PROFESSOR PHILIP LANZKOWSKY
The Cape Jewish Chronicle has brought you a series of articles that reflect the memories of Professor Philip Lanzkowsky of Jewish life in Cape Town during the 1930s and 1940s. In this edition – the last in the series – Philip recalls what it felt like being aware that one’s Jewish brethren were facing huge suffering in Europe, but being unable to do much to assist them.
I often think back to March 1939, when my father’s cousin, Taube, arrived in Cape Town from Poland. She was young, beautiful, clever, and full of life.
She came only on a visitor’s visa, which meant she was supposed to return to Poland in September – just as the world descended into war.
In those few short months she met and married Max Israel, a naturalised South African. That marriage saved her life. She never had to return to Poland and the fate that awaited so many of our family there. I have always thought of Taube as the living embodiment of the verse from the book of Zechariah: “Is this not a brand plucked from the fire?”
As a child in Cape Town, I remember the war not through bombs and destruction, but through conversations around our kitchen table. My parents worried constantly about the family in Poland. My father sent money to them in September 1939, but the Red Cross returned it marked ‘Undeliverable – the addressee in enemy territory’. We imagined they were hungry, cold, and suffering. What we did not yet understand was the full horror of what they were really enduring.
Most families had maps of Europe pinned up on their walls, and we children marked the relentless advance of the German army with pins. News came to us through the crackling of the wireless or the newspaper. Cape Town itself felt only the faintest echoes of war – small food rationing, windows covered with blackout shades, cars with their headlights painted black. At school, we had practice drills, and volunteers in the civil defence corps were trained in basic first aid and how to put out fires with the most primitive equipment.
The strongest reminders of the war were the people. Men in uniform became a familiar sight on the streets of Cape Town, and even in shul on Shabbat. Many of my cousins enlisted in the South African army – some fighting in North Africa against the Germans and Italians. My female cousins also volunteered, driving lorries or working in clerical posts. When Australian troopships docked in Cape Town on their way to Europe, Jewish soldiers were welcomed into our homes, especially over Shabbat and the festivals.
I have always felt a deep pride that around 10 percent of South African Jews – approximately 10 000 men and women – volunteered for service.
One of my clearest memories is of June 1940, when France fell to Germany. The despair in Cape Town was overwhelming, as though there was no hope left. I remember a special service at the Great Synagogue. Chief Rabbi Professor Israel Abrahams spoke with great passion, and when the buglers played ‘Taps’ – usually reserved for funerals – it felt as though the whole community was in mourning.
In the period after the War had ended, people exhibited the stress of wondering whether their relatives had survived. I remember the depressing comments that, “If anybody had survived, we would have heard from them.” This moment is seared in my brain.
We were far from the battlefields, but the war shaped us deeply. We lived with fear for our loved ones, pride in those who served, and the haunting knowledge that, while we were safe, our people in Europe were not. Those memories have never left me.
Read previously published Cape Jewish Chronicle articles from Philip:
A Jewish life in Cape Town: Shtetl memories
Earning a living, religious and communal life, and education in Cape Town
From shtetl to success: Jewish roots in Cape Town
Share your memories of the War years with other readers.
Perhaps you remember something yourself or you heard about things from a parent or a grandparent. We’d be interested to know, so please send your stories to editor@ctjc.co.za.
EDITOR’S NOTE: My mother recalled regularly going somewhere on the Foreshore with her mother in the months after the end of the War to search through the Red Cross lists for news of family members. They did not, unfortunately, find any such information. On the other hand, my father, a survivor from Lithuania, was identified on such a list by an American family member who had joined the US Army in Europe to fight against the Nazis.
Image credit: The Robert Henry Freedman Collection, Cape Town Holocaust & Genocide Centre Archive.
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