Harry S. Truman and Eddie Jacobson friendship

Harry S. Truman and Eddie Jacobson’s friendship mattered because it gave an old friend unusual access to a President who had closed the door to other advocates. Their relationship began in business and endured as personal trust: when Jacobson finally asked Truman to see Chaim Weizmann, he crossed a boundary he had never before crossed, and Truman’s response turned a friendship into a consequential channel of persuasion on Palestine.

Friendship Before the White House

The book identifies Jacobson as Truman’s old friend and former business partner, but does not give a full account of how their friendship began or describe their business arrangement in detail. It does show that the connection remained close after Truman became President. Jacobson was not himself a Zionist, yet he wanted Zionist leaders to help resolve the plight of Jewish refugees and supported the possibility of a Jewish homeland. He tried to help by escorting small groups to the White House, putting their case before a friend who could act on it.

One such visit in 1946 included Rabbi Arthur J. Lelyveld of New York and Charles Kaplan, a shirt-company vice president. Jacobson made light of the delegation’s different occupations, saying that Kaplan sold shirts, he sold furnishings, and the rabbi sold notions. The quip captures his practical way of mediating: he brought people and arguments into Truman’s orbit without presenting himself as a political leader. Until the later crisis, he asked Truman for no favors and did not presume on his time.

The trust ran both ways. Truman regarded Jacobson as a devout Jew and a patriotic American and trusted him absolutely. He was also fond of him. Jacobson understood that the friendship’s force lay partly in this history of restraint: because he had not habitually sought to influence Truman, his eventual appeal could not be dismissed as just another request from a political advocate.

A Friend Becomes an Intermediary

By February 1948, the question of Palestine had become urgent and difficult. Britain was preparing to withdraw, the United Nations was considering the future of the territory, and the prospect of conflict was growing. Chaim Weizmann, who had arrived in New York from London and fallen ill from the strain of events, could not obtain a meeting with Truman. On the night of February 20, Frank Goldman, president of the national B’nai B’rith, called Jacobson in Kansas City and asked him to help. Goldman’s message was that no one, not even Ed Flynn, could move the President.

Jacobson wrote to Truman asking him to see Weizmann as soon as possible. Truman replied from Key West on February 27 that Weizmann had nothing new to tell him and that the situation was “not solvable as presently set up.” Jacobson did not accept the refusal. As soon as Truman returned to Washington, Jacobson travelled from Kansas City and went to the White House without an appointment.

On Saturday, March 13, Matt Connelly warned Jacobson outside Truman’s office not to mention Palestine. The warning exposed the awkwardness of Jacobson’s position: he had come as a friend, but the issue he needed to raise was precisely the subject Truman wanted to avoid. Their private meeting began with familiar conversation about their families and Jacobson’s business. Jacobson later recalled that Truman always took a brother’s interest in the business. For a moment, the old ease of the friendship seemed to offer a way into the conversation.

The Argument in Truman’s Office

When Jacobson raised Palestine, Truman became tense and grim. Jacobson thought Truman’s abrupt manner unlike the friend he had known. Truman said he did not want to discuss Palestine, Jews, Arabs, or Britain and would leave the matter to the United Nations. He also spoke bitterly about insults directed at him by some Jews. Jacobson tried to argue back, but at first Truman would not yield. Jacobson left the exchange feeling crushed.

The turning point came through a personal appeal rather than a policy brief. On a table stood a small bronze of Andrew Jackson on horseback, a model of the statue Truman had commissioned for the Jackson County Courthouse in Kansas City. Jacobson pointed to the bronze and invoked the President’s lifelong hero. He then named his own hero, Chaim Weizmann, whom he described as a sick man who had travelled thousands of miles to plead for the Jewish people. Jacobson insisted that Weizmann should not be refused a meeting because of insults by other American Jewish leaders, with whom Weizmann had no part.

The comparison between Weizmann and Andrew Jackson was, in Abba Eban’s later assessment, far-fetched. But it made the personal stakes plain: Jacobson was asking Truman to judge Weizmann as an individual, not to let his anger at others decide the matter. Truman drummed his fingers on the desk, turned toward the window with his back to Jacobson, and sat in silence. Then he faced his friend and agreed to see Weizmann. His acceptance came in a familiar, rough-edged form: “You win, you baldheaded son-of-a-bitch. I will see him.”

Jacobson walked from the White House across Lafayette Square to the Statler Hotel and drank two double bourbons, something he had never done before. The detail marks the intensity of the encounter without changing its outcome: the meeting had been secured, but the policy dispute remained unresolved.

From Access to a Decision

The public course of events soon appeared to contradict Truman’s private assurance. On March 19, news of a change in American policy provoked angry calls to Jacobson in Kansas City. People asked how he could remain the President’s friend when Truman seemed to have betrayed the Jewish people. Jacobson was heartsick and took to bed for the rest of the weekend. His friendship had become visible to others as a political liability: because he had vouched for Truman, he was held answerable when the President’s actions seemed to break faith.

Weizmann urged Jacobson not to despair. Though Weizmann had more reason than anyone to feel betrayed, he believed Truman had meant what he said in their meeting. He reminded Jacobson that Truman was the world’s most powerful man and that Jacobson’s task was to keep the White House door open. The counsel depended on the same relationship that had produced the March meeting: Jacobson could return, and Truman would still receive him.

On April 11, Jacobson entered the White House through the East Wing to avoid reporters. Truman reaffirmed, very strongly, what he had told Weizmann and assured Jacobson that he would recognize the new Jewish state. Jacobson later wrote that Truman agreed with his whole heart. The account presents this as the moment Truman had made up his mind, while also showing that the decision emerged amid mounting tension and the approaching British withdrawal.

The Friendship’s Political Significance

Jacobson’s role was neither that of a neutral messenger nor that of a policymaker. He was a friend whose personal credibility let him bring Weizmann’s appeal directly to Truman after formal access had failed. Truman later called Jacobson’s contribution decisively important. The friendship did not eliminate the President’s doubts, settle the wider policy debate, or prevent a public reversal from causing anguish. Its significance was more specific: it reopened a conversation and enabled Truman to hear a plea from a man he trusted.

The relationship also reveals the risks of political intimacy. Jacobson’s loyalty to Truman exposed him to criticism when policy appeared to betray the cause he supported. Yet he did not abandon the effort after Truman’s refusal or after the angry reaction to the apparent reversal. The sequence—from the late-night call, to the tense Saturday meeting, to Weizmann’s appeal for patience, and finally to Truman’s April assurance—shows friendship operating as access, argument, and persistence. Its decisive act was not to substitute private loyalty for public judgment, but to make a meeting possible when the President had refused others.