There is an undeniable bond between sons and their mothers. Jewish mothers have amplified this post-birth umbilical-cord dynamic into a relationship that can only be exceeded by a Jewish grandmother’s nachas about their grandchildren.
My mother, Margot, is no exception.
When my brother sent me a link to an online article from the SA Jewish Report recently, I expected the usual – another load shedding meme, some horrible crime statistics, a new low on corruption, motivation from the chief rabbi, but no. My mother had poured out our mini life story and her soul in a letter (“Emigration leaves me empty”) to the editor of the SA Jewish Report (10 June 2021).
It was and still is heart wrenching to read, in spite of being very well-written.
This isn’t the first time I have left South Africa. Heraclitus said that no man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man. The previous times I travelled, I was young, single, ignorant, curious, but also carefree. Emigrating now, as middle-aged parents, carried significant responsibilities and baggage, physical and emotional.
It was never an easy decision, there’s no right answer or ideal outcome.
I was fortunate to grow up with many advantages and privileges in life as a white South African and from my experiences, education, life lessons, and opportunities, I draw inspiration on a daily basis. However, they would have been hollow without the accompanying love and support of my parents, Margot and Clive, and brother Stuart, and his family. Home will always mean Joburg. Family will always be Friday nights at my parent’s magic table (where food is mysteriously always present and replenished). Being Jewish will always mean reaching out and finding a caring community, Joburg, Liverpool and beyond.
Mom, this is just a new chapter, Everything Is Going To Be Ok.
