Editorial - The SAJewish Report - www.sajewisreport.co.za
Abe Abrahamson - a man with a smile who kept striding
A person’s essence cannot be distilled into a few words. But certain phrases can point in the right direction. About Abe Abrahamson, former chairman of the Jewish Report’s board, who died on Saturday, a “profound sense of balance” would be fitting - between the deadly serious versus the hilarious and ironic; the intimacy of family versus the worldliness of business; the individual domain versus public, community involvement; and personal morality versus the “public morality” of politics.
Abe was the patriarch of a huge family of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren; and equally, the consummate “man-of the world” in business, politics and community life.
We at the Jewish Report knew him since 1998, when he was part of the initial founding committee of the paper; for many years he was chairman, resigning in late 2009, when Stan Kaplan took over. His impeccable balance was always there: board meetings would be conducted with the utmost seriousness, but at the end of them, out would come a bottle of whisky and those present would spend a relaxed half-hour chatting about anything and everything.
Abe was the perfect chairman for a newspaper - strong and clear in his vision, yet with a profound respect for its editorial independence. He never attempted to bully the paper into carrying particular articles to his liking and understood that a newspaper is a living, breathing, robust thing, hard to keep up with.
It demands a personal relationship, a love affair with its readers - which can be tempestuous at times. Abe had that connection with the paper, but also brought a calmness, an ability to see the big picture - the wood, not just the trees.
A serious paper covering a wide spectrum of issues, news and open debate will inevitably sometimes enter turbulent waters and be attacked from various quarters when people, for their own reasons, may object to part of the content.
There may be attempts to control it or, in extreme cases, even shut it down - as we have certainly experienced. Abe was always outraged at these attempts. He believed passionately in the importance of the media’s independence. He was always ready to jump to the Jewish Report’s defence, as long as it stuck to its mandate of serving Jewry as a whole with quality content. “You can’t please everyone,” he would say, “nor should you try to.”
Abe’s infirmity eventually forced him to resign as chairman of the newspaper’s board, to the sadness of its members. But, true to his dignity and impeccable sense of duty, he did not simply send a letter to the board informing them of his decision: at the next meeting, he arrived in a suit and tie and was helped up the stairs to the boardroom. He sat down in his chairman’s seat and went through the agenda methodically until it came to the relevant item, then announced his resignation.
He loved a glass of whisky, particularly combined with a chat about something interesting. By an ironic twist of fate, after arriving in South Africa from (then) Rhodesia, Abe and his wife Anita lived for many years within 100 metres of a major outlet of a well-known whisky company on Oxford Road, Johannesburg, where a huge banner portrays an image of the “striding man”. At Abe’s funeral, the rabbi commented with a sorrowful smile that Abe was the ultimate “striding man”. With his passion for life and his intelligent, open mind, he “kept walking” until the last.
On Monday, when he was extremely frail, I asked if I could visit him. “Yes!” said Abe with a “twinkle” in his voice. “Come tomorrow. I’ll have a drink waiting for you!”
The next day he was too ill for visitors. Those last words epitomised him - despite his frailness, he projected a smile to the world and an invitation for a “l’chaim!” with a glass of wine or whisky. A gracious and welcoming host, an astute businessman, a man of immense integrity, insight and wisdom, Abe was not just a man, but a mensch for all seasons with a giant heart and giant vision.
We salute him.
Geoff Sifrin
Editor
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Lost Jewish tribe 'found in Zimbabwe'
Lost Jewish tribe 'found in Zimbabwe'
By Steve Vickers
BBC News, Harare
The Lemba people of Zimbabwe and South Africa may look like their compatriots, but they follow a very different set of customs and traditions.
They do not eat pork, they practise male circumcision, they ritually slaughter their animals, some of their men wear skull caps and they put the Star of David on their gravestones.
Their oral traditions claim that their ancestors were Jews who fled the Holy Land about 2,500 years ago.
It may sound like another myth of a lost tribe of Israel, but British scientists have carried out DNA tests which have confirmed their Semitic origin.
These tests back up the group's belief that a group of perhaps seven men married African women and settled on the continent. The Lemba, who number perhaps 80,000, live in central Zimbabwe and the north of South Africa.
And they also have a prized religious artefact that they say connects them to their Jewish ancestry - a replica of the Biblical Ark of the Covenant known as the ngoma lungundu, meaning "the drum that thunders".
The object went on display recently at a Harare museum to much fanfare, and instilled pride in many of the Lemba.
"For me it's the starting point," says religious singer Fungisai Zvakavapano-Mashavave.
According to Genticists the Lemba women do not have Jewish DNA
"Very few people knew about us and this is the time to come out. I'm very proud to realise that we have a rich culture and I'm proud to be a Lemba.
"We have been a very secretive people, because we believe we are a special people."
Religion vs culture
The Lemba have many customs and regulations that tally with Jewish tradition.
They wear skull caps, practise circumcision, which is not a tradition for most Zimbabweans, avoid eating pork and food with animal blood, and have 12 tribes.
“ Many people say that the story is far-fetched, but the oral traditions of the Lemba have been backed up by science ”
Tudor Parfitt University of London
They slaughter animals in the same way as Jewish people, and they put the Jewish Star of David on their tombstones.
Members of the priestly clan of the Lemba, known as the Buba, were even discovered to have a genetic element also found among the Jewish priestly line.
"This was amazing," said Prof Tudor Parfitt, from the University of London.
"It looks as if the Jewish priesthood continued in the West by people called Cohen, and in same way it was continued by the priestly clan of the Lemba.
"They have a common ancestor who geneticists say lived about 3,000 years ago somewhere in north Arabia, which is the time of Moses and Aaron when the Jewish priesthood started."
Prof Parfitt is a world-renowned expert, having spent 20 years researching the Lemba, and living with them for six months.
The Lemba have a sacred prayer language which is a mixture of Hebrew and Arabic, pointing to their roots in Israel and Yemen.
Despite their ties to Judaism, many of the Lemba in Zimbabwe are Christians, while some are Muslims.
"Christianity is my religion, and Judaism is my culture," explains Perez Hamandishe, a pastor and member of parliament from the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC).
Many people say that the story is far-fetched, but the oral traditions of the Lemba have been backed up by science - Tudor Parfitt University of London
Despite their centuries-old traditions, some younger Lemba are taking a more liberal view.
"In the old days you didn't marry a non-Lemba, but these days we interact with others," says Alex Makotore, son of the late Chief Mposi from the Lemba "headquarters" in Mberengwa.
"I feel special in my heart but not in front of others such that I'm separated from them. Culture is dynamic."
Crowds
The oral traditions of the Lemba say that the ngoma lungundu is the Biblical wooden Ark made by Moses, and that centuries ago a small group of men began a long journey carrying it from Yemen to southern Africa.
“ Hearing from those professors in Harare and seeing the ngoma makes it clear that we are a great people and I'm very proud ”
David Maramwidze Lemba elder
The object went missing during the 1970s and was eventually rediscovered in Harare in 2007 by Prof Parfitt.
"Many people say that the story is far-fetched, but the oral traditions of the Lemba have been backed up by science," he says.
Carbon dating shows the ngoma to be nearly 700 years old - pretty ancient, if not as old as Bible stories would suggest.
But Prof Parfitt says this is because the ngoma was used in battles, and would explode and be rebuilt.
The ngoma now on display was a replica, he says, possibly built from the remains of the original.
"So it's the closest descendant of the Ark that we know of," Prof Parfitt says.
Large crowds came to see the unveiling of the ngoma and to attend lectures on the identity of the Lemba.
For David Maramwidze, an elder in his village, the discovery of the ngoma has been a defining moment.
"Hearing from those professors in Harare and seeing the ngoma makes it clear that we are a great people and I'm very proud," he says.
"I heard about it all my life and it was hard for me to believe, because I had no idea of what it really is.
"I'm still seeing the picture of the ngoma in my mind and it will never come out from my brain. Now we want it to be given back to the Lemba people."
To hear more about the Lemba people, listen to the BBC World Service
programme on Saturday 6 March at 0830 GMT.
Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/8550614.stm
Published: 2010/03/08 11:15:10 GMT
© BBC MMX
Print Sponsor
By Steve Vickers
BBC News, Harare
The Lemba people of Zimbabwe and South Africa may look like their compatriots, but they follow a very different set of customs and traditions.
They do not eat pork, they practise male circumcision, they ritually slaughter their animals, some of their men wear skull caps and they put the Star of David on their gravestones.
Their oral traditions claim that their ancestors were Jews who fled the Holy Land about 2,500 years ago.
It may sound like another myth of a lost tribe of Israel, but British scientists have carried out DNA tests which have confirmed their Semitic origin.
These tests back up the group's belief that a group of perhaps seven men married African women and settled on the continent. The Lemba, who number perhaps 80,000, live in central Zimbabwe and the north of South Africa.
And they also have a prized religious artefact that they say connects them to their Jewish ancestry - a replica of the Biblical Ark of the Covenant known as the ngoma lungundu, meaning "the drum that thunders".
The object went on display recently at a Harare museum to much fanfare, and instilled pride in many of the Lemba.
"For me it's the starting point," says religious singer Fungisai Zvakavapano-Mashavave.
According to Genticists the Lemba women do not have Jewish DNA
"Very few people knew about us and this is the time to come out. I'm very proud to realise that we have a rich culture and I'm proud to be a Lemba.
"We have been a very secretive people, because we believe we are a special people."
Religion vs culture
The Lemba have many customs and regulations that tally with Jewish tradition.
They wear skull caps, practise circumcision, which is not a tradition for most Zimbabweans, avoid eating pork and food with animal blood, and have 12 tribes.
“ Many people say that the story is far-fetched, but the oral traditions of the Lemba have been backed up by science ”
Tudor Parfitt University of London
They slaughter animals in the same way as Jewish people, and they put the Jewish Star of David on their tombstones.
Members of the priestly clan of the Lemba, known as the Buba, were even discovered to have a genetic element also found among the Jewish priestly line.
"This was amazing," said Prof Tudor Parfitt, from the University of London.
"It looks as if the Jewish priesthood continued in the West by people called Cohen, and in same way it was continued by the priestly clan of the Lemba.
"They have a common ancestor who geneticists say lived about 3,000 years ago somewhere in north Arabia, which is the time of Moses and Aaron when the Jewish priesthood started."
Prof Parfitt is a world-renowned expert, having spent 20 years researching the Lemba, and living with them for six months.
The Lemba have a sacred prayer language which is a mixture of Hebrew and Arabic, pointing to their roots in Israel and Yemen.
Despite their ties to Judaism, many of the Lemba in Zimbabwe are Christians, while some are Muslims.
"Christianity is my religion, and Judaism is my culture," explains Perez Hamandishe, a pastor and member of parliament from the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC).
Many people say that the story is far-fetched, but the oral traditions of the Lemba have been backed up by science - Tudor Parfitt University of London
Despite their centuries-old traditions, some younger Lemba are taking a more liberal view.
"In the old days you didn't marry a non-Lemba, but these days we interact with others," says Alex Makotore, son of the late Chief Mposi from the Lemba "headquarters" in Mberengwa.
"I feel special in my heart but not in front of others such that I'm separated from them. Culture is dynamic."
Crowds
The oral traditions of the Lemba say that the ngoma lungundu is the Biblical wooden Ark made by Moses, and that centuries ago a small group of men began a long journey carrying it from Yemen to southern Africa.
“ Hearing from those professors in Harare and seeing the ngoma makes it clear that we are a great people and I'm very proud ”
David Maramwidze Lemba elder
The object went missing during the 1970s and was eventually rediscovered in Harare in 2007 by Prof Parfitt.
"Many people say that the story is far-fetched, but the oral traditions of the Lemba have been backed up by science," he says.
Carbon dating shows the ngoma to be nearly 700 years old - pretty ancient, if not as old as Bible stories would suggest.
But Prof Parfitt says this is because the ngoma was used in battles, and would explode and be rebuilt.
The ngoma now on display was a replica, he says, possibly built from the remains of the original.
"So it's the closest descendant of the Ark that we know of," Prof Parfitt says.
Large crowds came to see the unveiling of the ngoma and to attend lectures on the identity of the Lemba.
For David Maramwidze, an elder in his village, the discovery of the ngoma has been a defining moment.
"Hearing from those professors in Harare and seeing the ngoma makes it clear that we are a great people and I'm very proud," he says.
"I heard about it all my life and it was hard for me to believe, because I had no idea of what it really is.
"I'm still seeing the picture of the ngoma in my mind and it will never come out from my brain. Now we want it to be given back to the Lemba people."
To hear more about the Lemba people, listen to the BBC World Service
programme on Saturday 6 March at 0830 GMT.
Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/8550614.stm
Published: 2010/03/08 11:15:10 GMT
© BBC MMX
Print Sponsor
Monday, March 08, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
First Mugabe took the farms now it is white-owned firms
First Mugabe took the farms now it is white-owned firms
Published Date: 13 February 2010
By Jane Fields in Harare
WHITE people will no longer be able to open hairdressers, advertising agencies or bakeries in Zimbabwe under black empowerment regulations hastily signed into law by president Robert Mugabe's side of the government.
Morgan Tsvangirai, Mr Mugabe's estranged prime minister, described the new law as "null and void" because he had not been consulted. But analysts say he will likely be unable to reverse it.
The Indigenisation and Economic Empowerment Regulations force executives of white-owned companies with assets of more than £320,000 to commit to hand over 51 per cent of their shares to black Zimbabweans within 75 days of 1 March – or face five years in jail.
The executives cannot choose their new shareholders: they must pick from a database set up by the empowerment ministry, headed by former secret service operative Saviour Kasukuwere, who has vast business interests of his own.
"This says to investors: Don't you dare come here," said political analyst John Makumbe, of the University of Zimbabwe.
The new regulations will affect several London-listed banks and mines: Barclays Bank and Old Mutual have a significant presence in Zimbabwe. The law also sets out an impressive list of traditionally lucrative smaller sectors now reserved for black Zimbabweans.
Among the "sectors reserved against foreign investment" are hairdressers, beauty salons, employment and advertising agencies and bakeries. Whites and foreigners will no longer be allowed to open estate agencies or valet services, nor will they be allowed to engage in the retail trade or grow cash crops.
