Slurred Slurs

Public drunkenness is not pretty. It’s sloppy, dour, and usually embarrassing. Moreover, it feels and appears a lot worse when the person is a public official. Frankly, it should, because public officials have taken a sworn oath to serve the people, not to serve themselves. Yes, they should be held to a higher standard.

I’ve had the good fortune to experience a lot of Africa. From scenic drives to wild life safaris, from cultural performances to conversing with the locals, I’ve had many an “African moment”. Perhaps the most “African moment” (if one can be qualified) was an encounter with Richard Kalasa, Kanini Ward Councillor of the City of Ndola, Zambia on 11 February 2013. It was an “African moment” in that it, unfortunately, filled my head, if momentarily, with many of the cynical TV images that come out of Africa, the kind that pervert all the beauty, richness, and promise the tapestry of Africa truly offers. It was slightly scary, a little surreal, very disheartening, and very much frustrating. It was a brush with abuse of power, authority, and office. But mostly, it was a moment of shame.

Richard Kalasa, Kanini Ward Councillor, Ndola, Zambia, business card

I was based in Ndola for two nights in order to photograph Jewish sights there and in the nearby towns of Kitwe, Luanshya, and Mufulira. I spent most of my time with Sam Leibowitz, the son of Gus Leibowitz who is the last remaining permanent Jewish resident of Kitwe, the nation’s second most populous city, some 40 kilometers to the northwest, in the heart of the mineral-rich Copperbelt that was, in many respects, built by pioneering Jews of the early 1900s. Sam graciously gave me the better part of his time during my visit to drive me around and to be my local friend. One of the places we visited was the Pioneer Jewish Cemetery, a small, mostly-forgotten cemetery betwixt a little patch of forest and underbrush practically in the center of town.

Gus Leibowitz, in his office, Kitwe, Zambia

Sam Leibowitz, in the sanctuary of the Kitwe Synagogue (former), Kitwe, Zambia

My first glimpse of the cemetery told me it clearly had not been visited in a while. It was completely overgrown, and at one end, a mound of fetid rubbish was spilling over the wall of an adjacent house and beginning to tumble into the cemetery enclosure itself. We delicately tread our way over the rotting mess and whacked our way through the flora to access the cemetery itself.

Pioneer Jewish Cemetery (pre-clean up). Ndola, Zambia

Knowing that I was there to document the cemetery, and wanting to have things look right, Gus ordered two of his workers (from Kitwe) to tidy up the cemetery, and the next day, I was back again to what now appeared as a charming, tranquil eternal resting ground. It was upon leaving the cemetery after photographing it for the second time that we encountered Mr. Kalasa and his entourage and my African moment.

Pioneer Jewish Cemetery (post-clean up). Ndola, Zambia

As Sam, his friend, the two workers, and I returned to the oversized 4×4 vehicle parked on a sort of dirt lane driveway about 100 meters off the main road, we came face-to-face with several well-dressed men encircling an irate Mr. Kalasa. With arms akimbo and standing askance, he burst forth, thinking it was his place to teach us lessons in protocol and respect.

“I’ve been waiting to get out of here for 30 minutes” he wailed. “But you have blocked my way!”

There was more than enough room for his driver to pass our vehicle. Sam offered an apology but it was rebuffed.

“You have made me late,” he exclaimed as the whites of his eyes grew bigger. “Have you no respect? You need permission to be here.”

None was needed as far as we knew because the lane and the cemetery were not on private property.

“There are procedures to follow! You have to respect the rules!” he continued.

Again, a few respectful apologies were offered with little impact.

“You have no right to cut the trees here,” the councillor declared. I wondered how a city councillor could be upset by someone taking the time and interest to clean up a corner of town.

As Mr. Kalasa was carrying on, it dawned on me that his behavior was not just over-reactive for the size of our alleged infraction, but abhorrent and peculiar. His language turned ugly. I wondered if he were drunk.

“Look at your nose,” he demanded of Sam. “And look at mine!” He put his finger to his nose.

“What did he just say?!!!” went through my mind. “No, he didn’t just make a Jewish slur.” Zambia is not a country with a history nor culture of anti-Semitism.

My pulse quickened and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I ruminated his words and my thoughts. It’s amazing how much one can ponder in a split-second. I wasn’t sure whether this was the moment I should interject, nay, put an end to his deplorable conduct by giving him a lesson of my own or simply by telling everyone to get in the car and go. But the councillor continued before I could speak.

He pointed to his forearm, stroked his skin up and down, and said disdainfully, “Look at the color of my skin, and look at yours. Who’s the Zambian here?!”

I was silently shocked and livid. Yet, with that comment, I knew he had not made a Jewish insult. I felt an odd sense of relief for a joyous split-second. He meant that Sam didn’t have a common broader “African nose”.

