BY PROFESSOR PHILIP LANZKOWSKY 

Once upon a time in Cape Town – not the bustling city we know today, but a modest port town where fishmongers blew horns in the street and chickens were sold fresh off the feather – there was a thriving little shtetl. 

It was a place where Jewish immigrants, mostly from Eastern Europe, built humble lives for themselves, with little more than a wagon, a work ethic, and a strong sense of community.

This was my Cape Town.

What makes this story more than just charming nostalgia is what came next: how the children and grandchildren of those immigrants rose from street vendors and butchers to become doctors, professors, psychiatrists, Nobel Prize winners, and even a knighted Governor of the Bank of England. The immigrants were determined that their children would receive a good Jewish and secular education – and it paid off!

Humble beginnings

In the Cape Town of my youth, most shopkeepers were Jewish and catered specifically to the community’s needs. There was a rhythm to the week, a build-up to Shabbat that you could hear, see, and smell. On Thursdays, Mr Schafer’s poultry shop bustled with customers selecting just the right chicken for Friday night dinner, feathers still warm. The discerning women of the shtetl would inspect each one like seasoned judges at an agricultural fair. If something seemed off – as once happened when my mother discovered a strange lump in a chicken – it was taken straight to the rabbi for inspection. (In that case, deemed kosher.)

Horse-drawn carts clattered along the streets, selling blocks of ice or fresh vegetables. One such vendor, Mr Pilowsky, made his rounds with a horse and cart; his son went on to become a professor of psychiatry in Australia. Then there was Mr Katz, a glazer turned baker, who hawked cookies and taygelach along the beach. He moved from being a hawker to the owner of a bakery with two stores. His son? A psychiatrist in the U.S.

My own father became a grocer. Although I had considered becoming a Rabbi, I ended up studying medicine. This profession allowed me to shine, and I have numerous academic and professional accolades behind my name – a far cry from helping my father with grocery deliveries in shtetl Cape Town!

The grandson of the butcher, Mr Fried, whose kosher meat fed the neighbourhood, became Governor of the Bank of England and was knighted by Princess Anne. When asked by a fellow banker if he came from a family of financiers, Bradley Fried quipped, “Not exactly. My father was a jeweller and my grandfather, a kosher butcher.”

In those days, the professionals – lawyers, doctors, bookkeepers – were all Jewish. Dr Berelowitz, one of the local physicians, made house calls with a doctor’s bag in one hand and a bag of change in the other – always ready to make exact change for a grateful patient.

What’s in a name?

Our shtetl was also home to a rich tradition of nicknames – mostly in Yiddish and sometimes hilariously literal. A particular Mr Katz, who was a rather large man, was known as “der grayser Katz” (‘the big Katz’). His son adopted the nickname as his surname – ‘Grayce’ – dropping ‘Katz’ entirely. I once had him as a tutor in medical school, and was surprised to realise the rather humble origins of the elegant-, English-sounding ‘Dr. Grayce’!

Then there was Mr Segal, a stocky carpenter with a limp, known (perhaps insensitively) as “der hinkerdiker” (‘the one who limps’). Despite working among tough dockyard labourers, he became the go-to man for complex problems: “Call the Jew,” they’d say, admiring his skill. His sons? Successful businessmen.

And who could forget “der blinder chazan,” Cantor Abraham Immerman? Despite being blind, he knew the entire Torah by heart and taught generations of boys their Bar Mitzvah portions. Or Mrs Uberstein, “der toyber” (‘the deaf one’), who would trumpet conversations through an ear horn that looked like it belonged in a Victorian drawing room.

Do you remember Cantor Immerman? Share your story about the famed Cantor with our readers. Send your recollection to editor@ctjc.co.za.

A community that rose

What’s truly astonishing is not just how vibrant this little Jewish world was, but how its legacy continues. Out of a community of just 20 000 Jews came an outsized number of professors, innovators, and thought leaders. Three were knighted. One won the Nobel Prize. Many became leaders in science, medicine, business, and academia around the world.

It’s a story of transformation, of rootedness and reinvention. It’s also a story full of charm, character, and characters.

Cape Town’s Jewish shtetl may be a memory now, but its legacy endures – in lecture halls, boardrooms, and hospital corridors across the globe. From fish horns to Nobel Prizes, it’s quite the journey. And I, for one, still hear the echo of Erev Shabbat in my heart. ●

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