"This comes down to loot and pillage," a Tsvangirai aide said.
"It disqualifies a lot of black-owned foreign companies, including ones from South Africa, which shows it has nothing to do with black empowerment. They (Mr Mugabe's Zanu-PF party] just want things for free like the farms."
Mr Tsvangirai, the head of the former opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) party, met Mr Mugabe to register his disapproval of the new law. The 84-year-old president made the astonishing claim that he "knew nothing about it".
The regulations were passed by the Zanu-PF-dominated parliament in 2007 but put on ice, leading many to believe they'd been permanently shelved. They were quietly published last Friday, exactly a decade since Mr Mugabe launched a violence-riddled land reform programme that has turfed about 4,000 white farmers off their land and seen Zimbabwe's agricultural production plummet. The first white farm invasions were in February 2000.
South African lawyer Willie Spies, who has fought to protect white farmers from Mr Mugabe's land grab said: "The new development calls for more drastic measures by the South African government to assist its citizens affected by Mugabe's controversial policies."
Mr Tsvangirai said: "The regulations would have scared off foreign investors, already jittery about Zimbabwe, as well as disenfranchising citizens."
Only this month the former opposition leader assured the World Economic Forum in Davos that "confidence has returned" to Zimbabwe's battered economy.
Analysts said the regulations represented another slap in the face for the premier from his rival, who has been bolstered by South African president Jacob Zuma's recent taking of sides during negotiations to revive a stalled unity deal signed in September 2008.
Mr Zuma told Mr Tsvangirai he should be "more flexible" in what looked like a plea for the MDC leader to drop his demand that Mr Mugabe's central bank governor and attorney general be replaced.
Mr Mugabe insists he will make no concessions until western sanctions on him and 200 close associates are removed.
Published Date: 13 February 2010
By Jane Fields in Harare
WHITE people will no longer be able to open hairdressers, advertising agencies or bakeries in Zimbabwe under black empowerment regulations hastily signed into law by president Robert Mugabe's side of the government.
Morgan Tsvangirai, Mr Mugabe's estranged prime minister, described the new law as "null and void" because he had not been consulted. But analysts say he will likely be unable to reverse it.
The Indigenisation and Economic Empowerment Regulations force executives of white-owned companies with assets of more than £320,000 to commit to hand over 51 per cent of their shares to black Zimbabweans within 75 days of 1 March – or face five years in jail.
The executives cannot choose their new shareholders: they must pick from a database set up by the empowerment ministry, headed by former secret service operative Saviour Kasukuwere, who has vast business interests of his own.
"This says to investors: Don't you dare come here," said political analyst John Makumbe, of the University of Zimbabwe.
The new regulations will affect several London-listed banks and mines: Barclays Bank and Old Mutual have a significant presence in Zimbabwe. The law also sets out an impressive list of traditionally lucrative smaller sectors now reserved for black Zimbabweans.
Among the "sectors reserved against foreign investment" are hairdressers, beauty salons, employment and advertising agencies and bakeries. Whites and foreigners will no longer be allowed to open estate agencies or valet services, nor will they be allowed to engage in the retail trade or grow cash crops.
"This comes down to loot and pillage," a Tsvangirai aide said.
"It disqualifies a lot of black-owned foreign companies, including ones from South Africa, which shows it has nothing to do with black empowerment. They (Mr Mugabe's Zanu-PF party] just want things for free like the farms."
Mr Tsvangirai, the head of the former opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) party, met Mr Mugabe to register his disapproval of the new law. The 84-year-old president made the astonishing claim that he "knew nothing about it".
The regulations were passed by the Zanu-PF-dominated parliament in 2007 but put on ice, leading many to believe they'd been permanently shelved. They were quietly published last Friday, exactly a decade since Mr Mugabe launched a violence-riddled land reform programme that has turfed about 4,000 white farmers off their land and seen Zimbabwe's agricultural production plummet. The first white farm invasions were in February 2000.
South African lawyer Willie Spies, who has fought to protect white farmers from Mr Mugabe's land grab said: "The new development calls for more drastic measures by the South African government to assist its citizens affected by Mugabe's controversial policies."
Mr Tsvangirai said: "The regulations would have scared off foreign investors, already jittery about Zimbabwe, as well as disenfranchising citizens."
Only this month the former opposition leader assured the World Economic Forum in Davos that "confidence has returned" to Zimbabwe's battered economy.
Analysts said the regulations represented another slap in the face for the premier from his rival, who has been bolstered by South African president Jacob Zuma's recent taking of sides during negotiations to revive a stalled unity deal signed in September 2008.
Mr Zuma told Mr Tsvangirai he should be "more flexible" in what looked like a plea for the MDC leader to drop his demand that Mr Mugabe's central bank governor and attorney general be replaced.
Mr Mugabe insists he will make no concessions until western sanctions on him and 200 close associates are removed.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Soul train visits Zimbabwe - report by Lior Kaminsky
כנר על הגולה
קומץ של יהודים חיים בין שמונה מיליון תושביה השחורים של זימבבואה. בית הכנסת נשרף בנסיבות לא ברורות, ההתבוללות צמצמה את הקהילה והתקשורת עם העולם רעועה - אבל צלילי כינור יהודי חודרים אל הלב. יומן מסע אישי
ליאור קמינצקי
פורסם: 26.08.09, 21:02
אני נוחת בבולאוויו שבזימבבואה. לא ממש ברור לי אם זהו באמת שדה התעופה או אוהל מתכת מאולתר באיזה מחנה נוער. כמו בכל מקום אחר במסעי בדרום-אפריקה, אף כאן מחכה לי אשת הקשר בשדה התעופה, אלא שהפעם אני נתקל בבעיה: פקיד הקבלה מסרב לתת לי להתקדם בטענה שאין לי ויזת עבודה.
הניסיונות להסביר שמדובר בשליחות, במסע הופעות שנועד לגעת בליבותיהם של יהודים בקהילות נידחות ברחבי העולם לא ממש עוזרים. רגע לפני שנראה היה שזהו הסוף למסע, אשת הקשר נכנסת פתאום פנימה ומתערבת בנעשה. בעברית קלוקלת היא אומרת לי "שתוק, ואל תוסיף לדבר". במיומנות ובביטחון היא מדברת על לבו של השומר ומרגיעה שלא מדובר בהופעה אלא באירוע פרטי של אחד מידידי הקהילה. אירוע זה כשלעצמו לאו דווקא דבר חריג, סתם ביורוקרטיה מוכרת המעצבנת את כולנו, אלא שזו רק ההתחלה בביקורי במדינה.
לבן בחלום שחור
אל זימבבואה הגעתי כחלק ממסע מטעם ארגון "ציפור הנפש" השולח אמנים למקומות נידחים כדי להביא אליהם את ישראל והיהדות. האמנים מעניקים לחברי הקהילות מעט מזון רוחני - מזון של שייכות, שמספק להם כבוד וגאווה דרך האומה והמסורת אליה הם משתייכים, אך ממנה הם גם כל-כך רחוקים.
מאחר שמדובר בקהילות קטנות, פעמים בעלות משפחות ספורות בלבד, לרוב אין מורה דרך רוחני ואקטיבי שיפיח חיוּת במבני בתי הכנסת היפים, אך שוממים. נישואי תערובת ומחסור בחינוך יהודי מכלים עם הזמן את העבר העשיר, ועתיד כמעט שאין בטווח נראה לעין. אלה פניה של הגולה המרוחקת, לא ה"מיין סטרים" שאנו מכירים בניו-יורק או לוס אנג'לס - שם אני חי בשנים האחרונות לצורך לימודי הדוקטורט שלי כמוזיקאי, וכמובן לצורך הופעות.
בזימבבואה, מדינה שבה שמונה מיליון שחורים ורק כ-30 אלף לבנים, פנים מערביות הן מראה בולט לעין. אנחנו נכנסים למכונית ישנה, להערכתי כבת 20 שנה, ורק במהלך הנסיעה הארוכה אני מבחין שאני בעצם זוכה לשבת באחת ממכוניות הפאר כאן בעיר הגדולה. כשאחוז אבטלה עומד על 94 אחוז, לרוב התושבים אין מכוניות כלל, והם פשוט מהלכים ממקום למקום כשסליהם על ראשם ובגדים מרוטים על גופם.
עכשיו אני קולט במלוא העוצמה: אנחנו באפריקה. זו אפריקה שרואים בסרטים, לא קייפ-טאון היפה, אלא שכונות עוני ומצוקה. אנחנו מגיעים לאזור הקהילה היהודית, מחנים ונכנסים לאזור מוגן עם שלושה בתים גדולים. בבית המארחים שלי בריכה, ושני פועלים שחורים העמלים על תיקונה. אשת הקשר מראה לי את הדרך לחדרי ומתחילה לטרוח בהכנת הארוחה. היא מציעה לי עוף שהיא מוציאה מן המקפיא ואומרת שבקרוב נאכל, אלא שאז מתברר שיש הפסקת חשמל. "ברוך הבא לזימבבואה", היא אומרת, "ואל תחשוב שזה מקרה, זה קורה כאן כל הזמן ואין מה לעשות". היא מניחה את העוף בנקודה שטופת שמש כדי שיתחמם מעט, אך העוף בשלו ואנחנו אוכלים אותו כמעט קפוא.
דרור יקרא ברחוב
יש לי כשלוש שעות פנויות עד להופעה ואני מעוניין להסתובב בעיר ולהתרשם. אנחנו נכנסים למין שוק פתוח עמוס במוכרים אלא שהסחורה של כולם היא גרביים ונעליים, וגם קצת בגדים. כולם יושבים בצפיפות, מחכים לפרנסה שאין מי שיביאה. הביוב זורם חופשי לעיני כל, את הבורות בכבישים אף אחד לא טורח לכסות, וריקשות שנמשכות בכוח בני-אדם משמשות כמוניות.
ברחוב של בולאוויו אני פוגש קבוצה של ילדים מקומיים שמסכימה להצטרף אליי לקונצרט מאולתר. יחד אנחנו מנגנים ושרים את "נקוסי סיקללה", המנונה של דרום אפריקה. לאחר מכן אני מציע מעט ממרכולתי ומנגן להם את "דרור יקרא" התימני, בעוד שהם מוחאים כפיים ונהנים מהחוויה. כאות תודה אני קונה לכל אחד תפוז - דבר טריוויאלי לכאורה, שנראה כי עבורם היה מאורע משמעותי.
הקונצרט המאולתר ברחוב בבולאוויו (צילום חובבים)
אני שב לאזור הקהילה, שמורכבת מקומץ של משפחות. מצבם אמנם טוב פי כמה מרוב תושביה של זימבבואה, אבל כשהמדינה בגרעון עצום וללא אמצעים - המצב משפיע ישירות על כל המערכת והשירותים האלמנטריים הנדרשים לקיומה. אינטרנט כמעט שאין, וקווי הטלפון המשובשים מקשים על הקשר עם העולם החיצון.
תרבות הפנאי - סרטים והופעות - אינם מצרך נפוץ, ובשל כך אני זוכה לתפוסה מלאה באולם בו מתקיימת ההופעה. בקונצרט נכחו חברי הקהילה, אנשים מבוגרים בני 70-80, שאליהם הצטרף גם קהל לא-יהודי, שחורים ולבנים. אני מופיע לבדי, אך מזמין גם את הקהל להצטרף ולשיר ולנגן בכלי הקשה שונים שהבאתי במיוחד כדי לעשות שמח ולהעשיר את ההופעה. הצלילים עושים את שלהם ומוצאים את דרכם אל לב האנשים, ששוב ושוב מודים לי על תרומתי לקהילה.
מה עשיתי רע?
זימבבואה היא מדינה עם צורת שלטון דיקטטורית, שלטון שלא התחלף מזה כ-30 שנה. פציית פה על הממשל הינה עבירה על החוק ודינה כלא - וכלא זה לא נעים, בלשון המעטה. אני קולט את האווירה, את החשש באוויר, ופתאום החשש לשלומי מתחיל לחלחל. לא שעשיתי משהו מיוחד, אלא שכדרכי אני מדבר, מסתקרן וסומך על האחר, ובמדינה עם חוקים אחרים, יש דברים שאסור לומר, ובפירוש מומלץ להיזהר.
בדרך מהרארה, עיר הבירה, אל עבר שדה התעופה אני עובר בראש על שאלותיי התמימות, על ההופעות ועל האנשים שפגשתי ומקווה שבאמת לא עברתי על כל חוק או עיצבנתי בדבריי מי מבעלי השררה. אני נותן לנהג, חבר הקהילה, את מספר הטלפון שלי ואומר לו ברצינות גמורה: "אם אני מתקשר בלי ממש לדבר, סימן שאני בצרה צרורה, תרים מיד טלפון לקונסוליה". אני לא סומך רק עליו ומוודא גם עם אשתי שיש לה את מספרו של איש הקשר הנוכחי.
אני נכנס לשדה התעופה, שולח את המזוודות ועובר בשלום את דלפק הקבלה, נשימה לרווחה. אני עובר הלאה דרך השער המגנטי והנה אני שם לב שמעיינים היטב בדרכוני הישראלי. מגיע אליי אדם שנראה כאחראי ושואל אותי מה קורה בארץ ולמה יש כל-כך הרבה הרוגים, כשברור לי שאינו מדבר על ישראלים. אני עונה לו כדרכי ש"בעזרת השם, יבוא שלום במהרה והלוואי ונחיה כולנו בשלום ובאחווה". הוא לא משתכנע ודורש ממני להמתין. רגע אחרי הוא אומר לי לקפל את הדברים וללכת בעקבותיו. בלי הסברים.
אני אורז את הציוד האישי ואנחנו נכנסים למעלית ויורדים שתי קומות, הרחק מהמפלס הציבורי. יוצאים מן המעלית ואני רואה דלת המובילה למסדרון חשוך. אני עוצר ואומר שאני רוצה לקבל הסבר ולא מוכן עוד להמשיך. הוא אומר שיש איזו בעיה במזוודה,
חפץ לא ברור ומסמן לי לא לדאוג. אני דואג עוד יותר ומתפלל שחששותיי לא יתממשו. ידיי רועדות, אני משנן פרקי תהלים ומקווה לטוב. אנחנו נכנסים למסדרון החשוך ואני מבחין במזוודות, מתחיל מעט להירגע. יושבת שם פקידה ששואלת אותי אם אני זוכר משהו חשוד במזוודתי. אני אומר שלא, והנה מבין הבגדים היא מוציאה אבן גדולה. "מה זה?" היא שואלת, "קניתי את זה כמזכרת", אני עונה ומראה לה תווי אדם חקוקים עליו בצורה אמנותית. היא מסתכלת עליי שוב ושולחת אותי לדרכי.