Sam swallowed hard, then answered the incensed man with a softly spoken voice: “We’re all Zambians here.” His words were met with a momentary silence, a sort of knock out blow to the drunken official. But inside my head, there were cheers and a rousing, “Right on, Sam! The perfect response. You just put him in his place.”

So Mr. Kalasa turned his focus to me. “Are you a journalist?”

I assured him that I was not.

“Come here,” he ordered with a flick of his hand.

“No,” I said. “What for?”

Well, my demur challenged his authority, of course, and he didn’t like that one bit. How dare I say no to him?

“I am not going to kill you,” he said. An odd remark, I thought. So he came over to me, and, strangely, simultaneously shook my hand and hugged me tightly (the former, I did not want; the latter, I did like). And then, just like that, everything made sense: Indeed, he was drunk. He reeked of alcohol.

He backed off with, curiously, an invitation to me: “Come stay at my house. You are welcome.” But all I could think was, “You’re a drunken, embarrassing fool.”

His assistant handed me Mr. Kalasa’s business card just so I could keep in touch, I supposed, or reserve a night at the councillor’s house. By then, he had simmered down, and he seemed content with a final word of contrition. Councillor Kalasa and his attendants climbed into their SUV and drove off in a dusty plume. I wondered if it followed him where ever he goes.

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- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #2 (Jan~Mar 2013).

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #1 (Aug-Sep 2012).

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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Check, please!

“So, who’s funding you?” has become my new mantra.

On August 1, 2012, I landed in Johannesburg, South Africa. It was the first day of the first leg (of perhaps eight) of this entire Jewish Africa photographic survey endeavor. In fact, it was only five hours after I landed that I had my first photo appointment. There I was, taking pictures of Yeshiva Maharsha Beis Aharon and chatting to several boys who study there. They asked me intelligent questions about what and why I was taking photographs of their school and synagogue. That was reasonable, I thought. After all, I’d be asking some questions too if someone came into my house and started photographing. They were curious, enthusiastic, and welcoming. When one of them asked, “So who’s paying for this?”, I laughed, and thought to myself, “That’s a little too curious, a little too personal.”

Yeshiva Maharsha Beis Aharon. JOHANNESBURG, South Africa

Little did I know it then, but it was the first of, oh, literally some one hundred times hence that I’ve been queried on the matter in one form or another. From South Africa to Mauritius, from Namibia to Zambia, there’s a whole lot of Jews out there who are apparently concerned about my finances. I suspect they might be out there across the whole of Africa.

“Do you have a sponsor?” “Are you commissioned?” “Do you work for someone?” “Do you work for yourself?” “How do you pay for this?” “Have you found someone to fund you?” “Who pays for this?”

In the beginning, I was somewhat coy in my answers, and sometimes even deflected them by indirectly suggesting that it was none of their business. “Oh, this is just something that I love to do,” was the generic comment. But by the time question 27 or so rolled around, I started guffawing in faces and replying in no uncertain terms that I found their question rather direct. I mean, I don’t ask people about how they fund their lives and interests, not as a habit, anyway.

“I do.” Or, “You’re looking at the funder.”

That was pretty much my stock answer for a while when asked who’s paying, and left it at that. But recently, I’ve started firing back more directly.

“You know, I learned a long time ago that documentation doesn’t pay,” I’d tell them. “So, are you making an offer of support?” Or, “Do you have your checkbook with you? I accept cash too.” Those sorts of replies are usually received with a bit of uncomfortable laughter.

While I don’t do this work for the money, I certainly welcome it! It takes money — a lot of it — to do what I do. In fact, this current trip that I am on is probably the single-most expensive trip that I’ve ever taken, and future legs of this Jewish Africa journey are not going to get cheaper. Africa is expensive. But it’s what I do, and I’ll continue to do what I can with the limited resources I have.

“Do you have a grant?” is a far less frequent question. Here’s the answer: No. Being an “individual”, I am ineligible to even apply for funding from virtually all organizations and foundations who support only non-profits and persons connected to the same. So, why not make my Jewish photo library a non-profit, you wonder? Well, because above all else, retaining full copyright and control over my images in perpetuity is paramount. I could lose my life’s work if such a non-profit folds at any time in the future.

Having said that, I return home from this trip, like my others, a richer man. There are countless good souls across each and every Jewish community I have visited who have done wondrous things for me that are tantamount to support of various sorts: financial, logistical, spiritual. From being treated to meals to schlepping me around in their vehicles (burning their expensive petrol), from presenting me with books about their communities to the priceless gift of their time, I have in fact been bestowed with a pile of aid and friendship. I have also been given priceless unique experiences and memories that I will carry for the rest of my days. I am not merely grateful for all of it, but honored to be so enthusiastically welcomed into their communities.

But, per the mantra, instead of asking, “So, who’s funding you?”, please, check, please!

