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Cheder memories of
South Africa
My earliest memory of attending Hebrew school was as a seven year old youngster growing up in Cape Town, South Africa in the mid 1950s. We used to go to afternoon cheder and were taken there by cheder bus, which was an orange painted vehicle with Hebrew and English characters on the sides. The bus which was owned by the Jewish community used to fetch us from our homes every afternoon, Monday to Friday, and after Hebrew school it would return us to our homes. I remember the bus always stopping on route at Oranjia, the Jewish Orphanage, to collect the kids who were living there. My first Hebrew teacher was a Miss Stern and her demeanor did not belie her name. I also remember the class singing sessions which were conducted by Cantor Immerman, the blind chazzan. He was an amazing man who knew everything by memory and we used to take turns in opening the door for him, and for many years he also taught bar mitzvahs. He was a beloved figure in the community, always a most welcome visitor, and there is hardly a Jewish Capetonian who grew up in the last half of the twentieth century who did not know him.
All this went on for three months when my life changed forever. My father, Jack Wener died very suddenly, at age 37, whilst playing cricket. A family decision was made to send me away from Cape Town to live with my Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Max who owned an hotel in Paarl, a country town about 35 miles from Cape Town, which is in the heart of the wine district. Although I used to see my mother often, my aunt and uncle became my surrogate parents, and my cousins became the siblings I never had. I now understand that in effecting this change, my mother and her sisters felt that I would cope better with my loss in a different environment. This of course meant a change in regular school and Hebrew school. I remember being taken down to the Talmud Torah on my first afternoon in Paarl and it seemed so different from Cape Town. It was far more intimate and less institutional. No cheder buses. I had to be schlepped every afternoon to my lessons. My teacher was the Rev Kur who was also the chazzan of the Paarl Shul. He was a wonderful teacher and very popular. I remember him in the summer, often coming to the local municipal swimming pool, and that was where the local Jewish mothers usually took the opportunity of giving him an earful! Shortly after arriving at the Paarl Talmud Torah, I was also taken under the tutelage of the Rabbi, Dr Levine whom we all referred to as Doc. Doc taught me to say Kaddish for my father, and it was not long before I was being driven twice to the synagogue campus, once for cheder and later to say kaddish at minyan. Me and the old men. They all spoke Yiddish so I didn’t understand what they were saying, but occasionally one or another would nod his approval and tell me that I say a good Kaddish. It was here that I learned to daven with proper nusach which I will say stood me in good stead in years to come. On Friday nights which were usually very well attended, I became the official cup bearer for Rev Kur while he chanted Kiddush after which I was permitted to take a sip.
Shabbat mornings in Paarl were not as well attended but all the regular old men were there, about 20 of them in all. Hardly any ladies attended with the exception of Mrs. Levine and maybe a few others. But there were plenty of children, maybe 40 or so.
In Paarl it was a tradition that during the Haftarah reading it was official “playtime or break” for the kids. We would all make a beeline for the door and gather at the side of the Talmud Torah hall, where they had a playground. The boys would hang out in one corner and the girls in another with the occasional breaking of ranks. This tradition must have been going on for many years. This was coupled however with another tradition and I wouldn’t even venture to guess how long it had been going on. The older boys would come well supplied with cigarettes which they used to distribute to the younger boys. It was quite a scene as you can imagine, big boys in long pants, little ones in short pants each standing around with a cigarette in their hands. It took me 44 years to kick the habit! All of a sudden we would hear “Boys!!!!!”. That was the voice of the Shammas calling us back to service. It did not seem to be necessary to beckon the girls.