על המטוס אני שמח שזה מאחוריי, ולאט-לאט נרגע. אני יכול לסכם שביקורי בזימבבואה בהחלט היה חוויה - אולי קצת מפחידה, אבל גם מרתקת ונפלאה. היעד הבא: הקהילה היהודית בנמיביה.
ליאור קמינצקי, בוגר ישיבת הסדר, מתגורר מזה כשלוש שנים בלוס אנג'לס לצורך לימודי דוקטורט בביצוע כינור באוניברסיטת דרום קליפורניה.
קומץ של יהודים חיים בין שמונה מיליון תושביה השחורים של זימבבואה. בית הכנסת נשרף בנסיבות לא ברורות, ההתבוללות צמצמה את הקהילה והתקשורת עם העולם רעועה - אבל צלילי כינור יהודי חודרים אל הלב. יומן מסע אישי
ליאור קמינצקי
פורסם: 26.08.09, 21:02
אני נוחת בבולאוויו שבזימבבואה. לא ממש ברור לי אם זהו באמת שדה התעופה או אוהל מתכת מאולתר באיזה מחנה נוער. כמו בכל מקום אחר במסעי בדרום-אפריקה, אף כאן מחכה לי אשת הקשר בשדה התעופה, אלא שהפעם אני נתקל בבעיה: פקיד הקבלה מסרב לתת לי להתקדם בטענה שאין לי ויזת עבודה.
הניסיונות להסביר שמדובר בשליחות, במסע הופעות שנועד לגעת בליבותיהם של יהודים בקהילות נידחות ברחבי העולם לא ממש עוזרים. רגע לפני שנראה היה שזהו הסוף למסע, אשת הקשר נכנסת פתאום פנימה ומתערבת בנעשה. בעברית קלוקלת היא אומרת לי "שתוק, ואל תוסיף לדבר". במיומנות ובביטחון היא מדברת על לבו של השומר ומרגיעה שלא מדובר בהופעה אלא באירוע פרטי של אחד מידידי הקהילה. אירוע זה כשלעצמו לאו דווקא דבר חריג, סתם ביורוקרטיה מוכרת המעצבנת את כולנו, אלא שזו רק ההתחלה בביקורי במדינה.
לבן בחלום שחור
אל זימבבואה הגעתי כחלק ממסע מטעם ארגון "ציפור הנפש" השולח אמנים למקומות נידחים כדי להביא אליהם את ישראל והיהדות. האמנים מעניקים לחברי הקהילות מעט מזון רוחני - מזון של שייכות, שמספק להם כבוד וגאווה דרך האומה והמסורת אליה הם משתייכים, אך ממנה הם גם כל-כך רחוקים.
מאחר שמדובר בקהילות קטנות, פעמים בעלות משפחות ספורות בלבד, לרוב אין מורה דרך רוחני ואקטיבי שיפיח חיוּת במבני בתי הכנסת היפים, אך שוממים. נישואי תערובת ומחסור בחינוך יהודי מכלים עם הזמן את העבר העשיר, ועתיד כמעט שאין בטווח נראה לעין. אלה פניה של הגולה המרוחקת, לא ה"מיין סטרים" שאנו מכירים בניו-יורק או לוס אנג'לס - שם אני חי בשנים האחרונות לצורך לימודי הדוקטורט שלי כמוזיקאי, וכמובן לצורך הופעות.
בזימבבואה, מדינה שבה שמונה מיליון שחורים ורק כ-30 אלף לבנים, פנים מערביות הן מראה בולט לעין. אנחנו נכנסים למכונית ישנה, להערכתי כבת 20 שנה, ורק במהלך הנסיעה הארוכה אני מבחין שאני בעצם זוכה לשבת באחת ממכוניות הפאר כאן בעיר הגדולה. כשאחוז אבטלה עומד על 94 אחוז, לרוב התושבים אין מכוניות כלל, והם פשוט מהלכים ממקום למקום כשסליהם על ראשם ובגדים מרוטים על גופם.
עכשיו אני קולט במלוא העוצמה: אנחנו באפריקה. זו אפריקה שרואים בסרטים, לא קייפ-טאון היפה, אלא שכונות עוני ומצוקה. אנחנו מגיעים לאזור הקהילה היהודית, מחנים ונכנסים לאזור מוגן עם שלושה בתים גדולים. בבית המארחים שלי בריכה, ושני פועלים שחורים העמלים על תיקונה. אשת הקשר מראה לי את הדרך לחדרי ומתחילה לטרוח בהכנת הארוחה. היא מציעה לי עוף שהיא מוציאה מן המקפיא ואומרת שבקרוב נאכל, אלא שאז מתברר שיש הפסקת חשמל. "ברוך הבא לזימבבואה", היא אומרת, "ואל תחשוב שזה מקרה, זה קורה כאן כל הזמן ואין מה לעשות". היא מניחה את העוף בנקודה שטופת שמש כדי שיתחמם מעט, אך העוף בשלו ואנחנו אוכלים אותו כמעט קפוא.
דרור יקרא ברחוב
יש לי כשלוש שעות פנויות עד להופעה ואני מעוניין להסתובב בעיר ולהתרשם. אנחנו נכנסים למין שוק פתוח עמוס במוכרים אלא שהסחורה של כולם היא גרביים ונעליים, וגם קצת בגדים. כולם יושבים בצפיפות, מחכים לפרנסה שאין מי שיביאה. הביוב זורם חופשי לעיני כל, את הבורות בכבישים אף אחד לא טורח לכסות, וריקשות שנמשכות בכוח בני-אדם משמשות כמוניות.
ברחוב של בולאוויו אני פוגש קבוצה של ילדים מקומיים שמסכימה להצטרף אליי לקונצרט מאולתר. יחד אנחנו מנגנים ושרים את "נקוסי סיקללה", המנונה של דרום אפריקה. לאחר מכן אני מציע מעט ממרכולתי ומנגן להם את "דרור יקרא" התימני, בעוד שהם מוחאים כפיים ונהנים מהחוויה. כאות תודה אני קונה לכל אחד תפוז - דבר טריוויאלי לכאורה, שנראה כי עבורם היה מאורע משמעותי.
הקונצרט המאולתר ברחוב בבולאוויו (צילום חובבים)
אני שב לאזור הקהילה, שמורכבת מקומץ של משפחות. מצבם אמנם טוב פי כמה מרוב תושביה של זימבבואה, אבל כשהמדינה בגרעון עצום וללא אמצעים - המצב משפיע ישירות על כל המערכת והשירותים האלמנטריים הנדרשים לקיומה. אינטרנט כמעט שאין, וקווי הטלפון המשובשים מקשים על הקשר עם העולם החיצון.
תרבות הפנאי - סרטים והופעות - אינם מצרך נפוץ, ובשל כך אני זוכה לתפוסה מלאה באולם בו מתקיימת ההופעה. בקונצרט נכחו חברי הקהילה, אנשים מבוגרים בני 70-80, שאליהם הצטרף גם קהל לא-יהודי, שחורים ולבנים. אני מופיע לבדי, אך מזמין גם את הקהל להצטרף ולשיר ולנגן בכלי הקשה שונים שהבאתי במיוחד כדי לעשות שמח ולהעשיר את ההופעה. הצלילים עושים את שלהם ומוצאים את דרכם אל לב האנשים, ששוב ושוב מודים לי על תרומתי לקהילה.
מה עשיתי רע?
זימבבואה היא מדינה עם צורת שלטון דיקטטורית, שלטון שלא התחלף מזה כ-30 שנה. פציית פה על הממשל הינה עבירה על החוק ודינה כלא - וכלא זה לא נעים, בלשון המעטה. אני קולט את האווירה, את החשש באוויר, ופתאום החשש לשלומי מתחיל לחלחל. לא שעשיתי משהו מיוחד, אלא שכדרכי אני מדבר, מסתקרן וסומך על האחר, ובמדינה עם חוקים אחרים, יש דברים שאסור לומר, ובפירוש מומלץ להיזהר.
בדרך מהרארה, עיר הבירה, אל עבר שדה התעופה אני עובר בראש על שאלותיי התמימות, על ההופעות ועל האנשים שפגשתי ומקווה שבאמת לא עברתי על כל חוק או עיצבנתי בדבריי מי מבעלי השררה. אני נותן לנהג, חבר הקהילה, את מספר הטלפון שלי ואומר לו ברצינות גמורה: "אם אני מתקשר בלי ממש לדבר, סימן שאני בצרה צרורה, תרים מיד טלפון לקונסוליה". אני לא סומך רק עליו ומוודא גם עם אשתי שיש לה את מספרו של איש הקשר הנוכחי.
אני נכנס לשדה התעופה, שולח את המזוודות ועובר בשלום את דלפק הקבלה, נשימה לרווחה. אני עובר הלאה דרך השער המגנטי והנה אני שם לב שמעיינים היטב בדרכוני הישראלי. מגיע אליי אדם שנראה כאחראי ושואל אותי מה קורה בארץ ולמה יש כל-כך הרבה הרוגים, כשברור לי שאינו מדבר על ישראלים. אני עונה לו כדרכי ש"בעזרת השם, יבוא שלום במהרה והלוואי ונחיה כולנו בשלום ובאחווה". הוא לא משתכנע ודורש ממני להמתין. רגע אחרי הוא אומר לי לקפל את הדברים וללכת בעקבותיו. בלי הסברים.
אני אורז את הציוד האישי ואנחנו נכנסים למעלית ויורדים שתי קומות, הרחק מהמפלס הציבורי. יוצאים מן המעלית ואני רואה דלת המובילה למסדרון חשוך. אני עוצר ואומר שאני רוצה לקבל הסבר ולא מוכן עוד להמשיך. הוא אומר שיש איזו בעיה במזוודה,
חפץ לא ברור ומסמן לי לא לדאוג. אני דואג עוד יותר ומתפלל שחששותיי לא יתממשו. ידיי רועדות, אני משנן פרקי תהלים ומקווה לטוב. אנחנו נכנסים למסדרון החשוך ואני מבחין במזוודות, מתחיל מעט להירגע. יושבת שם פקידה ששואלת אותי אם אני זוכר משהו חשוד במזוודתי. אני אומר שלא, והנה מבין הבגדים היא מוציאה אבן גדולה. "מה זה?" היא שואלת, "קניתי את זה כמזכרת", אני עונה ומראה לה תווי אדם חקוקים עליו בצורה אמנותית. היא מסתכלת עליי שוב ושולחת אותי לדרכי.
על המטוס אני שמח שזה מאחוריי, ולאט-לאט נרגע. אני יכול לסכם שביקורי בזימבבואה בהחלט היה חוויה - אולי קצת מפחידה, אבל גם מרתקת ונפלאה. היעד הבא: הקהילה היהודית בנמיביה.
ליאור קמינצקי, בוגר ישיבת הסדר, מתגורר מזה כשלוש שנים בלוס אנג'לס לצורך לימודי דוקטורט בביצוע כינור באוניברסיטת דרום קליפורניה.
Monday, October 05, 2009
Marshall Baron - lawyer, artist and musician
MARSHALL BARON was born in Bulawayo, Rhodesia (today Zimbabwe) on August 3rd 1934 where he spent his entire life, and loved the town and its peoples. He died on May 3rd 1977.
Marshall excelled in three fields:
Law: He had an L.L. B. degree and practised law at Ben Baron & Partners. He achieved marked success in his chosen profession and gained an enviable reputation in it. As a practicing lawyer he carried the struggle for a more egalitarian society into the law courts.
Art: He was a serious and prolific artist painting hundreds of canvasses of all sizes and his works were exhibited over the years in one-man and group shows in Rhodesia and South Africa. He was very active and influential in the local art world and was a committee member and a chairman of the Rhodesian Society of Artists.
Music: His knowledge and appreciation of classical music was encyclopedic and profound and his impact on the musical life of Bulawayo was incalculable. His regular critiques in The Chronicle on concerts and on the performances of visiting musicians of international repute were literary masterpieces.
Read more about him and his work at www.marshallbaron.com
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Rabbi and Rebbitzin Zwebner - a tribute
I grew up in Bulawayo, Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) and was privileged to have both a Rabbi and a Rebbitzin that I could look up to. Rabbi and Rebbitzin Zwebner.
My memories of Rabbi Zwebner are of a tall man with white hair and beard, a man that my father worked with on committees, that my father looked up to, a man I knew I could trust. Instinct told me that Rabbi would always be there for me. Not in ways that I would notice, but as a backbone of the Jewish community. Making sure the schools were aware of their Jewish kids (we only had a Jewish Junior school), trying to make sure we had kosher food. And always in the shul.
Years later, as I stood in front of the Beth Din in Cape Town I remembered that I trusted Rabbi Zwebner. Knowing that I was from Bulawayo, the Beth Din had called in Rabbi Zwebner to sit with them. Like a true Judge, he sat quietly. He showed no emotion, but I could feel all of that trust of my youth flow back. He said little that day. Just enough for me to know that my trust was well founded.
My memories of Rebbitzin Zwebner are of a true Rebbitzin. We were friends of the family, my brother and Jonty, their youngest, were the same age, and after shul all the kids would amble along to their home for Kiddush. It must have been a huge home. There were always people there. Always good smells. Always warmth and comfort. Only many years later did I start to understand what it takes to have so open a home. Rebbitzin Zwebner had such a home.
Rebbitzin Zwebner also showed a personal interest in the girls of the community. In those days girls still sang in the choir. She taught us. I never fully understood how beautiful a voice she herself had.
And I remember Rosh Hashana. Our shul was big, but in those days so was the community. And the Rebbitzin had a seat in the front row, on the end. The rest of that row was for all the female leaders of the community, but not according to our Rebbitzin. "Please" she would say, "they want to be in shul" and one by one these old matriarchs would vacate their seats so that the female youth of the community could sit with their Rebbitzin.