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- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #2 (Jan~Mar 2013).

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #1 (Aug-Sep 2012).

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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An Observant Jew

I am an observant Jew. I observe Jews all over the world and photograph them. Just in the last month, for instance, I have observed and photographed Jews in five countries: South Africa, Zambia, Mauritius, Mozambique, and Namibia. It has been quite the journey. In fact, it’s not over yet. But the end is nigh.

Greater Plettenberg Bay Jewish Community Synagogue. Plettenberg Bay, South Africa

I’ve squeezed sand between my toes on beaches and in deserts, and had too many rocks inside my Crocs, even some thorns through them (I hate it when that happens)! I never thought I’d be driving across the Namib Desert or South Africa or visiting Victoria Falls twice in my life, but there you go. Community members from Maputo, Mozambique to East London, South Africa have come out just to meet and greet me. I’ve been given special shout outs at Shabbat services. Countless souls have schlepped me from here to there and back again (and treated me to lunch or dinner) for no greater reward than because they love what I am doing and wish to facilitate my efforts. I have, in no uncertain terms, been given the rock star treatment everywhere I’ve been. I am humbled. I am honored. I am grateful. I’ll reiterate here what I’ve told all of them: They are my heroes because although I am the guy behind the lens, they are the community behind the scenes. Without their commitment and support, I’d have far few images in my opus.

Uitenhage Synagogue, Uitenhage, South Africa

When I set out on this Jewish Africa photographic survey project, I hoped I would find some stark differences between the Jewish communities that would reflect in my photographs. Managing the logistics, the miles, and the cost is the easy part for I am still figuring out how to capture those cultural differences in my photographs.

The challenges of a photographer can be many. The biggest and arguably the most important is telling a story, or at least making a statement, in one’s images. No, that is not possible in every image and I certainly do not aim to do so. But I do hope that the best of my images “speak a thousand words” or even more.

Seizing the differences of language, expression, accent, for instance, into a still image requires more than the click of the shutter. I am beginning to feel as if I am photographing a silent film. Some of that film is of the black and white archival kind (old cemeteries, closed synagogues, abandoned Jewish homes). Other bits of the film are in color (a Shabbat service, a Purim party, a newly-built social center, even the red African dirt of a freshly dug grave). But there is a silence, or at best, an eerie hum.

Temple Israel, Port Elizabeth, South Africa

So here’s what I have discovered: I am searching for a soundtrack yet I am hearing the sounds of silence. “I am an African,” many Jews here have said to me. But I don’t see the African in their portraits. I see a Jew not so different from myself or Jews I’ve met just about anywhere.

In the end, perhaps it is the sounds of silence which speak to today’s African Jewish communities. After all, and sadly, all that remains in many towns is a cemetery or an abandoned building that was once a Jewish home or business or synagogue.

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #2 (Jan~Mar 2013).

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #1 (Aug-Sep 2012).

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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JEWISH STARS: Owen Griffiths

Owen Griffiths is an interesting man. As president of the Island Hebrew Congregation of Mauritius, he oversees every aspect of community life on the south Indian Ocean island from religious needs to kosher food stocks to looking after a stray photographer like me.

Owen Griffiths, President, Island Hebrew Congregation, Mauritius

“Thanks for your interesting mail,” he wrote me on October 18, 2012 in response to my photo permission request. “I will be happy to help. The main ‘Jewish’ sites in Mauritius are the prison where detainees were held during the war, the Jewish cemetery, and the Jewish center at Forest Side. I would estimate that 2 full days will be enough for you to cover this.”

In fact, we covered all of that in one relaxed day criss-crossing the island. More precisely, I did not photograph the prison (I didn’t even attempt to secure permission). One little bonus was photographing an old chapel adjacent to the St. Martins Jewish Cemetery that is slated for development as a Jewish museum. I also met Rabbi Laima Barber who works on the island as a member of Chabad (though Chabad barely has a footprint in the sands here).

Owen first landed on these shores more than 26 years ago from Sydney, Australia. He says that “his great-grandfather was sent [Down Under] for being the “receiver of stolen goods”, a la Fagin, also referred to as “The Jew”, in Oliver Twist. There is a family legend that Fagin was based on his great-grandfather…” (from: The Travelling Rabbi: My African Tribe, by Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft, p. 314, Jacana Media 2012, South Africa).

One of the great perks of my Jewish photo travels is meeting fascinating people like Owen. While he clearly takes great pride in his duties as president of the 100-member community, he leads a double, even triple life. As a zoologist and environmentalist, he is also the owner/operator of Nile Crocodiles and Snails, La Vanille Crocodile Park and Bioculture Ltd. Mauritius. There are wild boars, monkeys, deer, and most incredible of all, giant tortoises, known as ‘Darwin’s tortoises’. In 2006, he started breeding the big turtles on the nearby isle of Rodrigues (controlled by Mauritius). Moreover, he breeds Mauritian macaque monkeys which are used for medical research (mainly in the US, the UK, and Japan, even a few to Israel) (ibid).

