The El Al plane began its descent to Johannesburg and in the
early dawn the vast empty landscape of Africa unfolded. Then
quite suddenly the familiar landscape of "Egoli," the city of
gold, the vast areas of tiny houses of Soweto and its
surrounding areas, the green lawns and blue swimming pools of
the suburbs and then the airport buildings -- and within
moments our long flight was over. We went out into the summer
sunshine and the smell of Africa hit out at me,
unforgettable, unchanging and, even after all these years
away, prompting the thought, "Why did I leave?"
This is foolishness. I left to fulfill a dream and now the
dream is reality. I left also because I could not live
comfortably in an apartheid society and yet could not act
against the Afrikaners who created this society. These people
had been good to my great- grandparents when they had fled
persecution. Some Jews had taken a path of illegal
resistance, but this could not be my path. Now the plane was
descending onto the new post-apartheid society.
There are pitfalls to watch out for in the airport. There are
official luggage porters dressed in uniform. There are also
men, desperate for money, who walk up to your trolley and
grab it and ask with an air of authority where you want to go
and then, when you are about to depart, ask for large sums in
an unpleasant and threatening manner. Avoid this by saying
loudly: "I don't need help. I have no money to pay you," and
they will go instead to some unsuspecting tourist.
There is an office where a taxi can be ordered and paid for.
The clerk will take you to the correct cab and hand the
driver the ticket. Avoid the man who approaches you in the
arrivals area and offers you a cab. They tend to be
persistent. The correct response is, "My family are meeting
me," if you want to be left to go on your way.
After resting at my sister's apartment, our first trip was to
the Balfour Park shopping mall. Many Jews live in the
surrounding area and as a result three of the restaurants are
now kosher. Not only that, but for those who want cholov
Yisroel, or Glatt kosher meat, these are available
on request.
For those with foreign currency the prices are amazingly
cheap, provided the product is made in South Africa. Imports
are excessively pricey and an unnecessary expense because the
local products are stylish and of good quality. If you want
to claim back the 18 percent VAT, then make sure you get a
special VAT slip from the cashier and attach it to the
receipt. Before weighing in at the airport it is necessary to
have these stamped by an official, who will ask to see the
purchase.
Horror stories about crime in Johannesburg abound. I should
have felt afraid. I am not sure why I didn't. There were
times when I walked from one place to another and I was the
only white person walking. The streets are eerily empty for
anyone used to the buzz and action of Israeli streets.
If you are spending any amount of time in South Africa and if
you don't have family to transport you, then it is best to
hire a car. Public transport leaves something to be desired.
Also remember, like most major cities of the world, certain
areas are not safe under any circumstances, so only drive on
routes that you have discussed with friends and that you know
are acceptable.
The Jews who have remained in South Africa have adapted to
the new conditions. In my day, there was some antipathy to
sending children to all-Jewish schools. The public school
system was uniformly good. The argument was, "The children
must get used to living and understanding others." Now that
the public school system has quite changed, Jewish schooling
is the norm for everyone. Not only that, but the schools that
promote shemiras mitzvos seem to be the more favored
option. Parents who can barely read Hebrew have children who
are fluent in Rashi.
In Johannesburg there is a resurgence of Jewish observance.
There are new shuls and there are kollelim and
the hospitality of the Jewish community is an experience to
be remembered and savored long after the visit is over. I sit
here back in Israel thinking of an unforgettable "Shabbat
Kallah" where we were drawn into a group of strangers with
such warmth that we were reluctant to leave as the sun set
and the day came to an end.
On previous visits to Johannesburg I have been on tours, to
an old gold mine recreated as a turn-of-the- century town, to
the home of the world renowned, ex- Prime Minister, Jan
Smuts, to the home of the South African Jewish man of
Industry and influence, Sammy Marks. They are all worth
visiting if time allows.
However, we were soon on our way to Cape Town. There is
nothing like a plane trip to remind one of the vastness of
Africa, of the great unpopulated areas that lie between one
town and another, one village and another, even one farmstead
and another. Each time I make this trip I think again of
those Jews who left their homes to seek freedom and
opportunity in a faraway place.
For most of the journey the red-brown bare earth and the
snaking black road is the only scenery. This remains
unchanged even as the plane begins its descent and then,
quite suddenly, nestling in the lower reaches of the tall
mountains, the vineyards appear and the white Cape Dutch
style farmhouses. Then just before landing, mile upon mile of
shantytown, a reminder that not all have benefited from the
new South Africa.
Cape Town airport provides travelers with a cheap and
efficient shuttle service, a minivan that can be booked on
arrival and that fills up with passengers and provides a door-
to-door service for just 60 Rand.