One of the last speeches Rabbi Zwebner made in Bulawayo was not from the pulpit, but I think at their leaving party. He told us, with love and affection, that this speech would be shorter than his sermons, as his beloved wife was next to him, and would kick his ankle if he spoke for too long. Today my husband uses this trick on me.
I left Bulawayo, and far to often compared my "Rebbitzins" to Rebbitzin Zwebner. They never matched up.
When I made Aliya a friend helped me to contact Rabbi and Rebbitzin Zwebner. By then Rabbi was old, yet he seemed to remember me. Rebbitzin certainly did, and we chatted happily for quite some time. She told me with pride how her husband was from a family of many generations in Jerusalem. I realised how it was this respect, that she had for her husband and he for her, that had made that family so special. How I regret that I did not visit them more often.
Rabbi Zwebner passed away earlier this year. Having been lazy and inconsiderate of them, I did not know of his passing until two months after the funeral. And then, 3 months later, Rebbitzin Zwebner, too, passed away. She had said to her family that her husband was calling. It was because of their love and respect for each other, and for their community that they naturally had a positive effect on people. Their grand daughter spoke at Rebbitzins funeral. She said "Bobba, this is so not like you, to not be alive". And I can only agree with her.
To Shulamit, David, Michael and Jonty, and their families, my deep condolences. We have all lost a wonderful couple.
Rebecca Johnstone (nee Schay)
My memories of Rabbi Zwebner are of a tall man with white hair and beard, a man that my father worked with on committees, that my father looked up to, a man I knew I could trust. Instinct told me that Rabbi would always be there for me. Not in ways that I would notice, but as a backbone of the Jewish community. Making sure the schools were aware of their Jewish kids (we only had a Jewish Junior school), trying to make sure we had kosher food. And always in the shul.
Years later, as I stood in front of the Beth Din in Cape Town I remembered that I trusted Rabbi Zwebner. Knowing that I was from Bulawayo, the Beth Din had called in Rabbi Zwebner to sit with them. Like a true Judge, he sat quietly. He showed no emotion, but I could feel all of that trust of my youth flow back. He said little that day. Just enough for me to know that my trust was well founded.
My memories of Rebbitzin Zwebner are of a true Rebbitzin. We were friends of the family, my brother and Jonty, their youngest, were the same age, and after shul all the kids would amble along to their home for Kiddush. It must have been a huge home. There were always people there. Always good smells. Always warmth and comfort. Only many years later did I start to understand what it takes to have so open a home. Rebbitzin Zwebner had such a home.
Rebbitzin Zwebner also showed a personal interest in the girls of the community. In those days girls still sang in the choir. She taught us. I never fully understood how beautiful a voice she herself had.
And I remember Rosh Hashana. Our shul was big, but in those days so was the community. And the Rebbitzin had a seat in the front row, on the end. The rest of that row was for all the female leaders of the community, but not according to our Rebbitzin. "Please" she would say, "they want to be in shul" and one by one these old matriarchs would vacate their seats so that the female youth of the community could sit with their Rebbitzin.
One of the last speeches Rabbi Zwebner made in Bulawayo was not from the pulpit, but I think at their leaving party. He told us, with love and affection, that this speech would be shorter than his sermons, as his beloved wife was next to him, and would kick his ankle if he spoke for too long. Today my husband uses this trick on me.
I left Bulawayo, and far to often compared my "Rebbitzins" to Rebbitzin Zwebner. They never matched up.
When I made Aliya a friend helped me to contact Rabbi and Rebbitzin Zwebner. By then Rabbi was old, yet he seemed to remember me. Rebbitzin certainly did, and we chatted happily for quite some time. She told me with pride how her husband was from a family of many generations in Jerusalem. I realised how it was this respect, that she had for her husband and he for her, that had made that family so special. How I regret that I did not visit them more often.
Rabbi Zwebner passed away earlier this year. Having been lazy and inconsiderate of them, I did not know of his passing until two months after the funeral. And then, 3 months later, Rebbitzin Zwebner, too, passed away. She had said to her family that her husband was calling. It was because of their love and respect for each other, and for their community that they naturally had a positive effect on people. Their grand daughter spoke at Rebbitzins funeral. She said "Bobba, this is so not like you, to not be alive". And I can only agree with her.
To Shulamit, David, Michael and Jonty, and their families, my deep condolences. We have all lost a wonderful couple.
Rebecca Johnstone (nee Schay)
The rains came early this year.
By Gabi Elkaim
September 30, 2009 - The rains came early this year. Always when I leave for a brief stint on the outside, transformation seems to take place. Only 2 weeks ago we were remarking that the first of the Jacarandas had begun to bloom, and now blankets of purple hang over the streets that have been repot-holed by the ravaging rains, and when you drive over the blanket, lavender-coloured powder seems to be lifted behind the car like mauve exhaust fumes. Everywhere is purple, everything has transformed. And still the men stand there, unsustainably filling up the holes in the road with mud and sand, hoping for a tip from the passing cars… until the next rains come and their hard work is all swept away in an instant… or until a few days have passed, and enough cars have travelled this path to warrant them doing the same job yet again.
And like the jacarandas, I too have been hibernating, only to be inspired by the carpets of purple that make the day poetic, even when the sky is grey. And despite the impending approach of early October, the days are cold, and the rain comes and goes, and they warn the people of Matabeleland to hurry and plant early. Yesterday we had a bolt of lightning strike an electricity pole at the house, and I dashed into the center of the house, lest a tree from outside come hurtling down. Though I couldn’t help myself from peering out the window, as rainbow fire raced up and down the electrical lines, and the lights shimmied on and off in the house, and a bolt struck the ground by the far end of the swimming pool… and it was terrifying and exciting and mesmerizing, all at the same time. And then it was over, just as quickly as it had started.
I went to see 2 French musicians last night, Francois Salque, a cellist, and Vincent Peirani, an accordionist… testament to the fact that Bulawayo does still happen, that despite all the moans and groans about village life, the odd spectacle does reach us, though too few lap it up. Perhaps it’s easier to complain.
And so I remain in Bulawayo, without intention of leaving any time soon, and like the seasons, life plods on. And so we live in the meantime, and we keep doing what we’re doing, and we wait for odd occasions, and perhaps too passively for transformation… And we still stand in line for unacceptable hours at the city council, and our bills still cost too much. And currently the phone lines are not working, and all internet is down in the country unless one uses a satellite connection. And the power cuts continue… but so do we… and sometimes it’s simply necessary to be patient for that lavender inspiration, for forcing it will not change a thing.
Thinking of you all... even though my updates have been sporadic,
- Gabi xxx
For updates 1-8, go to:
http://www.gabielkaim.com/return-to-africa-2009.html
September 30, 2009 - The rains came early this year. Always when I leave for a brief stint on the outside, transformation seems to take place. Only 2 weeks ago we were remarking that the first of the Jacarandas had begun to bloom, and now blankets of purple hang over the streets that have been repot-holed by the ravaging rains, and when you drive over the blanket, lavender-coloured powder seems to be lifted behind the car like mauve exhaust fumes. Everywhere is purple, everything has transformed. And still the men stand there, unsustainably filling up the holes in the road with mud and sand, hoping for a tip from the passing cars… until the next rains come and their hard work is all swept away in an instant… or until a few days have passed, and enough cars have travelled this path to warrant them doing the same job yet again.
And like the jacarandas, I too have been hibernating, only to be inspired by the carpets of purple that make the day poetic, even when the sky is grey. And despite the impending approach of early October, the days are cold, and the rain comes and goes, and they warn the people of Matabeleland to hurry and plant early. Yesterday we had a bolt of lightning strike an electricity pole at the house, and I dashed into the center of the house, lest a tree from outside come hurtling down. Though I couldn’t help myself from peering out the window, as rainbow fire raced up and down the electrical lines, and the lights shimmied on and off in the house, and a bolt struck the ground by the far end of the swimming pool… and it was terrifying and exciting and mesmerizing, all at the same time. And then it was over, just as quickly as it had started.
I went to see 2 French musicians last night, Francois Salque, a cellist, and Vincent Peirani, an accordionist… testament to the fact that Bulawayo does still happen, that despite all the moans and groans about village life, the odd spectacle does reach us, though too few lap it up. Perhaps it’s easier to complain.
And so I remain in Bulawayo, without intention of leaving any time soon, and like the seasons, life plods on. And so we live in the meantime, and we keep doing what we’re doing, and we wait for odd occasions, and perhaps too passively for transformation… And we still stand in line for unacceptable hours at the city council, and our bills still cost too much. And currently the phone lines are not working, and all internet is down in the country unless one uses a satellite connection. And the power cuts continue… but so do we… and sometimes it’s simply necessary to be patient for that lavender inspiration, for forcing it will not change a thing.
Thinking of you all... even though my updates have been sporadic,
- Gabi xxx
For updates 1-8, go to:
http://www.gabielkaim.com/return-to-africa-2009.html
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
A GLIMMER OF HOPE LIGHTS ZIMBABWE’S DARKNESS – FEBRUARY 2009
By Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft of the African Jewish Congress
Zimbabwe remains stricken by more than a decade of economic meltdown and political chaos, yet the establishment of a coalition government has generated a tentative mood of optimism amongst the country’s hard-pressed population. For too long, the visits of Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft, Spiritual Leader to the African Jewish Congress, have focused on crisis management, assisting the embattled Jewish community in day to day survival in a disintegrating society. During his most recent visit, however, he detected for the first time in years amongst those he met with a cautious mood of hope that the country might at last be turning the corner.
Rabbi Silberhaft was in Bulawayo last week on behalf of the African Jewish Congress Zimbabwe Fund. During his stay, he met with the Jewish communal leadership and residents of the Jewish aged home Savyon Lodge and addressed a public meeting for the local Jewish community. He was joined for the latter occasion by Ilan Baruch, the immediate past Israel Ambassador to South Africa and the newly appointed Non-Resident Ambassador to Zimbabwe, Zambia, Botswana and Namibia.
Rabbi Silberhaft remarked on how heartening it was to see how many Jewish individuals, whether in Zimbabwe, South Africa and even overseas, were involved in initiatives assisting the greater Zimbabwe population at this difficult time. A high-point of his visit in this regard had been the presentation, on behalf of the organisation Australian Books for Children of Africa, of second-hand school books to SGOFOTI (“Support Group of Families of Terminally Ill”).
SGOFOTI, an organization devoted to providing emotional and psychological support to the families of HIV/AIDS victims in Zimbabwe, was virtually single-handedly established and is now run by Ruth Feigenbaum, a former South African today resident in Bulawayo. Ben Margow and other South African Jewish expatriates now living in Australia were likewise responsible for the establishment of Australian Books for Children of Africa, which focuses on recycling books and empowering children in Africa to read. Book distribution within South Africa is largely overseen by Sheryl Furman and Lauren Klavansky (formerly from the Free State towns of Marquard and Bethlehem), with the latter working through the Port Elizabeth branch of the Union of Jewish Women.
to see picture and original story click on New Page 1
Zimbabwe remains stricken by more than a decade of economic meltdown and political chaos, yet the establishment of a coalition government has generated a tentative mood of optimism amongst the country’s hard-pressed population. For too long, the visits of Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft, Spiritual Leader to the African Jewish Congress, have focused on crisis management, assisting the embattled Jewish community in day to day survival in a disintegrating society. During his most recent visit, however, he detected for the first time in years amongst those he met with a cautious mood of hope that the country might at last be turning the corner.
Rabbi Silberhaft was in Bulawayo last week on behalf of the African Jewish Congress Zimbabwe Fund. During his stay, he met with the Jewish communal leadership and residents of the Jewish aged home Savyon Lodge and addressed a public meeting for the local Jewish community. He was joined for the latter occasion by Ilan Baruch, the immediate past Israel Ambassador to South Africa and the newly appointed Non-Resident Ambassador to Zimbabwe, Zambia, Botswana and Namibia.
Rabbi Silberhaft remarked on how heartening it was to see how many Jewish individuals, whether in Zimbabwe, South Africa and even overseas, were involved in initiatives assisting the greater Zimbabwe population at this difficult time. A high-point of his visit in this regard had been the presentation, on behalf of the organisation Australian Books for Children of Africa, of second-hand school books to SGOFOTI (“Support Group of Families of Terminally Ill”).
SGOFOTI, an organization devoted to providing emotional and psychological support to the families of HIV/AIDS victims in Zimbabwe, was virtually single-handedly established and is now run by Ruth Feigenbaum, a former South African today resident in Bulawayo. Ben Margow and other South African Jewish expatriates now living in Australia were likewise responsible for the establishment of Australian Books for Children of Africa, which focuses on recycling books and empowering children in Africa to read. Book distribution within South Africa is largely overseen by Sheryl Furman and Lauren Klavansky (formerly from the Free State towns of Marquard and Bethlehem), with the latter working through the Port Elizabeth branch of the Union of Jewish Women.
to see picture and original story click on New Page 1
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
QUEENIE SLADE OF SAVYON LODGE PASSES ON – JANUARY 2009
QUEENIE SLADE OF SAVYON LODGE PASSES ON – JANUARY 2009
(by Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft of the African Jewish Congress - source
http://www.africanjewishcongress.com/zimfeb132009.htm )
In a society plagued by crushing poverty, political violence and rapidly declining standards of health care Savyon Lodge, the Jewish aged home in Bulawayo, is a rare oasis of stability. Here, residents can depend on at least the basic services being provided for them – food and shelter, medication, water and electricity and physical security.
To an increasing extent, Savyon Lodge’s running costs are being met through donations from the wider Jewish Diaspora. But it is not only money that has enabled the institution to maintain its high standards under such difficult circumstances. The selfless, and largely unheralded, dedication of various individuals associated with it has been equally crucial to its success.
One such individual was the late Queenie Slade, long-serving secretary of Savyon Lodge who passed away at the beginning of this year. Those who worked closely with her over the years, including Bulawayo residents Brian Sher, Hylton Solomon and Eric Block and Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft, Spiritual Leader to the African Jewish Congress, all paid tribute to a true “Woman of Worth”, one who had always gone well beyond the call of duty in serving her organisation and the community as a whole.