Needless to say, Owen’s banter kept me not only informed during our day out together, but entertained. He schlepped me literally from one end of the island to the other (at times in torrential rain) and even treated me to lunch in China Town in Port Louis, the capital.

From December 1940 through to the end of World War II, some 1,670 Jewish refugees arrived from Poland, Austria, Germany, and Czechoslovakia. As they were considered illegal immigrants when their ship tried to land in Haifa, they were exiled to Mauritius, a British colony at the time. But paradise did not await them. Families were split and the men incarcerated in Beau-Bassin Prison (built in Napoleonic times when the island was under French rule). Detainees were, however, treated fairly as they were considered neither prisoners of war nor enemies of the state. The South African Jewish community provided these people great assistance and support. In fact, to this very day, the South Africa Jewish Board of Deputies oversees the Mauritian Jewish community, and more specifically, with the personal support of the Travelling Rabbi, Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft.

I left Mauritius in no doubt that Owen will continue to be caretaker-in-chief not only of the current Jewish community, but of the community’s predecessors and history as he brings the Jewish Museum of Mauritius to fruition.

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #2 (Jan~Mar 2013).

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #1 (Aug-Sep 2012).

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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JEWISH STARS: Michael Galaun

The rain-soaked sky parted some minutes before landing in Lusaka, Zambia’s capital city an hour flight from Livingstone. As the 29-seater prop plane swooped in, rows of houses and buildings suddenly appeared from what had been a carpet of trees spliced by twisting, muddied rivers and bound by ribbons of orange-red dirt roads. There were plenty of richly green crop circles too. Little did I realize it then, but I was probably looking down upon the Jewish-owned Galaunia Farms Ltd — owned by the prominent Galaun family. The view was colorful and warm, and in its midst Jews had forged a life and a history. I was due to meet Michael Galaun, the current head of the Galaunia empire, shortly after my arrival. But first, I had something more important to do: take a self-portrait in front of the “Lusaka” sign at the airport. I had, after all, just completed my journey “from Osaka to Lusaka”.

From Osaka to Lusaka (at Lusaka airport)

While I was confident my Jewish Lusaka visit would prove fruitful, I was landing with some uncertainty because I had not quite managed to grasp a clear idea of the who, what, when, where, and how it was going to happen. I really was at the mercy of one man: Michael Galaun.

Michael Galaun on the porch of his childhood home, Lusaka, Zambia.

“We should be pleased to assist you,” emailed Michael on October 27, 2012, then continued somewhat more ominously. “The Jewish community is transient but has a hard core of about 6 individuals you may wish to talk to. All the sites are easily accessible but you will need a robust car and good driver. Traffic in Zambia is manic and road accidents more prolific than they should be. Medical assistance is not good.”

What followed landing was three days of rock star treatment. It started when Michael sent his personal chauffeur to fetch me at my guesthouse. Stephen first took me to meet Michael at his office — and was virtually at my beck and call for the duration of my Lusaka stay.

Admittedly, I was a touch anxious to meet Michael. He is a rock star in his own right. The Galaun family name, after all, is virtually synonymous with Zambian Jewry. His father, Abe (and mother, Vera) had such a hugely successful farming business — which Michael oversees to this very day — that people knew him as “the man who fed the nation.” He was also the founder of the Council of Zambia Jewry. But Michael greeted me warmly and made it perfectly clear that he’d make certain I got the most out of my time, and any concerns I had dissipated.

After a short but informative meet-and-greet, Michael sent me on my way with Stephen to photograph the three Jewish cemeteries and a few formerly-owned Jewish buildings and businesses in town. Stephen fetched me again for an evening out with Michael that included two social events — a group art show at a garden bar/restaurant (complete with free pizzas, cheeses, and other goodies) and a stunning cello/piano German duo recital at the Alliance France (cultural center).

The following day, I finally got to the Lusaka Synagogue. Built in 1941, the sanctuary is well maintained, as is the social hall. But the adjoining classroom is quite literally caving in. The former rabbi’s house is on the same property. It stands empty today, but an etrog tree blooms in the garden like a living memory of the community’s glory days.

On my third day, I spent a few hours driving around the expansive farms just outside Lusaka on a private tour with one of Michael’s underlings. From the ground, the muddied roads didn’t have quite the same colorful appeal from the air. They raise chickens, and produce milk, soya beans, corn, and potatoes among other foodstuffs. I even learned a few things about farming such as chickens have a 35-day lifespan (i.e. before they go to market). In the afternoon, Michael gave me a personally guided tour around the neighborhood to look at some former Jewish homes, including his own (he lived in the house from 1953~1967).

