Uncle John’s Presents Mom’s Bathtub Reader (19 page)

Probably one of the few world leaders who could make a mean gefilte fish or chicken soup, Golda Meir was one of the first elected officials in the Western world who was also a mother and grandmother. She was proud of her maternal status (as well as her gefilte fish recipe), and her caring personality won international friends for her beleaguered nation. But while the world saw Golda as the ultimate devoted Jewish mother, the truth was that of all the problems this great prime minister ever faced—from the need to improve economic and employment conditions to a fight for her country’s life—the one problem she never felt she conquered was being a successful working mother.

Though she came to the United States when she was eight, Golda was born in 1898 in Kiev, Ukraine, which was part of Russia at that time. Her family was poor and Jewish—not
the best combination in the Ukraine in those days—and Golda knew persecution firsthand. Encounters with anti-Semitism scared the young Golda, who remembered the Cossacks, mounted soldiers, riding through her village and persecuting Jewish people. Golda never forgot Kiev; she dedicated her life to building a Jewish homeland where her people would be safe from persecution. She got involved in the cause early and joined the Milwaukee Labor Zionist Party after earning her degree at the Milwaukee Normal School (now the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee). She later married but continued to hope for a Zionist state in the Middle East.

In 1921, Golda and her husband Morris emigrated from the United States to Palestine, where the British government had encouraged Jews to settle. Golda was thrilled to be a pioneer for a future Jewish nation, but the birth of two children, Menachem and Sarah, soon complicated things for their family. In Jerusalem at that time, conditions were primitive and jobs were almost nonexistent, so Golda took in laundry to try to make ends meet. The young mother hadn’t realized so much of her life with young children would be bound up in “poverty, worry, and drudgery.”

Finally, Golda found a job in Tel Aviv and wanted to move there with her two children. Not wanting to leave his job, Morris agreed to stay in Jerusalem and would visit the family on the weekends. Golda would be working as the secretary of the Women’s Labour Council, a political position that could lead to great things. Talented Golda was soon a rising political star, leading the nation-building that would become her life’s work.

But Golda’s success came with the burden of guilt. Few women of her day worked outside the home. Morris criticized her time-consuming political work, as did her mother and sister. Golda herself worried that her children needed more mothering. She tried to solve the problem by working as energetically at cooking, cleaning, and raising her children as she did at her political work. But it some times seemed impossible to do both jobs well.

In 1932, motherhood finally forced Golda to leave Palestine and temporarily focus exclusively on her duties as a parent. Six-year-old Sarah was dying from a kidney disease. Once again Golda went against the advice of others. Her parents and the local doctors admonished her not to travel with Sarah to a hospital in New York. But Golda’s decision proved the right one and her daughter was cured.

Golda worked as a fund-raiser in the United States to pay her daughter’s medical bills. Ironically, it was this experience that helped make her a great speaker and diplomat for the Israeli cause. And by the time Golda returned to Palestine, the cause seemed to her more important than ever; a German politician named Hitler wanted to remove the Jewish presence from Europe.

Young Menachem and Sarah grew to understand that their mother was dedicated to a goal that required tireless service. They probably came to terms with her life’s work better than Golda did. Even though she recognized the international significance of her work, on some levels
Golda never stopped regretting the speeches and meetings that kept her away from her children.

When World War II ended, Golda became a leader in a successful rebellion against British rule. In 1948 she signed Israel’s Declaration of Independence. Her children (Sarah, on a kibbutz, and Menachem, a muscian in New York) celebrated the triumph of their mother’s dream. A homeland for her people was now a reality.

Golda served Israel as an ambassador, a Knesset (parliament) member, and a cabinet minister. In 1969, Golda Meir became Israel’s fourth prime minister. In an era when many believed that women were too emotional to cope with the pressure of running a business, Golda showed that mothers and grandmothers could run a country. She was famous for making coffee for her guards and making chicken soup for “the boys and girls” in the Israeli army. When Israel was attacked by its neighbors, she became famous for leading her army and her nation through the Yom Kippur War to emerge victorious.

It could be argued that her experience as a working mother helped make her a great leader. In politics Golda stood up to pressure with the same decisiveness that she’d developed when she kept her career on track and raised two kids, just as when she defied the experts and successfully saved her daughter’s life by taking her to New York. Golda’s own experiences in raising a family gave her a rare perspective, humility, and compassion for all families around the world.