Slade was buried at Bulawayo’s Jewish Cemetery in Donovan Road on 14 January. In his eulogy, Block remarked that that much of the credit for Savyon Lodge’s worldwide renown and repute as “a real home for Jewish senior citizens” had to be attributed to Queenie Slade.
“For Queenie there was absolutely nothing more important than the wellbeing, comfort and happiness for all at Savyon Lodge. So great was this dedication and motivation that, on many occasions, she said that she would never leave Savyon Lodge, never cease managing it to the best of her abilities, so long as there was even one resident there” he said.
Prior to joining the staff of Savyon Lodge, Slade managed the Baobab Hotel in Hwange, doing so with such success that the then Tourism Board recognized her as Hotel Manager of the Year. She also managed the now defunct Matabeleland Turf Club and Ascot Race Course.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Gabi Elkaim's diary from Zim - 5th May 2009
A euphoric exhaustion encircles me... but I must get this out before I
collapse into the corpse-like slumber I fell into last night, and no
doubt will discover tonight.
Today is Tuesday. We intended to leave Bulawayo on Sunday, to come to
HIFA, the Harare International Festival of the Arts, Africa’s largest
arts festival, which is this year celebrating its 10th year of being,
the theme is Enligh10ment. But having just returned from the hills of
Matopos on Saturday, from a 3-day music and meditation retreat called
Resonance, the post-mortem of the retreat was still underway on
Sunday, and so it was decided that Monday would be the day for our
departure, 2pm to be exact. Of course my lift arrived to pick me up
at 2:30pm, and we were off... until I discovered I’d forgotten my cell
phone at home. And so we turned around. And then finally, we were
off... and we trundled down the pot-holed streets of Bulawayo on the
Harare Road, passing a Portland Cement factory, and a brick factory
whose beautiful round oven like buildings looked to me like an
architectural marvel... or at least one that could be a photographer’s
dream.
But 5 minutes later, I snapped out of my visual daydream as we
were stopped by the police who claimed we were going 127km/hour in a
120 zone. Merv claimed this was not so. The police requested 20
dollars, saying that had it been 125, it would’ve been fine, but that
those extra 2km required payment. Merv refused. The cop retreated,
and finally off we went. 4 and something smooth and unproblematic
hours. Until of course we were just passed Lake Mcklewayne, and the
car, with its deceptive fuel indicator that insisted we still had over
a quarter of a tank, ran out of fuel.
I laughed it off and took a nap, relieved that we had just arrived
within cell phone signal, about 40 or so minutes from Harare... so we
pushed the car into the long grass and waited in the darkness, with
only the light of a waning moon and a universe of stars above us.
An hour or so later, help did arrive. I climbed into bed last night,
dead to the world, ignorant and unsuspicious of what today would
bring.
And what a day! I’m not sure where to start to recount the magic that
interrupted us so unapologetically. It all began this morning, when I
realized I’d left my camera battery in Bulawayo, and after letting go
of my irritation with myself, I had decided that my words would have
to illustrate these few days. So we headed to the gardens outside the
National Gallery where a young artist described his pieces to me, a
representative of the Times. A board canvas, a soccer pitch painted
on, bottle-tops signifying players, with Morgan and Mugabe on the same
team, playing at Differences Aside Stadium. Mbeki as the ref. The
Linesmen are the UN and the AU, whilst the coaches are John 15:12 and
15:17. One the sidelines stand Matthew 22:39 and Mark 12:31. “Treat
others”, the artist tells me, “as you yourself wish to be treated. It
is time for a new Zimbabwe, for us all to play together.”
We return to the National Gallery to explore the permanent
collection, with great abstracts by the late Marshall Baron and
others. Upstairs, we discover a colourful room of African drums, next
to which a wall stands full of loud African paintings, and bizarrely,
one lone Renoir sketch!!! We return to Aviv’s family’s shop...
giggling at the peculiarities that are the treasures of our decrepit
country. After returning from lunch at Nando’s – Aviv insists it’s
better in Zim – we stand at the entrance way of the shop, where a
woman walks in with a baby on her back. The baby, pressed comfortably
against her mother, in a way that only a child who’s experienced that
can understand, wears a pair of lens-less tortoiseshell sunglasses,
skewed to the side of her little face.
In the afternoon, we head to the Delta Gallery Foundation, whose walls
are filled with great big colourful paintings, benign in theme, until
one looks a little closer, and sees the shades of national politics in
its layers. Derek Huggins runs the gallery. A tall and distinguished
older man, with slicked-back long white hair and a short white beard
to match, he stands by the fireplace, a cigarette hanging from his
lips, a tortoiseshell cat weaves itself around his feet. We discuss
the art on the walls, and finally writing. He shows me a book he
wrote, swearing that he’s not making a marketing pitch. I ask him how
much for the book, he takes it from me and leads me to a dark little
nook of an office whose walls are covered in books and paintings, and
wooden window frames, and has that musty smell of cigarettes and art
and better days and worse. With his handsome fingers, he elegantly
lifts a fountain pen and opens a bottle of black ink. He writes, “For
Gabrielle, A good encounter, All good wishes for your writing. Do
it,” after which he signs his name, and presses an ink blotter against
his words: an item I have never seen before, “the good old fashioned
way” he claims. He hands me the book. “A gift,” he says, to inspire
me. Little does he know, I’m already inspired.
Aviv and I head to a shop called the Treasure Trove, a dusty shop full
of stale antique books, torn couches piled on top of each other, and
walls lined with antique spoons, bone china, silver boxes and a whisky
flask which has been initialled and dated. Aviv buys an old trunk
whose sides still reveal the name of its original owner. He then
drops me at the ballet. After the ballet, I head into the supermarket
where I find a packet of Things, a childhood snack that seems to exist
no longer in Bulawayo. The day becomes dark and I need to get back
into town to see the last show that I had booked for today, the
official opening show of HIFA entitled “out of the darkness, into the
light.” Unsure of where to find a taxi, a man at the internet cafe
walks me to the main road, where I board a minibus for 5 rand. I
arrive in town and walk to the venue, initially alone and nervous, but
within seconds, the hoards of people indicate the entrance to the
venue. Within minutes of entering, I hear my name being called, only
to find a group of Bulawayo friends seated on the ground in an ideal
spot, picnic laid out. The show begins. A dozen women enter the
stage in long violet robes with gold birds emblazoned on to them, and
headpieces to match.
Their voices penetrate the audience with a
certain immediacy that seems to me, can only happen in Zimbabwe.
Another smaller stage is closer to us. This is where the dancers and
actors perform their dramatically political piece. They remove a
covering under which lie Mugabe and his cronies, who struggle to
stand, but eventually succeed as they tussle over large bags of money
filled with Zimbabwe dollars. The “elders” light a fire beside the
stage, and tie Mugabe and his cronies to a pole near the audience. A
woman, dressed in white, crowned by her marital veil, cries for her
husband who has been abducted. She recites a poem to the sound of the
drums, baby on back and searches for him through the elephant skulls
that cover the stage. The vocalists move smoothly, effortlessly, into
Yassou N’Dour’s “Seven Seconds.” The audience cries, moved not only
by the story, but also by the visuals, by the sounds, by the
sensations of such a powerful piece. At last she finds him. The
dancing begins. Traditional herbs are burned. Mugabe and his cronies
are brought on to the stage. The bags representing their large
bellies and the wealth stolen from our nation are violently sliced off
them with a large knife. They struggle, but at last are thrown into a
smoky hole in the ground, leaving only Mugabe to stab open the wealth
bags, in which he plants flowers and seedlings for a new Zimbabwe.
The dancing continues, the fireworks begin. Another song:
“The higher you build your barriers,
The taller I will become.
The further you take my rights away,
The faster I will run...
...The more you refuse to hear my voice,
The louder I will sing.
Something inside so strong,
I know that I can make it”
Justice.
The energy continues to build, and the hearts of the audience are open
to such an extent, no thought can interrupt the feeling of presence.
In the dark, I scribble down some words:
My soul is accompanied by the shakers,
My heart beats to the sound of the African drums.
The nyanga dances bringing forth Justice.
The seeds of the Future are planted.
A grasshopper is drawn to the light on his back:
He crawls up the yellow fabric of new beginnings.
The sweat of power, energy, movement, excitement is drawn from his brow.
The beat quietens.
He hums a soft song,
In a throaty African voice penetrating outwards from deep within.
She smiles the smile of love,
Her dreadlocks tied back by a band of shells as she spits the holy water.
A spectacle,
Fireworks overhead almost within reach of my fingertips
The Future so nearby.
The darkness of the night illuminates the colours.
And my entire being joins the rhythm
of the dancers, the do’ers
Songs uplifting, reflecting on the Times
On Justice.
collapse into the corpse-like slumber I fell into last night, and no
doubt will discover tonight.
Today is Tuesday. We intended to leave Bulawayo on Sunday, to come to
HIFA, the Harare International Festival of the Arts, Africa’s largest
arts festival, which is this year celebrating its 10th year of being,
the theme is Enligh10ment. But having just returned from the hills of
Matopos on Saturday, from a 3-day music and meditation retreat called
Resonance, the post-mortem of the retreat was still underway on
Sunday, and so it was decided that Monday would be the day for our
departure, 2pm to be exact. Of course my lift arrived to pick me up
at 2:30pm, and we were off... until I discovered I’d forgotten my cell
phone at home. And so we turned around. And then finally, we were
off... and we trundled down the pot-holed streets of Bulawayo on the
Harare Road, passing a Portland Cement factory, and a brick factory
whose beautiful round oven like buildings looked to me like an
architectural marvel... or at least one that could be a photographer’s
dream.
But 5 minutes later, I snapped out of my visual daydream as we
were stopped by the police who claimed we were going 127km/hour in a
120 zone. Merv claimed this was not so. The police requested 20
dollars, saying that had it been 125, it would’ve been fine, but that
those extra 2km required payment. Merv refused. The cop retreated,
and finally off we went. 4 and something smooth and unproblematic
hours. Until of course we were just passed Lake Mcklewayne, and the
car, with its deceptive fuel indicator that insisted we still had over
a quarter of a tank, ran out of fuel.
I laughed it off and took a nap, relieved that we had just arrived
within cell phone signal, about 40 or so minutes from Harare... so we
pushed the car into the long grass and waited in the darkness, with
only the light of a waning moon and a universe of stars above us.
An hour or so later, help did arrive. I climbed into bed last night,
dead to the world, ignorant and unsuspicious of what today would
bring.
And what a day! I’m not sure where to start to recount the magic that
interrupted us so unapologetically. It all began this morning, when I
realized I’d left my camera battery in Bulawayo, and after letting go
of my irritation with myself, I had decided that my words would have
to illustrate these few days. So we headed to the gardens outside the
National Gallery where a young artist described his pieces to me, a
representative of the Times. A board canvas, a soccer pitch painted
on, bottle-tops signifying players, with Morgan and Mugabe on the same
team, playing at Differences Aside Stadium. Mbeki as the ref. The
Linesmen are the UN and the AU, whilst the coaches are John 15:12 and
15:17. One the sidelines stand Matthew 22:39 and Mark 12:31. “Treat
others”, the artist tells me, “as you yourself wish to be treated. It
is time for a new Zimbabwe, for us all to play together.”
We return to the National Gallery to explore the permanent
collection, with great abstracts by the late Marshall Baron and
others. Upstairs, we discover a colourful room of African drums, next
to which a wall stands full of loud African paintings, and bizarrely,
one lone Renoir sketch!!! We return to Aviv’s family’s shop...
giggling at the peculiarities that are the treasures of our decrepit
country. After returning from lunch at Nando’s – Aviv insists it’s
better in Zim – we stand at the entrance way of the shop, where a
woman walks in with a baby on her back. The baby, pressed comfortably
against her mother, in a way that only a child who’s experienced that
can understand, wears a pair of lens-less tortoiseshell sunglasses,
skewed to the side of her little face.
In the afternoon, we head to the Delta Gallery Foundation, whose walls
are filled with great big colourful paintings, benign in theme, until
one looks a little closer, and sees the shades of national politics in
its layers. Derek Huggins runs the gallery. A tall and distinguished
older man, with slicked-back long white hair and a short white beard
to match, he stands by the fireplace, a cigarette hanging from his
lips, a tortoiseshell cat weaves itself around his feet. We discuss
the art on the walls, and finally writing. He shows me a book he
wrote, swearing that he’s not making a marketing pitch. I ask him how
much for the book, he takes it from me and leads me to a dark little
nook of an office whose walls are covered in books and paintings, and
wooden window frames, and has that musty smell of cigarettes and art
and better days and worse. With his handsome fingers, he elegantly
lifts a fountain pen and opens a bottle of black ink. He writes, “For
Gabrielle, A good encounter, All good wishes for your writing. Do
it,” after which he signs his name, and presses an ink blotter against
his words: an item I have never seen before, “the good old fashioned
way” he claims. He hands me the book. “A gift,” he says, to inspire
me. Little does he know, I’m already inspired.
Aviv and I head to a shop called the Treasure Trove, a dusty shop full
of stale antique books, torn couches piled on top of each other, and
walls lined with antique spoons, bone china, silver boxes and a whisky
flask which has been initialled and dated. Aviv buys an old trunk
whose sides still reveal the name of its original owner. He then
drops me at the ballet. After the ballet, I head into the supermarket
where I find a packet of Things, a childhood snack that seems to exist
no longer in Bulawayo. The day becomes dark and I need to get back
into town to see the last show that I had booked for today, the
official opening show of HIFA entitled “out of the darkness, into the
light.” Unsure of where to find a taxi, a man at the internet cafe
walks me to the main road, where I board a minibus for 5 rand. I
arrive in town and walk to the venue, initially alone and nervous, but
within seconds, the hoards of people indicate the entrance to the
venue. Within minutes of entering, I hear my name being called, only
to find a group of Bulawayo friends seated on the ground in an ideal
spot, picnic laid out. The show begins. A dozen women enter the
stage in long violet robes with gold birds emblazoned on to them, and
headpieces to match.
Their voices penetrate the audience with a
certain immediacy that seems to me, can only happen in Zimbabwe.
