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On November 29, 1947, the UN announced the Partition Plan, giving the Jews a morsel (less than 20%) of the territory of British mandatory Palestine which was promised to it in the Balfour Declaration. The Jews accepted. But ALL the Arab world (Not the Palestinians. They didn't exist then) announced they would throw the Jews into the sea, to the last of them. The Israeli Yishuv understood the skirmishes and pogroms would get much worse, and many youngsters who had nothing to lose, some of them Shoa rescapees, began organizing themselves, "ready to die so our Nation can live again." (Zionist Youth Song). "The State will not be given to the Jewish people on a silver platter," grimly said Chaim Weizmann, future president. A few days later, Natan Alterman, the Israeli National Poet, published this in his weekly column in the Davar newspaper: "The Silver Platter Natan Alterman, 1947 As the land grows still, the red eye of the sky  slowly dims over smoking frontiers And as the nation arises, torn at heart but breathing, To receive its miracle, the only miracle... As the ceremony draws near,  They will rise, standing erect in the moonlight, In terror and joy Then from across They will step out, a youth and a lass, and slowly march toward the Nation Dressed in battle gear, dirty, Shoes heavy with grime, they will ascend the path, quietly To change garb, to wipe their brow they have not yet found time. Still bone weary from days and from nights in the field, They are full of endless fatigue and unrested, Yet the dew of their youth Is still seen on their head Thus they stand at attention, giving no sign of life or death . Then a nation in tears and amazement will ask: "Who are you?" And they will answer quietly, "We are the silver platter on which the Jewish state was given." Thus they will say and fall back in shadows And the rest will be told In the Chronicles of Israel" Dalia Navon's family, and all of these heroes who fell to defend us from the Arab terror.... They're the reason why I burst crying when I took out the family's silver platter out of the cupboard for the High Holidays' meals. Would it that we eat in wood and tin, or from the floor with our hands, and all these heroes were home.