He told me that before his heart attack he had been asked to go as a delegate to the Zionist General Council that was to meet in Palestine during the coming summer. “Now I will be glad if I can go to the cottage this summer,” he said, and there was a wry smile on his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him. “I did not want to upset you. But I could not keep it to myself any longer. So I am telling you now.” “Why didn’t you tell me when they asked you?” “They asked me the night I had the attack,” he said.