Another smaller stage is closer to us. This is where the dancers and
actors perform their dramatically political piece. They remove a
covering under which lie Mugabe and his cronies, who struggle to
stand, but eventually succeed as they tussle over large bags of money
filled with Zimbabwe dollars. The “elders” light a fire beside the
stage, and tie Mugabe and his cronies to a pole near the audience. A
woman, dressed in white, crowned by her marital veil, cries for her
husband who has been abducted. She recites a poem to the sound of the
drums, baby on back and searches for him through the elephant skulls
that cover the stage. The vocalists move smoothly, effortlessly, into
Yassou N’Dour’s “Seven Seconds.” The audience cries, moved not only
by the story, but also by the visuals, by the sounds, by the
sensations of such a powerful piece. At last she finds him. The
dancing begins. Traditional herbs are burned. Mugabe and his cronies
are brought on to the stage. The bags representing their large
bellies and the wealth stolen from our nation are violently sliced off
them with a large knife. They struggle, but at last are thrown into a
smoky hole in the ground, leaving only Mugabe to stab open the wealth
bags, in which he plants flowers and seedlings for a new Zimbabwe.
The dancing continues, the fireworks begin. Another song:
“The higher you build your barriers,
The taller I will become.
The further you take my rights away,
The faster I will run...
...The more you refuse to hear my voice,
The louder I will sing.
Something inside so strong,
I know that I can make it”
Justice.
The energy continues to build, and the hearts of the audience are open
to such an extent, no thought can interrupt the feeling of presence.
In the dark, I scribble down some words:
My soul is accompanied by the shakers,
My heart beats to the sound of the African drums.
The nyanga dances bringing forth Justice.
The seeds of the Future are planted.
A grasshopper is drawn to the light on his back:
He crawls up the yellow fabric of new beginnings.
The sweat of power, energy, movement, excitement is drawn from his brow.
The beat quietens.
He hums a soft song,
In a throaty African voice penetrating outwards from deep within.
She smiles the smile of love,
Her dreadlocks tied back by a band of shells as she spits the holy water.
A spectacle,
Fireworks overhead almost within reach of my fingertips
The Future so nearby.
The darkness of the night illuminates the colours.
And my entire being joins the rhythm
of the dancers, the do’ers
Songs uplifting, reflecting on the Times
On Justice.
Monday, May 04, 2009
The passing of Rabbi Yitzchak Zwebner z"l
We mourn the passing of Rabbi Yitzchak Zwebner Z"L, husband of Rella Zwebner.
The funeral will take place today Erev Shabbat May 1, 7 Iyar, at 3:30 PM at the Sanhedria Funeral Parlor. Shiva details to follow.
Rabbi Yitchak Zwebner, 6th generation Yerushalmi, was born in Jerusalem in 1914 and lived in Meah Sheraim. He studied in Lifshitz Teachers Seminar and received Semicha from Harav Zvi Pesach Frank, well known posek and Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem.
He began his career by teaching religious Yemenite children in pre-State Sejera (now Ilania) where Ben Gurion lived. In 1937 he went to England to continue his studies and received his B.Ed. from the University.of Glasgow.
While Yitzchak was in Chutz LaAretz, his father Avraham-Haim, who had been elected to the First Knesset, Hebraicized his name to Shag. Yitzchak kept his original name. In 1943 he married Rella Hofstadter who had come to London from Czechoslovakia as a refugee. His first Rabbinic position was as a Reverend in Maida Vale Synagogue in London. In 1952, the Zwebners left for South Africa where Yitzchak served as a Rabbi in Nigel, Krugersdorp and Johannesburg. In 1966 he was appointed Chief Rabbi of Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). In 1976, the Zwebners returned to Israel and settled in Bayit Vegan. Rabbi Zwebner joined Jerusalem College of Technology (Machon Lev) where he established their South African Public Relations Department.
In 1980 they accepted a request from the community of Somerset West in Cape Town to be the Rabbi and join the Bet Din. They returned to
Israel in 1985 when they joined the Hovevei Zion synagogue.
His brother, David Zwebner. HYD was among the Lamed Hey who were killed in attempt to break through the siege of Gush Etzyon (January 14, 1948).
Rabbi Zwebner, who possessed flawless nusach, was a talented Baal Koreh and was always available to layn, daven for the amud or give a shiur.
He is survived by his wife Rella and his children
Shulamith and Yehuda Berman, Efrat
David & Ronit Zwebner, Jerusalem
Michael & Deborah Zwebner, Bet Shemesh
Jonty & Janet Zwebne,r Bet Shemesh
and many grandchildren and great grandchildren
The funeral will take place today Erev Shabbat May 1, 7 Iyar, at 3:30 PM at the Sanhedria Funeral Parlor. Shiva details to follow.
Rabbi Yitchak Zwebner, 6th generation Yerushalmi, was born in Jerusalem in 1914 and lived in Meah Sheraim. He studied in Lifshitz Teachers Seminar and received Semicha from Harav Zvi Pesach Frank, well known posek and Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem.
He began his career by teaching religious Yemenite children in pre-State Sejera (now Ilania) where Ben Gurion lived. In 1937 he went to England to continue his studies and received his B.Ed. from the University.of Glasgow.
While Yitzchak was in Chutz LaAretz, his father Avraham-Haim, who had been elected to the First Knesset, Hebraicized his name to Shag. Yitzchak kept his original name. In 1943 he married Rella Hofstadter who had come to London from Czechoslovakia as a refugee. His first Rabbinic position was as a Reverend in Maida Vale Synagogue in London. In 1952, the Zwebners left for South Africa where Yitzchak served as a Rabbi in Nigel, Krugersdorp and Johannesburg. In 1966 he was appointed Chief Rabbi of Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). In 1976, the Zwebners returned to Israel and settled in Bayit Vegan. Rabbi Zwebner joined Jerusalem College of Technology (Machon Lev) where he established their South African Public Relations Department.
In 1980 they accepted a request from the community of Somerset West in Cape Town to be the Rabbi and join the Bet Din. They returned to
Israel in 1985 when they joined the Hovevei Zion synagogue.
His brother, David Zwebner. HYD was among the Lamed Hey who were killed in attempt to break through the siege of Gush Etzyon (January 14, 1948).
Rabbi Zwebner, who possessed flawless nusach, was a talented Baal Koreh and was always available to layn, daven for the amud or give a shiur.
He is survived by his wife Rella and his children
Shulamith and Yehuda Berman, Efrat
David & Ronit Zwebner, Jerusalem
Michael & Deborah Zwebner, Bet Shemesh
Jonty & Janet Zwebne,r Bet Shemesh
and many grandchildren and great grandchildren
Gabi Elkaim's diary from Bulawayo
We left Harare early this morning. We met at 5:45am to travel the 5 hours back to Bulawayo, with a brief stop in Kwekwe to visit one of the Brahma Kumaris' sister's family, where we were welcomed in for an Indian breakfast of grated mealies mixed with lacto and Indian spices. It was drizzling when we left Harare, and had rained in Kwekwe by the time we got there. It seemed the rain was following us, as soon after we got to Bulawayo, it started to rain here too. Ops said it means the winter is coming and that we should expect it to be a very cold one.
Our intention for leaving Harare so early was to be able to get back in time for the unvelings that were scheduled for 2:30pm at the Jewish cemetery, as well as a Yom Ha'Shoa ceremony to remember the 6 million who perished in the Holocaust. This is not usually the sort of thing that I would be lining up for... but I had seen Shirley the week before, and she had asked me specially if I would come for her sister Queenie's unveiling, if I am back from Harare in time. I walked into the entrance room of the cemetery just as the clock turned 30 minutes past 2, and to my surprise, stood in a room of almost 70 people (I counted), jews and non-jews alike. Rabbi Moshe, the travelling rabbi came to Bulawayo from Joburg, specifically for today. Eight unveilings took place, a large number for a single afternoon. I was told, however, that this was the case, as previously in Zimbabwe, it was impossible to have the tombstones made, and only those who were able to bring them in from South Africa, were able to have the traditional unveiling service. Indeed, I noticed one grave that marked the death had taken place in 2004. I visited my grandfather and placed a stone on his grave, noticing that beside him lay David Cinamon, a young man whose death was a tragedy. I never met David, but was glad that my grandfather was there to keep him company, if only in body. I started to read the names of the other tombstones, some I remembered: Tilly Katz who used to call me Big Eyes as a child, most I did not remember. The surnames ring a bell, and I quietly remarked how each person in that cemetery is a friend of one another, or at least the child or grandchild of a friend. I thought about how in that cemetery lies a community, in the true sense of the word, dating back as far as 1909 I believe. And those who were present today mark the continuation of our community, despite that it's a dwindling one... a community nonetheless, who continues to take care of its dead.
We went to the monument for the 6 million at the end, and then washed our hands in a symbol of leaving the dead behind, and returned to the entrance room where more prayers were said. A menora of 6 candles were lit for the 6 million, and for all of those that suffered at the hands of the Third Reich. The honour of lighting the 6th candle was given to David Coltart, our new Minister of Education, as the rabbi spoke of a common plight of the Jewish people and Zimbabweans alike: that of hope, and a future.
We then continued on for tea at Savyon Lodge, our Jewish retirement home, another symbol of a community that really does look after one another.
And so, despite a grey and heavy day, in all senses, it seems that light always manages to find a way to make itself apparent, within our small Jewish community, and yes, even within our nation... sometimes we just need to look a little more carefully for it.
With that, I wish you all the ability to see the Light in your lives,
- Gabi
Our intention for leaving Harare so early was to be able to get back in time for the unvelings that were scheduled for 2:30pm at the Jewish cemetery, as well as a Yom Ha'Shoa ceremony to remember the 6 million who perished in the Holocaust. This is not usually the sort of thing that I would be lining up for... but I had seen Shirley the week before, and she had asked me specially if I would come for her sister Queenie's unveiling, if I am back from Harare in time. I walked into the entrance room of the cemetery just as the clock turned 30 minutes past 2, and to my surprise, stood in a room of almost 70 people (I counted), jews and non-jews alike. Rabbi Moshe, the travelling rabbi came to Bulawayo from Joburg, specifically for today. Eight unveilings took place, a large number for a single afternoon. I was told, however, that this was the case, as previously in Zimbabwe, it was impossible to have the tombstones made, and only those who were able to bring them in from South Africa, were able to have the traditional unveiling service. Indeed, I noticed one grave that marked the death had taken place in 2004. I visited my grandfather and placed a stone on his grave, noticing that beside him lay David Cinamon, a young man whose death was a tragedy. I never met David, but was glad that my grandfather was there to keep him company, if only in body. I started to read the names of the other tombstones, some I remembered: Tilly Katz who used to call me Big Eyes as a child, most I did not remember. The surnames ring a bell, and I quietly remarked how each person in that cemetery is a friend of one another, or at least the child or grandchild of a friend. I thought about how in that cemetery lies a community, in the true sense of the word, dating back as far as 1909 I believe. And those who were present today mark the continuation of our community, despite that it's a dwindling one... a community nonetheless, who continues to take care of its dead.
We went to the monument for the 6 million at the end, and then washed our hands in a symbol of leaving the dead behind, and returned to the entrance room where more prayers were said. A menora of 6 candles were lit for the 6 million, and for all of those that suffered at the hands of the Third Reich. The honour of lighting the 6th candle was given to David Coltart, our new Minister of Education, as the rabbi spoke of a common plight of the Jewish people and Zimbabweans alike: that of hope, and a future.
We then continued on for tea at Savyon Lodge, our Jewish retirement home, another symbol of a community that really does look after one another.
And so, despite a grey and heavy day, in all senses, it seems that light always manages to find a way to make itself apparent, within our small Jewish community, and yes, even within our nation... sometimes we just need to look a little more carefully for it.
With that, I wish you all the ability to see the Light in your lives,
- Gabi
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Pesach in Bulawayo - 2009
April 22, 2009
Yet another Pesach has come and gone and the 2009 Bulawayo communal Seder was one more remarkable success story in the history of our shrinking but tenacious community.
Planning a communal Seder is always a daunting task no matter where you are in the world, but here in Zimbabwe it is nothing short of a tactical nightmare that requires a strategic game plan with months of advance action.
You can’t just pop down to the nearest hyper for their astonishing range of Pesadech goods, anything from toothpaste to dog food, or the kosher deli for their ready made chicken soup and kneidlach.
Indeed our supermarkets are only just tenuously managing to restock shelves, after years of government intervention into the controlling of prices, on the back of extortionate duty structures and the well publicised death of food supplies in this tragic landscape. It wasn’t long ago that Hylton Solomon, President of our community and owner of one of the oldest supermarkets in town, was arrested for charging too much on pasta!
The march towards the Seder started months ago when Rabbi Alima and his wife Efrat were determined that despite all odds they would orchestrate their swan song, their last Seder in Zimbabwe for sadly, soon after Pesach, they returned to Eretz Yisrael with a fourth child on the way, for we can no longer afford them.
Bulawayo has attracted a dynamic and diverse stream of Rabbis since the community was officially initiated way back in 1894, each one of them leaving an indelible mark on the Jewish stamp of the country’s history. When initially interviewing Rabbi Alima, President Hylton Solomon expressed the needs of the community in a nutshell, “Any Rabbi coming to join us should love his Bobba and Zeida and unfortunately be well versed in conducting a funeral”.
Indeed, our community is aged with the vast majority of her 93 souls, in the autumn of their years. I cannot remember the last time we had a wedding here, but my 15 year old son has been the pall bearer at many a funeral. But we have never thrown down our siddurim and given up, even when our beloved shul burnt down in 2003. The opposite is evidenced by our determination to hold on to the basics of Jewish life, minyanim at least five days a week and our Rabbi has brought in many from the community who had not been in a Shul for decades. The Alimas live by Abraham’s tenet of an open door and there was never a Shabbat that did not find a full table at their home, even when the power was down and there was no water in the taps.
So nu, they made a plan just like all of us do here.
Pesach was just another time that we made a plan, the Alima’s and their support group put it all together. The truck loads of kosher goodies, greatly subsidised by the Jewish Agency, were brought in by a band of individuals known as runners - they run back and forth to South Africa to provide all, who can afford it, the luxuries most in the world take for granted. Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft, the regional Rabbi and his ex Bulawayo assistant, Carla Sher, are our supreme connection to the great kosher world of stuff. This wandering regional Rabbi has been an angel sent to us here in Bulawayo. His humour and “expansive” warmth enable us to feel we are a living part of the greater Jewish world.