We stayed in Sea Point. The supermarkets have Beth Din
books listing kosher food. The bakery departments at both
Checkers and Pick-and-Pay supermarkets are kosher and under
supervision. There is a kosher deli and there are three
kosher places to eat, Goldie's Deli, Avron's Place and the
Belmont Hotel.
Sea Point has changed. It is no longer the safe, secure place
it used to be, where crowds of holiday makers promenaded
along the sea front on warm summer evenings. It remains
however a place of great natural beauty, with the cold
Atlantic sea breaking on great black rocks.
The main road has busses at half hourly intervals to the city
center, but Cape Town has changed. It is no longer Adderley
Street that is the place for the elegant shopper, but the
shopping malls and more particularly the area at the harbor
known as the "Waterfront." The busses to this destination run
along the beach road. They look old and decrepit but they run
at regular intervals, filled mostly with tourists, who seem
to have found that Cape Town provided the security that other
previously favored destinations no longer give.
The Waterfront area has hotels and tourist shops and regular
shops and supermarkets, as well as a craft market and a
maritime museum and small craft that sail the coast.
We decided to visit Robben Island. For my daughter it was a
short trip on a modern Trimaran. For me it was something
quite different. As my time in South Africa drew to a close,
I knew that the Black political prisoners were housed on this
Island. I could always see the Island in the distance, only
11 kilometers from the coast, but as far as I was concerned
it could have been a thousand miles away. The only people
allowed there were the prison guards and the families of the
prisoners on a rare visit.
It seemed to me then a symbol of all that was wrong with our
country. An Island off a sea resort should be a place like
Coney Island, filled with holiday makers, not suffering and
loneliness. Now I was about to visit this place, a place for
tourists now, but not a pleasure place but a museum of sad
memories.
We watched seals frolic in the harbor and saw a whale dive
into the water and saw the coastline recede and then we were
in the harbor. Guides herded us into two rather old busses
and our guide began the tour, telling us the history of how
it had been first a prison for rebels against the government
as early as 1650 when the founder of white South Africa, Jan
van Riebeeck imprisoned a Khoi Khoi leader by the name of
Autshumato.
The British conquered the land and continued to use the
island as a prison. Between 1846 and 1931 the island received
also lepers and the mentally ill. In 1936 the population
changed as the Island became a British army base, but by 1961
it was again being used as prison, this time by the Afrikaner
regime, for black political prisoners. In September 1996 the
decision was made to create a museum on the Island.
Now ex-prison warders and ex-prisoners live on the Island and
together they run the museum. Their children attend the small
Island school together, a remarkable outcome I feel.
Our guide on the bus was the first person we had come across
whose language was barely understandable. Since our
experience with tourist information centers in Israel has
been uniformly bad, it actually cheered us to find that
another country also appoints unsuitable people to such
tasks. However, our guide in the prison itself was
impressive: an articulate and powerful speaker, who told us
of his ordeal. All my sympathies were with him, but I had to
keep reminding myself that his sentence was not just for
something he had said, but also for his actions in blowing up
a building that housed intelligence officers. He said to us
"None died and 49 were injured," almost en passant,
and I had to remind myself that this soft-spoken man had
armed himself with weapons to kill.
As our visit drew to an end, I thought, as I always do, "Was
I right to leave?"
So many of my family and friends have remained. Even after
all these years I still miss them and I still miss the grand
beauty that I find nowhere else. Like my mother and my
grandmother I was born in Africa and the wild vastness of
Africa is somehow part of my very being.
Our last visit was to the Gardens shul, where our family were
founder members. Here there were many changes. Many different
Jewish institutions are now concentrated on this site. The
board of deputies has a new purpose-built building where the
shul car park once stood. The area has a high fence
and steel gates and a guard at the entrance to a complex that
has within it not only the shul, but also the Gitlin
Jewish Library, the Museum of the Shoah, the Jewish History
museum and a cafe and a vast number of offices.
The buildings are beautiful. Nevertheless I had the feeling
of a retreat into a ghetto, not a forcible retreat, but a
retreat into a place that is secure and comfortable. I think
this encapsulates my picture of the Jewish community. In
their own areas they are safe and secure and comfortable. The
world outside has a hostile and threatening feeling and is
best ignored.
In spite of this I still long for the sight of the great
expanse of Table Mountain and the sound of the South Easter
whistling down the mountain side, and the waves of the
Atlantic coast pounding on the great black rocks sending up
plumes of spray. I long for barbecues in gardens and the easy
friendship of people in shuls and shops, inviting
strangers as if they are long-lost friends. Our ancestors who
went to South Africa were brave and adept at adapting to the
realities of that place whilst maintaining their Jewish
values and identity. I feel that those who remain there are
no less able.
