A Life To Live...

by Israel Kipen

  After the Sharett visit, new expectations were established. The emissary for the 1958 Appeal would have to be none other than a member of Knesset. Anyone of lesser standing would represent a retrogression. The Keren Hayesod headquarters in Jerusalem came to understand these expectations well enough not to question its Australian representatives on the point. Accordingly, the emissary in 1958 was Minister Yosef Burg. A world leader of Mizrachi, he had been a member of the Israeli Cabinet from its very inception eight years earlier. A man of inordinate durability as a politician through continually volatile circumstances ranging over nearly four decades of the nation’s history, he was still in the government when he visited Australia as Appeal emissary in 1985. Over the years, he had held a variety of portfolios, and had been involved in the negotiations with Egypt that culminated in the Camp David Accord of 1978. The Appeal was highly successful with collections and pledges exceeding those of earlier years.

  That same year, 1958, was not simply a year like any other. It represented the tenth anniversary of the establishment of the Jewish State and, to celebrate it, it was considered appropriate to bring a special guest speaker to Australia for the occasion. The man we brought was the renowned and much-admired James J. McDonald who had been the first United States ambassador to Israel and a long-standing friend of Israel.

  Dr. Yosef Burg at an appeal meeting organized by the Vic. Zionist Organization at the Chevron Hotel. Seated from left; Laura Kipen, Dr. Burg, the author and Sam Wynn.

  We booked the Melbourne Town Hall and I deputised in the chair for Nathan Jacobson, President of the State Zionist Council, who was then abroad. The house was packed to overflowing and McDonald, on completing his address, received a standing ovation. I also recall seeing my father in the auditorium. Ordinarily not one to attend such celebrations, he had come nonetheless – to see how I was acquitting myself in the Chair, I suspect.

  James McDonald was an exceptional personality with a charm and warmth that made him both popular and easy to be friendly with. He had been a close friend of Chaim Weizmann and a regular observer at Zionist Congresses. For me, being in McDonald’s company was a particularly enriching experience.

  Later that year, Ambassador Max Nurock completed his term of office and returned to Israel. His place was taken by Moshe Yuval who was a much younger man and of a different disposition. I met him and his Canadian-born wife at the home of Thelma and Morris Cohen, and we became good friends.

  International trade was at that time feeling the effects of the closure of the Suez Canal. Huge tankers had to be built to carry oil from the Middle East around the Cape of Good Hope south of Africa all the way northward to Japan, while, conversely, all shipping from Asia and Australia had to follow the same long and expensive route to Europe. Australian Jewry had the added difficulty in that its mail to Israel did not move normally as a consequence of the Suez closure. It was felt that appropriate representation to the Federal Government ought to be undertaken by Australian Jews in relation to such difficulties. A date was set for a meeting with Mr Garfield Barwick, then Minister for Foreign Affairs in Canberra. The delegation consisted of Maurice Ashkanasy, President of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, and myself, as Acting President of the Zionist Federation. I was then in Sydney on business, so I met Ashkanasy in Canberra to discuss our approach. Noticing some concern on my part regarding our imminent visit to Barwick, Ashkanasy assured me that I had nothing to worry about. Barwick had been his junior counsel and we would be well received. As we entered Kings Hall, we saw Arthur Calwell at the top of the stairs. He greeted us effusively, telling us that he had put some questions that same morning to the Minister regarding the repercussions of the Suez Canal closure and about Israel. At 3 p.m., the time of our appointment, we were shown into Barwick’s office, and I was surprised to see the cramped conditions in which a minister had to work. Barwick sat in a small room filled with numerous files and papers. A secretary who showed us in occupied the ante-room.

