Why don’t we let the Executive vote on it?” Golda said.
With some reluctance Ben-Gurion agreed and the Executive voted for Golda to go.
“But at once,” Ben-Gurion said. “You must go immediately.”
She was driven to the airport in the spring frock she had put on for the Executive meeting and without a coat for the bitter winter that would greet her on arrival in New York. Her only luggage was in her handbag. It contained a ten-dollar bill and her comfort—her cigarettes. She smoked up to three packets a day.
Only when she was in the air did she allow herself to think about the consequences of failure. She was terrified by the thought that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. What if Kaplan was right in his assessment that America’s Jews would come up with not more than $7 million or less?
Golda was no stranger to America. She was born Goldie Mabovitch, the daughter of a carpenter, in Kiev, in the Ukraine. In 1906, when she was eight, the Mabovitch family emigrated to America and took up residence in Milwaukee.
She received her very first lesson in American politics and how it really worked on a visit to the home of Joseph Kennedy. He was bouncing his first-born son on his knee. Suddenly he lifted the boy into the air like a trophy. Then, sure that he had the complete attention of his audience, he said, according to what Golda told me, “It might take 50 million dollars, but this boy, my boy, will one day be the President of these United States of America and live in the White House.” 2 (As it happened Joe Kennedy’s first son did not make it. He was killed in action in World War II. But the second son, John Fitzgerald, did go all the way to the White House where he lived for a thousand days before his assassination).
The first great test of Golda’s ability as a major fundraiser came in Chicago on 21 January 1948, at a
The Jewish Agency’s treasurer, Eliezer Kaplan, made a presentation to the Agency’s Executive Committee, the Cabinet-in-waiting. Kaplan estimated they needed a minimum of $25 million U.S. dollars to equip the Haganah and the Palmach for war with the Arabs. The most urgent need was for tanks and planes. The only place where serious money could be raised was America. But Kaplan had just returned from there. His news could hardly have been more gloomy. American Jews, he pointed out, had been “giving and giving since the beginning of the Hitler era”. Because of that and the fact that wartime prosperity had come to an end in America, there was not so much money around. As a consequence there were limits to what they could expect to raise from America’s Jews. He estimated that perhaps $5 million, certainly not more than $7 million, could be raised in America. And that was not nearly enough to guarantee the survival of their state when they declared it.
David Ben-Gurion, the leader of the Jewish Agency and prime minister in-waiting, was an irascible character at the best of times. As Kaplan was sitting down, Ben-Gurion leapt to his feet. “I’ll leave at once for the United States.” Raising money was obviously the most immediate and most essential job. As leader he had to be the one to undertake the mission. Only he was likely to be successful. He did not say so but that was his view.
Golda at the time was the acting head of the Agency’s Political Department. She spoke her mind. When she was recalling the moment, she told me that even she herself was surprised by the words that came out of her mouth. “Let me go instead,” she heard herself saying. “Nobody can take your place here. What you can do here, I can’t do. But what you can do in the States, I can do.”
None too politely Ben-Gurion rejected Golda’s suggestion. But she was not going to take “No” for an answer.
“Why don’t we let the Executive vote on it?” Golda said.
With some reluctance Ben-Gurion agreed and the Executive voted for Golda to go.
“But at once,” Ben-Gurion said. “You must go immediately.”
She was driven to the airport in the spring frock she had put on for the Executive meeting and without a coat for the bitter winter that would greet her on arrival in New York. Her only luggage was in her handbag. It contained a ten-dollar bill and her comfort—her cigarettes. She smoked up to three packets a day.
Only when she was in the air did she allow herself to think about the consequences of failure. She was terrified by the thought that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. What if Kaplan was right in his assessment that America’s Jews would come up with not more than $7 million or less?
Golda was no stranger to America. She was born Goldie Mabovitch, the daughter of a carpenter, in Kiev, in the Ukraine. In 1906, when she was eight, the Mabovitch family emigrated to America and took up residence in Milwaukee.
She received her very first lesson in American politics and how it really worked on a visit to the home of Joseph Kennedy. He was bouncing his first-born son on his knee. Suddenly he lifted the boy into the air like a trophy. Then, sure that he had the complete attention of his audience, he said, according to what Golda told me, “It might take 50 million dollars, but this boy, my boy, will one day be the President of these United States of America and live in the White House.” 2 (As it happened Joe Kennedy’s first son did not make it. He was killed in action in World War II. But the second son, John Fitzgerald, did go all the way to the White House where he lived for a thousand days before his assassination).
The first great test of Golda’s ability as a major fundraiser came in Chicago on 21 January 1948, at a
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