Life Under Apartheid

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Benjamin Progrund, Nelson Mandela, South Africa

 

 It might seem a little out of date, but it was interesting to sit in a pleasant Jerusalem home last week and listen to Benjamin Progrund’s lecture about his life as a journalist in South Africa when it was still an apartheid state.

Benjamin Progrund was born in that country and while achieving prominence as a journalist was also involved in anti-apartheid activities. His career brought him into contact with many of South Africa’s leading personalities, including Nelson Mandela, and his account of the way both the white and black population was subject to the repressive apartheid regime was an eye-opener for many of us in the audience. Surveillance by the Secret Service was pervasive, and informants were everywhere, often being blackmailed into working for the government.

Benjamin Progrund began his talk by giving us an overview of the history of the country, describing the various colonial powers (British and Dutch), and the eventual introduction of official racial segregation in 1948 by the ruling Africaans party. The page that he passed round containing the eleven different racial categories into which the population was divided, ranging from ‘white’ through ‘Cape Coloured’ and ‘Coloured person of South-West Africa’ to ‘Baster of Rehoboth’ and ‘Nama of South-West Africa,’ provided an indication of the lengths (or rather depths) to which racism was endemic throughout that society, with severe penalties for infringement of any of the laws promulgated to sustain the corrupt system. Everyone had to carry a pass at all times denoting the racial category to which he or she belonged.

After the newspaper for which he worked, the Rand Daily Mail, was closed by the authorities in 1985, as a result of its anti-apartheid stance, Mr. Progrund found himself ‘unemployable’ in South Africa He went into exile in the UK and eventually came to live in Israel, where he is active in the Yakar movement.

Mr. Progrund was asked about apartheid in Israel, an accusation that is sometimes levelled at this country, and he referred us to his recent book on the subject. However, it seems appropriate to cite an article he wrote for the Guardian earlier this year, “Crucially, the Arabs of Israel have the vote and Israeli Arab MPs sit in parliament. An Arab judge sits on the country’s highest court; an Arab is chief surgeon at a leading hospital; an Arab commands a brigade of the Israeli army; others head university departments. Arab and Jewish babies are born in the same delivery rooms, attended by the same doctors and nurses, and mothers recover in adjoining beds. Jews and Arabs travel on the same trains, taxis and – yes – buses. Universities, theatres, cinemas, beaches and restaurants are open to all.

“However, Israeli Arabs – Palestinian citizens of Israel – do suffer discrimination, starting with severe restrictions on land use. Their generally poorer school results mean lower rates of entry into higher education, which has an impact on jobs and income levels. Arab citizens of Israel deeply resent Israel’s Law of Return whereby a Jew anywhere in the world can immigrate to Israel but Arabs cannot. Some might argue that the Jewish majority has the right to impose such a policy, just as Saudi Arabia and other Muslim states have the right not to allow Christians as citizens. But it’s a troubling discrimination.”

Those of us who live in Israel are aware of the problematic nature of some of its institutions and customs, but the bottom line is that while Israeli Arabs have full and almost equal rights, the Arabs of the Territories are subject to many more restrictions and do not have representation. How that issue is to be resolved is a thorny problem with no viable solution in sight in the foreseeable future.

 

 

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A Night to Remember

 

 Verdi’s Requiem is not often performed in Israel. It requires a massive choir, an accomplished and enormous orchestra with augmented brass section, and four top-flight vocal soloists. In addition, it should be performed in an auditorium that can cope with the wide range of volume, tone and timbre that this work requires.

So it was with certain reservations that we ventured as far afield as Herzliya (just one hour’s drive away from our home near Jerusalem) to attend a performance given by our own native Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra with local choirs and soloists whose names were not familiar to us from any of the many concerts we have attended in Jerusalem.

Before the concert began, the conductor, Amos Talmon (another name with which we were not familiar) gave a brief talk. He briefly mentioned the circumstances of the work’s composition, arising from the attempt by Verdi to organize a joint homage to Rossini by the most prominent composers of Italy in the late nineteenth century.

