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 I stayed up at night to cook for Menachem and Sarah. I mended their clothes. I went to concerts and films with them. We always talked and laughed a lot together. But were my sister Sheyna and my mother right when they charged me for years with depriving the children of their due? I suppose that I shall never be able to answer this question to my own satisfaction and that I will never stop asking it. Were they proud of me, then or later? I like to think so, of course, but I am not really sure that being proud of one’s mother makes up for her frequent absences. I remember that once when I was the chairwoman of a public meeting and asked “all those in favor” of whatever the issue was to raise their hands, to my utter astonishment I saw Sarah and Menachem (who had stolen into the hall to fetch me) loyally raise their hands to indicate their approval. It was the most reassuring vote of confidence I ever got, but it didn’t keep me from feeling that being able to vote for your mother is not nearly as good or important as having her at home when you get back from school. |
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from My Life, Golda’s autobiography (1975) |
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  The tragedy was not that Morris didn't understand me, but, on the contrary, that he understood me only too well and felt that he couldn’t make me over or change me. So he didn’t discourage me from going back to work, although he knew what it really meant. He had always been quiet and reserved. To the outside world he may have appeared ineffectual or unsuccessful; but the truth is that his inner life was very rich—richer than mine, for all my activity and drive—and he shared it generously with his close friends, his family and, particularly, his children. |
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from My Life (1975) |
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