Arriving into Lusaka, Zambia International Airport

In addition to his farms, he recently opened a cemetery and he is also the Honorary Consul to Austria (“It requires only 1 or 2 hours of my time a month…I don’t get a bean for it”), not to mention that he is the Chairman of the Council of Zambian Jewry.

In short, there is nothing that Michael did not do for me. And for all of that, he truly is a Jewish Star.

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 - Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #2 (Jan~Mar 2013).

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #1 (Aug-Sep 2012).

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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JEWISH STARS: Joy Judes

*** Jewish Africa is filled with fascinating people and their stories. “JEWISH STARS” features some of the remarkable people I have met during my Jewish Africa travels. ***

Joy Judes in the lounge of her Hillbrow, Johannesburg home.

Joy Judes is a fastidious 86-year-young gentlewoman.

“I’m a farmer’s daughter,” she told me over coffee and light snacks in her home. “I grew up all over South Africa.”

Everyday, she descends from her 11th floor apartment to go gallivanting with friends who long ago moved to more desirable parts of town. Joy is one of very few Jews who still reside in Hillbrow, a once thriving Jewish area just north of downtown Johannesburg. The area today is rather on the shabby and rough-and-tumble side (and, unfortunately, so are the grand synagogues that grace the neighborhood).

“I have some lovely neighbors, but still I get quite lonely,” she confided. “There were many Jews here. I think there are about 5 white people left in the building, but I’m not sure where they hang out.” Hence, Joy’s daily jaunts to the more northerly (and Jewish) suburbs of Norwood, Melrose, and Glenhazel.

I was introduced to Joy by my friend Nev, who isn’t herself Jewish but proudly claims a trace of Judaism via her adopted “granny” Joy.

“Best to contact her early in the morning, or after 8pm,” Nev wrote me. “She gallivants in the day, naps in the afternoon, and goes out for dinner every night from 5-8pm. I know that she would love to meet you!”

So I gave her a call. “Just talk REALLY loudly,” Nev informed me. “She doesn’t hear so well…so talk slowly, clearly and very loudly!”

As her door opened, my eyes were treated to a vision of elegance. Her big, perfectly groomed coiffure — ever so slightly color-accented violet — belies her advancing age. But it’s her petite frame and rose-red painted lips that keep her looking cute. For just over an hour, she was all mine. We swapped stories about our lives, and for a giggle, we gave Nev a call.

When she’s done with her daily pursuits, Joy climbs — yes, climbs — the 11 flights of stairs back to her old-style apartment signaled from the ground by towering deep forest green plants.

“I went up and down three times the other day,” she told me. “I kept forgetting things.” Joy noted that the men who delivered her new refrigerator last week “looked dead on arrival” after the climb. The lift has been out of service for two years! Well, the exercise certainly keeps her fit.

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #2 (Jan~Mar 2013).

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #1 (Aug-Sep 2012).

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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JEWISH STARS: The Travelling Rabbi

*** Jewish Africa is filled with fascinating people and their stories. “JEWISH STARS” features some of the remarkable people I have met during my Jewish Africa travels. ***

Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft in his office, Beyachad. Johannesburg, South Africa.

Rabbi Moshe Silberhaft is widely-known as “The Travelling Rabbi” for the religious, spiritual, social, and logistical support he provides to Jewish communities big and small all across the southern African region and beyond.

Before I came to South Africa in August 2012, positively everyone I met and/or reached out to for Jewish Africa contacts and information insisted I “get in touch with Rabbi Silberhaft.” I tried to do just that, and tried and tried — to no avail. I sent him at least a dozen emails to multiple addresses over many weeks. At least half that many people sent him introductory emails to him on my behalf. Zilch in response.

Then, at last, on November 25, 2011, a breakthrough. He sent me two words: “Will do.” This succinct note was his CC’d response to the director of the South African Jewish Board of Deputies (SAJBD) who had asked him to contact me. It wouldn’t be for another five months — in April 2012 — that I’d hear from him again directly. Persistence paid off. Big time. Once the communication nut had been cracked, Rabbi Silberhaft graciously opened up and much needed information began to trickle through his emails.

I finally met the Travelling Rabbi in Johannesburg last August. We had a brief meet-and-greet in his cozy office located inside Beyachad, the headquarters (if you will) of the Jewish community of South Africa. The first thing one notices about his office, and of the man himself, is that he is not camera-shy. The walls are covered with portraits of himself with prominent Jewish leaders and captains of industry from all around the region. In every photo, Rabbi Silberhaft’s smile gives away the zest he has for his work. In certain respects, I share that enthusiasm with him. Though our paths are uniquely different, I believe our missions are parallel: To contribute to the preservation and sustainability of Jewish communities.