  We were indeed well received. Discussion proceeded in friendly formality. Barwick informed us that he was due to make a statement to the House regarding the Middle East that very afternoon, and, before leaving, Ashkanasy left a memorandum with him which Barwick promised to study. On departing, I noticed Ashkanasy hesitate. He then stopped walking and said, “I cannot possibly be in the House and not pay a courtesy call on my leader.” Ashkanasy was a prominent Labor man. So we turned back and headed for Dr Evatt’s office. We were shown in. His was a large room. He greeted us without enthusiasm and then, much to my surprise, took me by an arm, and proceeded to ask me about the situation in Israel, all the while ignoring Ashkanasy. I had never felt so uncomfortable, either before or since. On Evatt’s part, it was a studied insult to Ashkanasy. The reason for it was clear. By that time, three years had passed since the split in the Labor Party. Evatt had led his party to the left, while Ashkanasy was of a different political hue. The split had left many personal animosities rankling and the encounter between the two men confirmed it.

  Nineteen fifty-eight was an eventful year for the Zionist Federation and one in which the principle of harmony and consensus was sorely tested. The executive of the Zionist Federation was to revert from Sydney to Melbourne and the question of its leadership became a heated issue between the two contenders, Joseph Solvey and Nathan Jacobson, who each staked a claim to it.

  The breakthrough came when, after prolonged negotiation, Solvey and Jacobson agreed to split the four-year term of office. Solvey would head the organisation for the first two years and Jacobson for the rest of the term.

  By the end of that year, it became clear that Jacobson would not continue as President of the State Zionist Council. It became equally clear that I would be taking over from him at the forthcoming Annual Assembly. Accordingly, all preparations for events to take place in 1959 were made in the knowledge that they would ultimately be my responsibility. The business of the Zionist movement was transacted on different levels. There were the regular meetings of the full committee which represented all organisations affiliated with the Council. There were the frequent executive meetings called to deal formally with ongoing issues, and frequent consultations among office-bearers besides. The most constant fixture, however, during the latter ‘fifties were the daily luncheons at the Sonora Cafe in Little Collins Street, almost opposite the Australia Arcade. Nathan Jacobson had his office on the corner of Elizabeth and Little Collins Streets; Arnold Bloch’s office was on the corner of Elizabeth Street and Flinders Lane; while I would come from Brunswick Street in Fitzroy where my factory was located at the time. This was a set arrangement. Often, other executive members would join us, knowing they could always find us there between 1.00 and 2.00 p.m. There, on a daily basis, we would analyse communal events, assess various situations and clarify opinions. These gatherings, one could say, were daily meetings of the State Zionist Council inner cabinet. That pattern of constant consultation and direct interaction greatly facilitated the harmony and smoothness of the decision-making process and gave us considerable opportunity for being each other’s sounding boards for new ideas and initiatives.

  As anticipated, I became President of the State Zionist Council. My senior Vice-President was Arnold Bloch who had earlier served under Jacobson as Honorary Secretary, this position being taken over by Thelma Cohen. In my acceptance speech at the annual Zionist Assembly, I called on the young intelligentsia in the community to come forward and join the ranks of workers and leaders of the movement. I was then forty years old and Arnold Bloch not yet thirty. The generation of leaders who had fought for the establishment of the Jewish State was still there, but, to my understanding, time and events, both within the community and abroad, made such a call not only necessary but urgent. I also gave a commitment to see Bialik afternoon and Sunday school developed into a day-school.

  As guest speaker for the 1959 Independence Day celebrations, we secured Dr Israel Goldstein who was a leader of American Zionism and a personality of high reput
e throughout the Jewish world. He arrived in Australia, accompanied by his wife, herself a leading figure among the Labor-oriented Poalei-Zion ladies’ circles in the United States. On their way to Australia, they had stopped over in Abyssinia (Ethiopia) to visit the Falashas and in Persia (Iran) where the 2,500th anniversary of the reign of Xerxes (Ahashverosh of the Book of Esther) was being then observed. As a prominent member of the executive of the World Zionist Organization, his range of interests spanned the globe while his personal standing enabled him to deal with world leaders at the highest level. Both Dr and Mrs Goldstein exuded authority and commanded instant respect.