Early in his talk Maestro Talmon aroused our curiosity by mentioning the unique Jewish and Israeli aspect of the Requiem. He described the first performance of the work in Israel in 1954, when the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra played it in Tel Aviv, in the open air of the grounds of one of its public buildings, and conducted by the Hungarian, Ferenc Fricsay. Although the soloists sang in the original Latin of the mass, the choir sang a Hebrew version of the words, in keeping with the spirit of the times and the patriotic and ambivalent attitude towards Christian religious texts.. The event attracted attention throughout the country, the concert was sold out and those denizens of Tel Aviv who were unable to buy tickets climbed into the nearby trees to enjoy the music. Talmon noted that many ministers and senior officials attended the concert, and wondered whether this would also have been the case with the present government.

As for the Jewish connection with Verdi’s Requiem, that referred to its performance under the direction of Raphael Schechter by inmates of the Theresienstadt concentration camp in 1944. When asked why they were performing for audiences which included members of the S.S. as well as other inmates, Schechter said that they were sending a message of defiance to the Nazis that they were unable to express directly in words. And although most of those who participated in the performance in Theresienstadt, including Schechter, were sent to Auschwitz and murdered, that particular performance of the Requiem lives on in the book, The Theresienstadt Requiem, by Josef Bor and the Defiant Requiem Foundation established by American musician Murry Sidlin and dedicated to commemorative performances of the Requiem combined with filmed interviews with survivors who took part in the original performance in the concentration camp. We attended the performance of the work given in Israel a few years ago and it was truly a moving experience.

For me, the work has special significance, having been one of my late father’s favourite works. It was my task on Sundays in our home in London to play and change the records on our gramophone, so that my father could work in peace at his desk while enjoying the music. Those were the days of 33 rpm vinyl records, which some people claim give the best quality sound. I can’t judge, but there’s no doubt that modern technology has produced more convenient ways of listening to music.

I also remember a performance given a few years ago in Eilat, by the Mariinsky orchestra led by maestro Valery Gergiev in the huge marquee erected in the port area for the event. The noise of the air-conditioning system almost drowned out the sound of the orchestra, especially at the beginning, when the orchestra plays pianissimo. The performance had just begun when from somewhere in the audience the ringtone of a mobile phone rang out, shattering the mood of quiet contemplation with which the piece begins. Gergiev stopped the orchestra, waited a moment or two, then started again from the beginning. That was a moment of shame and embarrassment for everyone in the audience.

But to return to Herzliya in June 2015. The combined Emek Hefer and Yoav choirs, numbering over one hundred souls and led by Shimon Levtov, produced an impressive sound, and each of the four soloists was astonishingly good. But special mention must be made of the bass, Yoram Chaiter, whose deep and resonant voice was of a quality that is rarely heard in Israel. From the programme notes we learned that he is originally from the Ukraine and in addition to his vocal career he is also a physician and cancer researcher. The conductor, Amos Talmon, did an excellent job of keeping the tempo flowing, and the orchestra responded to his leadership with its customary professionalism. Again, special mention should be made of the two timpanists, who play an important role throughout the work, but especially in the Dies Irae, where their contribution is particularly significant. It was even an aesthetic pleasure to see the young lady timpanist (sorry, I don’t have her name) wielding the drum-stick with intense energy as she banged on the big bass drum to produce the ear-shattering and spine-chilling drum-beats signifying the terror of the day of wrath and awe.

All in all, it was an impressive performance of a much-loved work, and one that will remain in our memories for a long time to come.

Parallel Worlds

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Islamic State, Mediterranean Sea, Migrants

 

 

 

It sometimes seems as if we’re living in a kind of science-fiction fantasy world in which, from the comfort of our home, we watch the dreadful events swirling around us while we remain cosily ensconced in our little cocoon of comfort and plenty.

 The images we see nightly on the TV news reveal the appalling scenes of brutality, suffering and horror that seem to be the lot of so many unfortunates living on planet earth. Whether the events are occurring in the countries of the Middle East or in rickety boats on the Mediterranean Sea, the effect is the same – horror, despair and a paralyzing sense of hopelessness and helplessness.