Erev Pesach arrived and I was shocked at the number we were to set the table for. One hundred Jews would be celebrating the 115th official Seder in a country that knows only too well the evil wrought by a modern day Pharaoh. With an ingathering of visitors, many coming home for Yom Tov from South Africa, Australia and Israel as well as Ofer Dahan and his wife from the Sochnut, shlichim from Netzer and Bnei Akiva and some of their children, ours was going to be a truly special simcha.
In the kitchen preparing the seder feast was the famous Florence Maphosa. This extraordinary toothless Ndebele woman is one of the community’s most exceptional pillars. When Florence’s mentor and teacher, Sheila Swiel went on aliyah in the 80’s the culinary genius, Florence, decided that rather than working in one household she would hire herself out by the day. At first she only worked for Jews, but with the decline in our numbers she has expanded her clientele.
Florence almost singlehandedly prepared the entire seder from the chicken soup and kneidlach to the charoseth. There is no one in the world who can match her Jewish repertoire of dishes; she does a mean gefilte fish, her chopped herring is divine, her cheesecake is to die for and her tsimmes would make anyone’s Bobbah come begging for the recipe.
At 63 Florence is my great hero. She has taught me how to laugh in the face of adversity, the reward of hard work and to understand the dignity of the people we work, play, live and are helped by every day. The world only sees a one dimensional representation of Zimbabwe’s people, the tyrannical force towering over the cowering masses. But it is far more complicated than that, and I know the comparison is controversial, but how many of our own fought back in the last century when faced with the demon who tried to wipe us off the face of the earth? Will you be the one to lead them?
The Pesach service saw a shul bathed in candle light, for our power is switched off almost every day, and by now we are used to it and have learnt that electricity is not the only way to find light. In fact, I love the spirituality it brings to our services. There is no Jew to look after our shul, but Jack, the “Shammas”, who hails from the Binga region of Zimbabwe where the people are tall and strong, makes sure that the candles to light our way through the service are lit before the chag or Shabbat begins.
We moved from the shul to the hall to start the ancient repetition of the Hagaddah. Miraculously the power came back and there was light! The singing was certainly not the standard of the famous Gardens Synagogue Choir, and the tunes were as varied as the communities represented; the hall was beautiful, the place was filled with an extraordinary warmth and energy that took me back to the days of my childhood when the shul was so full that the kids sat squashed onto the steps, giggling through the service. The numbers are gone but the energy remains.
There is a tinge of irony and a certain poignancy at celebrating Pesach in Zimbabwe, we repeat the message every year and teach our children to question so that we can all understand a little more about slavery, oppression and violence; the overriding system of justice that was meted out for evil; the road to freedom took courage and commitment and was filled with obstacles, yet through true leadership freedom was found and our people today cherish that freedom and the homeland that is ours, even though we may not physically be there.
Rabbi Alima and his family have gone home, his wife said to me shortly before she left, “This community gave us far more that we ever gave the community” and I believe that is because here in Bulawayo, we all cherish community and understand the strength it gives us. It is getting harder to find and afford a new Rabbi, but we remain determined and as Hylton Solomon said, “We cannot turn our backs on over a century of Jewish history in this town.”
Yes, the past decade has been particularly trying but there is an old Jewish proverb that says, “He that can't endure the bad, will not live to see the good.” As Jews we understand suffering but we also understand that freedom is within grasp.
Yet another Pesach has come and gone and the 2009 Bulawayo communal Seder was one more remarkable success story in the history of our shrinking but tenacious community.
Planning a communal Seder is always a daunting task no matter where you are in the world, but here in Zimbabwe it is nothing short of a tactical nightmare that requires a strategic game plan with months of advance action.
You can’t just pop down to the nearest hyper for their astonishing range of Pesadech goods, anything from toothpaste to dog food, or the kosher deli for their ready made chicken soup and kneidlach.
Indeed our supermarkets are only just tenuously managing to restock shelves, after years of government intervention into the controlling of prices, on the back of extortionate duty structures and the well publicised death of food supplies in this tragic landscape. It wasn’t long ago that Hylton Solomon, President of our community and owner of one of the oldest supermarkets in town, was arrested for charging too much on pasta!
The march towards the Seder started months ago when Rabbi Alima and his wife Efrat were determined that despite all odds they would orchestrate their swan song, their last Seder in Zimbabwe for sadly, soon after Pesach, they returned to Eretz Yisrael with a fourth child on the way, for we can no longer afford them.
Bulawayo has attracted a dynamic and diverse stream of Rabbis since the community was officially initiated way back in 1894, each one of them leaving an indelible mark on the Jewish stamp of the country’s history. When initially interviewing Rabbi Alima, President Hylton Solomon expressed the needs of the community in a nutshell, “Any Rabbi coming to join us should love his Bobba and Zeida and unfortunately be well versed in conducting a funeral”.
Indeed, our community is aged with the vast majority of her 93 souls, in the autumn of their years. I cannot remember the last time we had a wedding here, but my 15 year old son has been the pall bearer at many a funeral. But we have never thrown down our siddurim and given up, even when our beloved shul burnt down in 2003. The opposite is evidenced by our determination to hold on to the basics of Jewish life, minyanim at least five days a week and our Rabbi has brought in many from the community who had not been in a Shul for decades. The Alimas live by Abraham’s tenet of an open door and there was never a Shabbat that did not find a full table at their home, even when the power was down and there was no water in the taps.
So nu, they made a plan just like all of us do here.
Pesach was just another time that we made a plan, the Alima’s and their support group put it all together. The truck loads of kosher goodies, greatly subsidised by the Jewish Agency, were brought in by a band of individuals known as runners - they run back and forth to South Africa to provide all, who can afford it, the luxuries most in the world take for granted. Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft, the regional Rabbi and his ex Bulawayo assistant, Carla Sher, are our supreme connection to the great kosher world of stuff. This wandering regional Rabbi has been an angel sent to us here in Bulawayo. His humour and “expansive” warmth enable us to feel we are a living part of the greater Jewish world.
Erev Pesach arrived and I was shocked at the number we were to set the table for. One hundred Jews would be celebrating the 115th official Seder in a country that knows only too well the evil wrought by a modern day Pharaoh. With an ingathering of visitors, many coming home for Yom Tov from South Africa, Australia and Israel as well as Ofer Dahan and his wife from the Sochnut, shlichim from Netzer and Bnei Akiva and some of their children, ours was going to be a truly special simcha.
In the kitchen preparing the seder feast was the famous Florence Maphosa. This extraordinary toothless Ndebele woman is one of the community’s most exceptional pillars. When Florence’s mentor and teacher, Sheila Swiel went on aliyah in the 80’s the culinary genius, Florence, decided that rather than working in one household she would hire herself out by the day. At first she only worked for Jews, but with the decline in our numbers she has expanded her clientele.
Florence almost singlehandedly prepared the entire seder from the chicken soup and kneidlach to the charoseth. There is no one in the world who can match her Jewish repertoire of dishes; she does a mean gefilte fish, her chopped herring is divine, her cheesecake is to die for and her tsimmes would make anyone’s Bobbah come begging for the recipe.
At 63 Florence is my great hero. She has taught me how to laugh in the face of adversity, the reward of hard work and to understand the dignity of the people we work, play, live and are helped by every day. The world only sees a one dimensional representation of Zimbabwe’s people, the tyrannical force towering over the cowering masses. But it is far more complicated than that, and I know the comparison is controversial, but how many of our own fought back in the last century when faced with the demon who tried to wipe us off the face of the earth? Will you be the one to lead them?
The Pesach service saw a shul bathed in candle light, for our power is switched off almost every day, and by now we are used to it and have learnt that electricity is not the only way to find light. In fact, I love the spirituality it brings to our services. There is no Jew to look after our shul, but Jack, the “Shammas”, who hails from the Binga region of Zimbabwe where the people are tall and strong, makes sure that the candles to light our way through the service are lit before the chag or Shabbat begins.
We moved from the shul to the hall to start the ancient repetition of the Hagaddah. Miraculously the power came back and there was light! The singing was certainly not the standard of the famous Gardens Synagogue Choir, and the tunes were as varied as the communities represented; the hall was beautiful, the place was filled with an extraordinary warmth and energy that took me back to the days of my childhood when the shul was so full that the kids sat squashed onto the steps, giggling through the service. The numbers are gone but the energy remains.
There is a tinge of irony and a certain poignancy at celebrating Pesach in Zimbabwe, we repeat the message every year and teach our children to question so that we can all understand a little more about slavery, oppression and violence; the overriding system of justice that was meted out for evil; the road to freedom took courage and commitment and was filled with obstacles, yet through true leadership freedom was found and our people today cherish that freedom and the homeland that is ours, even though we may not physically be there.
Rabbi Alima and his family have gone home, his wife said to me shortly before she left, “This community gave us far more that we ever gave the community” and I believe that is because here in Bulawayo, we all cherish community and understand the strength it gives us. It is getting harder to find and afford a new Rabbi, but we remain determined and as Hylton Solomon said, “We cannot turn our backs on over a century of Jewish history in this town.”
Yes, the past decade has been particularly trying but there is an old Jewish proverb that says, “He that can't endure the bad, will not live to see the good.” As Jews we understand suffering but we also understand that freedom is within grasp.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
29th anniversary of Zimbabwe’s independence
WE have just had the 29th anniversary of Zimbabwe’s independence – nothing to celebrate.
The latest development is the non payment of utility accounts. The municipality sends out bills for rates and refuse collection, making unrealistic demands and the rate payers pay only a fracture of the amount, because the services are non-existent. In our area the refuse has not been collected for the last three months. Street lighting has not worked for a similar period and the roads are full of potholes.
What is sheer neglect is to see burst water mains pipes unattended – no repairs and all this water literally going down the drain. It is estimated that 20% of Harare’s water supply is wasted in this manner. There is a shortage of pumping capacity. The equipment at the Morton Jeffray water is old and needs replacement after 29 years of independence. In spite of all this the municipality expects to be paid for services they do not provide. Many rate payers are only paying a token fee of US$10. The municipality can’t cut off services because there aren’t any and they cannot prosecute because they do not have a case. They require US$4,5 million to pay wages but receive only US$1,5 million. They simply cannot get started to repair their infrastructure because they have no money – so it is a vicious circle.
There have been appeals for billions of dollar from the wicked West – and also to remove “illegal” sanctions. I wonder what law is being broken to be declared “illegal”? As long as Mugabe remains in power and continues to flout the rule of law no one will come to our aid.
The glitter of the new unity government is beginning to wear off. What is annoying the MDC is that Mugabe makes unilateral appointments and decisions. It is a power sharing government and they should be consulted. As always Mugabe is not accountable to anyone and justifies everything with his rhetoric.
On the positive side the shelves in the supermarkets are now filled with allsorts of goodies most of it is imported. Now that local industry may keep all their foreign currency earnings through exports the economy is improving slightly.
Salaries are now paid in US dollars. Civil servants are complaining because they are being paid a paltry $100 per month. It is estimated that an average family needs about $450 pm to survive. The government does not receive enough money from taxes and has great difficulty in meeting payments. Of course it is not their fault – it is the “illegal” sanctions imposed by the wicked West. Mugabe has stated that Zimbabwe should put pressure on the West - exactly how is he going to do that? I am sure that the United States and European Union are quaking in their shoes!!!
Best regards
Benny and Rose Leon
The latest development is the non payment of utility accounts. The municipality sends out bills for rates and refuse collection, making unrealistic demands and the rate payers pay only a fracture of the amount, because the services are non-existent. In our area the refuse has not been collected for the last three months. Street lighting has not worked for a similar period and the roads are full of potholes.
What is sheer neglect is to see burst water mains pipes unattended – no repairs and all this water literally going down the drain. It is estimated that 20% of Harare’s water supply is wasted in this manner. There is a shortage of pumping capacity. The equipment at the Morton Jeffray water is old and needs replacement after 29 years of independence. In spite of all this the municipality expects to be paid for services they do not provide. Many rate payers are only paying a token fee of US$10. The municipality can’t cut off services because there aren’t any and they cannot prosecute because they do not have a case. They require US$4,5 million to pay wages but receive only US$1,5 million. They simply cannot get started to repair their infrastructure because they have no money – so it is a vicious circle.
There have been appeals for billions of dollar from the wicked West – and also to remove “illegal” sanctions. I wonder what law is being broken to be declared “illegal”? As long as Mugabe remains in power and continues to flout the rule of law no one will come to our aid.
The glitter of the new unity government is beginning to wear off. What is annoying the MDC is that Mugabe makes unilateral appointments and decisions. It is a power sharing government and they should be consulted. As always Mugabe is not accountable to anyone and justifies everything with his rhetoric.
On the positive side the shelves in the supermarkets are now filled with allsorts of goodies most of it is imported. Now that local industry may keep all their foreign currency earnings through exports the economy is improving slightly.
Salaries are now paid in US dollars. Civil servants are complaining because they are being paid a paltry $100 per month. It is estimated that an average family needs about $450 pm to survive. The government does not receive enough money from taxes and has great difficulty in meeting payments. Of course it is not their fault – it is the “illegal” sanctions imposed by the wicked West. Mugabe has stated that Zimbabwe should put pressure on the West - exactly how is he going to do that? I am sure that the United States and European Union are quaking in their shoes!!!
Best regards
Benny and Rose Leon
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Gabi Elkaim's diary from Bulawayo
By Gabi Elkaim
April 12, 2009
Bulawayo - For the two months I've been back, we've mostly been very lucky: municipal water has been plentiful and we haven't had any power cuts. We've also had a great deal of rain, though this year, the quantity of rain was not ideal for the crops. Opah says that because we've had so much rain, it will be a long cold winter. And indeed, it's mid-April and we've already started to load up on firewood, a month earlier than usual. The cold has begun to creep up on us, and with it, suddenly power cuts have become more prevalent. Some last an hour or two, some the whole day... in the Western suburbs, perhaps even longer. Rumour has it, something is being fixed at the power hub in Kariba... no one asks too many questions. We're all veterans when it comes to power cuts... and so the generator goes on from time to time, or the candles are lit, or we simply suck it up, barely acknowledging the absence of the god of electricity, as if we'll trick him into returning, though really only tricking ourselves.