  The venue chosen for the 1959 Independence Day celebrations was the Olympic swimming pool which seated 5,000, twice the number as the Melbourne Town Hall accommodated. The house was packed. In my capacity of President of the State Zionist Council, I chaired the evening. I introduced the innovation of making my opening remarks in Hebrew and in Yiddish, in addition to English, an action that brought sustained applause and was commented on in the Yiddish press. The editor of the Yiddishe Post, Gedaliah Shaiak, quoted my Yiddish opening verbatim in his report of the proceedings. Arnold Bloch, the year after, and Julian Mercer, during his tenure of the office, followed the procedure.

  The 1959 Israel Independence Day celebration at the Olympic Swimming Pool, Melbourne.

  On the stage from left; Max Freilich, Nathan Jacobson, Maurice Ashkenasy QC, Mrs. I. Goldstein, Dr. Israel Goldstein, the author, Moshe Yuval — Ambassador of Israel, Joseph Solvey and Sam Wynn.

  During Dr Goldstein’s stay in Melbourne, a meeting was held at our home where he addressed the executives of the Zionist Federation and State Zionist Council about internal and political issues of Jewish concern at that time. The address was both interesting and informative, and the meeting very cordial. As he was about to leave, he turned to me at the door and, in the presence of Solvey and Mercer, said, “I take my hat off to you Australian Zionists. You understood to keep hold of the Appeal; we in the United States did not.” It was a matter that must have weighed heavily on his mind in those days, for by giving up control of the Appeal, American Zionists had permitted their political clout vis-a-vis the authorities in Israel to be undermined. Dr Goldstein had spoken in a moment of frankness and deep sincerity. Having watched developments within the world Zionist movement, we were not surprised at the regret sounded by our visitor. We knew that, sooner or later, we, too, in Australia, would have to yield control. What was to surprise us, however, was the fact that a mere 18 months later, Dr Goldstein accepted the Presidency of the World Keren Hayesod, thereby becoming the chief executive of the very policy he had so genuinely regretted.

  Shortly after Dr Goldstein’s departure, David Hacohen and his poetess wife arrived as principal emissaries for the 1959 United Israel Appeal. David Hacohen was a prominent Labor leader in Israel, one of the chief executives of the Histadrut, and Chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee of the Knesset. He was a cousin of Shimon Hacohen, who had been the first post-war emissary in 1946. David Hacohen was as contemplative and quietly-spoken as his cousin had been ebullient. The Hacohens’ stay in Australia proved a lengthy one. We subjected him to hard work. In those days, the Landsmanshaften were at the peak of their communal strength and were insisting on individual and separate meetings for their respective appeal functions. The enthusiasm, self-esteem and self-perceived status in the community of the many groups did not permit a rationalisation of appeal meetings. Hence, appeal gatherings were held every night of the week and at least twice on Sundays. The moneys raised were substantial, to be sure, but the emissaries were kept monotonously busy and became stale by the end of their stay.

  Mr. & Mrs. David Hacohen greeted on arrival. From left; I. Leibler, S. Maranz, I. Roseby, Altman, S. Wynn, D. Hacohen, M. Zablud, C.H. Brown, Mrs. Hacohen, M. Jacobsen, the author, A. Bloch, T. Cohen, R. Harrison.

  For myself, the attaining to the Presidency of the State Zionist Council turned out to be an anti-climax. Not that I did not know what awaited me. By then, I had been doing the same work for a dozen years. The title of the office was no recompense. On the contrary, I came to dread opening the Jewish News on Fridays. Invariably, my picture would stare out of the page; often it would do so more than once in the same paper. I did not particularly like it. Nor did I enjoy head-tables and the spotlight. As President, I had to endure it. What was more troubling to me, were the political rumblings in the world Zionist movement, the attitudes towards Zionism held by the Israeli government and its people, and the first politically-motivated stirrings over the future of the United Israel Appeal in our own yard. Simply to be chairman at Independence Day celebrations, no matter how big the crowds, was scarcely sufficient inducement for me to spend months in their preparation. On the other hand, the annual Appeal, too, was never my strongest point. The community had better money-raisers than I. However exalted the presidency was then, and still remains, the position simply did not carry enough challenge for me. I felt that I ought to be more creative and to do things that begged to be done, even if these were less glamorous and remunerative in terms of immediate communal recognition.