On Wednesday, January 30, 2013, the first day of leg #2 of my Jewish Africa photo project,  the indefatigable, the amiable, the effervescent Moshe Silberhaft treated me to lunch alfresco at a kosher deli in the heavily-Jewish Glenhazel neighborhood. And next Tuesday, February 5th, we fly together to Livingstone, Zambia (he’ll go just for one night; I’m in the country for a week). Read more about him and his recently published memoir by clicking HERE.

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #2 (Jan~Mar 2013).

- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS LEG #1 (Aug-Sep 2012).

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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From Osaka to Lusaka

In March 2003, I spent a few days in Managua, Nicaragua. I stayed with Eric and Elise, on assignment for the US Department of State, in their American-style house in a leafy neighborhood on a hill that rose just above the swelter of the city. They are two of the smartest and kindest people I’ve ever known, and they are also two of the most intrepid travelers. I wouldn’t expect diplomats to be anything different. I stayed with them 8 years earlier when they were posted to Hanoi, Vietnam to work in the US Liaison Office in the days prior to the re-establishment of a US embassy there. Like them, I love to travel.

It was during my stay in Managua that Eric glimpsed into my future: “Jono,” he said prophetically, “You should call your memoir ‘From Osaka to Lusaka’.”

“Well,” I said. “First, I’ll have to go there.”

And so, at long last, I am going there — though I’d like to think that my life’s story still has plenty of chapters beyond this one.

From Osaka…

Lusaka is the capital and largest city of Zambia, a landlocked country in the southern African region. With a population of 1.7 million souls residing some 1,300 meters (4,265 feet) above the sea, I’m hoping the city is just above the swelter and mosquitos of summer.

… to Lusaka

This forthcoming visit will technically be my second time in the country. In 2000, I camped a single night on Sekoma Island in the middle of the Chobe River while passing en route to the Zimbabwean side of Victoria Falls — not quite making it to Lusaka. My week-long visit in February will take me from the country’s fringes to its interior in my quest to photograph the remnants of both a bygone Jewish heritage and glimmers of today’s 50-or-so member community. I’ll sojourn in Livingstone (named for the famed Scottish/British missionary/explorer David, and where the first synagogue in Zambia was built in 1928), a stint in Ndola, Kitwe, and Mulufira in the soi-disant Copper Belt, and, of course, a call at Lusaka where most of the the Jewish community resides. All of these locations at one time had notable Jewish communities, synagogues, and cemeteries, and where most of their remnants can still be found.

Jews first arrived in the late 1800s, mainly from Germany and Lithuania, and established cattle and mining businesses. Though small in number, the Jewish community played a big role in the economic and political development of the nation, formerly, Northern Rhodesia. Simon Zukas, for instance, was a veteran political leader who played an important part in Zambia’s struggle for independence from Great Britain during the 1950s. The country ultimately won independence in October 1964, by which time the Jewish population had shrunk to about half of its 1,200 peak a decade earlier.

Southern Africa, plus Mauritius

In addition to a week in Zambia, I’ll also be a week in Namibia, and a few days each in Mozambique and Mauritius, and some five weeks journeying across South Africa. It all kicks off on departure day, January 29, 2013.

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- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS thus far.

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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Too Much of a Great Thing

Ambition is a great motivator, but it’s sometimes bigger than time allows for. Here’s ambition for you: Jewish Africa: A Cultural and Historical Photographic Survey.

Aron Hakodesh, Sephardi Hebrew Congregation. HARARE, Zimbabwe

I embarked upon my project with great ambitions, and expectations, of taking a whole lot of photographs, but also of writing a blog along the way. I soon confirmed what I really already knew: It’s tough to be both a writer and a photographer, and to do both of them justice concurrently. In lieu of prolix texts, I’ve conveyed much of my travel story in daily updates on Facebook in the guise of my “JEWISH AFRICA, Photo of the Day” posts. I’ve tried to let the photos speak a thousand words, ironically, more than I would actually write for a blog post. I’ve enjoyed the virtual interaction, feedback, and commentary.

Jewish Africa came at me in hyper speed and I was never quite able to slow it down enough to catch up. This was a good thing. Every single day of this 50 day journey has brought adventure — literally, figuratively, emotionally, sometimes even physically. In other words, I’ve been on sensory overload ever since I touched down in Johannesburg on August 1st. I have the remarkably warm, welcoming, and enthusiastic Jewish communities of South Africa and Zimbabwe to thank for this remarkable odyssey. I usually find specific individuals on these trips who do amazing things for me, and I call them my Heroes and Heroines. But here, on the bottom of Africa, I must put those monikers to the entire communities at large, for the sense of support somehow stretches beyond those people whom I met personally. The Jewish communities here exude a spirit like no other. They are proud, but not boastful. They are generous, but not high-handed. They are friendly, but not demanding.