 Hundreds of thousands of people are fleeing their homes, abandoning their possessions in order to clamber over fences or drift in rickety boats, throwing themselves on the mercy of the sea and other countries as they abandon lives that seem to them to be either dangerous or unbearable or both. Migrants all over the world are risking life and limb, resorting to desperate and dangerous methods, in order to escape from their current situation.

 And I can understand them. It cannot be denied that a horrible fate awaits every girl and woman who happens to find herself in one of the countries overrun by the organization known as the Islamic State, though, the fate of women in most Muslim countries is not much better.

 Since time immemorial wars have periodically ravaged the Middle East, though just now Israel is not actively involved in any of them. Some people may even gain satisfaction from seeing Arab countries being torn apart by internal conflicts, but I am not among them. What I see are communities being fragmented, families destroyed and individuals condemned to a lifetime of suffering, essentially forced into a stone-age existence. Why should I wish that on anyone? Especially when I am able to benefit from all the comforts of modern life?

 I know that the striking images and heart-rending scenes in the news form a kind of nightly reality entertainment programme for the well-fed world. I know, too, that many kind people donate money and resources to help those unfortunates, but it is often too little too late, coming after the irreparable damage has already been done.

 Obviously, earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions also attract the attention of the world, and intrepid reporters and photographers rush to these places in order to send the distressing images back to the rest of the world. The same goes for mining disasters, forest and bush fires and floods of various kinds. It is, I suppose, something to be proud of that humankind has developed resources to cope with such disasters.

 But all the same, it makes me feel guilty and ashamed to be sitting in a pleasant room typing this, with a full belly, books at hand and music on the radio when so many people are still suffering hunger, discomfort and the imminent threat of death.

 It’s as if we’re living in a parallel world, and as everyone knows, parallel lines never meet.

 

The Kagan Learning Centre

Helena Kagan was born in 1889 in Uzbekistan, where her father, who was originally from Lithuania, had been sent as a chemical engineer to establish and supervise the construction of glass-manufacturing plants there. In 1914, after qualifying as a physician, she settled in Jerusalem and was a pioneer in tending to the health of both Arab and Jewish children, establishing clinics and pediatric centres throughout the region. She died in 1978, having devoted her life to improving the health and welfare of Jerusalem’s children.

Among her spheres of activity was the prevention of juvenile delinquency, and she was instrumental in providing an environment where youngsters could find a positive and supportive atmosphere rather than roaming the streets, providing them with coaching in their school work and thereby reducing delinquency and school drop-out rates.

In 1968, with the aid of Wizo UK and the Jerusalem municipality, the Kagan Community Center was established in Jerusalem’s Katamon Tet neighbourhood in honour of Dr. Kagan’s seventy-fifth birthday. Within that framework the Kagan Learning Center enables youngsters to spend time in a warm and friendly environment where they can receive help in subjects with which they are having difficulties at school.

When I visited the Centre I found a large, modern, well-lit building, set back from the dingy street in one of Jerusalem’s less salubrious areas. Inside it are rooms in which tutors, some of them volunteers, provide one-on-one teaching for youngsters who are having difficulties at school, as well as a library and a computer room, and a general atmosphere of relaxed and positive activity.

Most of the children attending the Centre today come from families that have immigrated from Ethiopia, where the language used at home is generally not Hebrew, which puts the child at a disadvantage in their first years at school. Much of the work of the Center involves bringing children in line with the level of their peers in basic subjects such as reading, writing and arithmetic, as well as providing them with the basic concepts that are learned by Israeli-born children even before they start school.

The Centre’s devoted teachers and administrator maintain contact with the parents of the children who attend and are always willing to help resolve problems connected with the child’s schooling. The Center originally provided its services to the children of the Katamon neighbourhood, many of whose parents had immigrated from the countries of the Maghreb and were unable to provide their children with the headstart that these children often required. Today the children who attend the Centre live in the neighbourhood as well as from elsewhere in Jerusalem.

As is usually the case with such institutions, the Centre is chronically short of funds; \ its basic upkeep is provided by the Jerusalem municipality, but it is the Kagan Fund that pays for its staff and equipment, including computers and enrichment activities. Anyone who is able to contribute to the activities of this admirable enterprise is invited to visit its website at http://www.israelgives.org/amuta/580126605, where information about giving is available.