Rooted in justice, bound by humanity

Judaism and ubuntu aren’t distant ideals. They meet in principle and practice, two ancient traditions, each rooted in justice, dignity, and the interconnectedness of people. One frames it as an obligation to give; the other as a responsibility to one another. For me, they came together not in theory, but in the everyday work of building something that matters.

When I speak of privilege, I’m not referring to wealth, as my family found financial stability only much later in my life as my grandfather and father committed themselves to building the family business and reinvested any and all earnings. I speak of the kind of privilege that directs your life: the presence of both parents; the security of a consistent home; the structure of extended family. These aren’t luxuries. They are foundations.

Most children growing up in South Africa’s townships don’t have that. Some live without parents at all. Many are raised in fragmented households, moving from place to place as work becomes available. Their lives are marked by uncertainty. There’s no continuity. No rootedness.

Afrika Tikkun, a Jewish-led organisation, emerged in response to that absence, created by the late Chief Rabbi Cyril Harris and my dad, Bertie. We set out to create spaces of safety and belonging, not as external interventions, but as embedded community hubs. Built in the townships, staffed by those who live there, these centres offer structure where there is none, consistency where there is instability. We never aimed to replace home. We sought to strengthen it. A home in support of home.

We didn’t see ourselves as heroes. This work was never about charity in the conventional sense. It was about accompaniment. Walking alongside. Filling the gaps. Standing where others could not.

The Smile Foundation was born from the same imperative. It was founded more than 25 years ago, after witnessing how many families didn’t know that help was even possible, that their children could receive life-changing medical intervention. The scarcity wasn’t just material. It was mental, emotional. Growing up in poverty can instil a belief that access is reserved for others, and that dignity is something you must earn.

I had experienced the opposite. I knew that help existed, and that professionals, systems, and solutions were available. I wanted others to experience that too. Because no child should grow up believing they are beyond the reach of care. The Jewish community connectivity was a gift I grew up with, and my experience of that sense of “family” could be extended to all South Africans bonded by a love for our country.

What drives this work is a simple truth: one cannot feel whole in a fractured world. That conviction has never left me.

It’s also deeply grounded in my faith. On Yom Kippur, Judaism teaches that charity, prayer, and repentance can alter one’s fate. But this isn’t about ritual. It’s about choosing a life of purpose. Of showing up. A life of doing the work.

So, the question became: how do we bring together tzedakah – not merely the act of giving, but the pursuit of justice – with ubuntu, which tells us that our humanity is bound up in one another?

Ubuntu teaches that a society is only as strong as its most vulnerable. Tzedakah teaches that giving isn’t generosity, it’s our duty. Both demand that we look outward while we look inward at the same time.

But giving, too, must be held to account. That’s why I speak of responsible kindness. Not all kindness is just. Not all generosity empowers. Giving that fosters dependence isn’t generosity, it’s control. Once ego enters the equation, the act becomes transactional. “I have, you do not, therefore you need me.” That’s not compassion. That’s power disguised as care.

True philanthropy enables people to grow beyond their reach. It allows them to outgrow your support. That’s its success, not its failure.

While I’m proud of my Jewish identity, my Judaism does not exist in isolation. It requires us to engage, to serve, to act. To be “a light unto the nations” isn’t only a distinction. It’s a burden of responsibility.

All life holds sanctity.

That’s where Judaism and ubuntu meet: not as parallel ideas, but as an integrated way of being. Not in abstraction, but in daily practice, in presence, in perseverance, in the long, slow work of building something that lasts.

Something rooted. Something honest. Something that leaves the world, in the end, a little more whole.

• Marc Lubner is a purpose-driven leader combining business acumen with social impact, devoted to uplifting communities and transforming lives through his work at Afrika Tikkun, Smile Foundation, and beyond.