On Wednesday morning, Opah and I woke up early and went into town in search of firewood. The place that always used to sell it when I was growing up sells it no longer. But a man parked outside invited us to follow him to the industrial sites, to a place where he buys it in bulk in order to supply a clientèle that uses indoor wood-burning stoves. Upon arrival at this place, another man came running toward us warning that our front tyre was about to fall off. And so we discovered that the night prior, our property had been broken into, and an attempt had been made to steal a tyre off the car. Opah had heard the dogs going nuts at about 3am and had turned on all the lights, which it seems, was enough to scare off the intruders. Since then, we've decided to let the dogs roam the front yard instead of being confined to the back. ...So while driving to town, with only 2 bolts out of 6 intact, 3 of the wheel studs broke under the weight of the car. The tyre shook as if deciding whether to cling to the axle or to retreat to the road. Luckily it chose the axle, and it was caught before anything sinister was able to happen.
Wednesday night was the start of Passover, and an astonishing one hundred people were present at the communal seder that evening. Florence, a woman whose forte is Jewish cooking, and who has been freelancing around the Jewish community for years, prepared the entire meal over a 3-day period. That evening one hundred people assembled to read the story of Exodus, and yes, another day, another power cut... another affirmation of the resilience of Zimbabweans: not only was the first half of the story recounted by candlelight, but one hundred servings of chicken soup and mazta balls were heated up over an open fire!
By some stroke of luck, we managed to have the car fixed on Thursday. It seems that to get things done here usually requires infinitely more patience than anywhere else in the world. And yes, I am beginning to see the miracles of our existence here on a daily basis. Good Friday arrived, and with our car intact and loaded with Easter eggs, we headed out to Matopos to visit an orphanage that is run by a good friend of mine. There is an electric moment that occurs whenever I drive to Matopos. It happens around the time we pass the dam on our right, and catch the first glimpse of the magnificence of the balancing rocks. My body tingles in awe. J claims that beneath and within these balancing granite boulders, millions of crystals can be found, and they contribute to this tremendous energy that is felt there. Initially W had been reluctant to join us, claiming that he did not have the koach to spend the day depressed with sick orphaned children, but after some arm twisting, he gave in. The orphanage, 70 or so kilometres out of town, is such a happy place... a far cry from depressing: 36 children live there and are well loved and taken care of. One-fifth of them are HIV positive, and all of these are on ARV's where they are monitored and compliance is ensured. 5 of the children took us on a leisurely 4km hike up the kopjie. With views that can only remind us pf how tiny we are in such a massive universe, and yet how interconnected our existence is, the Matopos humbles, consumes, and rejuvenates us, and then spits us back out into Bulawayo, feeling as though we've been on a 3-day vacation.
The weekend flies by, and I sit in the garden early this morning, hearing
the sound of my fingers hitting the keyboard, the gentleness of a cool
breeze, the calls of the birds, the odd dog barking in the distance. All
these sounds become like white noise, and I become aware of the loudest noise that exists here, the sound of quiet. Sunday: another day, another power cut. And with that, my laptop is about to run out of batteries.
April 12, 2009
Bulawayo - For the two months I've been back, we've mostly been very lucky: municipal water has been plentiful and we haven't had any power cuts. We've also had a great deal of rain, though this year, the quantity of rain was not ideal for the crops. Opah says that because we've had so much rain, it will be a long cold winter. And indeed, it's mid-April and we've already started to load up on firewood, a month earlier than usual. The cold has begun to creep up on us, and with it, suddenly power cuts have become more prevalent. Some last an hour or two, some the whole day... in the Western suburbs, perhaps even longer. Rumour has it, something is being fixed at the power hub in Kariba... no one asks too many questions. We're all veterans when it comes to power cuts... and so the generator goes on from time to time, or the candles are lit, or we simply suck it up, barely acknowledging the absence of the god of electricity, as if we'll trick him into returning, though really only tricking ourselves.
On Wednesday morning, Opah and I woke up early and went into town in search of firewood. The place that always used to sell it when I was growing up sells it no longer. But a man parked outside invited us to follow him to the industrial sites, to a place where he buys it in bulk in order to supply a clientèle that uses indoor wood-burning stoves. Upon arrival at this place, another man came running toward us warning that our front tyre was about to fall off. And so we discovered that the night prior, our property had been broken into, and an attempt had been made to steal a tyre off the car. Opah had heard the dogs going nuts at about 3am and had turned on all the lights, which it seems, was enough to scare off the intruders. Since then, we've decided to let the dogs roam the front yard instead of being confined to the back. ...So while driving to town, with only 2 bolts out of 6 intact, 3 of the wheel studs broke under the weight of the car. The tyre shook as if deciding whether to cling to the axle or to retreat to the road. Luckily it chose the axle, and it was caught before anything sinister was able to happen.
Wednesday night was the start of Passover, and an astonishing one hundred people were present at the communal seder that evening. Florence, a woman whose forte is Jewish cooking, and who has been freelancing around the Jewish community for years, prepared the entire meal over a 3-day period. That evening one hundred people assembled to read the story of Exodus, and yes, another day, another power cut... another affirmation of the resilience of Zimbabweans: not only was the first half of the story recounted by candlelight, but one hundred servings of chicken soup and mazta balls were heated up over an open fire!
By some stroke of luck, we managed to have the car fixed on Thursday. It seems that to get things done here usually requires infinitely more patience than anywhere else in the world. And yes, I am beginning to see the miracles of our existence here on a daily basis. Good Friday arrived, and with our car intact and loaded with Easter eggs, we headed out to Matopos to visit an orphanage that is run by a good friend of mine. There is an electric moment that occurs whenever I drive to Matopos. It happens around the time we pass the dam on our right, and catch the first glimpse of the magnificence of the balancing rocks. My body tingles in awe. J claims that beneath and within these balancing granite boulders, millions of crystals can be found, and they contribute to this tremendous energy that is felt there. Initially W had been reluctant to join us, claiming that he did not have the koach to spend the day depressed with sick orphaned children, but after some arm twisting, he gave in. The orphanage, 70 or so kilometres out of town, is such a happy place... a far cry from depressing: 36 children live there and are well loved and taken care of. One-fifth of them are HIV positive, and all of these are on ARV's where they are monitored and compliance is ensured. 5 of the children took us on a leisurely 4km hike up the kopjie. With views that can only remind us pf how tiny we are in such a massive universe, and yet how interconnected our existence is, the Matopos humbles, consumes, and rejuvenates us, and then spits us back out into Bulawayo, feeling as though we've been on a 3-day vacation.
The weekend flies by, and I sit in the garden early this morning, hearing
the sound of my fingers hitting the keyboard, the gentleness of a cool
breeze, the calls of the birds, the odd dog barking in the distance. All
these sounds become like white noise, and I become aware of the loudest noise that exists here, the sound of quiet. Sunday: another day, another power cut. And with that, my laptop is about to run out of batteries.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
2 major discoveries and 2 lessons
Sent: Wednesday, March 25, 2009 8:31 AM
Subject: update 4 - 2 major discoveries and 2 lessons
by Gabi Elkaim
I think I have put off writing since my last update simply because so much happens here every day and I lose sight of where to start. So I'll recount from more recently.
My first discovery, made last week, is that my beloved choc-dip has returned to Eskimo Hut, our legendary drive-in old-fashioned soft-serve ice-cream joint in Bulawayo. After a year and a half of its absence, I went there the other day, asking facetiously if there was choc-dip, expecting a great big no, but to my surprise, the ice-cream man said "yes"... I thought I was hearing things! It had been there already for 4 whole days!!! What, you might ask, is the real significance of me recounting this story... it's plain and simple. As I said in my past update, Zimbabwe is simply electric at the moment. Since we have changed over to operating in Rands of US dollars, grocery shop shelves have been once again filled, and although expensive, food and other commodities are far more accessible than they were a mere 6 months ago. Apparently the border towns in botswana are crying now as fewer and fewer Zimbabweans are making regular trips across to stock up on food. So yes, even choc-dip has returned. The ice-cream man uses a great big silver spoon to poor the liquid choc-dip over the cup of vanilla soft-serve, where upon contact, it hardens and becomes solid chocolate. As I did every time I went to Eskies, prior to a year and a half ago when choc-dip was still available, I asked the ice-cream man if I could have a lick of that magnificent big silver spoon. As usual he declined. This time, however, there was no disappointment. The excitement of the-return-of-choc-dip was simply too great.
I just got back from a long weekend away at Hwange National Park and a night in Vic Falls. And this is where I come to my second discovery. Vic falls is 400+ km from Bulawayo and during our drive back yesterday we stopped regularly, mainly to grocery shop from the local villagers as the vegetables in the rural areas come at a real bargain. Furthermore, nearer to the Falls, it is Baobab country and villagers line the lay-by areas selling the fruits of the Baobab tree, its great big pods filled with vitamin C-rich cream of tartar. I was also on the lookout for rural "khaya" chickens, but unfortunately on our return trip on Monday, fewer people were out and about as there had been when we were on our way there on Saturday. At one stop in particular, when the car was already filled with about half a dozen watermelons, a massive African squash called ujodo, a pumpkin, 11 tomatoes, and various other bits and pieces, not to mention the 4 of us already in the car in addition to our luggage and picnic baskets, a lady approached us asking for a lift. I was not initially inclined to fit anyone else in the car as from my perspective, we were pretty full-up, but she insisted that space could be made. And when she told me that she had been waiting there since early that morning (it was already 1pm-ish) and that she was trying to get her baby 15km up the road to the Isuza clinic were they were vaccinating, how could I say no? Afterall, it was only 15km. Little did I realize that from her perspective, our car was half-empty, and that when she insisted space could be made, she didn't mean that space could be made only for herself. I had assumed the women and children around her were bystanders at yet another lay-by. A few minutes and 7 people later, we were on our way. We totaled 11 people in the Landcruiser and we drove ever so slowly for the following 15km to Isuza during which time we passed a police road block miraculously, without the police even batting an eyelid at us. The lessons here are perspective and possibility. I guess that that is part of the reason that Zimbabwe has managed to persevere through such rough times: Zimbabweans are able to Stop Look Adjust and Move (the SLAM rule), Adjust being key here. Those who have stayed in the country are constantly forced to reshape their perspective in order to continue creating possibility. And indeed, 3 mothers managed to get their 4 children to a clinic yesterday to obtain their vaccinations! Our education system, although crumbling, has not yet failed us, as young women who are hardly able to speak English, still understand the importance of taking their children to the clinic for ama'njections. Perhaps we do still have the potential to make a full come-back.
Subject: update 4 - 2 major discoveries and 2 lessons
by Gabi Elkaim
I think I have put off writing since my last update simply because so much happens here every day and I lose sight of where to start. So I'll recount from more recently.
My first discovery, made last week, is that my beloved choc-dip has returned to Eskimo Hut, our legendary drive-in old-fashioned soft-serve ice-cream joint in Bulawayo. After a year and a half of its absence, I went there the other day, asking facetiously if there was choc-dip, expecting a great big no, but to my surprise, the ice-cream man said "yes"... I thought I was hearing things! It had been there already for 4 whole days!!! What, you might ask, is the real significance of me recounting this story... it's plain and simple. As I said in my past update, Zimbabwe is simply electric at the moment. Since we have changed over to operating in Rands of US dollars, grocery shop shelves have been once again filled, and although expensive, food and other commodities are far more accessible than they were a mere 6 months ago. Apparently the border towns in botswana are crying now as fewer and fewer Zimbabweans are making regular trips across to stock up on food. So yes, even choc-dip has returned. The ice-cream man uses a great big silver spoon to poor the liquid choc-dip over the cup of vanilla soft-serve, where upon contact, it hardens and becomes solid chocolate. As I did every time I went to Eskies, prior to a year and a half ago when choc-dip was still available, I asked the ice-cream man if I could have a lick of that magnificent big silver spoon. As usual he declined. This time, however, there was no disappointment. The excitement of the-return-of-choc-dip was simply too great.
I just got back from a long weekend away at Hwange National Park and a night in Vic Falls. And this is where I come to my second discovery. Vic falls is 400+ km from Bulawayo and during our drive back yesterday we stopped regularly, mainly to grocery shop from the local villagers as the vegetables in the rural areas come at a real bargain. Furthermore, nearer to the Falls, it is Baobab country and villagers line the lay-by areas selling the fruits of the Baobab tree, its great big pods filled with vitamin C-rich cream of tartar. I was also on the lookout for rural "khaya" chickens, but unfortunately on our return trip on Monday, fewer people were out and about as there had been when we were on our way there on Saturday. At one stop in particular, when the car was already filled with about half a dozen watermelons, a massive African squash called ujodo, a pumpkin, 11 tomatoes, and various other bits and pieces, not to mention the 4 of us already in the car in addition to our luggage and picnic baskets, a lady approached us asking for a lift. I was not initially inclined to fit anyone else in the car as from my perspective, we were pretty full-up, but she insisted that space could be made. And when she told me that she had been waiting there since early that morning (it was already 1pm-ish) and that she was trying to get her baby 15km up the road to the Isuza clinic were they were vaccinating, how could I say no? Afterall, it was only 15km. Little did I realize that from her perspective, our car was half-empty, and that when she insisted space could be made, she didn't mean that space could be made only for herself. I had assumed the women and children around her were bystanders at yet another lay-by. A few minutes and 7 people later, we were on our way. We totaled 11 people in the Landcruiser and we drove ever so slowly for the following 15km to Isuza during which time we passed a police road block miraculously, without the police even batting an eyelid at us. The lessons here are perspective and possibility. I guess that that is part of the reason that Zimbabwe has managed to persevere through such rough times: Zimbabweans are able to Stop Look Adjust and Move (the SLAM rule), Adjust being key here. Those who have stayed in the country are constantly forced to reshape their perspective in order to continue creating possibility. And indeed, 3 mothers managed to get their 4 children to a clinic yesterday to obtain their vaccinations! Our education system, although crumbling, has not yet failed us, as young women who are hardly able to speak English, still understand the importance of taking their children to the clinic for ama'njections. Perhaps we do still have the potential to make a full come-back.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Mangwanani from Harare Zimbabwe
Click on the image to enlarge and read this report on Jewish life in Harare - March 2009
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