Tefillin, Chabad of Norwood. JOHANNESBURG, South Africa

And largely due to their collective support, I am carrying home 8,273 Jewish Africa images: 2 countries, 6 weeks, 85 unique photo locations, including dozens of synagogues, cemeteries, life cycle and social events, community services, and loads of portraits of the people who make up these remarkable communities.  But I am also carrying with me dozens of unique memories. In a word, this journey has been perfect. Better in fact because it exceeded, by far, my expectations, expectations that were at the outset pretty big.

Now, I need to decompress, gain some perspective, and actually write down some stuff. But I also need to dream it up all over again, and set in motion leg #2 of this Jewish Africa photo quest. I am aiming to spend February and March once again in the southern African region, a trip whose logistics will be a considerably greater challenge than ensconcing myself in, mainly, two locations as on this trip (i.e. Johannesburg and Cape Town; my side trip to Zimbabwe being the exception). I’m looking at travel further afield to Jewish settlements in neighboring Namibia, Mozambique, Botswana, Zambia, perhaps even the Congo and Uganda, plus a cross-country drive from Johannesburg to Cape Town to photograph as many of the “country communities” as possible.

Mehitzah, Ohr Somayach. CAPE TOWN, South Africa

Now that’s an ambitious plan, perhaps too much so, but it’s a great thing, and that’s why I am here. “Africa” does not define the continent it refers to. The word is merely a geographical reference, but it is how most non-Africans use the word (as if all Africans and all Africa are one and the same). Africa is a tapestry of life, culture, nature, economics, music, and, yes, ambition. It is a great land of great opportunity from the capitalist to the adventurist. Reaching its potential is, sadly, in many cases, stunted by poorly managed governments (to put it mildly). But for all of those reasons and situations, that’s why I want to go back there. Midst it all, Jews play (and have long played) their part in their respective societies. They have contributed disproportionately to economic, commercial, and political development and have inscribed a proud history and continue to forge their tomorrow. Jewish Africa is a largely unknown world that is just waiting to be photographed, revealed, shared, and celebrated.

I can’t wait to return.

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- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS thus far.

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

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Too Much Magic Bus

Time does not equal distance does not equal time in Africa. When someone says, “I’ll see you just now” or “We’ll be there in five minutes”, what they really mean is, “Later.” Usually, much later.

The Magic Bus

So when I was faced with a 291-kilometer (180-mile) bus journey from the Great Zimbabwe ruins in Masvingo to Zimbabwe’s frayed capital, Harare, I transported myself into zen mode. Only the gods knew how long this journey was going to take. But, according to everyone I had asked: “It’s 3 to 4 hours on a big comfortable bus.”

Ha!

Clearly, I surmised, they had not actually made this journey before. Rather, they had learned that myth through oral traditions much like Linda, my amiable 23-year-old Great Zimbabwe guide, told me that the king of Great Zimbabwe had “200 wives…or maybe it was 20.”

To kick things off, the front desk man at the Great Zimbabwe Hotel instructed the taxi driver to drop me at a bus pick up point for South Africa. Nope. Wrong direction, I said as we reached a dusty, barren parking lot, and we climbed back in the car. To the center of Masvingo we drove, the sleepy driver making uncertain turns here and there, till we came upon a rugby scrum of busses and droves of people, about half of them passengers, the other half hawkers of mostly food sundries, and yet (impossibly) another half of spectators watching the disorderly order unfold itself.

The Magic Bus

My bag was thrust under a bus, but before I could board, I spied another bus that looked more appealing. As I grabbed my bag, “This bus is leaving. That one is not going yet,” the packer belted out. I would realize about an hour later that his words may have been the only true words I heard all day. I settled, somewhat comfortably, into the front seat of the bus, a full view of the scrum at my feet, ready to roll.

“When are we leaving?” I asked the driver after some time. “In 5 – 10 minutes.” Right, “later,” I thought. He was waiting to fill the bus, the usual system here. Forget the idea of a schedule in Africa. But certainly the bus was full by now, I thought. So many people had clambered aboard, I was sure they must have been falling out the back door.

Finally, nearly an hour after I turned up at this zone of chaos, the bus jerked forward. Yeah! Then, infuriatingly, it stopped 10 meters later for another 15 minutes. Then movement again. At last, pot-holed pavement rolling beneath the wheels. Only 3 to 4 hours to go, no, don’t think about that, I reminded myself. Let time and all bodily functions go into hibernation, and awake blissfully from this hypnosis when I get there, if I get there.

Ten minutes later, the bus, now on the outskirts of town, pulled off the road behind another shabbier bus, something like an old school bus. I felt like Elaine in the scene from Seinfeld when she was on the packed stopping-and-starting subway with the lights going on and off. Like her, I was screaming inside my head, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” The conductor barked out something in the local language and everyone, but me, stood up and started to scramble off the bus. “We don’t have enough people to send two busses,” the conductor told me. “Mother fuuuuuuu….!” So I scrambled too.