My life took another dramatic turn after having spent the remaining 9 months of that year in Paarl. My mother decided that I was becoming too integrated into country life and that the time had arrived for me to become urbanized in Cape Town once again. But this time things were not to be that smooth. I was to be put into boarding school which became my de facto home for the next 10 years of my life. Being switched from a home environment to an institutional one was no picnic. At the time I felt betrayed but people kept telling me it was for my own good. Years later I found out that my Paarl family were actually opposed to my leaving them but were powerless to stop it. But I did spend many holidays there for years to come so my contact with the community was somewhat maintained. So here we go again, another change in schools and Hebrew tuition. My new Hebrew teacher was the Rev Kuperman whom we all called “Koopy”. He used to come to the school three afternoon’s a week and tutor the Jewish boarders in Hebrew and for bar mitzvah. We used to attend services on Saturday mornings at the Great Synagogue in Cape Town, where we all had to sit next to Koopy and be on our best behavior. This was a cathedral synagogue, so there was no running out at Haftarah time as in Paarl. Koopy was from the old school but his classes were chaotic for want of a better word. There were about 15 kids in the class of different age groups ranging from beginners to bar mitzvah level. A typical scene in one of Koopy’s classes was having about five boys all practicing their haphtarah or maftir at the same time, and then for the rest of the class practicing reading from the siddur or trying to learn Hebrew grammar, with Koopy attending to one pupil at a time. How anyone ever learned anything there always mystified me because I eventually left. One of Koopy’s favorite sayings in his Yiddish accent was “Now take dem book and learn dem lesson odervise der mamen is paying all fer nuttin”. When back home for holidays I was occasionally asked by the family to do this take on Koopy. They seemed to think it was funny, but when they eventually discovered how much my Hebrew had deteriorated since the Paarl days, things got serious. I overheard some talk about my being sent to Claremont Talmud Torah near the boarding school. My school principal who was also in charge of the hostel was opposed to the idea, but in the end he relented. The moment I became aware of the imminent change, I became pro-active and boldly announced to Koopy that I was not coming back. I got away with this for about three months until it was discovered and was sent back to Koopy.
Eventually I did go to Claremont Talmud Torah where I was well tutored although I had much catching up to do after three years with Koopy. I received my bar mitzvah tuition there and they awarded me the class prize for steady work. I had my bar mitzvah at the Great Synagogue in Cape Town, where we were members. It was a public holiday so everyone was able to come. What is more, it was also the date of my late father’s birthday. I was in great form and everyone was pleased.
In conclusion there is something I will always remember from that day. After I had finished my haphtarah and was walking back to my seat my hand was grabbed by an elderly gentleman who said to me “I am verra prowd”. It was Koopy.
© Pharrel Wener, 2010
More background information from Pharrel
I was the only child of Margie Beck the daughter of Morris and Annie Beck. Morris Beck my grandfather, was the oldest son of Leib and Rochelea Beck. He came to South Africa at the age 16 in 1910. Whether he arrived on his own or with any siblings or his parents, I do not know. I do have some theories however. Firstly, it is unlikely that the whole Beck clan arrived en masse, simply because financially and logistically it would have been difficult. It is more likely that my grandfather came on his own or with a sibling or two to join older siblings already in SA. That sibling could have been Aunty Annie Philips who was the eldest Beck child and at that time would certainly have been married and would have been 26 years old. The usual pattern of immigration was for children to immigrate first and then bring the parents and younger siblings over which makes a good deal of sense. I recall there being extremely close family bonds between my grandfather and the Philips side of the family. I remember going to the Gardens Shul every High Holidays as a child and was sent by my father upstairs to wish my mother and grandmother gut yontef and and they would then send me to wish Aunty Annie Philips whose seat was a few blocks below them. Downstairs, my father would send me to wish Uncle Joe Philips and as was his custom, he removed a brown paper bag from his pocket which he always carried and would give me peanuts and candy shaped like fish. His favorite words to any child was - you vont monkey nuts and fisses? They both died within a year and I missed them at shul on yontef. Auntie Annie's daughter Gertie took over her mother's seat and their son Hosie Philips took over Uncle Joe's seat.
I was too young to know Zaide Leib Beck. I was 2 when he died in 1950. My grandfather Morris Beck died a month after his father at age 56 in January 1951. Rochelea predeceased Leib.
Leib and Rochelea are buried next to each other at old Jewish cemetery at Woltemade, Gate No. 8. I don't recall seeing any grave photos. There is a Cape Jewish Cemetery project which is on going and you can view it on the web but they do not appear to have covered the Woltemade cemetery yet. I visited their graves a number of times between 1960s and 1980s. I have no idea of their present condition. I am told that one needs an appointment and to be accompanied on visits to these old cemeteries for personal safety.
Morris Beck my grandfather or Papa as he liked to be called, was a barber and his shop used to be at the corner of Wale and Adderley Streets. He was very keen on politics and used to cut many Parliamentarians' hair. During the Depression he had to leave the family behind in Cape Town and worked in Jhb for a year. He worked for Solly Kramer who had a chain of barber shops. This is the same Solly Kramer after whom the well known liquor chain was named. I once met his son Barney Kramer. The Kramers were somehow related to the Becks but I don't know how. My grandfather was a great United Party worker and was great friends with Isaac Ospovat. He also managed the election campaigns of Mr Louis Gradner, twice mayor of Cape Town. Our connection with the Gradners was close right up to the present generation. Morris was also very keen on Yiddish Theater and was the prompt in plays they produced at the old Zionist Hall in Hope Street. I am told he was a wonderful guy and used to love his game of bowls..