  As a consequence, I resolved not to seek re-appointment the following year. I had no moral difficulty in making that decision. Arnold Bloch, as my Vice-President, was by then ready to take over. No-one could doubt his ability and his capacity to handle the job. I let my friends know of my intentions, and the transfer of the reins to Arnold Bloch was as smooth as it was natural.

  Danny Kay addressing 600 young adults at the Stanmark Reception Rooms: Melbourne.

  By the first half of the ‘sixties, Zionism in Australia was working well. In Melbourne, the affairs of the State Zionist Council were in Arnold Bloch’s capable hands. As the immediate Past-President, I was still involved in that body, but free of ultimate responsibility, which I found to be a comfortable position to be in. However, with regard to the United Israel Appeal, international trends were catching up with Australia. An initiative was taken to separate the administration of the Appeal from the State Zionist Council and the Zionist Federation, thereby making the Keren Hayesod an independent entity. That move, which owed its development to local personalities and politics, found a ready ear with the parent body in Jerusalem. There were certain objective factors which rendered the proposition beneficial to the Appeal. While annual donations had been steadily increasing over the preceding years, such increase was relative to an initially low starting baseline. What was needed was a new, more open and generous concept of giving in order to bring Australian contributions in line with those of other Western countries. Israel’s financial needs to rehabilitate and integrate its new arrivals were paramount, while, for the individual Jew outside Israel, giving was the most tangible and expressive form of identification with, and commitment to, the new State. Those who moved to detach the United Israel Appeal from the Zionist Organisations had the means of personally setting new standards of giving and of persuading others to follow their example. Time had made Zionist ideology vacate its primacy to the more pressing issues of practical financial help. Israel desperately needed such help and world Jewry responded to that need in ever-increasing numbers.

  13

  First Trip Abroad from Australia

  In July 1960, shortly after relinquishing the Presidency of the State Zionist Council, I travelled to Israel. It was my first visit to the country and I went alone. I learnt that July and August were not the best months in which to travel there, for not even the Shanghai summers had conditioned me for the heat and oppressive humidity I encountered, particularly in Tel Aviv.

  Before boarding the flight in Sydney, I had lunch with Ambassador Moshe Yuval at the Australia Hotel. I remarked that I was somewhat concerned about my competence in Hebrew. After all, twenty-three years had passed since I had left school and ten years since I had used the language in Australia. I was also mindful that it had fallen well behind its up-dated form in the country. Moshe Yuval assured me that I had no cause for c
oncern. The very sound of the language around me, he said, would bring it back to mind. I was dubious at first, but he turned out to be right. For, no sooner did I descend upon the tarmac than the language, as if by magic, sprang to the forefront of my mind and I found myself speaking it with reasonable ease throughout my visit.

  My arrival had been delayed several hours, which meant that a number of people who had come to greet me had been kept waiting. Among these were a Mr Temkin of the British-Australia office and a Dr Berman of the Keren Hayesod who had come to take care of me. In addition, there were two of my mother’s cousins, Naomi Noff, my former teacher, and her sister, Yaffa. I was in a dilemma. As courteously as I could, I thanked the official representatives of their respective organisations for their efforts and explained that I was expected to stay with my relatives, whereupon, I set out for Haifa. In 1960, the road was still a two-lane thoroughfare that twisted close to settlements along the way, such as Hedera, which brought Shimonovich’s idyllic poem BaYaar Be-Hedera to mind. The trees in the distance truly confirmed the authenticity of that poem. As we continued on in our taxi, the hilly countryside to the right looked as if it was literally jumping by. In my first letter home, I commented on it and quoted from the Hallel prayer, “The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like unto lambs.” I spent my days in the home of the Noffs on the Carmel, but slept at a nearby hotel. The air was much cooler there, while the panorama created by the bay below left a lasting impression. I had not seen Naomi since she had left for Palestine twenty-five years before, and she produced an album containing the photographs of my classmates and the farewell address I had inscribed on its front page. It was with mixed feelings that we turned the pages, saw the faces and recalled the names of youths still in their bloom but who, with very few exceptions, had been destined not to reach the age of twenty-five.