“They told us we had no mothers. I knew they were wrong.”—Molly Craig Kelly

T
wo Aboriginal Mardu women have attracted a lot of attention in Australia. Molly Craig Kelly, 84, and Daisy Kadibil, 78, who appeared in the acclaimed film
Rabbit-Proof Fence
, are fueling a small tourist boom. Dedicated fans from all over the world travel to the women’s home, a remote desert outpost called Jigalong.

Going to Jigalong is not like taking a Hollywood bus ride past movie-star homes. Fans must brave heat, dust, and a lack of four-star hotels, but still they come to meet the heroines of Australia’s stolen generation. The pair who—when they were girls—overcame the dangers of the outback and the power of the Australian government to get home to the mothers who loved them.

In 1931, Molly, 14, her cousin, Gracie, 10, and sister Daisy, 8, lived in close-knit families, enjoying a life that still followed many of the Mardu traditions. The Mardu live in the deserts of western Australia. Molly, Daisy, and Gracie were fast friends, bound together by their common mixed race. While their mothers were Mardu, their fathers were white and chose to live with the Mardu.

From 1905 to 1971, the Australian government forcibly removed half-white, half-Aborigine children from their mothers. Some think it was an attempt to “save” partly white children from a culture the Australian government considered savage. Others believe that these children would have ultimately been rejected and become social outcasts had they remained with their families. Either way, these children were taken from their birth parents and sent to institutions where they would be assimilated into white Australian society. They became known as the “Stolen Generation.”

In 1931 Molly Craig was taken from her tearful mother, Maude. Along with Gracie and Daisy, Molly was sent to the Moore River Native Settlement located near the southwestern city of Perth and roughly 1,000 miles away from home. At Moore River, Molly, Daisy, and Gracie were locked in an overcrowded dormitory with bars on the windows; they were forbidden to speak their own language. Meals weren’t any better, usually consisting of weevily porridge or watery stew.

What was toughest for Molly was the government’s attempt to make her forget her mother. Over fifty years later, Molly still remembers her feelings when she was told that her mother no longer wanted her. “Those other kids,” Molly has explained, “they were much younger. They didn’t know their mother. But I was older. I knew my mother. I wanted to go home to Mother.”

Molly had been warned that no child ever successfully escaped from Moore River. Those who tried were brought back to face floggings and solitary confinement. Still, the teenager gathered up Gracie and Daisy, and instead of going to school, the three ran off, crossing a rain-swollen
river and heading into the bush. Traveling as fast as she could, Molly searched for her guide home—the rabbit-proof fence.

Molly’s father was an inspector in charge of maintaining the rabbit-proof fence, a barrier built in 1907 to keep out rabbits that were eating farm crops. Her father had explained to Molly that the fence crossed western Australia in an unbroken line from south to north. Once Molly found the fence, she knew she could follow it to Jigalong. What she didn’t know was that she was about to lead her cousins on one of the longest walks in Australian history.

Chased by government trackers, the girls hiked north along the path of the fence. Rumors spread that they’d drowned, but the three used the bush survival techniques they’d learned from their mothers and grandmothers to make it across the harsh desert outback. Gracie was eventually captured, but Molly and Daisy hiked about 1,000 miles back to home and her mother.

The girls were taken to the desert upon their return. But when Molly had children of her own, Doris, 3, and Annabelle, 18 months, all three were returned to Moore River. Ten years after her first journey, Molly escaped again with her baby, eluding the trackers to return to Jigalong. She had to leave Doris behind because she could not carry two children during the long journey home. She hoped that Gracie, who was still at Moore River, would look after young Doris.

Doris grew up at Moore River and Roelands Native Mission, where she seemed to be one of the government’s successes. She became a nurse’s aide, married, and had four children. But the institutions left a troubling mark, and Doris was ashamed of her Aboriginal family.

It was 21 years before Doris and Molly were reunited. (Three-year-old Annabelle was retaken from Molly. They were never reconciled.) Doris then began to appreciate her culture and family history, and she decided to write Molly and Daisy’s story in the memoir
Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence.
The book was a runaway success.

Based on the popularity of Doris’s book, the film
Rabbit-Proof Fence
was made in 2002. The movie exploded on the Australian scene and caused the country to revisit that dark period in its history. Molly’s longing to be with her mother gave many Aussies a realization of how much suffering had been caused by misguided policies and old-fashioned ideas about race.

Sadly, Molly has recently passed away, but the impact of her life will always be felt. What may be most important is that members of the Stolen Generation now know what Molly knew, that they were never despised and abandoned. Many have begun to search for their families and begin a journey home.