William Gibson's play depicts Israel's fourth prime minister, Golda Meir, in her late 70s, looking back on a long, extraordinary life. She's shown to us warts and all, with qualities of tenacity and rigor that some would call gutsy determination (as, for example, when she convinces her boss David Ben-Gurion to let her travel to America to raise money for the then-nascent State of Israel) and that others would call pigheaded willfulness (pushing her husband to live on a kibbutz and, later, abandoning him in favor of her political career). He gives us a tough and wise old bird in Golda, and there's real electricity when she talks about the genesis, after the Holocaust, of this new Jewish homeland in the middle of the desert: the realization of a dream that quickly turned nightmarish when the armies of Israel's five Arab neighbors went on the offensive and, for decades, never really stopped.
In recounting all of this, Gibson help us understand how, against the odds, this ever happened; we watch--informed, as we must be, by the events of fifty years that have occurred after Golda's Balcony takes place--and we are grateful for the understanding that this history lesson yields. The story of this little old lady from Kiev who became an American immigrant and then a founding mother of Israel makes the politics and the ideology clear and human.
The play, a one-woman show, teems with incident and characters. We meet members of Golda's family, famous personages she worked with (or against) like Moshe Dayan and Henry Kissinger, and anonymous people who reminded her of the importance of her calling, like the children of Concentration Camp survivors who became Israel's first new citizens after World War II.
I'm not equipped to assess the accuracy or objectivity of Gibson's account of Meir's life; I suspect that it's largely correct, and as already noted, the play's ability to illuminate the Zionist impulses that led to the founding of Israel is impressive and valuable. But we know how the story will go on--bloodily, endlessly violently--in the years after Golda retired. We have learned--one hopes--to see all the sides of this wondrous story: not just the miracle of a nation created literally from dust in the middle of an arid desert, but also the tragedy of displaced peoples and festering hatreds. The central crisis in Golda's Balcony is whether or not Israel will use its secret atomic weapons against its hostile Arab neighbors during the Yom Kippur War. Meir bluffs and Kissinger blinks, or so the story goes here; later, Golda tells us that while she herself could not order the use of the Bomb, she stepped down from her leadership post in part to allow others who could give that order to do so.
Is this a heroic figure? The world was so much simpler when I, as a kid, simply could unquestioningly regard Meir and her beleaguered nation as plucky and righteous. The best thing about Golda's Balcony--and it may be entirely unintentional, I don't know--is that it trips up that quaint viewpoint, making us question everything that once seemed clear-cut in the murky fog of geopolitics.