With Linda, my Great Zimbabwe guide

“But this bus is 95% full,” I thought. “And I’m comfortable here.” I was yanked from front seat and my zen-like mode into another bus. It was green. I like green, I thought. But mostly I was concerned my bag might disappear. Nope, there it is, now strapped to the roof of the new bus. I feared being cornered in the depths of the rear of the bus. Nope, I found a seat in the center next to a matronly woman dressed all in white. She had two cell phones.

As everyone re-settled in, I was actually impressed by the respect they seemed to have for one another. There was no pushing, no screaming, no cause for contemptuous words. Then, curiously, a woman with a cloth bag squeezed down the aisle on which was printed in English and Hebrew (yes! Hebrew!), “Jerusalem”.

Thou shalt arrive in Harare, safe and sound, I surmised. A Jew and a Jewish bag on the bus — we are NOT breaking down. Not today. We will not be stranded. But I was glad the lady next to me had not one, but two phones just in case. Or was that an inauspicious sign? I was confused.

So, the real journey finally started nearly two hours after I left the hotel. Now, after 10 a.m., Great Zimbabwe was getting smaller, Harare growing bigger.

The journey itself was mostly uneventful and, in all fairness, really not so unbearable. Most importantly, the driver was neither speeding nor overtaking carelessly. The bus was full, but not packed. No one smoked. No one made disturbances. No one threw garbage on the floor nor out the window. As we stopped to pick up and drop off passengers, everyone was calm and helpful to those in need of assistance. There was a spirit of community on that bus and I was quite impressed by it. I was, as one may imagine, the only white face in the crowd, and clearly I was not a local white face. But no one gave me a second look. I was merely a passenger. I was one of them for the duration of this journey. All anyone cared about was arriving, safely, and soon.

The Magic Bus

And so on and on and on we went, stopping in dusty towns strung out along the route. The occasional huckster boarded to sell something no one wanted such as cooking spoons, pencils, or gospel. They had to compete with bleating African rhythms from the always too loud radio. I’d really like to know who decided the whistle is an instrument. I’d like to remind them that it’s an instrument used for giving a signal, usually of distress, sometimes of instruction, but never as music.

I tried to drown it all out with my iPod, but all I could hear was a medley of purveyors, lyrics I could not understand, and Melissa Etheridge, Coldplay, and U2. When I saw red — of my depleting iPod battery — I thought, “Noooooooooo! Don’t die on me before Harare!”

Some six hours down the road, the bus pulled up at a rest stop.

A rest stop?!!! Now?! “Mother fuuuuuuuu….” But we have, what?, another 30 minutes to go? Let’s finish this thing! “The driver gets a free meal here,” someone said. So I climbed off the bus with my two carry-on bags and found the semblance of a toilet. Relieved, I stretched my legs, took a few photos of the bus, and 20 minutes later, we were on the road again. But not for long.

The bus suddenly pulled over. Everyone was craning their necks and leaning into the aisle to see what was going on. “We have a fuel leak,” the conductor announced. “We have to drain the tank.”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! echoed inside my head. And a collective sigh that sounded like “oy vey” resonated inside the bus. We were about 10 kilometers or 10 minutes from our destination.

I rang (on my own cell phone, no need for the matron) Nigel, the guy I was going to be staying with for my three nights in Harare.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Somewhere between Hell and Going-Out-Of-My-Mind,” I retorted. Our leak plugged, we piled back in the bus and, at long last, we arrived at a petrol station on the outskirts of Mbane Market, described something as the mother-of-all mazes of disorderly markets filled with thieves. Two ladies on the bus told me not to go there. I thought that was sweet.

“But I have to go there. My friend is meeting me,” I explained. Their eyes sank.

It was just after 4 p.m. I fell out of the bus exhausted, exhilarated, and relieved to see my bag being lowered off the roof. I met Nigel, two white men shaking hands, then I banged my head as I climbed into his pickup truck.

Mother fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! It felt so good!

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- Click for JEWISH AFRICA PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS thus far.

FURTHER INFORMATION ABOUT ME and MY JEWISH PHOTO WORK (see the following links): my website, HaChayim HaYehudim Jewish Photo Library / ABOUT / MISSION / BIO / PUBLICATIONS, EXHIBITIONS, EVENTS / PRESS / STORE / VIDEOS / MY JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP QUIZ GAME iTUNES STORE / JEWISH GEOGRAPHY APP WEBSITE / FACEBOOK / TWITTER / SUPPORT / CONTACT

FOLLOW THIS BLOG: Sign up for updates by email by joining the followers list. Return to the HOME page and enter your email address (followers’ names and email addresses are not revealed to me nor to other followers).